"You!" Zeander came to his feet with surprising agility.
Part of Nikola's mind decided she, with Rhodan and Taylor at her back, could defeat the governor, his aides, and the two guards easily. She was a little disappointed he didn't cross the table.
"You destroyed a city—left thousands domeless," Zeander said. "Refugees, damages, it's a civil nightmare—"
"You have a civil nightmare because we did not destroy a city," Nikola countered. "If you had gotten the BattleMech force you wanted and tricked them into the all-out assault you demanded of us, there would be no Yaleston survivors for you to contend with."
Zeander purpled. Not with shame—that she would have understood—but with outrage that Nikola would point out his deception.
"Jay."
Bahram's soft soprano stopped whatever retort the governor had been about to make.
Nikola wondered again at the woman's role. The same collapse of the Republic of the Sphere that had given the Yaleston colonists the idea they could declare their independence, had reduced its representative to little more than a refugee from whatever her home world had been. Yet it was obvious she still held power here.
"Both parties hired mercenaries who understand this world even less than I did when I first arrived," Bahram said with quiet composure, addressing Zeander's back as he stood glaring at Nikola. "Of course the result was disaster.
"The fact remains we are having this conversation because you hired the better mercenaries." She nodded to Nikola. "And they did the job you hired them to do."
Nikola noted Zeander was no longer gaping and that his color was dulling toward normal.
"Pay the Steel Wolf Corps what you owe them and let them leave," the former planetary legate concluded. "Then we can set about healing the wounds Laiaka has suffered."
* * *
Nikola could not wait to shake the dust of Laiaka from her boots.
The depth of Spheroid deception never ceased to disgust her. Clans fought, yes, and used every advantage to attain their goals. This was the natural order of selection, how the race improved.
But there was a universe of difference between using misdirection to trick an enemy out of position and using deception to trick a supposed ally into slaughtering thousands of civilians.
The tunnel to the DropPort was as flooded with sunlight as the day she'd arrived, but she no longer found the glow cheering. The stone was still soundless beneath their boots. She had never discovered the secret of that, but the mystery no longer interested her.
The gas doors separating the Bunker City tunnel from the DropPort tunnel cycled open with a hiss of equalizing pressure.
"Ten-shut!"
The strangely soundproof floor of the corridor robbed the shouted command of echo and reduced the stamp of booted heels snapping together to a muffled thump. But a double row of Laiaki militia, facing each other across the width of the tunnel, snapped to attention.
Captain Roost took the center of the corridor. Coming to attention, he crisply snapped to the curious left-hand salute of the militia and held position, staring fixedly into the middle distance between them.
Nikola stopped a step across the threshold, Rhodan and Taylor flanking her. Part of her mind noted the door sealing itself automatically behind them. Another part of her mind noted the complete field kits—and what looked like personal duffels—lining the walls behind the assembled militia.
Nikola brushed the tips of her fingers near her brow. Close enough to a returned salute to allow Roost to snap his own hand down—index finger no doubt aligned with the outer seam of his hazmat suit.
"Care to explain, Captain?"
"Sir!" Roost responded in formal parade tones. "The former First and Second Companies of the Geir Regiment, Laiaka Planetary Militia, request permission to enlist in the Steel Wolf Corps."
Nikola looked past him to the troopers along the wall. One hundred and forty of them had followed her into battle; seventy-three had lived to be here. They were not Clan, but . . .
She brought her eyes back to Roost. "Did you know about the rebellion?"
Roost's mouth became a hard line. "That's kinda why we want to enlist."
Nikola nodded. Zeander had deceived the Steel Wolf Corps, but he had betrayed his ow% people in sending them to make war on their brothers unawares.
"What of your . . . families?" She stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar term. "Dependents?"
"Have to complete six years of civic service to earn marriage rights." Roost said, as though stating the obvious. "We're committed and ready to move out now."
This is not how it's done. Then hard on that thought: After all that has happened, how will it ever be done? We're on our own.
