The Ruins of Power

by Robert E. Vardeman

  “Tortorelli’s troops are still citizens of Mirach,” warned Austin. He now saw firsthand how terrible a civil war could be. Anyone dying wasn’t “one of them.” It was a neighbor or friend, a brother or sister.

  “Understood. Now attack!” cried Manfred.

  The Lamprey swung around above the Atlas so Austin could take in the situation. Directly ahead, not a klick down the main thoroughfare, waited a Behemoth tank. Along streets branching at right angles were two more, ready to fire as the Condor and battle-armored soldiers behind the Atlas herded it into the Behemoths’ sights.

  “There’s no chance for us to take out a Behemoth,” Austin radioed the pilot. “We go after the forces behind the BattleMech.”

  He saw an IndustrialMech making its way down a broad street, heading for one of the Behemoths. Austin started to warn the ’Mech away. It was a converted MiningMech, armed with an autocannon and LRMs. As it neared the tank, the ’Mech opened fire, letting fly salvo after salvo of missiles. The Behemoth returned fire with its lasers, and then Austin lost sight of that deadly contest in a hurricane of smoke, dust, and flying debris.

  “Here we go, Lieutenant,” Posner said. Austin felt his stomach try to leave his body through his throat as they plunged downward. Grimly gripping the machine gun, he started firing. The slugs bounced off battle armor and, he thought, brought down one soldier. More important, he had forced the squad to take cover.

  Then the battle changed drastically. Manfred lumbered into view, his modified ’Mech firing its autocannon into a Condor tank. Bright ricochets off the armor filled the air like crazy fireflies. A few of the deflected rounds hammered into the underside of the Lamprey as they flashed past. Austin cut loose with the machine gun and added a few extra kilos of slugs to the fray.

  But it was Manfred’s attack that stopped the tank. The tank responded with laser fire, then vanished in a cloud as Manfred cut loose with his autocannon.

  “Go get ’em!” Austin cheered. Manfred lurched forward, the damaged cutting wheel on his left arm spinning wildly. The ’Mech was swallowed by the dust cloud, and sparks began flying.

  “Got him,” came Manfred’s excited report. “Tank is down.”

  Austin lurched as the chopper swung about. He fired a few rounds in the direction of another tank—a Demon—but missed.

  “Battle armor moving on the Atlas. They’re getting frantic now,” reported Sergeant Posner. “The other mod ’Mech disabled the Behemoth before going down. Gauss rifle round fired almost point-blank got it.”

  “We can sweep the street clear for the BattleMech,” Austin said to Sergeant Posner. “Keep us down low.”

  He used the cocking lever to load in a new ammo belt, then concentrated on hitting every battle-armor-clad soldier he could find in the street. As the Lamprey flew back and forth, Austin saw Manfred going after another tank. A laser bolt slashed at Manfred’s right side and bathed him in deadly energy that boiled off much of his armor. From the way the ’Mech limped, more than armor had been damaged.

  “What’s the status on bringing the Ministry of Information towers down?” he asked.

  “ ’Mech is almost there, sir,” reported Posner.

  “Manfred’s tangled with another tank and this one’s stripping him naked. Fly closer so we can lend support.” Austin wished he had more than a single machine gun in the infantry bay door. They swooped down so Austin could concentrate on the tank, but the Condor launched a volley that crashed into the Lamprey, sending it reeling.

  The shock of missile impact dazed Austin for a moment. He sat up, not sure how he had ended up away from the machine gun.

  “Got it,” came Manfred’s cry of triumph. “But I’m losing power. The internal combustion engine’s not up to sustained fighting.”

  “What about the ’Mech going to the Ministry?”

  He got his answer when a cacophony of voices filled his head. A dozen soldiers all shouted in his ears at the same time, the jamming lifted so they could again communicate.

  “Attention, Home Guard,” Austin broadcast as Posner patched him through on the Legate’s command frequency. “Cease fire. I repeat, cease fire. This is Baronet Austin Ortega ordering you to hold your fire.”

  “Not much happening, sir,” said Posner.

  Austin wasn’t going to give up if there was a chance the carnage could be halted here and now. He searched for the words that could make a difference.

