Anastasia Kerensky had been his bondholder; she was now his Galaxy commander, but what she was doing pushed him to his limit. Last night he'd sought her out alone to discuss—not question, not challenge—her actions, her plans. Her answers still circled through his mind like dingoes seeking out a weakness, looking for the kill.
He wanted exercise, motion, physical effort to work out the forces building inside him.
Ironically, his lifetime of keeping all his combat skills at their peak had robbed him of the perfect outlet. From breakfast until midday all who scored less than mastery scores with any weapon or vehicle were engaged in drills and exercises on the firing ranges, the practice fields, and the sims. He could have joined them, of course, but he wanted solitude, not the pressures of a crowd.
Cross-country running would do no good. In the oven temperatures of Galatea's spring he'd only succeed in adding a pounding headache and nausea to his troubles— heat stroke was not the answer. There was an indoor track of sorts, a silly one-third kilometer oval marked on the floor of the "Sports Arena." Yulri had no idea what sports were intended by the builders, nor could he imagine a serious combat force—even a mercenary force—being frivolous enough to play.
However, those same builders had provided each barracks with an exercise room—an unadorned, utilitarian space of weights and mats. There was a good chance he'd have the one in his building to himself.
A clank of dropped weights as he cycled through the revolving door into the air-conditioning alerted him he'd be disappointed before he reached the exercise room proper.
Rob Juergens and Verena Wolf were at the weight bench, Rob just rising. Beyond the fact that Rob piloted a Vulture and Verena a Cougar, he did not know the two well. Alexia Wolf, the Uziel pilot who had joined the Steel Wolves on Skye, stood by the weight rack. Not a crowd. He decided to stay.
Eschewing the locker room, Yulri stripped off his shirt and hung it on the corner of a ball rack.
He noted Alexia was evidently working on stamina, a fairly light barbell on the rack in front of her as she rested between sets. He knew she had followed Anastasia in search of what it meant to be truly Wolf. He wondered what she thought of what was happening to the Steel Wolves on Galatea. And, Anastasia's words still fresh in his ears, he wondered what she would make of what was about to happen.
Juergens was adding weights to the bar across the lift bench as Verena positioned herself for a bench press. From the heavy load it was evident she was working on muscle mass, though from what he could see of the Mech Warrior's long build it was unlikely she would bulk up to any degree. And from what she was watching as her partner stood over her. her mind was not entirely on weight lifting.
Yulri selected a pair of medium dumbbells. Mindless repetition and the low-level burn of endurance suited his mood.
"I do not like it," Juergens said, securing the weight lock.
"What do you not like?" Yulri rose to the bait despite—or because of—Anastasia Kerensky's words.
"The recruiting of non-Wolf," the taller man said, positioning himself to spot as Verena gripped the weight bar.
That surprised Yulri. He had expected the complaint to be about the retraining program. He'd not heard recruiting efforts were under way.
"Abtakha," he said.
"The adopting of a warrior who has proven himself and seeks admittance," Verena said. "Not the wholesale seeking out of freeborn Spheroids."
Lifting the barbell above her from its rack, she lowered it slowly to her chest.
"Our Galaxy commander has been studying the mercenary commands around us," Juergens said. "We have heard she is combing their rosters for mercenaries to recruit."
Yulri wondered at the source of that rumor, a new one to him.
"The Steel Wolves are Wolf," Verena said, grunting against the strain of pushing the weight up.
"We must. Rebuild. After Skye. After Terra," Alexia Wolf said, timing her words with curling her barbell.
Good form, Yulri noted, if a littie fast. He wondered if her reasons for choosing the mind-numbing repetition of endurance training were similar to his.
"My blood is Wolf," Juergens answered. "My heritage—"
"Is like. Mine," Alexia cut him off. Then, either finished with her set or deciding that making her point took precedence, she set her barbell on its rack.
"Our progenitors accepted Stone's invitation to disarm and settle in The Republic." She shrugged. "Their reasons were right for those times. Adopting of warriors into the Clan is not a new thing. Perhaps the Galaxy commander's reasons for following this method are right for now."
