The Ruins of Power

by Robert E. Vardeman

Austin swung around to face the new threat but quickly elevated the muzzle away from Manfred Leclerc.

  “I don’t know why the first two rounds didn’t stop him,” Austin said, his voice cracking with strain. “I hit him. I saw.”

  “They were armor-piercing rounds and went through him like a laser through vacuum. Where’d you get the pistol?”

  Austin knew that wasn’t Manfred’s real question. He really meant, why are you carrying a weapon whose capabilities are a mystery? Manfred was always the commander, always the instructor.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Austin said. “Marta Kinsolving—”

  “Marta!” The look on Manfred’s face confirmed all he suspected.

  “She gave me the pistol. She’s back there in her limo. We’ve got to get you into hiding where—” Austin stumbled when another white-hot pinpoint blossomed above him, this time from the other side of the street.

  “What was that?” Manfred asked, rubbing his dazzled eyes. “I was looking almost directly at it when it blew up.”

  “Come on,” Austin said, realizing what Manfred did not. “Don’t say a word. Just follow me. Fast!”

  The two set out at double time. Austin wasn’t sure he remembered the way back through the tumble-down buildings but felt the need to show Manfred he wasn’t a complete idiot stumbling over his own feet. Austin had always thought of himself as an expert soldier, but this brief excursion in Havoc convinced him there were soldiers and there were soldiers. Urban warfare hadn’t been his military specialty.

  He preferred the cockpit of a ’Mech to being on foot, without armor, with a small but potent weapon that was inappropriate for the mission.

  “There’s the limo,” cried Manfred, breaking into a dead run. Austin followed at a slower pace, winded from the dash through the ruins. He blinked as another of the brilliant white points flared a dozen meters beyond the limousine. He caught himself against the side of the car, looked behind, and realized he and Manfred had attracted a considerable amount of attention. A small crowd of haggard, almost skeletal men and women dressed in rags trailed them, as if they were magnets pulling iron filings. Austin thought to shoot at them, then lowered the pistol and swung into the back of the limo. It would have been a mercy for the people, but it was wrong to murder those he was sworn to protect.

  Manfred and Marta sat side by side, their thighs pressed together tightly. Other than this he would have thought they had just met, given how they kept their eyes locked on him and their hands to themselves. He dropped into the seat opposite them and said, “Can we get out of here?”

  The words hardly escaped his lips when he was thrown forward by the sudden acceleration. Manfred caught him and gently pushed him back into the soft leather-upholstered seat.

  “I’m glad to leave,” Austin said. “How’d you survive there, Manfred? That place is terrible. I’ve got to tell my father and do something.”

  “He knows,” Manfred said. “Other, more pressing problems need to be taken care of first.”

  “But—”

  “Austin, be quiet,” said Marta. “Did you notice the small explosions back there?”

  “What were they?” Manfred asked.

  “Remote surveillance cameras. Tortorelli might have ordered them installed, but any picture has already made its way to Elora. Count on it,” Marta said.

  “Why did they blow up?”

  “All WorldComm makes them, so I can locate them. I might not be able to tap into their encoded signal, but once I know where they are, I can send a radio spike that will blow out the electronics. And I did.”

  “What are we going to do?” Manfred said. “Tortorelli and Elora both know where I am—and that puts you in danger, too.”

  “While you were out sightseeing, I contacted my security chief. There’s no way we can hide you, not on Mirach. We’re going directly to our company’s launch facility,” Marta said. “A DropShip is taking off soon. You can hide out on Kuton.”

  “I’m not leaving Mirach, not now!” Manfred protested.

  “She’s right,” Austin said. “We need a leader and that’s got to be you. If we don’t split the Legate’s forces somehow, he will seize complete control.”

  “You’re talking mutiny, treason,” Manfred said. “I don’t think so, Austin. Not enough troopers in the Home Guard would go along.”

  “If you don’t try, there won’t be any stopping Tortorelli and Elora,” Marta said. “Austin’s convinced me that the MBA can’t put those refitted ’Mechs into the field without them causing terrible collateral damage.”