  “Home Guard of Mirach,” he began slowly, “anyone who can hear me: for the last three months, you’ve been bombarded with messages about the tyrant Sergio Ortega, and now Legate Tortorelli and Lady Elora Rimonova have ordered you to take up arms against him.” He paused and wondered, How can I reach them? He could hear Elora’s voice over other comm channels, egging the soldiers on . . . and then he knew the answer to his question.

  “But these orders aren’t Legate Tortorelli’s, are they?” he asked. “Listen to the voice giving orders: it’s Lady Elora. The Minister of Information has ordered you into the streets to defend Mirach against Governor Ortega, whom many of you have met and have served under for years, a hero of The Republic—a man who has been a prisoner in the Palace of Facets for the last week, unable to contact anyone, unable to help his own people.

  “This fight isn’t about defending Mirach from its Governor. It’s about defending ourselves against the propaganda war being waged by the Ministry of Information. The Republic sent that Atlas to Mirach to help restore the order and reason its Governor believes in. And look—the Atlas has not attacked. It has only defended itself and the city.” Now Austin’s voice grew passionate.

  “I appeal to all FCL soldiers, cease fire. You know what I’m saying is true. For the sake of peace in Cingulum and a united Mirach, lay down your weapons. We can’t let fear and misinformation tear our world apart. I urge all those following Lady Elora’s orders, cease fire!”

  There was a buzz of static from the radio, then a cacophony of chatter.

  “Some units are breaking off, sir,” said Posner.

  “What’s the nearest that isn’t?” he asked.

  “Almost directly below us.”

  “Manfred, can you still fight?”

  “I’m with you!”

  The Lamprey swung about and spotted a squad of battle-armored troopers trying to double-time advance on the Atlas.

  “Battle armor, break off your advance on the Atlas!” Austin yelled into the radio. He fired the machine gun, careful not to hit the combatants, but aimed close enough to scare them. The troops scattered as Manfred’s ’Mech roared up, diamond-edged cutting wheel on his left shoulder looking like fire as it spun. None of the soldiers was in danger, but the sight of the ’Mech broke their attack.

  “The Atlas is backing off. It’s not going into the cross fire trap laid by the Behemoths,” said Posner.

  Austin was too busy firing to respond. Then the machine gun belt ran out. No more ammo. But he had a clear comm channel and used it.

  “Cease fire! Don’t put any more citizens of Cingulum in danger.”

  “You really the Baronet?” came a faint question on Tortorelli’s command frequency.

  “I am. Surrender, and no action will be taken against you for following orders.”

  “I see one of those refitted ’Mechs coming toward me.”

  “All AWC units, stand down,” Austin ordered. He hoped they would listen to him. If not, he had to waste valuable time and relay orders through Manfred—or Marta Kinsolving.

  “Standing down,” came the replies, one by one. Austin was surprised that he received five acknowledgments. Some of the mod ’Mechs were still on their way to Cingulum but reported in to show how much firepower was being mustered.

  He heard other chatter, mostly FCL urging others with them to stop fighting. If they were persuasive enough and confirmed that he was not the sort to lie about amnesty, units all over the middle of Cingulum should be stopping. They were.

  The Atlas strode past. Austin looked down on the migh
ty fighting machine and saw the damage was extensive but not irreparable.

  Austin played on the BattleMech’s still functional armament, repeated the threat of the approaching MBA ’Mechs, and then let the First Cossack Lancers, wherever they might be scattered among the battle-armored troops, complete the surrender.

  “We got a problem, Lieutenant. A big one.”

  Austin swung out the side bay and saw the Behemoth rumbling down the middle of the street, heading directly for Manfred’s damaged ’Mech. The Gauss rifle was loaded and aimed.

  “Captain Mugabe, I am placing you in command of Legate Tortorelli’s troops. See to the orderly surrender immediately,” Austin radioed.

  “That’s Mugabe in the Behemoth? Tortorelli’s top tanker?” asked Posner. “Will she—”

  That was as far as the pilot got. A crisp message came through from the Behemoth commander.

  “Captain Mugabe in receipt of your orders, Baronet.”

  The Gauss rifle elevated off target.

