"Word about your show back there will be out by this time tomorrow," Tommy was saying. "If it's not already."
Jazz was willing to bet Tommy would be part of being sure the word got out.
"We can expect a solid offer from Overlord before your 'Mech is repaired." Tommy nodded. "But don't go with it. Let the other stables get some bids in. Maybe arrange another of your trials—"
"No."
Tommy sighed. "Being an independent scrapper is one thing," he said, a beat quicker at deciphering the syllable than Jazz. "Being an independent MechWarrior requires deeper pockets than you've got and more outlay than I can afford."
"I will no longer go to others," Yulri said. "It is inefficient and time-consuming. Others will need to come to me."
"I hope you mean sit back and wait for stables to come with job offers," Tommy said. "But I'll bet you're about to disappoint me."
"Other MechWarriors," Yulri said as though it were obvious. "Other warriors such as Jazz. The true warriors on Solaris VII should come to us."
"You want to start a stable," Tommy said. It wasn't a question.
"No." Yulri frowned. "A band."
"A band?"
"Co-op," Jazz said, catching sight of what Yulri was driving at. "He wants to start a co-op. Bring warriors together as partners."
"Oy vey." Tommy shook his head. "Just so we're clear: This isn't the part where you make us drive to a vault so you can show us you've got millions of kroner, is it?"
Yulri shook his head.
"Then, if you know supporting a single solo MechWarrior is prohibitively expensive," Tommy said, "how do you plan on paying for your very own co-op?"
"I have come to respect your bargaining acumen."
18
Bunker City, Geir
Laiaka, former Prefecture VIII
28 November 3135
Nikola Demos strode the length of the sunlit corridor, aware of Star Captains Rhodan and Taylor flanking her and the shut double doors ahead of her. A corridor nearly a kilometer underground had no business being filled with what her eyes insisted was daylight. But she wasn't going to stop and study the ceiling to figure out how the effect was managed. Any more than she was going to stoop and examine the gray floor that looked like stone, felt like stone beneath her boots, yet soundlessly absorbed her footsteps. Having her own breath be the loudest sound when marching seemed alien, reminded her of her few experiences in vacuum suits. If she'd worn leather at least she'd have creaked.
The two Laiaka Planetary Militia guards flanking the double doors at the end of the corridor should have appeared comic in their chrome yellow uniforms. But there was a solid professionalism in the way they assessed the approaching trio of tankers. And their ported flechette rifles would have reduced Nikola and her Star captains to three hundred kilos of hamburger in a matter of seconds.
The doors, three meters tall and a half dozen wide, parted automatically at their approach, swinging silently away and opening into a sun-filled chamber that seemed too large to be an office and too small to be a public audience hall. Directly opposite the door was a crescent table behind which sat two central figures and perhaps a half dozen aides.
Here at least Nikola could see the ersatz sunlight came through airy arches lining the sides of the room.
"You misrepresented yourself, Colonel," said the figure left of center.
Jayson Zeander, Nikola guessed, governor of Laiaka. That would make the imposing—and immense—woman to his left Planetary Legate Leigh Bahram. Now that she was noticing, she realized the aides to Zeander's right were clad in lighter shades of his yellow, slight variations of the guard's uniforms.
Not uniforms. Those are decorated hazmat suits.
That made perfect sense, given Laiaka's toxic atmosphere. As did the fabric-shredding fiechette guns of the guards. The psychological deterrent probably ensured firing them was almost never necessary.
Bahram and her apparent staff wore more varied— and nonprotective—dress.
Natives and civil servants rotated in. Got it.
She wondered for a moment that the legate seemed to still hold at least equal power with the governor. She imagined a lot of worlds were going through pretty fundamental readjustments in authority in the weeks since the Republic of the Sphere had imploded.
Two more steps and she reached the focus of the crescent's arc. Holes in the floor indicated a second crescent table—the other half of a hollow oval—had been removed. They were meant to stand—employees, not equals.
