Surrender Your Dreams

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  She heard a terrible crunch. Her Templar groaned and dropped down on its left side. The restraining straps in the cockpit dug deep into her shoulder blades, and somehow her coolant vest had been torn and was spewing a thin, sticky stream of light green coolant into the air. Lady Synd wondered if she had broken a rib in the fall.

  The damage display of the Templar showed that it was still functional, but most of the torso armor was gone. Her fusion-reactor shielding must have been fractured when she fell, because the heat warning indicator was rising quickly. Nothing about her situation was pretty, but she still could fight—and still had the desire to. Rocking the pedal controls, she levered the Templar up to its knees. The Phoenix Hawk was in the street in front of her.

  The Jade Falcon warrior was struggling to get his 'Mech upright as well. His 'Mech was less damaged than the Templar, but she could see that the 'Mech's left side was crumpled like a hovercar that had been in a bad head-on collision. She charged her functional PPC as she rose. This warrior was good. This warrior had to go down.

  Before she could get off a shot, a squad of Fidelis warriors, along with a lone Republic soldier, appeared at the knees of the Phoenix Hawk and immediately went on the offensive. She watched two Fidelis scamper up the side of the Phoenix Hawk and lash satchel charges to the area just below the cockpit. These were not normal charges but shaped explosives that detonated in a cone configuration. They would fire a jet of superheated metal into the target, a blast that could penetrate even the toughest armor. The Fidelis warriors moved away, and the MechWarrior in the cockpit of the Hawk, could do nothing. He had to be able to see the charges, and his only option was to punch out.

  Synd wanted him to punch out. He didn't. The charges went off and the cockpit filled with death. The Phoenix Hawk slumped to the street, ripping up the ferrocrete as it dropped.

  She hoped the fight was over, but those hopes shattered when a Stalking Spider emerged through the smoke. It fired down at her Templar. Fresh into the fight, her new foe came at her with the ferocity she had come to expect from the Falcons. Lifting her PPC, she prepared for the next wave of death and destruction. It came far too quickly.

  Interpretation of Duty 5

  Munich Spaceport

  Brandenburg, Callison

  Former Prefecture VIII

  Fortress Republic (+33 days)

  They arrived on a cold, windy day. The Onondaga was an Aurora-class DropShip, a relative lightweight as DropShips go, and the atmospheric turbulence added a new dimension to the return of gravity; Kristoff Erbe felt a jolt of nausea with every bump. He was glad to be watching their approach from the bridge rather than making a hot drop into a combat zone.

  Their sister DropShip was a merchant transport named the Redball Express 13, and it landed a few minutes after the Onondaga. The Redball would take charge of the DropShip fusion engine assemblies, the retrieval of which Kristoff Erbe considered the easiest part of his mission. The trickier part would be meeting with the legate and governor and arranging to obtain and take off-world a percentage of the Callison militia's hardware. After he completed this mission, he would follow Paladin Redburn's orders to make a rendezvous in the Tali- tha system.

  It had been a sobering trip for Sir Erbe and the rest of the crew. The day they jumped, a message had been broadcast to their JumpShip from Exarch Levin himself via Damien Redburn. The walls of Fortress Republic were going up. The knights and their troops would be jumping out of The Republic per their existing arrangements, and they would not be coming back. Redburn had relayed the message from his own JumpShip, the Hartford. The phrasing of the message strongly implied that he, too, was leaving The Republic.

  Erbe watched as his troops listened to Levin's address to the Inner Sphere. The handful of Republic veterans were shaken. They had known that their mission would take them away from The Republic, but actually hearing the words that dissolved the ideal they served deeply moved them. Erbe saw more than one man crying.

  The reaction of the Fidelis troops surprised him. He studied their faces as they listened to Levin speak. He had half-expected them to show no emotion at all—they generally appeared to be completely stoic. One by one, they bowed their heads as if in prayer. The gesture caught him off guard: It was as if they had come face- to-face with a prophesy. He thought back to his discussions with Damien Redburn, and realized that the paladin had been right: Faith was an important aspect of this mission.