"We are a new breed of Wolves," Verena said, quoting Khan Vladimir Ward from nearly a century before as she pushed up the barbell again. Then added, timing her words with her lifts: "But we are Wolves. We should not dilute. Who we are with. Mercenary hirelings."
She nodded to Juergens, who stepped forward to help her ease the weight back on the rack. Again her eyes were not on the weights.
"Perhaps dealing with Stone was wrong," Juergens said thoughtfully. "Perhaps this is wrong. You cannot be Wolf only when it suits you."
"There are Wolves who would argue the Steel Wolves are not true Wolves," Alexia said. She turned toward Yulri. "What say you, Arc Royal trueborn? Are we Wolves?"
Without pausing in his set, Yulri cut his eyes toward the others. That was their worry. They wanted to be true Wolves, reclaim the heritage their progenitors had traded away for peace. They feared Anastasia's new path was leading them away from that, taking them further from what they believed themselves to be.
"I fight beside you," he said. "You are Wolf."
"Finding lost Wolf, rebirthing what they are, is one thing," Verena persisted. "Recruiting warriors who never were Wolf is another. No one not trueborn of Clan blood can truly be a warrior."
"Phelen Kell," Alexia said before Yulri could respond. "A freebirth some still say had no rightful claim to the Ward bloodname. He earned his place and rose to be khan of Wolves-in-Exile."
"In Exile," Verena repeated.
"Do you claim he was not a warrior?" Alexia asked. "That he did not earn his place?"
Juergens and Verena looked to Yulri, as though expecting him to answer.
Instead, Yulri replaced his dumbbells, cutting short his set, and pulled the front of his undershirt up to mop the sweat from his face. To voice what was in his heart would betray Anastasia's trust in him.
"Your position is our Galaxy commander now seeks out Phelen Kells?" Juergens asked Alexia.
"Unnamed, unheritaged freebirths who are true warriors," Alexia confirmed with brittle force. "There is precedent. She does not betray what it means to be Wolf. She seeks to expand it."
Verena grunted, clearly unconvinced as she mopped the sweat from her body. But Juergens' face was thoughtful, as though this were a new consideration. He looked again to Yulri.
And Yulri again broke eye contact, turning away to reach for his shirt. His hunger for exercise was past. And he had no words that would help these three find their way.
The situation Anastasia had put him in could not be resolved with words. It required action—action he did not want to take. But he had no choice. There was only one course before him.
And no reason to delay taking it any longer.
Without a word to the others, he was in the corridor leading to the outside. Shrugging into his shirt, he shouldered through the revolving door and into the blaze of the sun.
* * *
Ian Murchison reviled himself yet again for having warned Anastasia about the Galatean sun. Because yet again she was outside, with him in tow, conducting business on the fly in the sun and heat as she strode from practice field to firing range to God knew what.
Varnoff Fetladral was in close attendance today, as was becoming his habit, along with Xera of the aerospace wing—Cluster—and Nikola Demos of the armor Cluster. Every Cluster had mixed forces, of course, their own fighters, tanks, and cannon, but Anastasia had broken these
off to form what she called "pure" forces. She did not share her thinking in this reorganization, but Murchison noted it disentangled most of the Steel Wolves' tanks and fighters from the chain of command, making them answerable directly to her.
The why of it eluded him.
As did the Clan mentality. Warriors who had denigrated non-MechWarrior skills as useless and beneath them, were now bent on mastering those very skills. For some it was a matter of remembering childhood training, but for others it was uncharted territory. Whatever the case, the complete lack of dissent was—
—about to come to an end.
Across the packed earth of the vehicle yard, Yulri advanced on Anastasia with a grim determination. Ignoring the Star colonels, he began speaking directly to her as soon as he was close.
"You have awarded BattleMechs to those who have not earned them through trial," Yulri said, his voice raw. "You have demanded MechWarriors demean themselves with learning to pitch tents, drive trucks, dig ditches. You intend to seek out and bring in outsiders, non-Clan—recruit them—ignoring the rite of abtakha!"
