Star lord

by Donald G. Phillips

  "How do you like it?" Duncan stepped to one side as a delivery man rolled a clothing rack up alongside him. "I had a local haberdasher begin whipping these up after our talk with Vreeken. There's one for each of you."

  Trane stood staring at Duncan, hands on his hips, gaping in dismay. At this moment he wanted to shoot Duncan Kalma so bad it hurt.

  20

  Galaport

  Galatea

  Skye March, Federated Commonwealth

  28 May 3057

  "Demon, the Stalker got Hasson." Hawkes's voice sounded grim and he had every right to sound that way.

  The final match was an exercise in total madness, with Trane still too weak to fight as the match began on the 50-kilometer Combat Range. Competing companies were allowed to enter whatever 'Mechs were still functioning, up to but not exceeding company strength of twelve 'Mechs. The Demons had lost three 'Mechs: Trane's Valkyrie, Dawn's Shadow Hawk, and Goto's Commando. Five more, Duncan's BattleMaster, Hawkes's Crusader, Bovos's Warhammer, Blix's Archer, and Villiers's Wolverine had been shot up in their matches. Where the repairs would normally have been easy, on Galatea prices were inflated and often other stables deliberately bought up the few parts that were available in order to place their foes at a disadvantage. The Demons had four undamaged 'Mechs; Morneau's Rifleman, Hasson's Griffin, Autramov's Wasp, and Ben-Ari's Stinger. Nine 'Mechs against the ten fielded by the Cavaliers. Now Hasson was dead.

  The fighting had been furious from the moment the match began. The Cavaliers were scum, but boasted good 'Mech pilots among them. It was Clinton Carmody piloting the Stalker, and he knew how to wield its massive firepower. It was time for a head count.

  "Hawkes, what have we got left? Can you tell?"

  "Bovos is on my right," Hawkes replied. "Looks like he's about got that Thunderbolt whipped. I saw Villiers a few minutes ago hot on the heels of a Phoenix Hawk. And I finally got that Vulcan when his jump jets ran out of reaction mass. I haven't seen Blix, Morneau, or Ben-Ari lately, and they're not on my tac screen. They're probably west of us over the horizon."

  "So, we should have eight left?"

  "That's the way it looks to me until we hear from the others," said Hawkes. "The Cavaliers started with ten. You and I and Bovos have put one each out of business, and Villiers got a Whitworth before he wandered off. So now they're down to six. Hey, Duncan. Carmody is moving his Stalker back north. I'll bet he's headed to the foothills."

  "If he gets back among those rocks it'll be hard to force him out," said Duncan. "I'm going after him. Bovos, can you hear me?"

  "I read you, Duncan."

  "What shape are you in?"

  "I've taken some bad hits. I need to cool down before fighting again." Duncan called up the topographic map on his secondary monitor.

  "There should be a small creek between you and where Villiers and the others are fighting. Use it to cool down as best you can and then go help them."

  "Will do."

  "Hawkes, you want to help me stalk a Stalker!"

  "Yeah, let's end this thing," came Hawkes's reply.

  Duncan brought his BattleMaster to a northern course and kicked it up to cruising speed. That should have been nearing 44 kph, but with the damage he'd taken in the last ten days it was down to less than 40. The Stalker was still slower at just over 30 and Carmody wasn't pushing it that fast, so Duncan knew he could overtake the 85-ton titan before it reached the foothills. The question now was what would he do when he caught it? The Stalker was made to stand fast and use its awesome array of weaponry to bombard opponents in a long-range fire-fight. It had LRMs, whereas he had only short-range missiles. He needed a plan.

  Duncan checked his computer ID program, which told him a Stalker carried twin 10-racks with 24 LRM reloads each.

  "Got any idea how many of those LRMs he's used so far, Hawkes?"

  "He must have drained one rack dry early on trying to scatter us, and another dozen before he made some hits against Hasson. He's not a good shot, but he's persistent!"

  "I remember he took some shots at Morneau's Rifleman, and I think he lobbed a couple of Villiers's Wolverine. He ought to be running low on his long-range stuff."

  "So what's your plan, Demon?"

