Initiation to War

by Robert N. Charrette

  As if he would. A MechWarrior had to earn his slot. By himself. Bayard Sten, arrogant bastard though he was, seemed to understand that and held himself aloof from the mob.

  "Hey, Mr. Chill." That was Jorge Jurewicz, or JJ as he insisted on being called by his friends, one of whom Kelly had become without noticing. JJ had dubbed Kelly "Mr. Chill" right after the written examination a few days ago. He'd been impressed by how cool Kelly had seemed at the time. But cool wasn't something that Kelly felt right now, and it certainly wasn't how JJ looked.

  "How'd it go?" JJ asked, apparently channeling his own anxiety into concern. "You don't look so good. Did you do okay?"

  "Not good."

  "Sorry. It's—"

  "Just too damned bad, isn't it," sneered Sten. The crowd parted before him as he approached. Sten was tall, well-built, and had the smooth Eurasian features that could have made him a fortune in holovids on Sarna or even Sian itself. They had certainly made him sure of himself. Kelly hadn't liked him from the moment they'd met at the test center, and what Sten said next only strengthened that first impression. "Real talent shows itself though, doesn't it? But don't worry too much, Kelly. You know your place now, and have no worries. No worries at all. Me and my 'Mech will protect you now that you've been born-again as a groundpounder. A gropo."

  "Shut up." Kelly snapped angrily. He wanted to put his fist where it would rearrange some of those perfect features. But pointless brawling wasn't something a MechWarrior did.

  But Sten wouldn't let it go. "Harmony is only achieved when all is as it should be. When everyone is in their place. Be grateful that you've learned your place."

  Kelly would have been grateful if Sten just shut up, but he didn't.

  "You'll be looked after, gropo. I've got to look after the little people, you know. It's a MechWarrior's obligation."

  "Look after this—"

  But somebody grabbed his cocked fist. And JJ was in front of him, pushing him back. "Stow it, stow it, stow it," JJ insisted. "Fighting could get us all marked down."

  Sten didn't care. Why should Kelly care?

  "Some House warrior you are."

  JJ's remark caught Kelly between the eyes, deflating his anger. For years he had espoused the ideals of the Capellan Warrior Houses, tried to live according to those ideals. Even his new acquaintance JJ knew that. JJ knew as well as Kelly that displaying anger wasn't a part of those ideals. Kelly had tried to live up to those ideals before he'd joined the military, before he made his try at being a MechWarrior. Nothing had happened to change the worth of those ideals or the value of trying to live up to them. Years of disparagement by his father hadn't driven Kelly from doing his best to adhere to those ideals. Sten's arrogantly snotty remarks were a raindrop in the ocean compared to the studied, habitual contempt Kelly's father displayed. Sten wasn't the problem here, Kelly was. His anger and temper were what was wrong. Punching Sten, however appealing, wouldn't change Kelly's situation in any way except maybe for the worse.

  Even a straight path offers choices, the Warrior House aphorism advised. Kelly made his choice.

  Surrendering to the hands hauling on him, he let himself be dragged away from the smirking Sten.

  The concerned trainees, having assured themselves that there wouldn't be a fight, drifted away, disassociating themselves from Kelly the Troublemaker. All except JJ. Kelly was pretty sure he didn't deserve such fidelity.

  "Forget the ass. He's just blowing air to inflate himself," JJ told him. "He ain't got nothing worth listening to. Leastwise not till he's been out himself. Now you, my friend, have been out there. Tell me how it really went."

  "I froze up," he admitted. "Forgot stuff. It's not like doing a sim."

  "Shit, if Mr. Chill froze, I'm dead meat!"

  Kelly didn't know what to say. He started to offer a rote encouragement, but he was cut off by Subcommander Veck's bellow.

  "Jurewicz! Sten! Sung! Front and center!"

  JJ started at his name, nostrils flaring.

  "Looks like you find out now," Kelly said, slapping his shoulder. The touch rocked JJ out of his shock. He scrambled up, and headed for door.