"I am Star Colonel Nikola Demos of the Steel Wolf Corps," she introduced herself as though the governor hadn't spoken. "These are Star Captains Rhodan and Taylor. You entered into a contract with us to remove a problem."
"We entered into a contract with the Steel Wolves," the governor countered. "You are not the Steel Wolves."
"As we explained to your representative on Galatea, your information was out of date. The Steel Wolves as a mercenary unit do not exist," Nikola answered calmly. This confrontation had been anticipated. "The Steel Wolf Corps is a mixed cluster of armor with infantry support. We bid to fulfill the contract and you accepted."
For a long moment the governor seemed frozen, simply looking at Nikola.
"Interestingly enough. Star Colonel," Legate Bahram spoke for the first time, "the governor and I were having a very similar conversation just before you arrived."
Her breathy, melodious soprano contrasted incongruously with her immense size. Distracted by the alien obesity, Nikola wondered if the legate could move unassisted.
"You did indeed represent yourself and your assets accurately," Bahram was saying. "Jayson made the mistake of assuming you were engaging in the little- understood Clan practice of offering minimum resources. He anticipated that you would realize the situation required BattleMechs and Elementals once you arrived. The fact that you have neither of these—assets?—has come as a surprise to him. This despite your complete clarity on the issue from the outset."
Nikola didn't bother to explain that this misconception on the governor's part had been clear from his communications. Beyond restating the nature of the Steel Wolf Corps a second time, she had made no concerted effort to disabuse him. In her assessment, the situation on Lai- aka was well within the capabilities of the Steel Wolf Corps and did not require the trinary of assault 'Mechs Zeander seemed to imagine.
Which would be the next hurdle.
"Perhaps a good faith error was made," Zeander said on cue. "We will of course reimburse your transportation expenses. An honorarium—a small honorarium—to compensate you for your lost time would not be out of the question."
"With all due respect. Governor," Nikola said, "time is not something you have in abundance. You have a problem. The Steel Wolf Corps is the solution."
Neither administrator looked particularly impressed.
"The surface of Laiaka is toxic," Zeander pointed out. "Tanks are not vaportight. Nor are they able to maneuver in the tunnels. We need BattleMechs and Elementals in full armor. How do you imagine you can be of any use to us?"
"Pirates have taken Yaleston and its DropPort," Nikola said, summarizing the tactical situation as laid out in the contract offer. "They are effectively gutting your export reserves of refined metals and rare earths for the next decade. The pirates evidently have several DropShips and at least one JumpShip, but not many because the process has been going on for weeks.
"What's left of the prefecture cannot respond. They can no longer draw on The Republic's resources and Clan Jade Falcon has taken the opportunity to seize territory."
For a moment she wondered if the pirate issue was an excuse to import mercenaries to protect Laiaka from the Jade Falcons, but dismissed the idea. Even the thickest Spheroid knew using Wolves of any stripe as defenders would be a lightning rod for Jade Falcon assault forces.
"Further, you suspect political collusions and have a short list of neighboring worlds you think might be behind the piracy," she said. "These are not our conc
ern."
Zeander opened his mouth to speak, but Bahram laid a hand on his wrist. The easy familiarity of the gesture almost threw Nikola off her prepared summation. What else can she do unassisted?
"Yaleston is built in a series of natural caverns and mined tunnels with a large dome covering the crater opening of the original gas vent. Though there are portals in the dome, main access to the city is through the global tunnel network," she said, establishing she had given the matter thought. "The DropPort and the underground warehouses can be easily reached through that same network, but a series of locks between the field and Yaleston make taking the city by that route problematic.
"Everything in Yaleston, from the dome air locks to the cradle clamps holding the DropShips to the blast pads to water circulation, is controlled through a central control complex in the third cavern," she finished. "Direct assault on it from any direction is considered impossible."
" 'Considered impossible'," Bahram quoted. "You speak as one who has a plan."
"Indeed," Nikola agreed. Eyeing the protective garb of the natives, she adjusted the timeline she'd devised on the journey to Laiaka. "Give us seven weeks to prepare—about the time of a round-trip journey to find someone new on Galatea—and we will give you Yaleston."