"There will be trials," she said, though she doubted the prospect would daunt people who had colonized hell. "There will be no commitment until you have earned it."
Roost nodded, once.
"The DropShips lift in ten minutes."
Roost saluted again, a quick up-and-down snap of the arm. Then he stepped back and to the side, yielding the right of way.
Nikola Demos strode down the corridor, Rhodan and Taylor on her flanks and seventy-three new troops at her back.
28
Ruins of Carnwath City, Watholi Plain
Carnwath, Jade Falcon Territory
16 February 3136
The hot wind rising off the Watholi Plain managed to cool by wicking sweat from his brow and the nape of his neck. The rest of Colonel Jerry Jamison was protected against the gnats of summer by a jumpsuit bloused into his boots and cinched tight at the wrists.
He adjusted his pack, the lighter of the two, on his shoulders, and cocked a weather eye at the high haze. Not that he could tell anything from the white glare. He hadn't been here long enough to know what the weather patterns indicated.
Hot would be a good guess, he thought, dabbing stinging sunscreen from his eye.
It would have been easier—and more sensible—to have driven the air-conditioned ground car to the top of the grassy ridge. But something about the great circle of standing stones and the five crude pyramids within the shallow bowl of earth required that they be approached on foot.
Even if they weren't what they looked like.
"What do you think. Captain?" Jerry asked his infantry commander as they reached the base of the nearest pillar.
Fiona Cooper shoved her cap back on her head as she examined the crudely carved statue towering above them.
"Enos," she pronounced at last. "A sickly sibkin who tested to the science caste."
"I'm beginning to recognize Clan humor," Jerry said.
"Colonel?" The Elemental looked disappointed. "Then I have failed in my attempt at a Spheroid quip."
"There will be other trials," Jerry assured her solemnly.
In point of fact Fiona and the other former Steel Wolves had done a better job of fitting in than he had imagined possible. Six months ago he had seen them as a quick way to get his Juggernauts up to fighting trim. Short-term troops who would either move on or wash out by the end of the year. Now they were as much Juggernauts as anyone else in his command.
Not that there hadn't been rough moments, particularly in the first few weeks. Clan attitude, even the muted brand the newest Juggernauts practiced, was still Clan attitude. There had been a wide variety of contusions and bruises reported to the medicos during the first few weeks. All, the injured reported, related to improper safety practices in using locker doors or items of furniture.
Jerry had turned a blind eye to most of the incidents, visiting the infirmary only when the chief medtech called to report an Elemental with cracked ribs. Use of weapons, even clubs, was going over the line.
Beral, now Sergeant Beral, the wounded Elemental, had calmly explained he'd missed a sign warning him of a stairwell. He denied any weapons were involved in his injuries and had no theories as to why the bruise around the cracked rib was fist-shaped.
Sergeant Oscar was also on hand, waiting for Ber
al to be released by the medicos. Oscar had grown up in a domed mining colony on the dark side of Gulf Breeze, a world with nearly twice Terran standard gravity. An UrbanMech of a man, he barely reached the colonel's chin, but massed an easy hundred and fifty kilos of solid bone and muscle. When Jerry had commented that the side of Oscar's face was swollen, with a purpling bruise, the sergeant had blandly admitted it was the result of his not noticing a bar of soap on the floor.
Faced with a unified front. Jerry had elected not to press the attack and withdrew in good order.
Rental fees for target ranges, obstacle courses, and practice fields on Galatea had also eaten more of the budget than anticipated those first months. Juggernauts at every level found a need for exercises that might, to the jaundiced eye, have looked more like competitions.
The only unit that had integrated without a ripple had been armor. Major Don Avison had required all tank crews to be thoroughly trained on all vehicles. The brace of Mithras had filled in the light end of their roster nicely, as fast as the Juggernauts' Chevalier and well able to support it on rapid strikes. For their part the Clan tankers had been impressed with all the Juggernauts' armor. They had gone out of their way to praise not just the flashy Demons or their lone expensive-as-a- 'Mech Schiltron. but also the Myrmidon and even the workhorse Bellona.