  "Wish me luck," he requested over his shoulder.

  Kelly couldn't honestly wish him better than second place, but couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. A MechWarrior of the Capellan Warrior Houses wouldn't be so small minded. "Luck," he called to JJ's rapidly departing back.

  3

  The Hylant Hotel

  Palatine of Duvic, Epsilon Eridani

  Chaos March

  26 November 3061

  Cara Price, Presider of the Palatine of Duvic, hadn't gotten where she was by being stupid. She knew who Roman diMassi was. More importantly she knew what he was. Of course, many people thought that they could say that. They were the sort of people who would take one look at diMassi's Word of Blake robes and reach their conclusions. But Price looked beyond the robes. She looked at the man, listened to him. She also listened to what he didn't say. Price knew that diMassi's Word of Blake affiliation was only part of the story, and that knowledge gave authenticity to the smile she put on her face.

  "So we are agreed then, Adept diMassi?" She leaned forward and poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher the hotel had set up on the table.

  The adept's narrow face stretched slightly with a curling smile. "I believe we have reached agreement, Presider Price. Blessed Blake be praised."

  "And you will personally act as go-between?"

  A flicker of concern flitted across the man's normally serene face. "I had not thought to do so. These matters are better left in other hands."

  "You are the one in whom I have placed my trust, Adept diMassi. No other. Can I place the safety of the Palatine of Duvic into the hands of strangers? I think not."

  "There are others who—"

  "There are no others for me, Adept diMassi. You do understand, don't you?"

  DiMassi sat quietly for several moments, clearly considering the situation. Finally he stood and said, "Yes, I believe I do."

  She doubted that he did. She knew that he was a servant of more than one master, and she had been very careful to make sure he believed that their interests were aligned. She stood and shook his hand. The deal was made, and he was at least as committed to it as she was.

  They left the small conference room separately, as they did the Hylant Hotel. Security reported no untoward interest in the Blakist's departure, or in her return to her office.

  * * *

  The rest of the day was routine, leaving Price to believe that the meeting had been successfully concealed until Negotiator Aaron Waterhouse, puffing from unaccustomed effort, his round face drawn into a scowl of distaste, scurried toward her as she walked down the broad marble steps of Government Palace. He stopped her about halfway down and spoke softly in his best conspiratorial tones.

  "I'm told you saw Roman diMassi today."

  If Waterhouse's spies were good enough to alert him even to the possibility, she'd best not deny it. "Yes, we talked. He's making the rounds as a goodwill ambassador for Word of Blake."

  "That diMassi is nothing but trouble looking for a place to happen. The Word of Blake is more reactionary than ComStar ever was. They are enemies of progress."

  "And so they're our enemies."

  "Precisely. If we are ever to see our planet's independence assured, it will not be through association with the Word of Blake. Epsilon Eridani does not need friends like those fanatics." About five years prior, the Capellans tried to wrest Epsilon Eridani from the Federated Commonwealth. When the invasion stalled, then Duke Benton led the planet to independence from both Successor States. The planet's tenuous hold on autonomy was one of Waterhouse's favorite annoying tirades.

  "Aaron, it's been a long day. You didn't go through the trouble to waylay me just to give me a speech, now did you?" She sighed to emphasize her lack of interest in posturing. "What is it?"

  He nestled his number one chin in among its fellows. "I wanted
to discuss this new report we've gotten on what Shu is doing."

  "The County Shu Volunteer Force?"

  "Precisely. Our agents confirm that it is an all BattleMech force. Nine Lineholders shipped this morning from the Kressly Warworks on the southern continent. All nine are going to Shu, bringing his total up to eleven."

  "Nearly a full battalion. Very patriotic of him." Lineholders were produced on Epsilon E, but the choice was an economic one as well since they were a relatively cheap design, if one could call any BattleMech cheap. And cheapness suited Count Gabriel Shu.

