Star lord

by Donald G. Phillips

  Duncan rubbed his chin in thought. "Captain Trane, I don't doubt a word you say. The Knights are probably one of the best Mech Warrior units in the Inner Sphere. That's not the issue. The problem is that they aren't really prepared for the special demands of this mission, and that's where the extra time comes in. My estimate stands."

  Harrison Kalma leaned forward slightly in his seat. "What do you mean they're not prepared?"

  The younger Kalma pulled a tightly folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it. "I went over the Knight's TO&E on the trip back. Look at their 'Mechs." He handed the hardcopy to his father.

  The General looked at the sheet for a moment before handing it back. "I see what you mean."

  "I'm afraid you've lost me, gentlemen," the Captain-General interrupted. "I don't understand why there should be any concern about the 'Mechs assigned to the Knights. I assure you they field only the best the Free Worlds League has to offer. They also get to test prototypes of new 'Mechs. They can beat anything these raiders might throw at them—if it comes to that"

  Duncan stuffed the paper into his pocket and shook his head. "But that's exactly the problem, sire. We're going to Galatea with the express mission of infiltrating the ranks of whoever is behind these raids. To get hired we're going to have to prove ourselves as skilled MechWarriors, which the Knights will have no problem doing. But we've got to remember that Galatea isn't like Outreach. Units operating out of there are a much seamier bunch. And they'd never have top-of-the-line BattleMechs or prototypes. I doubt that many of them can even spell 'prototype'."

  Rod Trane still had a head full of steam. "Are you saying we have to get rid of our 'Mechs?"

  Duncan nodded very calmly, very deliberately. "Yes, I've checked. The Marik First Planetary Militia is equipped with a hodgepodge of older 'Mechs. Some are customized, but most are too old for front-line duty despite being refitted with new technology. I suggest we swap them out with 'Mechs the Knights currently field."

  Wilson Cherenkov's next words took Duncan completely by surprise. "I completely agree, sire. The team would stand out like a sore thumb if they showed up with new 'Mechs on Galatea. I can put some of my special operations teams to work on their machines. Remove any and all trace that might connect them back to the Marik Militia, burn off the paint, and give them fresh coats so that even tight thermo scans won't reveal anything of their origins."

  "Excellent," Thomas Marik said. "Anything else, Duncan?"

  "Actually, sire, there is. I want to leave some of the Knights here, at Captain Trane's discretion. Three to five, to be exact."

  "Why is that?" Trane demanded sharply.

  "Simple, Rod. We're going to have to blend in with the scene when we get to Galatea. I plan to hire a couple of additional mercs once we arrive. That will give us some contacts on the planet right off the bat as well as helping you Knights learn how to talk, think, and act like anything but Knights of the Inner Sphere."

  "What are you spouting off about now, Kalma?" Trane groused.

  "It isn't just mercenaries that this little team of Knights has to learn to become. They've got to act like the kind whose careers are shady enough to end them up on Galatea in the first place. We need a few days here for them to train in their replacement 'Mechs and to start getting used to more informality. We've also got to come up with a cover history for where we've been. Stories we'll tell the various people we run into so that we're all singing the same song. Otherwise, whoever is hiring for the fake Knights will see through us in a second and this whole mission will be a wash."

  Trane appealed to Thomas Marik. "Captain-General, the good name of my men is being smeared by the actions of these false Knights. Any one of them would give his life to put an end to these raids. I strongly protest this decision. My people deserve the chance to defend their honor themselves."

  "Captain Trane," Marik said, "the Knights of the Inner Sphere are a regiment strong, and most of them won't have the opportunity to participate in this mission. Though I understand your sentiments, in this case I feel obliged to defer to the expert. I'm sure if you give it a little more thought, you'll see that his reasoning is actually very sound."

  Rod turned to Duncan angrily. "So you're going to teach my men to behave like cutthroat mercenaries?"

  Duncan half-expected Thomas Marik to speak up again. When he did not, Duncan decided to set the record straight once and for all.