Apparently a good machine was a good machine to a tanker. They had intermingled easily, re-forming into new crews with no ripples reaching Jerry's attention.
Turning from the statue, Jerry indicated the pyramids with a lifted chin.
Fiona stood for a long minute, taking in the sight. Five crudely geometric pyramids, either partially collapsed or never completed, rose from the flat interior of the crater. They were black, weathered to the point that it was hard to tell whether they were constructed of blocks or were carved from single, giant stones. Black, with the hazy white sky glare reflecting thousands of crystalline fragments, the pyramids commanded respect.
The wind and even the ever-present gnats seemed to obey, for neither stirred within the bowl of the crater, the natural amphitheater ringed with silent watchers. Intellectually Jerry knew the pest-free stillness was the result of topography and low-level radiation, but emotionally the effect was stunning.
"The stories of early settlers mistaking a natural formation for alien monuments are no longer humorous,'' Fiona said at last.
"For nine hundred years folks have known this is nothing but a meteor impact," Jerry said. "Yet I'm told it's still one of the biggest tourist attractions in the prefecture. Former prefecture."
"Clan Jade Falcon territory." Fiona supplied, packing the words with venom.
When the Republic of the Sphere had collapsed in on itself, many former Republic worlds had found themselves alone in hostile space. Some had been quickly absorbed by more powerful neighbors. Others had formed pocket coalitions with similar worlds, hoping mutual-protection pacts would make them too difficult for others to swallow.
Carnwath and a couple of neighbors including Izar had formed such a coalition, even—under the savvy business guidance of the Carnwathi—worked out an intersys- tem trade agreement. But before the treaty noteputers had cooled, the Jade Falcons had arrived.
Carnwath and the others had been stepping stones in the Jade Falcon invasion of The Republic nearly two years before. They had hoped the Clan, having ignored their worlds while recharging their JumpShips in 3034. would continue to regard them as targets unworthy of attention in The Republic's absence. They'd been disappointed
Faced with a threat they could not meet militarily, they'd presented a unified diplomatic front. Carnwath again took the lead and—speaking for the newly formed Carnwath Coalition—answered the Falcons' batchall with a business proposition. Citing a tradition dating from human prehistory, they offered tribute.
The coalition proposed to provide the Jade Falcons with a healthy percentage of each world's gross planetary product plus a portion of all trade passing through the three systems. In addition, Jade Falcon units would have free and unlimited access to any bases, repair facilities, or any other installation they deemed necessary.
In exchange, the Jade Falcons would maintain a minimum presence in each system. With the smallest force they thought necessary, they would hold the jump points and oversee the local military to ensure the three worlds were complying with the agreement—and allow the worlds to administer domestic affairs and deal with internal issues on their own.
Perhaps their forces were too thinly spread. Or perhaps they were gathering forces elsewhere for another campaign. Or perhaps the efficiency of gaining the spoils of three worlds without the tiresome and honorless responsibility of garrison duty appealed to them. For whatever reason, the Jade Falcons had agreed.
Jerry didn't know enough of Clan history to know how unusual that was. but he was pretty sure it wasn't SOP.
For the Juggernauts it had meant a cursory inspection at the jump point, providing an inventory and roster— which did not mention that some of the personnel were Elementals and a few misspellings making traditionally Clan names less obvious—and a copy of their contract. They were helped a great deal by the tribute treaty calling for the Jade Falcons to determine what they felt were the minimum assets necessary to administer the planet. This had led to bidding that reduced the garrisons to barely skeletal levels.
In fact, the most difficult—and galling—part of the entire process had been imposed by the Carnwath customs officer. She had required the Juggernauts to sign a new contract stating that if they used any weapons against any Jade Falcons, all of their assets were forfeit. They would be dispossessed, all of their equipment given to the Jade Falcons.