  Manfred stared at Austin for a moment, as if seeing him in a new light. Then he nodded slowly. “He’s right, if he’s been arguing that. The ’Mechs can defend your plants, but they’d be at a real disadvantage if you tried to field them offensively against soldiers in battle armor. Property damage in the city would be awful, and every soldier a ’Mech killed would be a loyal Mirach citizen following what would appear to be legitimate orders from the Legate.”

  Austin sank back in the soft seat and felt every ache and pain in his body.

  “That was clever leaving the message on the fountain,” he said to Manfred. His friend smiled and nodded once. Austin got the message. Shut up.

  He watched Manfred and Marta pressed so close together in the spacious limo, trying to appear as if they hardly knew each other, but since he was looking, he saw the glances and the small, furtive touches. He almost asked if Marta would accompany Manfred to the moon.

  “There it is,” Marta said, the window polarization changing to show the DropShip field. “Let’s hope we’ve stayed one step ahead.” She looked at Austin and pursed her lips. “You should go with him. Your life’s in as much danger as his.”

  “I need to get my father out among the people where he can speak freely, without having every word censored by Lady Elora.”

  The limo drove to the far side of the field where the smallest of the ships stood. Austin fancied he could see the DropShip quivering in eagerness to launch, but that was only his imagination. If anything, there was less activity around it than around its larger companions across the field.

  “I’ll release the security ring,” Marta said. She leaned across Manfred, who did not mind at all, and took out a small Span-net phone from the armrest console. Marta fiddled with it a few seconds and gave the authorization codes that would allow them to approach the DropShip this close to launch.

  “I feel as if I’m running away,” Manfred said. “There’s got to be a better way for me to rally support. If I’m on Kuton, it’ll make me look like a coward.” He took the phone from her and tucked it into his pocket.

  “I’ll check to be sure everything’s in order,” Austin said, wanting to leave Manfred and Marta alone for a moment. He climbed out of the limo, looked around, and then walked toward the DropShip to stare up at its bulk. From a distance it had looked small; this close, he estimated that it towered more than a hundred meters. Lights from around the field caught the shining exterior and turned it silvery, with darker markings declaring that this was an AllWorldComm cargo vessel. Austin sucked in a deep breath, tasted the airborne metallic tang of reactants used as fuel.

  Austin saw Marta hurrying toward him, but Manfred remained in the limo.

  “Anything wrong?” he asked.

  “No, he’s coming. He’s taking care of some last-minute business.”

  Austin frowned when he saw Manfred using the phone. From the expression on his face, it looked as though whomever he spoke to must have given him disturbing news. Manfred looked around as if he expected to see MPs swarming over the field, then hastily broke the connection when he noticed Austin watching him.

  Who’d he call? Austin wondered. He started to ask, but Manfred rushed past him.

  “Hurry,” Marta said. “The less time we take, the less likely Elora is to know what’s going on.” Manfred’s arm snaked around Marta and he pulled her close to kiss her. Then he released her, slapped Austin on the back,
and ran for the far side of the DropShip, where the small elevator would take him to the midships entry port.

  “We’ve got to get out of here fast. The ship’s on schedule for launch in five minutes.” Marta hesitated, shot an almost shy smile in the direction of the DropShip, and climbed into the limo, Austin immediately behind her.

  The limousine roared off at top speed, heading for a line of concrete control bunkers at the far side of the field.

  “I’ve tapped into the field control,” Marta said, putting the feed from the bunker onto the limo intercom. “We’ll be well out of blast range.”

  Austin caught his breath as the countdown neared its end. “Engines ignition,” the controller intoned. “Five, four, three, two, one, liftoff.”

  Austin leaned forward anxiously, barely able to make out the DropShip through the rear window. A sudden flare illuminated it and made him squint, in spite of the polarization.

  “There he goes,” Austin said.

  Then words failed him. The DropShip had risen less than a hundred meters, still building speed, when it exploded.