  "Let's tease him into using up his LRMs. Then I'll move in close and snipe at him until he begins to burn those heavy lasers."

  "I get it," said Hawkes. "You distract him and I'll do the rest." His Crusader was on its way to its maximum speed even before he'd finished speaking. Duncan's plan was sound, he thought, but it depended on Carmody being over-zealous. The Stalker boasted a lot of lethal power. In the days of the Star League it used to have a versatile computer that could identify a target, determine its range, and select the optimum mix of weapons for an attack. The early Succession Wars destroyed the technology for building that computer, and now Stalker pilots had to depend on their own estimates. In the fervor of battle many overused their multiple weapons systems, quickly overheating the 'Mech to the point of shutdown despite its twenty heat sinks. Duncan was going to try and pressure Carmody into such overuse.

  Two LRM salvos zipped to either side of Duncan's BattleMaster. "I think I've found him, Hawkes."

  "I saw on my tactical display," Hawkes came back. "He's just saying hello."

  "Guess I'll go over and see what's on his mind." Duncan was still a good 400 meters from the Stalker, but Carmody was sending another spread of LRMs his way. They, too, flew past, with only one getting close. Then, no more long-range fire from the Stalker.

  Duncan increased his speed until the BattleMaster was in a full run. He could see Carmody just standing there waiting for him. At 250 meters, he stopped and squeezed off a few PPC shots to get Carmody's attention focused on him. Inside 300 meters Duncan knew he was in dangerous territory. As he expected, his PPC fire was ineffectual against the heavy armor of the Stalker at this range. It was time to get bold. He accelerated the BattleMaster back to its running speed and made an irregular zigzag course toward the Stalker.

  At 150 meters the laser fire was murderous. Armor was exploding off his 'Mech's arms, torso, and legs in a billow of fragments and smoke. Duncan could feel the heat beginning to rise in the cockpit. At 90 meters he decided to take a risk. He brought the BattleMaster to an abrupt, sudden, stop as laser beams crossed in front of him 30 meters ahead. Carmody had been leading him as he made his run. Duncan sighted his PPC on the Stalker's left knee joint and fired the instant his targeting cross hairs glowed with a lock-on.

  It was a solid hit. The Stalker had powerful, well-armored legs, but the knee joints were its weakest points. As the knee gave a little, Carmody would know it might collapse and must have vowed to finish this contest in one salvo.

  The better part of the barrage hit Duncan's 'Mech dead on. So much smoke and fire spewed up from the searing wounds in the BattleMaster's torso and right arm that he couldn't see out the viewscreen. Another barrage would kill him. But it never came.

  As he moved the BattleMaster forward, the smoke began to drift aside. Ahead, the Stalker was fighting to stay on its feet. The constant barrage of fire that Carmody had laid down from both his medium and large lasers had made the 'Mech overheat. If Carmody could get the Stalker cooled enough, even a little, to fire one of those large lasers, Duncan knew he was dead.

  Duncan heard Hawkes's gleeful shout as he crested a small rise behind the Stalker, only 100 meters away. He targeted the Stalker's left leg with his torso-mounted medium lasers and poured laserfire into it. The leg splintered and the 'Mech fell over on its side. Carmody was helpless.

  "What now, Hawkes? Shall we show the man a little mercy?" Hawkes made no reply. He simply walked a few meters closer and began to fire one SRM salvo after another into the Stalker until it was nothing more than a steaming heap of white hot metal.

  * * *

  After Hawkes had destroyed the Stalker, Bovos, followed by Blix, Morneau, Auramov, and Ben-Ari, had arrived on the scene to help defeat the remaining Cavaliers. Though the Demo
ns took a beating in the Games, the Cavaliers were now an extinct species. Duncan's Demons had survived, and survival in the Games meant offers of employment by a host of patrons. Duncan could hardly leave the hotel room without being beset by agents wanting to contract the Demons' services. Such a reversal of fortune was most gratifying.

  Trane and his Knights were at the DropShip assessing the damage to the company's 'Mechs and setting up a plan to get them back in repair, and Duncan was just returning to the hotel after running a most interesting little errand. In one hand he carried a briefcase stuffed with stiff new C-bills. He couldn't help gloating over the way his life had changed in a mere six weeks. Piloting a 'Mech had been the farthest thing from his mind while facing long-term servitude on Herotitus. Yet, here he was with half a million C-bills in prize money from the Games, plus a hefty sum from his own personal wagers. Duncan wasn't a gambler by trade for nothing.