"You don't like the Jade Falcons much," Jerry commented, looking up at Fiona's profile.
"There has long been bitter blood between them and Clan Wolf, whether true, in Exile, or Steel," the Elemental said. "Nor have they enjoyed the friendship of my people."
"Your people?" Jerry asked. "You're not Wolf?"
Fiona turned her head to look down at him, a smile playing about her lips.
"I am with the Juggernauts now. I was with the Wolves," she said. "But I am trueborn Clan Hell's Horses. Cooper is a Hell's Horses bloodname."
Jerry realized he was gaping and shut his mouth.
"That's why you expected me to react when we were introduced," he said. "You thought I would recognize the bloodname."
"For six months you have remembered that moment," Fiona said. "And in six months you have never asked. Does that speak to your patience or your priorities?"
"Priorities," Jerry answered. "How did a trueborn Hell's Horses end up serving with the Steel Wolves?"
"That," said Fiona, turning to look back at the broken pyramids of the fallen meteor, "is a very long and interesting story."
Jerry stood for a long moment waiting for her to continue.
"A famous tourist attraction," she said at last. "A monument to people not understanding what they're looking at?"
Okay.
"More like a testament to people projecting what they want to see into what's in front of them." he said aloud.
They stood for a moment in silence, considering the massive stone shapes so hauntingly like the work of human hands. Insignificant among the stones were hundreds of tourists, wandering alone or in small groups, some gathered around picnic meals.
Speaking of which . , .
Shedding his pack, Jerry pulled out a ground-cover tarp and set about spreading it on a relatively level space. Fiona set her own pack carefully down before retrieving cutlery and containers of various local dishes from Jerry's pack. Arranging the items between them, they set Fiona's pack as an improvised table on the downward edge of the tarp. With the pillar of stone close behind them, they sat looking out over the valley of pyramids.
"Clan folk ever wonder about that?" Jerry asked when the rituals of dividing portions were complete and they'd begun eating. "Alien life, I mean."
"Sentient nonhumans," Fio
na said as though testing the feel of the phrase. "Perhaps some in the science caste might consider such issues, but it is not a concern for warriors."
Jerry pricked his ears at something in her phrasing. "What about you. personally?"
Fiona peeled apart a local pastry and examined the meat that had been baked within. "Why does every new meat taste like roast bird?" she asked.
"Captain."
Fiona glanced down at him from the corner of her eye and reassembled the sandwich.
"I have been EVA in deep space," she said. "Jump point for a brown dwarf star. Sail repair at a sun with no worlds required muscle."
She paused, but Jerry said nothing.
"From that perspective," she said after a moment, "the field of stars appeared infinite."
" 'When I consider the heavens and the works of thy hands,' " Jerry quoted, " 'What is man that thou art mindful of him?' "
"What?"
"A Terran poet," Jerry said. "Or philosopher. I forget which. That was part of something my mother used to read to us. A book written over five thousand years ago."
"Your mother," Fiona said. "Interesting concept."
"And here I thought the idea of addressing a personal deity would catch your ear."
Again the sideways glance. "For Clan, that is a less disturbing thought."
"How about this one?" Jerry asked. "Scientist this time, prespaceflight: 'Considering the size of the cosmos, for man to be alone would be a terrible waste of space.' "
"Better," Fiona said. "But I would prefer to think of it as an adequately prepared field for expansion."
"Speaking of adequate preparation ..." Jerry said, looking to be sure no one was near them on the hillside.
"Indeed," Fiona agreed, moving only her eyes as she
also scanned.
Satisfied, she reached forward, touching a contact at the corner of their impromptu table. The side of her pack facing them dropped away, revealing a shielded holoscreen.
The image generated looked distorted to Jerry, and a bit ghostly. Shifting slightly closer to the captain brought him into better alignment with the emitters, and the colors and shapes became more opaque.
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