Hunter sighed. "We need to find Colonel Daum and prepare for the final phase of this operation."
Finis 1
Contaminated Zone A1 (Previously Breezewood)
Kwamashu
Former Duchy of Andurien
Fortress Republic (+21 years)
A light breeze caressed the gathering people, who came together again as they had for the past few years on this date. It was an anniversary, a memorial to those who had gone before, a tribute to the dark times that had followed Fortress Republic. In the distance was a field of green grass and red poppies. Breezewood had been plowed flat years ago, pushed into the crater formed by the blast that had eventually laid waste to much of Kwamashu. A few cities had sprouted on the planet, places where people tried to scratch out a living on a world the rest of the universe considered a contaminated tract. Those millions who remained lived far from the epicenter of the disaster.
Pristine rows of grave markers fanned out on the grass-covered slopes away from the city; some were in better shape than others, though all were uniform in shape and size. A circular plaza of fieldstone stood just off-center, occupied by a lone sepulcher. Flagpoles marked one end of the plaza, though the flags that fluttered in the breeze were different than those that had flown over Kwamashu two decades years earlier; different than any then known. Though governments changed, respect for these dead never did.
They gathered here each year to honor the dead, and perhaps purge their souls of the stains of their own actions. The only building visible was two kilometers away from this spot, an old monastery carved into a rock wall. It received a respectful look from each new arrival as they made their way to the stone plaza. The monastery was the home of the custodian, the man who maintained this site.
One by one the people who gathered, veterans and family members alike, made their way to the tomb. They approached in silence, each resting a hand on the pink granite, caressing the stone, mentally passing on their respects. Some closed their eyes, savoring their memories. Other faces showed the pain those memories inflicted. Each year knights who had never made the pilgrimage came for the first time; every year time thinned the ranks of those who had come since the beginning.
One man relied heavily on a cane as he limped to the sepulcher. He came every year, refusing the fanfare and entourage he deserved. His flowing cape marked his rank and his weathered face mapped what he represented to each person gathered there. Time was taking a toll on him, but as his wrinkled hand caressed the name carved on the tomb, a flicker of a smile lit his face . . . pride in the man entombed there.
Jonah Levin pulled his hand away reluctantly.
Damien Redburn had died years ago in the way he deserved to die—in an epic battle that had strained their friendship nearly to the breaking point. Jonah Levin had ensured that his friend had enjoyed a formal state funeral on Terra, after Fortress Republic had been broken and the great Liberation accomplished. Some dignitaries came, though few knew of Redburn's role outside Fortress Republic. Even fewer knew of his role in events on Kwamashu. The coffin entombed on Terra was there for ceremony only. Levin had made sure that his predecessor had been buried here, a truth known only to these veterans. It had been Redburn's last request, supported by the survivors of those dark years.
This year's speech was being given by Vergessen, a strapping young man untouched by the chaotic years of Fortress Republic. He was a stirring orator. He spoke of honoring the dead on Kwamashu, of Damien Redburn and the knights who served him. the sacrifices they made in the name of the old Republic. His father, Boyne, stood proudly in the crowd. Lady Synd, Vergessen's mother, had not attended the last three reunions. She had last come with her husband to reinter the dead they had lost in the fighting on Ryde. The older members of this gathering were fond of pointing to Vergessen and commenting that "back in the day. he would have made knight, or even paladin."
A hovercar arrived at the edge of the plaza and a woman got out. Her security people remained with the car, but carefully scanned the gathered group. She moved into the crowd, quickly blending in. Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but her face was well known. Cheryl Gunson made her way to Jonah Levin and bowed her head respectfully as she stood at his side, wrapping her trench coat tighter to keep out the cool breeze.
"I wondered if you would make it this year," he said.
"I don't miss this. Hunt makes sure I'm here, even if he never comes."
Levin scanned the crowd. "Each year there are less of us. But Hunter is here. I had dinner with him two nights ago. He just never comes to the ceremony. His children are over there."