19
Solaris City, Solaris VII
Lyran Commonwealth
2 December 3135
She did not know what kind of hit her viz gave. Or maybe she did. Beauty and the beast rolled into one.
If she got an eye patch she'd have a perfect disguise. Cover her right eye and folks would remember the killer babe with the wide-eyed hazel gaze you could dive into and swim around. Switch it to cover her left, and everyone would shy away from the hag with the Quasimodo glare.
And that cyclops chest . . . Well, the Clanner didn't seem to mind. Guess it cut down on decisions.
They made a weird couple any way you looked at it.
Tommy pulled his head back into the office in time to catch Fox finishing up something about wanting only the best fighters in his stable. Tommy nodded as though this were a wise observation. Like anybody ever started out "I want to build my stables out of the worst screwups in the games."
Simien Fox dominated the office. No mean feat with the view it commanded; across the river the Montenegro district of Solaris City was spread like a topomap. On the other hand, there was nothing personal in the office.
The excellent furniture and fair-to-middling incidental pieces passing for art had been provided by the same designers who'd decorated the penthouse suite. Fox had occupied the north half of the Vladivostok's top floor for the last five months and added absolutely nothing personal.
Important pitch-spinning intel Tommy filed for later use.
The man himself looked like a warrior from days gone by. Or a warrior whose days had gone by. Tall, with perfect posture, broad shoulders, and skin maybe a shade lighter than Tommy's weathered by a lifetime out of doors. Tommy bet if he could talk Fox out of his shirt, he'd find washboard abs.
More than the physical, Fox's attitude shouted military. No nonsense, dead-level stare, speech clipped and formal, very exact phrasing. None of the creases in his face were laugh lines.
Fox kept using the singular when speaking of his stable, like the old days when the big stables only fielded 'Mechs. Now major stables had a 'Mech stable, an infantry/scrapper stable, tanks, and even aerospace. But Tommy had long advised Fox off kites and cans. Two basic stables—easy-to-maintain infantry for the bread and butter and pricey-but-high-dividend 'Mechs for the steaks and glory—that was the way to begin.
Fox was still playing it cagey about how much he had to invest. The good news was it wasn't in stones. Money from all over the Sphere circulated on Solaris VII; the economy was based on international spending. A lot of tourists had been stranded and not a few personal fortunes gutted when the gaming commission had ruled Republic of the Sphere stones were no longer legal tender.
But whatever Fox had, he seemed in no hurry to part with any of it. Which was why most agents and packagers had given up on him months ago. Tommy had stayed in touch; you didn't let a potential investor of that magnitude become a stranger.
But until Yulri had come up with his cockeyed plan to start a co-op, Tommy hadn't known what to do with Fox or his potential coffers of kroner. The old man wanted into the Solaris VII stable system on the cheap and the kid wanted to start a co-op with no front money. Why not put the two together? As far as Tommy knew, there had never been a co-op stable partnership—he wasn't even sure how the legalities involved would work out—but it was the perfect route to all their happy endings.
What happened here today could be huge; this could make his career a hundred times over. Or it could end with watching Fox ship out steerage and a lifetime of business horror stories to trade for drinks. Which way it went—or even if it went at all—would depend on his getting all the parties happily married. And right now the groom was making unhappy sounds.
"I am concerned about a fighter who has so obviously suffered defeat," Fox ended, looking at Jazz.
"Defeat?" Tommy said before Jazz opened her mouth. "You're kidding."
Fox turned his unsettling gaze back to Tommy.
The agent held the level stare. Fox might have been some kind of warrior back in his day, but the negotiating table was Tommy's arena and this was still his day.
"They were armed, she wasn't," he said, "But she's here and they aren't."
Tommy leaned forward, fingertip tapping the table once for emphasis.
"When Jazz has her game on," he said, man-to-man, "Satan calls for backup. She's the best investment you're going to make here."