  “All Home Guard units, stand down. Do not fire; I repeat, do not fire. This is Captain Mugabe. Do not fire.”

  Austin let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, made sure he was on an open frequency, then radioed, “Governor Ortega, the city is secure. I am ordering Captain Mugabe to establish patrols to maintain order.”

  “Well done, Austin,” Manfred radioed him on a closed frequency. “That lets everyone know where they stand, especially Mugabe.”

  Austin stared down from the Lamprey at the Atlas, carefully picking its way through the city streets, hunting for the route to take it out of Cingulum while causing the least damage.

  “Yes,” Austin said. “Well done. Well done, all around!”

  39

  Palace of Facets, Cingulum

  Mirach

  12 May 3133

  “The last tank commander has surrendered out by the Blood Hills Barracks,” Sergio Ortega announced, looking pleased with himself. “Without a shot being fired. Captain Mugabe was instrumental in negotiating the capitulation. I think she’ll prove herself even more useful as we rebuild and reconstitute the Legate’s forces.” His colorless eyes fixed on Austin, who stood to one side of the vast office. “Good sense has prevailed over force of arms.”

  Austin didn’t flinch. “If I hadn’t powered up the Centurion—your BattleMech—Tortorelli would have overrun the Palace and you’d be dead. Mugabe had her Behemoth’s Gauss rifle pointed straight at your head.”

  “But she refused to obey Tortorelli’s—Elora’s—order to destroy the Palace. It was too powerful a symbol of The Republic for her to blow up.”

  “The Centurion held her at bay and gave her time to consider how wrong her orders were,” Austin shot back.

  “You’ve forgotten what really happened? I contacted Manfred,” Sergio said. “The show of force was enough to compel Mugabe to surrender.”

  “After more than a hundred soldiers died.” Austin swallowed and tasted bile at this terrible statistic.

  How could I have done it differently? he wondered. Was there a way to keep my father safe without killing any of the Legate’s troops? If there had been a way, he couldn’t see it—neither in the heat of the fight nor in its aftermath. The threat of force was meaningless without the use of force if the bluff was called.

  “Are you forgetting my role in all this?” asked Manfred Leclerc. “You were dog meat until I saved you.”

  “My point is made, Father,” Austin said. “Without that cutting wheel and autocannon of Manfred’s, I’d have been dead.”

  “You should never have gotten involved in the battle. Your presence is what put you at risk.”

  “If I hadn’t engaged Tortorelli’s forces from the helicopter until Manfred and the other MBA ’Mechs arrived, we’d have lost everything.”

  “Your plea to the soldiers caused many to reconsider the legality of the orders Tortorelli—and Elora—had given,” said Sergio. “Words, not bullets, turned the fight.”

  “If I hadn’t fought to clear that channel, I’d never have been able to contact any of them.”

  “Please, you two,” cut in Manfred. “Stop arguing. You’ll never get the other to agree. Governor Ortega has a point, Austin. The combination of Parsons’ political muscle and Marta Kinsolving’s loyalty to Mirach made victory over Elora and Tortorelli inevitable sooner or later. And,” Manfred hastily said, turning on the Baron, “you needed force to bring about your goals. Without the MBA’s ’Mechs you would have been killed.”

  “As Manfred said so colorfully before, ‘dog meat.” ’ Austin grinned.

  “The use of force means failure of diplomacy,” Sergio said. “Diplomacy and a certain element of stealth served me far better than brute violence. That’s how I contacted Manfred and warned him about taking off in the cargo DropShip.”

  “Baron,” said Manfred, inclining his head slightly in the direction of the open office door.

  Marta Kinsolving came into the office, Envoy Parsons at her side. She looked a little flushed, but her brief glance in Manfred’s direction might have explained that.

  “Envoy Parsons, Ms. Kinsolving, so good of you to come.” Sergio stood and graciously indicated that they take comfortable leather chairs in front of his desk.

  “This meeting must be short,” Jerome Parsons said brusquely. Austin compared this with the man’s earlier visit and the way he had seemed diffident then. Now he was all business. “I am pleased with the outcome of my mission to your fine planet and commend you all.”

  Austin looked at his father. Something sounded wrong in Jerome Parsons’ compliment.