Varnoff and Xera, between Yulri and Anastasia as he approached, stepped properly aside, permitting their Galaxy commander to face her antagonist directly.
For her part, Anastasia appeared calm, almost amused as she watched her former bondsman.
Yulri looked to Murchison as though he were about to explode. His Clan mask of control was in place, but barely. The tendons of his neck stood out like cords. He seemed confused that Anastasia did not respond to his charges and clearly took her smile to be mocking.
"Do you deny," Yulri demanded, "that you have registered the Steel Wolves with the hiring hall of Galatea as a mercenary unit?"
That did rock Anastasia, Murchison saw. Though only those who knew her would recognize the tilt of the head, the arch of the eyebrow as covering a startle response.
Her response was lost in the varied expressions of the Star colonels around her. Varnoff in particular seemed almost comic in his overreaction. After her initial shock, Nikola seemed thoughtful.
"I should restrict my confidences to warriors with honor," Anastasia said lightly.
"You are throwing away everything that makes us what we are for money!" Yulri said.
Murchison was impressed that the MechWarrior was able to enunciate so clearly through clenched teeth.
"You are not fit to lead the Steel Wolves."
Anastasia threw her head back and laughed. Clear and free, the sound bounded back from the block buildings around them.
"Are you challenging me to a Trial of Position, Star Captain?"
Yulri rocked back slightly. Murchison understood the reflexive weight shift was an unconscious response to surprise, but the effect was of her words striking him visibly.
Glancing at his fellow audience members he saw their faces carefully blank. They were taking no part in the confrontation. Whether this indicated respect or simply waiting to see which combatant showed weakness depended on one's attitude toward Clan culture.
"No," Yulri answered the question. "I demand a Trial of Grievance."
"You have no right to trial," Anastasia sneered. "Requiring you to rise to a higher standard is no cause for grievance."
"Higher standard!" Yulri's face contorted into an almost comic mask of outrage. "Your chalcas is for your own gain. This reform, this new path, is leading the Steel Wolves into prostitution."
Murchison guessed chalcas meant change, challenge, or upset. For a culture that prided itself on clarity the Clans seemed to delight in convoluting the language unnecessarily.
Whatever the exact translation of the term, the effect was to wipe all humor from Anastasia's face. Her eyes lidded in a mask of pure malice.
"You live because your death is not worth the effort," she said. "Your cowardice makes you unfit to call yourself Clan. Go. Take what you will. Take whoever shares your fear of the future with you.
"If you will not follow me, there is no place for you here."
Turning her back on the dumbfounded Star captain, she resumed her purposeful stalk toward the command center. Caught off guard, Murchison was a heartbeat late in falling into step. He was still long seconds ahead of the Star colonels in abandoning Yulri.
"You suspended Trials of Position until the retraining is complete," Xera said as she came abreast of the Galaxy commander. "For that there is precedent. Have you suspended all trials?" "Anyone who is not fit to be Wolf will be expelled," Anastasia said. "Anyone who realizes they are not fit is welcome to leave before they are expelled. No trials are necessary."
What Xera thought of this did not show in her face, but Murchison noted her pace stiffened to a stalk.
"You have registered the Steel Wolves as mercenaries?" Nikola asked, following her own thoughts.
Anastasia did not respond, which the Star colonels clearly took as confirmation enough.
"We are Wolves." Varnoff said. "We take what we want."
Anastasia turned at the steps to the command center and faced them.
"We are Wolves; we take what we want," she agreed. "And now we will get paid to do it."
Turning on her heel, she climbed the short flight of steps into the building.
Murchison was the only one who followed her.
8
Kentwood, Irian
Prefecture VII
Republic of the Sphere
6 July 3135
Chu-sa Antonio Blatz of the Dragon's Fury gave the tunic of his dress uniform a final tug before entering Irian Planetary Governor Frederik Syrmar's formal office.