Fox raised an incredulous eyebrow and looked back to Jazz.
The little minx was lounging in the straight-backed chair, looking relaxed. If you didn't noticed how her legs were placed. No tension, but Tommy knew that if anyone snatched the chair out from under her she wouldn't shift a centimeter. Her placid beauty/beast gaze met Fox's hard stare without a flicker.
Fox's eyes broke away first, but only to rake the length of her body and come back to her eyes. There was—maybe—a tenth of a degree melt, which told Tommy he'd registered her covert battle readiness.
The girl's got skills.
Breaking the lock a second time, Fox looked to Yulri.
Tommy couldn't see his eyes from this angle, but the Clanner nodded as though answering a question.
Apparently that was good enough for Fox.
Must be a warrior-to-warrior thing, Tommy thought. Brothers in arms and all that. Even if one of them was a Clanner.
When Fox turned back to him, Tommy was ready with a cocked eyebrow of his own, letting the investor know the ball was in his court.
"What are the specifics of your proposal?" Fox asked.
* * *
"Satan calls for backup?" Jazz laughed, a carefree girlish jingle Tommy would never have imagined. "God, Tommy, if I'd had a beer it would have come out my nose."
"I call 'em like I see 'em, kid."
"Hell with that." She waved her hand dismissively. "You say whatever you think will close the deal."
"Which you think is an insult." Tommy leaned back in the cushioned seat of the rented limo. "But it's just a question of knowing which tool will get the job done."
"But lay it on that thick?" She snorted again at the memory. "I'm surprised Fox went for it."
"Simien Fox is not a subtle man," Tommy said. "With all that military discipline and reserved, controlled look he puts on, he likes things bold and straight. Try to be subtle or play it low-key and he thinks you ain't got the balls to back it up."
"Technically—"
"Yours are titanium, kid," Tommy cut her off.
"Tommy is correct in his assessment," Yulri spoke for the first time. In his formal Clanner mode, which tipped Tommy he'd been giving the matter a lot of thought.
"You're trusting Tommy's assessment of my balls?"
"His assessment o
f Simien Fox," Yulri said as though Jazz had asked a reasonable question. "He bargained well. Our bid will be accepted."
Tommy nodded. He didn't know the Clanner's reasoning, but his conclusion matched Tommy's read on the table.
Next step would be location, location, location. And he had a couple of spots in mind—in the price range
Fox probably had to invest—for establishing the stables. Stable, to use Fox's singular. Had a couple options in higher and lower brackets as backup, in case Fox surprised him, too. But all things considered, that wasn't likely.
20
JumpShip Kure Beach
Shiloh nadir jump point
Former Prefecture VIII
6 December 3135
Mako DuBois paused in the companionway outside the paladin's cabin.
He thought he'd heard a shout, but that should have been impossible through the metal bulkhead. Perhaps the sound had come from somewhere ahead or behind, but it had sounded muffled, not echoing.
He stood, the deceleration thrust holding him to the deck at a comfortable two-thirds of his normal weight, and looked both ways. The muffled shout was not repeated. Beyond the sigh of circulating air and the normal collection of mechanical noises, the corridor was silent.
Mako shrugged mentally, and rapped on the frame of the bulkhead—remembering to use his ring instead of his bare knuckle this time.
"Enter." The paladin's voice sounded from the speaker by the door.
Mako crossed the threshold, then stopped.
Paladin Marik stood in the center of the small cabin with a noteputer in one hand and the back of his neck in the other. Chin on chest, his widely spaced eyes blazed at Mako through thick eyebrows. His hair looked as though he'd been pulling it. Or at least scrubbing his scalp.
"Bad news, sir?"
"Yes. No. Damn it," the paladin answered. "A family issue."
Mako blinked.
"My brother has made a rash decision, taken a course I think unwise." Marik said. He leaned his head back against the pressure of his hand on his neck and mustered a wry smile. "There is nothing amiss with Operation Fair Play. We may proceed on schedule."
Wolf Hunters Page 13