  "Trane, these are not your men, not on this mission. They report to me. I know you don't like it, but if you can't deal with it, I suggest you bow out now. And if you're in, then you'd better become one hell of an actor. Because pulling off the role of a 'cutthroat mercenary' is exactly what you're going to have to do.

  "The other thing is that none of you will enjoy any rank while on this mission. From this point on, if you're still with us, you're simply Rod Trane—mercenary. I'm in charge and you follow my orders."

  Trane was infuriated, but all he said was "Yessir!" while giving Duncan a kind of mocking salute. "Request permission to be dismissed and meet with the unit."

  Duncan saluted back. "Dismissed." Trane bowed to Marik, then fairly stomped out of the room.

  There was a long silence before Thomas Marik spoke. "He's a good man, Duncan. One of my best Knights. I understand why you had to be rough on him, but he's still a member of the Knights of the Inner Sphere and deserves your respect."

  "I had no choice, sire. You've stressed the importance of this operation and also that you wanted me to lead it because my experience could be the key to our success. I've seen Trane in combat, and believe me, I want him with me. He's a fine 'Mech pilot. I've seen it with my own eyes. But he's got to get over wanting to be in charge. He's not a Captain now, he's a mercenary. If he can't play the game, then let him be one of those who stays behind."

  12

  DropShip Farragut's Folly, Attached to FWL Jump Ship Janos

  Nadir Jump Point Bordon

  Silver Hawks, Free Worlds League

  8 May 3057

  Duncan stepped into the cargo bay of the old Union Class DropShip and saw the small contingent of MechWarriors gathered near the massive 'Mech doors. Next to them stood the BattleMech replacements he'd ordered. Older models, most having seen plenty of action during their careers, were carefully strapped and lashed into position in their cocoons. The men, when they saw him enter, went to parade rest, though some more quickly than others.

  Duncan looked around at them, thinking it had been a while since he'd felt so much excitement and anticipation. Not since running his own mercenary unit out of the Periphery. He went to stand before them and nodded for them to relax. Only Rod Trane, standing dark and sullen in the back, did not.

  Duncan let his gaze travel over all their faces as he spoke. "Most of you don't know me very well, but by now you're aware that this mission is far from typical, to say the least. That's why I thought it would be good if we all got together to clear up any questions and to be sure everyone understands what we're supposed to do and how I think we should approach it.

  "It won't be long before we reach Galatea. You all received the SAFE briefing with your orders, though I'm sure most of you already know something about the place. Our team will be posing as a mercenary unit in order to find the recruiters who're hiring the mercs impersonating you Knights in raids against the various other Houses. Once we find them, we infiltrate their ranks, learn their mission, and put an end to the raids. I don't have to tell you that both the Knights and the Captain-General have a lot riding on this operation."

  One of the men stepped forward. "Permission to speak freely?"

  Duncan gestured affirmatively. "By all means. And that applies to all of you."

  "It's about the 'Mechs, sir." It was one of the younger Knights, Karl Villiers. "We've always had top-of-the-line models and now we get these rust buckets. Only half the heat sinks on mine have been upgraded to doubles and one of the lasers only works when it's in the mood."

  Duncan had expe
cted this, "If you think about it, we really had no choice but to swap out your 'Mechs with older refits. From now on none of us can forget our cover—we're supposed to be a mercenary unit. Not an elite bunch like Wolf's Dragoons or the Kell Hounds, but one a lot lower on the spectrum. That kind of merc unit simply doesn't have top-line models."

  Ben-Ari, who'd been posted to the Command Lance, spoke up next. "These imposters are fielding nearly a regiment of 'Mechs, sir. Even if we find them they'll vastly outnumber us. I'm proud to be a Knight of the Inner Sphere, but three to one odds or worse in substandard 'Mechs doesn't sound like we've got much chance of winning."

  "Good point," Duncan said. "But the plan is to have the rest of the Knights ready and waiting to assist when the time is right. The Captain-General is covertly pulling the rest of your comrades together. When the time is right either Captain Trane or I will transmit the codeword to bring the Knights en masse. That should more than equal the odds."