  25

  AWC DropShip launch pad

  Mirach

  3 May 3133

  The accusation of treachery came unbidden to Austin’s lips, but the instant he saw Marta’s stricken face he knew she had no part in the explosion and Manfred’s death.

  “Find out what happened,” Austin said, pushing aside his shock to take command. “The control center must have telemetry.”

  “I . . . yes, of course. The controllers.” With a shaking hand, Marta pressed in the access code that linked her directly with the DropShip launch bunkers.

  Austin looked outside. Chaos reigned. Technicians ran about, shouting, gesturing, blaming one another, getting emergency equipment out to the crash site.

  “We’ve never had a cargo DropShip blow up on us. Ben Nagursky had a few, but those were test vehicles. These . . . these were all nothing but workhorses. They’re supposed to be dependable, reliable.” Marta savagely threw down the phone. “No answer. Come on.” She piled out of the limo and led the way to a nearby bunker. Austin pushed through the technicians inside so Marta could speak to the launch director.

  “Dr. Penrose, what happened to the cargo launch?” demanded Marta of a pale-faced, still shaking woman.

  “I can’t say. Everything read in the green, Ms. Kinsolving,” the launch director said. “But the sudden loss of thrust and the explosive nature of the accident makes me think the DropShip was sabotaged.”

  “Someone sabotaged the ship? You mean a bomb of some kind?” asked Marta. She ground her teeth as she waited for the information. Austin knew better than to say a word.

  Dr. Penrose pointed to a screen with a razor-sharp glowing line across it. “Here it is. A millisecond before the ship itself exploded, there was a major concussion inside, right by the fusion reactor. We’re going to have to look for trace evidence and find out what kind of explosive was used. If we can figure out what was used, we can start building a case for who is responsible for this. Whoever it was, they were good enough to breach our security, and they know something about DropShips.”

  “The Legate would have access to all kinds of explosives,” Austin said in a low voice. “Anyone with military ID could justify inspecting a ship leaving the planet.”

  “Seal the area,” Marta said decisively. “Question everyone. I want the saboteur located.”

  “Ms. Kinsolving, something like this takes time, planning,” Dr. Penrose said. She cleared her throat. “It’s likely that whoever did this is already long gone.”

  “You don’t know that. We have to try. If we come up with nothing, then we’ll decide what to do next.”

  Marta pushed aside a tech and commandeered a comm-link. Within a few seconds familiar faces appeared on the screen. Austin recognized Dr. Chin in the top half of the screen and a sleepy Benton Nagursky in the lower section.

  “Pseudosecure link,” Marta explained hurriedly, as much for Austin’s benefit as to inform the other MBA directors. “We have reason to believe that the Legate sabotaged a DropShip. We’re starting an investigation now.” She swallowed hard and then added, “Manfred Leclerc was aboard.”

  “Do you want us to authorize use of the ’Mechs?” asked Dr. Chin.

  “Yes,” was all Marta said. The other two touched controls out of range of their cameras and the screen went blank.

  “You can’t attack Tortorelli,” Austin said in exasperation. “I explained why that’s foolish. This might be the very opening Elora is looking for!”

  “I know, but Manfred was on that ship.” Tears flowed unashamedly now. “I don’t know if he could have rallied the military as you hoped,” Marta said, “but he would have done the best he could.”

  “He was as strong a supporter of The Republic as anyone I know,” Austin said. “And he was my friend.”

  “I’ll get full telemetry records,” Marta said, her shoulders squaring. “It doesn’t matter what destroyed the DropShip, but we can get evidence of who ordered it and let everyone who’ll listen know.”

  “We already know that,” Austin said.

  “Elora’s moving sooner than we feared,” Marta said in a low voice. “If we aren’t to continue paying the price for underestimating her, we have to act. Now!”

  26

  Ministry of Information, Cingulum

  Mirach

  3 May 3133

  “Yes,” Lady Elora gloated, grinning ear to ear. She laughed and then leaned back in her comfortable desk chair, relaxed for the first time in days. Looking past Legate Tortorelli, she took in the fake view of Cingulum. With a careless pass of her hand over an IR controller, she changed the window so that it became sunrise. Then she activated another control, one that set into motion a new series of attacks on the MBA. The time was finally right for power to be transferred on Mirach.