  The lock clicked slightly as the door to his room popped open easily, and he had his laser pistol out almost as quickly. Standing there in the middle of the room was a man whose slender body, thin neck, and sharp, pointed nose made him look like a human version of a weasel. Duncan's pistol was pointed at his head.

  "This would be an excellent time for you to tell me what you're doing in my room," he said, "and don't delay your explanation. I haven't killed anybody today and it's got me depressed."

  The man seemed totally unperturbed. "I, sir, am Count Sessa Lottimer." He gave an oily smile. "I apologize for my unorthodox entry. But I wanted to make an impression. So many others are bidding for your attention. I have come with an offer of employment."

  "As you say, my dear Count, the Demons have had many offers since our success in the Games, but most agents have used a more traditional approach. That is to say, they haven't broken into my quarters."

  "I'm here to make you a very unusual proposition," the Count said slowly, watching Duncan carefully. "An offer of work and a chance to be a part of a world ruled by Mech-Warriors. The Houses of the Inner Sphere use mercenaries like you and your people as so much cannon fodder to expand their own empires and bloat their own treasuries. I offer you more than a contract to serve at the whim of these despots. I offer you not only wealth ... but power!"

  Duncan's felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. This was it, he was sure of it. The man had spoken only in generalities so far, but they were the right generalities. This was the contract they'd been waiting for. He knew it. "Let's get back to the basics first. How much are we talking about it?"

  With Duncan's pistol still aimed at him, Count Lottimer reached slowly and carefully inside his loosely draped tunic and withdrew an envelope, which he handed to Duncan. After holstering his sidearm, Duncan removed a single sheet of paper from the envelope. Examining what was written on it, he saw that Lottimer wasn't kidding. The amount being offered the Demons was substantial.

  "The riches part meets what I require," said Duncan, "but what's this about 'final approval'?"

  "When one is building a new and sovereign state, one must use a certain amount of caution. You must meet with the personal representative of the one we call lord. Please note that you will be well paid just to meet with my master."

  "When and where would this meeting take place?"

  "On Kyeinnisan, in the Free Worlds League. I will arrange for a meeting upon your acceptance of the offer."

  "You have it. Or a tentative acceptance at least. And tell your 'master' we're a bunch of impatient souls. This meeting occurs soon or it doesn't take place at all."

  Lottimer bowed slightly and left the room. Duncan closed the door behind him.

  "A world ruled by MechWarriors, is it?" he said half-aloud. "This little weasel could be just what we've been waiting for."

  21

  Luck City

  Kyeinnisan

  The Protectorate Border, Free Worlds League

  8 June 3057

  A few days after the meeting with Count Lottimer, Duncan's Demons left Galatea bound for Kyeinnisan, an independent Marik world lying between the Protectorate and Regulus provinces. The capital of this planet known as the Gambler's World was Luck City, and it was a place Duncan knew well.

  The rooms booked for them in a downtown hotel were comfortable and clean, if not terribly plush, but their mysterious "host" had yet to appear. Standing at the window of his room, Duncan looked out at the city and marveled that it existed at all.

  Like Herotitus and Galatea, Kyeinnisan offered a wide-open society where every imaginable—and unimaginable— pleasure was for sale. And yet the serious-minded, idealistic Thomas Marik had not tried to shut it down. Perhaps he realized that such a world in his own backyard offered a place where certain kinds of information could be exchanged and a wary eye kept on potential threats to the security of the Free Worlds League. SAFE agents haunted this prosperous planet.

  It was ironic that Kyeinnisan, lawless as it was, had the lowest crime rate of any Free Worlds League planet, including Atreus. The planetary government maintained law and order—after a fashion—by means of a highly efficient, well-trained, Security Force. It was said that death was preferable to imprisonment in Kyeinnisan's infamous penal colony. The Security Force was maintained by a tax imposed on casino owners and the various other merchants involved with supplying the world's gaming and other entertainments. Such people might not have been motivated to pay those taxes, but not doing so meant a serious drop in profits when their premises were no longer patrolled or monitored and became too dangerous for most patrons. Duncan had also heard it said that individuals with enough wealth and power could engage the Security Force for their own purposes.