  Adamans broke the mold of his fellow Fidelis. He had a ready, dry sense of humor. Erbe and the Fidelis commander enjoyed a drink together each evening, and Adamans relaxed, telling stories of the Fidelis military training. After a while, Erbe decided he seemed perfectly normal—except for his refusal to talk about the history of the Fidelis. Kristoff soon stopped asking questions. We all have something in our pasts that we don't want to discuss. 1 understand better than most.

  As the DropShips settled onto their landing pads, Sir Erbe issued the standard orders for military ships arriving on a planet. Though he carried a company of troops, he expected to have no need for them, since his mission required only discussion and negotiation. Still, things had changed since they left New Earth. He assumed that Callison knew about Fortress Republic; the news broadcasts were filled with stories of changes in The Republic, but he had paid them little attention.

  He was a Knight of the Sphere on a mission for the exarch, and that title had always commanded considerable respect. It was somewhat concerning that the news reports didn't portray the citizens of Callison as supporting Fortress Republic, and there were discussions of "the unfortunate incident at the barracks" that caught his attention. In light of this uncertainty, Erbe chose to err on the side of caution. He ordered Colonel Adamans to deploy a light security screen around the DropShips and coordinate with spaceport security forces.

  As soon as Adamans left to organize the security detail, Erbe attempted to contact Legate Nehemiah Leif, whose profile he had reviewed en route. His call did not go through to the legate's office; he was abruptly transferred to a number of different government agencies. That struck him as odd, since standard operating procedure for the arrival of a Republic military force on any planet required immediate communication with the planetary legate. When he became annoyed with the runaround and demanded an explanation of why he was not being immediately connected, the channel was cut off. Apparently the Callison Light Horse was not taking calls.

  Minutes later, Colonel Adamans requested his presence on the forward personnel ramp, and Sir Kristoff Erbe realized that his mission on Callison was not going to be a milk run.

  Adamans pointed at the perimeter fence nearly half a kilometer away. Munich Spaceport was an urban facility, situated on the east edge of the city, surrounded by warehouses and bustling city streets; a completely ordinary arrangement for most planets. What stood out here was that the fence was lined with ranks of protestors. Some held up flags of The Republic that had thick red tape pulled diagonally across the insignia. Others held up protest signs that he couldn't read. The sound of angry yelling and chanting floated across the ferrocrete. It was an impressive gathering.

  "What do you make of this?" Adamans asked. "I have deployed our security forces under the landing struts to take advantage of the available cover. These residents are not behaving as expected; in addition, I have been informed that the spaceport authority has refused to provide us with any services, including supplying us with potable water and fresh food. They say they have orders to deny us access to their facilities. They were . . . curt."

  "You informed them that we are on a mission for The Republic?"

  "They did not seem impressed. One of them used a derogatory term regarding Exarch Levin and his birth mother; I will not repeat it for you." Erbe caught a fleeting glimpse of Adamans' dry humor. "I think it is safe to say they were not impressed or intimidated by our presence."

  Kristoff surveyed the protestors again. "Alright. Adamans, keep all troops beyond the security detail on board the ships. Prep
our 'Mechs and vehicles for rapid deployment. Inform all personnel that we are on a heightened state of alert. Make it clear that no one is to fire their weapon unless they are directly fired upon. No one is to leave the ship without your personal authorization."

  "Understood, sir," the Fidelis trooper replied. "What do you plan to do?"

  "I need to talk to someone in authority," Erbe said. "There is some sort of misunderstanding here that I need to sort out." As he watched the protestors, he saw a Morningstar command vehicle move just behind the mob. A militia vehicle, supporting the protestors, monitoring the spaceport. Something has gone seriously wrong. His first reaction was that Legate Leif must have turned traitor—or something worse. This kind of behavior toward us cannot be ignored or tolerated. This is still The Republic!