  Price gazed at the people in the street, hurrying home from a long day's work. She was anxious to be headed that way herself. "Our reports say that the rest of his 'Mechs are old and tired. Some don't even have all of their parts."

  "We should not underestimate this force. It is under the command of Major Essie Ling-Marabie, a veteran of the anti-Clan campaign," he said, stepping in closer for emphasis.

  "Ling-Marabie's is a nepotistic appointment." Price waved her hand in dismissal. "The good major is the niece of Count Shu. I believe that if you look into her war record, you will find that it is far from stellar. Supply line defense in quiet sectors, mostly. She is more a DeskWarrior than a MechWarrior."

  "That may be so. But she has command of an entire battalion of BattleMechs! That is a force that even a Desk Warrior can wield with devastating effect. We must do something or Shu's regional power will eclipse our own. And then, with the current instability of the planet, who knows what might happen."

  "We are doing something."

  "What?" asked Waterhouse with narrowed, flinty eyes.

  Price didn't like the stridency in that demand. It was a mode Waterhouse was taking all too often these days, as if he, and not she, was Presider. But the expression of anger had a time and place. Now was a time for conciliation and coddling. "In due time, in due time," she smiled.

  "Cara, I begin to think that you are losing your confidence in me."

  He sounded hurt, but they'd been in politics together long enough for her to know that his "hurt" was a position, not an emotion. Still, it needed to be dealt with. "Not at all, old friend, not at all. It's just that negotiations are at a delicate stage right now and the fewer who know precisely what is going on, the better for security. I know you understand the necessity. But I can tell you," she leaned in, Waterhouse mirroring her, "that we have successfully negotiated a contract for some mercenaries of our own. Yes, that's what diMassi was doing here. The Blakists do so dream of the old times. They still think they have a central role in brokering contracts, and I see no reason to disabuse them when the situation is in our favor. Do you? Of course not. And what diMassi was hawking, I thought Duvic could use, so I have taken advantage of our robed friends. Now we won't need to rely on President Benton's leftovers any more."

  "MechWarriors?"

  "Yes, indeed. Elements of the Tooth of Ymir. Since the Sarna Supremacy, nominal employers of the Tooth, has fallen under Capellan sway, some of their most notable MechWarriors found such affiliation unpalatable."

  "Warriors with principles, then."

  "I don't know whether they really have principles, but they do have BattleMechs, and whatever their politics, we can use them. These are veteran troops, each one a match for two or more of Shu's Volunteers."

  He raised a bushy eyebrow. "Then you are thinking of proceeding against Shu in some way?"

  "Oh, I'm doing more than thinking, old friend. Much more than thinking." She laughed harshly as she quickly descended the rest of the steps, leaving him to make of it what he would.

  * * *

  The Precentor smoothed his robes under him and sat down in an armchair by the window in his office and read the report once again.

  TO: Precentor Blane, Gibson, Free Worlds League

  FROM: Adept Roman diMassi

  DATE: 27 November 3061

  RE: Epsilon Eridani—Status Report

  Matters are progressing well here; I have made several useful contacts in the city of Dori, and most have expressed at least guarded interest in our proposals. A few walk away upon learning who we are—some because they prefer not to work with "a gang of fanatics," as one put it, others because they still remember Operation Scorpion and equate us with Primus Myndo Waterly's failed attempt to redeem civilization. Most, however, look first to their purses, where we measure up quite well. Our work here should be finished within two months, at the rate things are going. I have also learned the names of several dealers—some based on Epsilon E, others based elsewhere—whose merchandise makes them suitable for our purposes. Attached are the names and brief descriptions of the most likely candidates; hopefully, this information will be sufficient for ROM to come up with a fuller profile of each. Extra leverage can be very useful when dealing with these people.