The dress uniform may have been a bit much, he thought as he saw the governor's open collar and turned- back cuffs. He had not realized the man used what the designers had clearly intended to be an audience chamber as his working office. Still, erring on the side of formality was never an error—to paraphrase some of his early instruction into the ways of the Dragon.
The night sky beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows flanking the governor's desk turned them into multipaned mirrors throwing back a fractured reflection of the ornate room. The effect was of a wall of bubbles. For a giddy moment Blatz felt as though he were inside a soap bubble—that nothing around him was substantial and one ill-considered movement would cause the world to pop-
Technically, the Dragon's Fury Brotherhood regiment garrisoning Irian did not answer to Governor Syrmar or to Planetary Legate Ramon Martinez. After a bitter conflict against several opponents, the Dragon's Fury had won control of the planet—and its once-secret BattleMech production. But the position of his command had been unsettled at best since Tai-sa Ichiyo Rusch had taken the bulk of the regiment—and, Blatz admitted only to himself, the best of the regiment—to support Katana Tormark in taking Saffel.
Governor Syrmar rose, an unexpected courtesy, and leaned across the broad desk to extend his hand.
Already coming to attention two paces in front of the desk, Blatz had to throw himself forward—hoping the stop and restart wasn't too noticeable—to keep the governor from waiting in the uncomfortable position.
"Good of you to come at such a late hour, Colonel," Syrmar said, rounding up The Republic's approximation of his rank a notch as he gestured for Blatz to take one of the high-backed chairs facing the desk. "I wanted your professional assessment of a situation that's arisen."
Blatz nodded stiffly. His professional assessment was that Rusch and the Dragon's Fury as a whole had abandoned Irian and his mixed battalion of low achievers. But he was not going to tell the planetary governor that.
"I'll do my best, sir," he said aloud.
Syrmar regarded him for a long moment, as though measuring whether to go ahead.
"I don't need to tell you The Republic is facing some of the toughest times in its history," he said. "What you may not know is that there is a division, perhaps several divisions, developing within the Senate of The Republic."
Blatz nodded again, parsing Syrmar meant fractures, not military units. He was grateful to the g
overnor for not mentioning the part the leader of the Dragon's Fury- was playing in The Republic's tough times.
"I had not known," he said, lest his nod be mistaken for claiming prior knowledge. "However, given what little I understand of the situation it is not unanticipated."
Syrmar nodded again as though there was some wisdom in Blatz's words.
"Senator Ptolomeny of Park Place is apparently the leader of a powerful alliance of senators which includes several worlds rimward and spinward of Irian," the governor said. "Including Senator Riktofven of Augustine. Apparently these senators have the support of their local governments—though one assumes not the planetary legates."
He smiled a bit at that last, as though making a small joke.
Blatz dutifully smiled in unison.
"Senator Hughes was approached, but of course she turned them down flat."
Blatz considered echoing "of course," but the moment passed too quickly. Again he nodded, slowly, as though considering political implications while he tried to imagine where this conversation—without the planetary legate—was going.
"There has already been violence on Terra itself and other worlds over control of The Republic," Syrmar said.
Blatz sat up straight, all but coming out of his chair. The reaction seemed to reassure the governor.
"The senator is concerned that the Senate Alliance, as they are calling themselves, may go beyond civil war to revolt against The Republic," Syrmar said. "In which case, Irian—with its robust industrial infrastructure— would be a valuable prize."
Not to mention your BattleMech manufacturing plants, Blatz thought.
"A valid concern," he said aloud. "How may the Dragon's Fury serve?"
"If this Alliance did attempt to annex Irian, could you defend us?"
The Tai-sa's last order to Blatz had been to protect Irian. Not hold it for the Dragon's Fury. The change in status for those left behind was implicit in the wording of that final command.
Significant, too, that the Brotherhood members still on Irian were all native Iriani. True, many who had gone with Rusch had been as well, but Blatz believed the decision to abandon him and those in his command sprang from the suspicion that they were more loyal to their home world than to the Dragon's Fury. Though he might have challenged that assumption before being abandoned, in it he now found some absolution.
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