  * * *

  From the bridge of the Onondaga Sir Erbe watched the sleek hoverlimo move through the mob and onto the spaceport tarmac. He used the bridge viewscreen to magnify the image. The crowd seemed to treat the hoverlimo with reverence; no one pounded on the hood or doors as it passed. Governor Allison Stewart clearly held her people under control.

  It had taken several hours to get through to her office, and Erbe was not allowed to speak directly to the governor. She apparently was too busy dealing with the civilian unrest at the spaceport to talk to him. He convinced her administrative assistant to arrange for him to meet Governor Stewart, but he was not allowed to go to her. She would come to him.

  He recognized that it was all part of the media ploy. The image of Governor Allison Stewart bravely driving without guards to the heavily armed DropShip would play well with her image in the press. He didn't mind. In the hour prior to her arrival, he had seen several other Light Horse vehicles mingling with the mob at the perimeter fence, including a massive Mangonel. Governor Stewart was making it clear that Callison was not a friendly place if you wore the uniform of The Republic.

  Adamans escorted the governor to Erbe's stateroom. There were more comfortable rooms on the ship in which to conduct this meeting, but Erbe decided that since Stewart possessed all the advantages so far, it wouldn't hurt to try making her a little uncomfortable. She was waiting for him when he entered the cramped gray space in the bowels of the ship.

  Kristoff was surprised by her appearance. She was short, stocky and not very physically appealing. He was of average height, yet he towered over her. He immediately understood that she must be a crafty politician in order to wield such power without physical charisma. He understood that she was tricky and dangerous.

  He extended his hand and she shook it courteously.

  "I am Kristoff Erbe, Knight of the Sphere. It is a pleasure to meet you. Governor Stewart."

  She gestured for him to sit. "I wish this meeting could have taken place at a more opportune and peaceful time. Sir Erbe."

  "I could not help but notice the gathering that is protesting our arrival. Governor. I expected that the arrival of a representative of The Republic would have received a more cordial reception."

  Her face betrayed no emotion. "We have had an unfortunate series of events take place here on Callison, Sir Knight. When word of Exarch Levin's abandonment of our prefecture reached Callison, a series of protests broke out."

  "Abandonment?" he replied, his voice filled with apparently sincere distress. "I heard Exarch Levin's speech myself, Governor, and it was clear that The Republic has not abandoned this Prefecture or Callison. He is making a strategic move necessary to preserve The Republic. I fear someone has misinterpreted his message."

  "I suggest you reread the transmission the exarch released. Your version of events does not match my interpretation, nor is it what the majority of my constituents believe. They see only that the exarch has retreated, holed up to save himself and a mere fragment of what Stone was able to create. Levin has turned a blind eye to us."

  "This is a distortion of the facts."

  She flashed a short smile. "The facts are that we are alone here, and are likely to be alone for some time to come."

  "How does Legate Leif feel about all of this?" He asked this question quite deliberately: While waiting for the arrival of the governor, he had studied the recent media reports. It seemed obvious to him that the rioting that had occurred days earlier was organized and the legate targeted. He had been the only fatality of the event. I have to assume she was involved.

  The question didn't fluster her. "I am afraid that the legate was killed during the outbreak of violence. Per Exarch Levin's instructions, I have assumed direct control of the Callison Light Horse."

  Sir Erbe paused. "I noticed that the militia was deployed in support of those people at the fence, Governor Stewart."

  "Strictly as a precaution. We could not predict your intentions. We do not want violence, and the Light Horse ensures that order is maintained without suppressing the rights of the people to free speech. Which brings me to an excellent question: Why are you here, Sir Erbe?"

  She finally had cut to the chase. "I have come under orders from the exarch. Given the current state of relations between Callison and The Republic, I am reluctant to reveal those orders. Suffice it to say that the present matters here and the loss of the legitimate legate leave my orders in question." He chose his words as carefully as she had.