"How could I miss them?" she said, flashing a smile. Hunter Mannheim's children had played important roles after Fortress Republic. Ron was known for his prowess as a MechWarrior, and Judith Mannheim was an up- and-coming politician on Terra. They were in the crowd, listening to Vergessen's words. "It is a shame that I see them more than Hunt does."
"He'll come around. Even after all this time, there is a lot for him to resolve. Kwamashu's scars run deep in him and the custodian. You know that."
"Jonah, he still hasn't spoken to his children," she replied bitterly.
Levin changed the subject. "And where is Kristoff?"
"He wanted to come. This is the first year he's missed. Given the current state of affairs, though, I needed him handling matters at home." She made no further reference to events on Callison. "Plus, travel is harder on him these days."
"Has he made an honest woman of you yet?" Levin poked, the prerogative of an old man.
She gave him a wry grin. "No one can make me honest, Jonah. You know that." Vergessen's speech ended. Wine bottles and glasses seemed to suddenly appear everywhere in the crowd. The wine was part of the ceremony. It was from a stock that Lady Synd made sure was delivered each year for the survivors. Few knew the origin of the tradition, but everyone solemnly honored the living and the dead with a traditional toast.
The old man looked around as the crowd began to mingle; there was a muted shuffling as children and grandchildren pointed him out to each other, and in a moment most eyes were focused on him. He had tried years ago to avoid speaking to the group, claiming that he wasn't worthy to speak to such a distinguished gathering. That line had never worked.
"Redburn was proud of you—all of you," he said, raising his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Fortress Republic was a necessary and dark time for our people. You, your parents, your loved ones, all played an important role in the events of that time. This is the one place where you are allowed to honor yourselves. There are other memorials, like Fortress Wall in Geneve, where the Inner Sphere honors those who fell in service to The Republic. But this is the one place where you, the knights and ghost knights who worked under Redburn to keep Stone's dream and ideals alive, can come to honor each other. Redburn held each and every one of you in the highest esteem, and in the end gave The Republic his ultimate sacrifice. He asked to be interred here, instead of on Terra, so that he could be with his knights." Someone pressed a glass of wine into his hand. He hoisted it high for everyone to see. "To the defenders of the faith."
The crowd responded with a quiet but firm "Defenders of the faith." Unshed tears brightened many eyes, but as many smiles signaled hope for the future.
* * *
Hunter Mannheim had aged a great deal over the years. His waist had grown two inches, but he was still fit enough to pilot a BattleMech. His hair was white now, his skin was weathered to the consistency of leather, and wrinkles marked the corners of his eyes. Hunt nursed his cup of coffee, looking out the window of the monastery at the gathered crowd. He came each year, the same as them, but each year he remained here, visiting his friend, fulfilling an obligation he had placed on himself more than a decade ago.
The custodian was as skinny he had been in his youth and still moved with the same speed. A hint of gray at his temples was the only sign of his age. Ghost Knight Jeremy Chin wore ordinary clothes suitable for gardening, with grass stains a
t the knees. Tending the memorial was his responsibility. Years after the massive evacuation of the world, the monastery he had raided on his mission to Kwamashu had become his home. No one bothered him here—the only exception being the few weeks a year when he allowed Hunter Mannheim to visit.
The rest of the time he had someone else to keep him company.
"Your children are out there again this year," Chin said, fixing himself a cup of coffee. "You should put an end to this. For Stone's sake, go and see them."
Hunter bowed his head. They had this conversation every year, and every year his answer was the same. Hunter had not seen his family since the walls of Fortress Republic went up. Even when his wife died and it seemed possible for him to see his children, to talk to them, to try to explain where he had been and what he had been doing all of these years, he couldn't face them. Each year it got harder. Until he took care of his other son, the man in front of him now, he couldn't stand to face them.
"You know it's just not the right time" was all he said.
"You're afraid," Chin chided.