  This time Derek Hasson spoke up. "Sir, I checked my quarters and the shower isn't working. As a matter of fact, none of the showers on this ship are functional."

  This part wasn't going to be easy, Duncan thought. "I know. I ordered them shut off."

  "You did what?" Trane demanded.

  "If we don't blend in when we get to Galatea, then we fail before we even begin. I've temporarily confiscated your razors and shut off the showers so we'll all look and smell like the kind of mercs who come to Galatea looking for action. I've also stocked up on the kind of clothes we'll need from one of the local surplus stores. Just think of this as one of those field operations where you go for days or even weeks without bathing or shaving. This is just like that."

  One of the taller Knights, Jon Blix, looked over at Rod Trane. "Captain, are you behind all of this?"

  Duncan didn't give Trane a chance to respond. He had to make these men understand that he was in command for now. "I've been given command of this operation by your liege lord Thomas Marik. Yes, when this is all over and done with, Rod Trane will be your Captain again. But for now you must behave as though neither he nor any of you have rank. The only one with rank will be me. The rest of you are warriors, mercenary warriors and hard cases, at that. For the duration of this mission, you will refrain from any use of rank. You can call me Duncan or Kalma—I'll answer to both. You can even call me Captain, since technically I'm in charge"—Duncan gave a short laugh—"but you don't need to overdo it. Formal titles and I don't get along very well."

  Trane had been listening hard, standing with arms folded across his chest and head cocked to one side. "Hear me out," he said, raising one hand for attention. "I think we all agree on the importance of this mission. And it's true that the Captain-General made Kalma the head of it. That's because Duncan knows so much about the ways of the people and places where we're going. He knows what we need to do to convince people we are what we seem—a tough band of mercs who are skilled but hungry for work. We'll follow Duncan Kalma because that's what our honor dictates. The future of the Knights of the Inner Sphere depends on it."

  Many nodded their acceptance as Trane spoke. He'd calmed their fears and reassured them that there was honor in what they were about to do. But Duncan knew that in his heart Trane believed he should have been given command of the operation. He could only hope that the the issue wouldn't cause trouble later.

  "Thank you, Captain Trane," Duncan said, as the gathering turned back toward him. "During the next three days we'll be traveling to Galatea via a command circuit the Captain-General has set up for us. Some of these ships are commercial haulers, but none of them know anything about who we are or where we're going, so let's keep it that way. Once we're on our way I'll be meeting individually with each of you and also holding some informal sessions to brief you on our cover stories as a unit and as individuals and so on. Remember, you're no longer Knights of the Inner Sphere. That part of you must be hidden from this point on.

  "You will adopt new identities and histories for this mission. Learn them inside out Our lives may depend on it." Duncan knew that last was no exaggeration. Every time he'd been to Galatea the place seemed to take another step backward on the evolutionary ladder.

  "In the meantime we still need to check security on our 'Mechs one last time and run through the docking checklists. You all know the drill, so let's shake, rattle, and roll."

  Ben-Ari stepped forward with his hand up. "Captain Kalma, before we break, just one more question."

  "Fire at will," Duncan said.

  "What are we called?"

  Duncan had given plenty of thought to the same question from the moment he'd accepted the mission. "From now on we're known as Raima's Mercenary Company Incorporated—unless we come up with something better." He'd wanted to keep it simple, but also hoped this group would be more successful than the last one that had gone out under the banner.

  With that Duncan walked over to where his own 'Mech was slung into its cocoon and began to check that the bracing was secure. All around him the others followed suit, each one finding reassurance in the familiarity of routine.

  13

  Galaport

  Galatea

  Skye March, Federated Commonwealth

  15 May 3057

  Dawn adjusted the sensor tabs on her neurohelmet for what seemed like the tenth time and made sure she still had good contact The neurohelmet which provided a neural interface between the 'Mech pilot and the BattleMech's gyro, was the key to piloting a 'Mech. The pilot used his or her own sense of balance to adjust the balance of the 'Mech, lending the machine what often seemed like human movements.