  Unlike the worlds of Solaris VII, Galatea, or Hardcore, Kyeinnisan offered no blood sports. This was mainly a mecca for those who enjoyed games of chance. Knowing the place well, Duncan should have felt at ease in this milieu, but he didn't. Their "Host" had yet to contact him.

  He had been amazed at the JumpShip circuit set up for them by their prospective employer. Instead of having to wait a week or more for their starship to recharge at each jump point along the route between Galatea and Kyeinnisan, they had simply transferred to a fresh ship awaiting them at each stop, drastically cutting the transportation time. But that relay had also meant leaving their own JumpShip at the first jump back into Free Worlds space. Their ship would, of course, get a message to Atreus about their destination. Equally disconcerting was their "host's" insistence that only the Command Lance, minus its 'Mechs, could be transported to Kyeinnisan's surface. The reason given was that government policy forbade the landing of large 'Mech forces on the planet.

  Duncan had persuaded Trane, still suffering some lingering effects of the poison, to remain on the DropShip. Trane had reluctantly agreed to let Dawn take his place. If anything went amiss on Kyeinnisan, Duncan wanted him where he could get his Knights into action. A knock at the door interrupted these reflections.

  Duncan went to the door and opened it, letting Hawkes, Bovos, and Dawn into the room. He could tell from the looks on their faces that something was wrong.

  "They took our weapons," Bovos said with a growl.

  "They? Who's they?"

  "A Security Force Patrol," said Hawkes. "They claimed they'd heard there was going to be a riot, or a fight, or something, and were confiscating all weapons. They got everything but this." Hawkes reached around behind his head and withdrew a long, thin throwing dagger from a sheath resting between his shoulder blades under his shirt.

  "But we were the only ones who were stopped," said Dawn. "The street was filled with people wearing sidearms."

  "I don't suppose you have a little something hidden away for a rainy day?" Duncan asked her. Seeing Dawn's baffled look, he tried again. "Maybe you have a weapon they didn't get?"

  "But, of course." Dawn reached inside the red belt of her Demons uniform, where Duncan could see a small pouch sewn to the backside. From the pouch she removed a laser pistol.

  "What about you, Bovos?" Duncan aske
d. "Any little hidden treasures the Security Forces overlooked?" Bovos shook his head glumly.

  "I guess it's a good thing I dropped by to see my old friend Roy this afternoon to pick up a few things," Duncan said. He went to the closet and brought out a small valise, which he opened to display four small-caliber-slug-throwing pistols. "Help yourselves. They're small, but the slugs have a mercury tip that makes a nasty internal wound. They'll also be easy to conceal."

  "So, we've partially solved one problem," said Hawkes, "but this whole setup still makes me edgy."

  "Me, too. Whoever is behind this contract offer and recruiting new citizens for their brave new world is going to be super-cautious. I think we can assume we're being watched"—watched very closely."

  "What now?" Dawn asked.

  "A while ago I got a message from the manager of one of the casinos inviting us to visit his establishment this evening. We've even been given a small line of credit as an enticement. So ... we do as Count Lottimer suggested—relax, enjoy ourselves, or pretend to, until we're contacted. Most of all, don't ask questions, don't make any waves. Keep a low profile and just do what everybody else is doing."

  Dawn looked dubious. "And if trouble does come, what then?"

  "We'll be on our own, but I did take out a little insurance." Duncan reached inside his jacket and took out a compact two-way commlink until. "Kyeinnisan's jump point is only two days away. Trane has one of our people monitoring communications traffic around the clock. The friend who provided me with these pistols has a private, very powerful, narrow-beam transmitter. If we get in over our heads I'll use this to contact him and he'll get a message to Trane on the DropShip."

  "And ... ?" Hawkes asked.

  "Trane and the others will commandeer the JumpShip and stand by to deploy here if needed."

  "So if big-time trouble comes our way we go it alone for two, maybe three days, until Trane gets here."