Hunter glared at him. "I am no longer afraid of anything."
"You're afraid of them. You don't want them to know the truth about what happened here."
"They know what I did."
"Do they?" Chin raised his voice and slammed his coffee onto the wooden table. He closed his eyes and turned his head, but only for a second. He was on medication, but when he got excited the voice came back. He was struggling with it now; Hunter knew, because he had seen it so many times before.
The voice of Thomas Marik taunted his friend, goaded him, mocked him.
His eyes sought the small wooden box set on a low stool at the foot of Jeremy's bed.
"Come on Jeremy, you can beat him," he said in a low tone.
Chin turned his eyes back to Hunter. "I will. He hates you. It's worse at night, you know."
The box. That damned box. It was the anchor that tied Jeremy to this spot. It was a burden that only the two of them could understand or bear. Ceresco Hancock had found help for Chin early on, but the experts all agreed it would take time for him to recover. By now, it had been years. Jeremy had continued to serve The Republic with distinction, but he had changed as the dead Marik seemed to influence his actions more heavily. That was why Jeremy finally had chosen to become custodian of the memorial. Hunter had hoped things would change for the better when they returned Marik to his resting place. But it seemed to have gotten worse. All because of that damned beaten-up box.
His anger, his frustration at the years his friend had dedicated to this horrifying artifact, the pain he saw in Jeremy—it tore at him. He tore his eyes away from the box and considered the man who had been his charge all these years. The urge overwhelmed him. He leaped from his chair, grabbed the box and hoisted it above his head. Jeremy screamed in sheer terror. No one else had ever touched the box. Mannheim slammed it onto the stone floor and the wood shattered. Jeremy dropped to his knees amid the remains, moaning in panic and fear.
"You've caused enough pain in the universe, you bastard!" Hunter shouted at the splinters of wood.
The remains of Thomas Marik had spilled out among the remains of the old box. Hunter had expected to see bones. What he saw was sticks of wood, each one carved with characters he couldn't read. Jeremy, his mouth agape in shock, chose sticks at random, picked them up and examined them.
"He's gone."
Hunter pushed at the sticks with the toe of his shoe. "He was never here." Either Thomas Marik's remains had never been in the box or they had been stolen years before. The Duchy of Andurien could not have known it was a box full of fancy sticks. After Kwamashu. they had sent teams to search for the stolen remains out of fear that their government would be exposed for hiding the worst criminal known to mankind.
It had all been a lie.
He hunkered down next to Jeremy and put his arm around the younger man's shoulders, as if he were comforting a child. Chin simply muttered. "Gone," over and over.
"I'm sorry, Jeremy, but he had to go."
"He's gone." "Yes, Jeremy," he said, helping him to his feet. "He's gone forever. He can't hurt you anymore."
Chin stared at his friend. "I feel—different."
"Good." Hunter smiled.
"He's gone."
"I know."
"I'm free. I am finally free. I don't have to listen to him anymore." He seemed younger than he had in years. His hands were shaking.
Hunter smiled. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Yes," he said. "I will be, I think. I can be free now."
"I think you'd better sit down."
"No, Hunter, I'm fine." Jeremy glanced through the window that faced the memorial. "You . . . you need to go, though. The ceremony will end soon."
"Go?"
"You've released me; now I'm releasing you. Your children are here but won't be much longer. You need to see them."
"Are you sure?" Was it really this easy?
"Don't worry about me. I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders. I know you've felt guilty all these years because of me. You don't have to anymore. Go see your kids. For God's sake, do it now."
"You should come with me."
"No. I can't. I want to clean up here." Chin gave the shattered box an uneasy look.
Hunter stared into his old friend's face and saw a new calmness in his eyes. He was amazed, practically giddy with relief. If I had known all it would take was smashing that damned box, I would have done it years ago. He clasped Jeremy's shoulders, nodded once and turned to go. He felt unusually light. As he walked toward the memorial, he glanced back once and saw Jeremy Chin in the window, waving to him.