  She looked around the cockpit with a sense of frustration. Dawn had been weaned on Clan battle technology, which was significantly more advanced than even the best the Inner Sphere could boast. She could not help having misgivings about the fact that some components of this ancient Shadow Hawk were technologically behind the Inner Sphere's current capabilities. This neurohelmet, for one thing, was nearly twice the weight and size of the kind used by the Steel Vipers.

  And that was only the beginning. Though this was no OmniMech, Dawn thought the 'Mech could and should have been better than it was. It had ferro-fibrous armor, which would let it withstand a lot more than most 'Mechs its age, but its weapons array was a shambles. Apparently the weapons had been heavily modified at least several times by previous warriors who'd piloted the machine. Its last refit had gained it some of the more contemporary systems, but Dawn was used to the Clan's more powerful and penetrating pulse lasers, which this machine sadly lacked. That didn't mean the Shadow Hawk's essentially long-firing beam weapons were not deadly, just that they didn't offer nearly the firepower. Perhaps her biggest concern was that some of the 'Mech's heat sinks were so old and decrepit that they barely worked.

  Among the Clans, the technician in charge of maintaining this 'Mech would have been punished severely. As for the 'Mech, it would probably have been consigned to a solahma unit of over-the-hill warriors or even dismantled for parts. Dawn had to remind herself sternly that she was not of the Clans now and that this equipment was all that was available to her now. In some ways it made her wonder that the barbarians of the Inner Sphere had managed to hold off the Clan invasion as well as they did.

  She had complained to Mordoc, but the stablemaster had simply thrown up his hands. The Minutemen were out of money, he said, which was why he had such high hopes for her. Every one of them, including Mordoc, had bet his or her last C-bills on her victory. He also said that even though she considered the Shadow Hawk to be hopeless, the rest of the Minutemen had been mightily impressed when they saw how skillfully she piloted it in practice.

  Her teammates were aware that Dawn was of the Clans, but Mordoc had not passed that information on to their opponents, Carmody's Cavaliers. All he'd let slip was that this new warrior was also fighting in the Games for the first time. It was a blatant deception, but one Dawn understood. The ritual of bidding often included exaggerating or undervaluing one's force.


  She hadn't known what to expect of the "arena," but wasn't disappointed to find that it was nothing more than a large open area with massive dirt embankments standing nearly twenty-five meters high. It could easily have been a Circle of Equals for an honor duel between Clan warriors. The field was well over a kilometer long and half that distance wide. Much to Dawn's chagrin, stands full of spectators were positioned on the edge of one rampart. There was little protection, and Dawn wondered how many spectators of previous matches had been killed accidentally. The Clans never wasted the smallest thing, and this carelessness struck her forcefully.

  The mud and muck of the arena were dotted with the ruins of several buildings, indicating that this had been a battle zone for decades, perhaps even longer. It was here Mech-Warriors came to fight, in battles one-on-one. Again Dawn was reminded of a Circle of Equals. Memories of losing her Trial of Refusal stung, but she held on. She must make her way down this new path, without regret, without excuses, without faltering.

  Her headset crackled to life, producing as much static as message. "This is Mordoc. Are you ready yet?"

  "Aff," she replied.

  "I assume that's a 'yes,'" Mordoc said. Her speech was one of the hardest things for Dawn to change, but this little exchange reminded her once more of the necessity. "You remember the plan, Dawn. Your opponent's piloting a Griffin. With that PPC he's going to try and keep you at a distance and whittle you away from there."

  "I understand, Mordoc," she returned, almost irritated at his comments. She was a warrior, born and bred She had known many battles in her time, including the one on Tukayyid, the biggest battle in the history of mankind. What advice would this overweight freebirth have given her there? she thought angrily. And now he wanted to tell her how to go one-on-one against another warrior. Ah, well, she told herself, her victory would show him who she was.