  The sudden light from the faux window brought Calvilena Tortorelli upright. He stared at the magnificent scene.

  “It’s not supposed to be dawn,” he said, frowning as he worked on the solution to this conundrum. “That’s not the same direction it was a few minutes ago. That looks eastward now.” He brightened. “Ah, you sly fox. You’re changing the projection just to please me.”

  “I can’t put anything over on you, Calvy,” Elora said. She spoke mechanically as her mind raced along a dozen different paths, all leading to power. With a major AWC shipment to Kuton destroyed, Marta Kinsolving’s plan to oust her monopoly was, if not ended, then at least delayed. But now it didn’t matter. Fate had put Manfred Leclerc on that transport, and with his death, the MBA lacked an effective pilot-commander for their refitted IndustrialMech fighting force. More than this, Leclerc’s death meant the dissolution of the FCL. The last unit loyal to Governor Ortega had lost its leader and rallying point.

  “Everything is looking up, Calvy,” she said. “The dawn of a new day.”

  “But it is still so late.”

  She glanced at the video feed from the lone camera recording the furious salvage operation at the DropShip launch facility. Another screen showed a coded message confirming, rather redundantly, that the package had been delivered. Finding someone to execute the sabotage had been easy; getting the military-grade explosives for this particular job had been even easier. Elora knew that Tortorelli’s forces were factionalized. Finding someone loyal to him, against Baron Ortega, and stupid enough to believe the lies of an attractive and powerful woman had been an entertaining project, and quite successful. Of course, her need for such people was at its end. Now matters could be taken to a larger stage, where events were decided not by one well-placed pawn, but rather by a savvy and dangerous queen.

  “An impressive package. I didn’t think this man had it in him, quite frankly,” Tortorelli said softly. Elora jumped. She had not realized he had drifted around the room on his nervous quest to touch every knickknack and had stopped behind her chair. He laid a hand on her bony shoulder. “If you are going t
o order troops from my command in my name, tell me. I can ensure a successful mission. Neither of us has any love of Sergio Ortega.”

  “You’re right, Calvy,” she said, tossing back her mane of red hair and looking up at him appraisingly. Perhaps he wasn’t such a fool, after all.

  27

  AWC DropShip launch pad

  Mirach

  4 May 3133

  “There’s no hope,” Marta Kinsolving said. She bit her lower lip until Austin saw beads of blood well around her sharp white teeth, but the woman remained ramrod straight as she studied the photos of what remained of the DropShip. “Any radiation leakage?”

  “Some but not as much as I feared,” Dr. Penrose said. “Initial reports say that the fusion plant has a very manageable breach, and that’s being taken care of now. The size of the explosion was more a result of heat touching off combustible chemicals on the DropShip, and they worry me more. Those fires on the field will burn for several days. Contamination of the area is significant.” Penrose hesitated a moment, looked from Austin back to Marta, then said, “Ma’am, what did you mean, ‘There’s no hope’? Hope for what? You knew the instant of the explosion that we couldn’t salvage anything from the ’Ship.”

  “I counted on the equipment being sent to Kuton,” Marta said, not lying very effectively, or so thought Austin. “Now more than ever we need the relay station.”

  “Of course, for Span-net,” Penrose said. The woman stood only 155 centimeters tall, but Austin felt the power wrapped tightly within her. She was no one’s fool and did not believe Marta’s explanation. A new DropShip could be prepared in just days. The financial burden was huge, but a megacorporation like AllWorldComm would bear it, since the return on establishing the world-bridging Span-net was greater.

  Marta turned toward him, her brown eyes pools of sadness.

  “Is there anyone to notify? Manfred never mentioned family.”

  “The FCL was as close to family as I ever heard him mention.” The desperation of the hours following the DropShip crash were now replaced with quiet frustration—for them. He and Marta had Manfred’s loss to bear in silence.