* * *
"You've gotten better at lying over the years." Thomas Marik chuckled as Jeremy gathered the last fragments of the box and the carved sticks and set them together on the table. "He believes I'm gone."
Jeremy grinned. "You're the one who's wrong. You are gone."
Marik, his half-obscured face twisted in mock surprise, struck a dramatic pose. He almost looked heroic. "What do you mean, Jeremy? You can still hear me."
"You're in my head. I know that. I always knew it."
"So? That changes nothing."
"You've stopped me from doing what I wanted to do all these years. You've stopped me from doing what needed to be done. Now, I control you. I can ignore you."
"You don't have to do this," Thomas Marik said. Chin could hear the plea in his voice. "There's always a better way to handle things like this."
Jeremy Chin looked at the pieces of the box that had not held Marik's remains. It was as if years of bondage had shattered with the wood. He grinned. "I can do something I wanted to do all along, something you wouldn't let me do."
"No!" Marik screamed.
Chin pulled the holdout pistol and in one fluid movement put it to his temple and pulled the trigger.
Finis 2
Enclave Hall
Southern Mopelia Island, New Earth
Fortress Republic (+21 years)
Each step was a struggle, but he refused help. He was custos of the Fidelis, and this would be his swan song. They would not remember him as feeble. At 131, he had cheated death many times. He often joked that he would outlive Kerensky himself and was pleased that he had, but he had paid a cost over the years. One of his legs had been budded from genetic stock. One eye and arm were bionic replacements. Transfusions and genetically grown organs had replaced the originals that had failed. I haven't felt my pecker in decades; a small price for cheating death.
In the past ten years, he rarely rose from his bed. Today changed that. The message he had received from Levin had changed that. He had taken the drugs mixed just for this occasion. They would give him the strength to walk in, to preside one more time. The cost . . . well, it was worth it.
He took his seat at the center of the half-circle of seats that made up the Enclave, the ruling council of the Fidelis. Each member watched hi
m, their silence marking a deep reverence for their leader. Adamans, the na- Custos, sat to his right, the battle scars on his arms marking his turning point from warrior to leader.
The custos studied his council. His bionic hand held a piece of paper. He couldn't feel it but the sensors in the arm gave him feedback indicating that the note was secure. It wasn't touch, but it was close.
"I convene this meeting of the Enclave," he said in a gravelly voice. Heads bowed to his word and will. He had sent a message to Jonah Levin, the last leader who knew of the Fidelis' bond to The Republic. He had done this without the consensus of the Enclave. While Levin's status in the government had changed—hell, everything about what had been The Republic had changed—he alone could answer the question that must be asked. The custos had met Levin after the Great Liberation; the two men had not always been friends, but as custos, he had always honored his people's pledge to Stone.
"I took a liberty within my role as custos," he began. "I sent a message to Jonah Levin. I asked him if the Fidelis had completed their duty—if we had honored fully our service in Stone's memory." He heard the murmurs, but no one dared challenge him. The custos scanned their faces and saw anticipation. Anxiety. Excitement. All things that were becoming harder for him to feel.
He unfolded the paper. "Levin's response was yes. The Fidelis are released from their bond. We are free to determine our own destiny." Everyone talked at once. Their voices were filled not with joy, but with fear.
"What will we do?" Hargis asked.
"What are your plans for us, Custos?" asked Jezebel from her seat at the far end of the curve of chairs. He let the questions fly, giving them nothing but a smile in response. That must scare them. I can't remember the last time I smiled.
"That question is for another to answer. I am done. My service as custos, carrier of the Visum, is fulfilled. Adamans is now your leader, and your questions are best leveled at him." He nodded to Adamans, who was regarding his former leader with a curious look. The former custos forced himself to a standing position. For decades he had carried the weight of his people. I did what I set out to do. Now someone else can finish the work.
Surrender Your Dreams Page 27