  I met President Benton briefly, though I have not yet spoken frankly with him. I thought it best to take the measure of the man before doing so, and ascertain just how deeply his commitment to Epsilon E's independence runs. He is an excellent leader of men, with immense personal integrity and charisma. He would make a persuasive advocate for our cause, provided we can convince him of its justness. Toward the Word of Blake in general, he appears wary, though not hostile. He is among those who distrust "fanatics," and he has little taste for politics outside of his own planet. If he sees our activities as political meddling, he is unlikely to want anything to do with them. At the same time, however, he will not hinder us unless he believes we pose a danger to his world.

  Epsilon Eridani's HPG stations may offer us a way to get what we need here, with or without Benton's cooperation. As one of the few safe havens in the Chaos March, Epsilon E is a thriving center of commerce, which depends upon swift and easy communication. The sheer amount of business that takes place on this planet entails heavy HPG use, which is currently enriching the coffers of the ComStar heretics. If we can offer a better deal—to President Benton or to a sufficient number of prominent local businessmen—we can likely engineer ComStar's departure.

  I will continue my inquiries and report back in two weeks.

  The Precentor set the noteputer on his lap and looked out the window for a long moment. "All is proceeding," he whispered softly, smiling. Then he stood, smoothed his robes again and crossed to his desk to send another message.

  4

  Redvers District

  County Shu, Epsilon Eridani

  Chaos March

  27 November 3061

  The meeting called for the morning after the testing wasn't for an announcement of who had won the coveted slots as everyone expected. Instead Subcommander Veck announced a leave for everyone. No one seemed happy to be left hanging—Kelly certainly wasn't—but almost everyone seemed pleased at the idea of free time. Except Kelly. He didn't have anywhere he wanted to go, and with the military quarters closed to him, he had to go somewhere.

  Service with the County Shu Militia might be honorable as all get-out, but it didn't pay. Living on base and eating in mess hall, Kelly had never found that to be much of a problem, but a quick check of rates for local rooms showed him that he couldn't afford to stay anywhere on his own with what little he had saved. Prices in the nearby town of Mirandagol were a lot higher than he remembered, and Mirandagol was a backwater. A lot of people said that prices had risen since President Benton had kicked the butts of the Capellan Reunionists off of the planet. Some blamed rumors of the Steiner-Davion civil war that was brewing or a possible local system grab by House Marik or a threatened offensive by the Capellan Confederation. Whatever the reason, prices had risen and he'd been insulated from it. It was a sudden education in just how high costs could go. Independence, it appeared, had a steep toll.

  He had to sleep somewhere, and he didn't intend to make his bed in one of the local parks or alleys. His effective poverty left him nowhere to go but home. Reluctantly he made the transportation arrangements. While he was at it, he dumped half of his credit chips into the family account, just
in case his regular deposits weren't generating enough good will. He intended to avoid a scene with his father about any burden to the family's finances. To forestall another set of histrionics, he spent some of the rest on some civilian clothes to wear for his homecoming instead of his paternally unwelcome uniform.

  Barrhead

  County Shu, Epsilon Eridani

  Chaos March

  28 November 3061

  The homecoming the next day went well enough, especially since his father was still at the Trade Union building when Kelly arrived. His mother was glad to see him, gladder still when he told her about the deposit he'd made. To his surprise, his little sister Cordelia was there, living in his old room. She was home on familial sufferance while she recovered from a messy divorce. The news made it easy for him to accept that he would be berthing on the couch in the basement of the family's bungalow.

  At least his grandfather was glad to see him and he started in immediately asking about Kelly's service experiences. His grandfather was the biggest influence on Kelly's military career. From the time he'd been a young boy, the old man had filled his head with stories about the glory days of Capellan rule and tales of the great and honorable Warrior Houses.

  But before Kelly could get a word out, his mother cut her father off, citing his promises. Grandfather grumped about the impropriety of the younger generation, meaning Kelly's father, dictating to their elders, but acquiesced. "If he has any honor, a man must acknowledge the ruler of a house," he harrumphed and said no more about anything military.

  Things didn't get truly uncomfortable until his father limped through the door at the end of the day.