  She faked puzzlement, clearly an expression she assumed for his benefit. "I don't understand, Sir Erbe. In the past, many governors have assumed leadership of the military—until a replacement can be named, of course— when legates have been killed. I have simply fulfilled my role as outlined by The Republic. And as to our state of relations—I am unaware that we are at odds. Are we not part of the same government?"

  "Those protestors tell me differently. I have landed at your spaceport peacefully, only to be confronted with BattleMechs of a Republic militia and an angry mob picketing my presence. Surely you must accept that I would be somewhat apprehensive at revealing the nature of my mission."

  "The militia is there to protect you, Sir Erbe," she said warmly. "Given the protests that resulted in the death of the legate, I simply wanted to make sure that these protestors did not exceed their legal rights."

  Perhaps kill me as well? "I hear what you are saying,

  Governor Stewart. But I must interpret your actions with the safety of my troops in mind."

  "I'm sorry that you feel you cannot trust me. Sir Erbe. I find that disappointing. It is a sad day when a Knight of the Sphere must operate under such conditions and terms." She paused. "I would ask that any actions you undertake be coordinated with the militia and through me. I would hate for military movement on your part to be misinterpreted by the people of Callison. The exarch's speech has caused turmoil, and I would hate for you or your personnel to suffer from the chaos." Kristoff heard the threat veiled by the diplomatic doublespeak.

  "Governor Stewart, sleep well tonight knowing that we have come at the exarch's request. If matters get out of hand and you are unable to control your people, we stand ready to assist you."

  She gave him a curt nod, and they stood at the same time. A Fidelis trooper, a tall woman, escorted the governor off the ship. Adamans entered the tiny room and stood next to the knight. "I trust that your negotiations went favorably?" His eyebrow lifted as he spoke.

  "For a Fidelis, you sure are sarcastic," Kristoff replied.

  "The results of poor upbringing. 1 assure you," Adamans replied with a grin.

  "They did not go well at all."

  "What are your orders, sir?"

  Kristoff paused. "Adamans, let me give you the situation. The planetary legate has been killed in rioting that was supposedly spawned by the formation of Fortress Republic. Governor Stewart is boldly using this opportunity to seize complete power of Callison, including the military, which is now under her control. The local population has turned against The Republic. I am supposed to work with a ghost knight who hasn't made contact and apparently has done nothing to stop the current situation from escalating. We're alone, cut off from reinforce
ments or aid and surrounded by potentially hostile forces—people I have no desire to injure or kill. With

  Fortress Republic in place, we have no where to retreat."

  "Sir," Adamans replied, as if to acknowledge their plight.

  Nothing in his training or past experience would help him in this situation. Erbe said nothing for a moment. "My orders are 'sit and wait.' Stewart wants us to react—to overreact. Not yet. When we act, it will be on my terms. We still have a card to play. That card is a joker named Ceresco Hancock."

  Altar of Freedom 7

  DropShip Excelsior

  New Dearborn, Ryde

  Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

  Fortress Republic (-18 days)

  Lady Synd was jerked into consciousness by a nearby explosion. The troopers carrying her fell from the blast concussion, and she jarred awake at the impact and the pain that flooded her body. She moaned, making a sound she had heard on countless battlefields—an uncontrollable cry of agony. She was embarrassed for a second. I'm a Knight of the Sphere. I'm supposed to set an example. Her fingers dug into the grass and she pushed hard to turn on her side. In a way, she was glad for whatever it was that had brought her pain. She had regained consciousness, and that meant she had control again ... of her command and her fate. She clung to that thought.

  Boyne rolled her over. Dull red droplets of blood, probably not his own, splattered his brow and cheeks. "Are you alright?"

  "Define 'alright.' "

  He grinned. "That will have to do." Hoisting her up, he laid her over his shoulder like a personal kit. It hurt, but she fought the urge to complain. He walked as smoothly as possible up the ramp of the DropShip Excelsior, then laid her onto a medical cot. Immediately a medic began to check her over. She waved him off. Synd was lightheaded, but it was still her battle to win or lose. "Sit rep," she commanded.

  "M'lady, you are in no condition—" Boyne began.