  “Why did you choose to bring an Atlas here at all, Your Excellency?” asked Austin. He left the rest of the question unstated, but his father did not.

  “Why did you put the Atlas under the command of the MBA?” Sergio asked.

  Parsons took a deep breath, looked around the room, then glanced over his shoulder to be certain the office doors were closed.

  “You have proved your loyalty. All of you.”

  “Loyalty to The Republic,” Austin said.

  “Quite so,” Parsons said. “Quite so. I allowed Ms. Kinsolving and her trade organization control of the BattleMech because I wanted to reinforce their loyalty. I had not realized how closely she would adhere to your recommendation to refrain from using the BattleMech’s power, Baron.”

  “You were afraid we would forge an alliance with Bannson?” Marta asked. “The BattleMech was an indirect way of showing the advantage of remaining loyal to The Republic and giving us the support we needed against the government?”

  “There was that,” Parsons admitted, “but there was another element to my plan. I was certain Governor Ortega remained loyal to The Republic but would not deploy the Atlas because of his philosophical leanings.”

  “You shouldn’t have brought it,” Sergio said. Austin heard something more in the Envoy’s words.

  “I had to be certain that you weren’t loyal first and foremost to Aaron Sandoval, and only then to The Republic,” Parsons went on.

  “It’s not the same thing, is it?” Austin said, his mind racing. “What haven’t we been told because the HPG net is down?”

  “Austin,” Sergio said sharply.

  “It’s all right, Governor. It’s time to share our secret,” Parsons said. “I am loyal to The Republic, but no longer can I say the same with regard to Aaron Sandoval.”

  Silence fell in the room.

  “Who are you working for, if not the Lord Governor?” asked Austin.

  “Let us say a Paladin of The Republic and leave it at that. Sandoval, however, thinks I am still his faithful Envoy.”

  “A double agent,” Manfred said in a whispered voice.

  Austin looked at his father, whose enigmatic smile suddenly spoke volumes. Sergio had insisted he had a plan; for two months he’d kept silent. Austin looked to Parsons again.

  “Yes, a double agent.” Parsons looked at each of them in turn. “This informa
tion could be my demise. My life is now in your hands.

  “Though he continues to act as Lord Governor of the Prefecture, the truth is that Aaron Sandoval is no longer loyal to The Republic. With the destruction of the HPG net, he has tasted new power, as has Kal Radick. You may have heard rumors about their defections. These rumors are true. Given the chaos that has descended upon us, there’s been little time and too few resources to address the question of putting new leaders into place.” Parsons’ look turned grave.

  “Know this. I willingly risk my life for The Republic. I am trying to shore up support amongst the worlds, and am not loyal to any single individual. The ideals of Devlin Stone are bigger than that. Come what may, I will fight and die for the unity of The Republic of the Sphere.”

  “Mirach may not be a large, rich planet, but you can count on our fealty,” Sergio said.

  “Your differences are few,” Parsons said, “and your patriotism is great. Thank you. Now,” he said, looking at his watch, “time is short. I must leave.” Parsons did not move a muscle.

  “The secret of your mission will never leave this room,” Austin said. “Thank you, Excellency.” He shook Parsons’ hand. The Envoy’s eyes told of iron resolve and utter loyalty.

  Parsons nodded, then shook hands with each in turn until he came to Sergio. He smiled at the Baron and said, “If all worlds were ruled by such steadfast, capable leaders, there would be no cause to worry about The Republic’s future.” With that, Jerome Parsons hurried from the room.

  “We must prepare for any contingency, if Sandoval and Radick aren’t to be trusted,” Austin said. He turned to Marta and said, “We’ll need your refitted ’Mechs placed under the direct authority of the Governor.”

  “No!” blurted Sergio. “Their modified ’Mechs should be turned back to industrial uses.”

  “You heard the Envoy. Mirach might become a pawn in a battle between—” Austin started.

  “Austin, be sensible,” cut in Sergio. “Mirach will remain loyal through strength of will. Who can forge patriotism from steel?”

  “What patriot can stand against the steel of a BattleMech?” shot back Austin. “That was Parsons’ message to us. The Atlas and other ’Mechs are a sword against our enemies.”