Bred for war

by Michael A. Stackpole

  "That is something, then." Thomas thought for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. "The longer she takes to reply, the better for our case. Sun-Tzu is still two weeks away from Sian?"

  "Yes. He is expected to arrive on the seventh of September."

  "You have the coding and message he earlier sent to his agents still available?"

  "Yes, Captain-General." Malcolm smiled easily. "We have even identified the agents' back-up vector for receiving orders. By using it we should allay suspicions if there are any irregularities in the message."

  "You have outdone yourself, Malcolm. Send the message to New Avalon, routing it through Sian. If the agents take action on or about the fifteenth, I would be pleased."

  "Consider it done, Captain-General."

  "No, Precentor," Thomas said. "With that act, I consider it begun."

  18

  No plan survives contact with the enemy.

  —Helmuth von Moltke

  Avalon City, New Avalon

  Cruris March, Federated Commonwealth

  14 September 3057

  Had it not been for the training by her grandparents, Francesca would never have noticed the men. Four hours into he shift in the pediatric cancer ward, she was busy keying in the charts of those children who needed medication during the night. With visiting hours just ended, it was her first chance to get behind the desk without having to attend to anxious parents and relatives needing various kinds of assistance.

  Studying the trio of older men, at first she thought they were confused or lost. The general cancer ward had an extra two hours of visiting time in the evening and these were not the first people to mistakenly get off on the sixth floor instead of the seventh. The fact that all were dressed up in suits and carrying flowers made her to want to help them.

  The little group smiled at her as she came out from around the desk, and she reflexively returned their smiles. Politely averting her eyes to avoid staring, she glanced down at the floor. Something in the back of her awareness told her something was amiss, but she couldn't place it immediately. It was only when her white shoes squeaked on the floor tiles barely a dozen paces away from them that she realized what was wrong.

  Their shoes! The three men all wore nicely cut suits that were a bit out of date, but on their feet were brand new, soft leather shoes with rubber soles. The footwear would have been perfectly appropriate had the men been dressed less formally. With suits, the shoes were incongruous. Instantly her mind flashed to a memory of her grandmother talking about how such noiseless shoes were perfect for covert operations.

  Francesca didn't really think the three men before her were agents, but their furtive, darting glances and their whispered conversation as she approached kept her on edge. Despite looking far too old for covert ops, the three men seemed alert and less nervous than most disoriented visitors. Aside from the shoes, they looked the part they were supposed to be playing. They just didn't feel right.

  "May I be of assistance, gentlemen?" Francesca forced her voice to be friendly and polite. "You were looking for the cancer ward, yes?"

  One of them, the beefy man nearest her, nodded. "Yes, but it looks like we've stumbled into the wrong one. Isn't this where the news showed Joshua Marik being treated?"

  Involuntarily Francesca glanced down the corridor toward Joshua's room. The instant she did so, and saw the beefy man register her eye-motion, she realized how easily they'd duped her into giving them the clue they needed to find Joshua. She had betrayed the boy despite wanting to protect him. Yet even as she came to that alarming conclusion, Francesca also realized that the man's question was a natural one for anyone who'd followed the story of Joshua and Missy Cooper over the last year.

  Careful, Francesca, try not to overreact. "Yes, it is. I believe you gentlemen must be wanting to visit someone one more floor up. Let me call you an elevator." As she moved behind the beefy man to get to the wall panel, Francesca let her left hand brush across his body. Under his left armpit she felt the compact hardness of a gun.

  Time slowed for her. The instant she felt the gun, she knew these three men had to be agents—assassins—sent to kill Joshua. Liao agents, sent by Sun-Tzu Liao to eliminate Thomas' legitimate heir. Her innocent glance toward Joshua's room had doomed the boy, and she had to act to save him. Joshua was her responsibility.

  Reaching up and over the beefy man's shoulders, she grasped the lapels of his blazer and pulled back. She stripped the coat halfway down so it trapped his arms, then reached out and tugged the Mauser & Grey P-17 needle pistol from the man's shoulder holster. Sweeping her right leg around, she toppled the beefy man onto his back, then snapped the pistol's safety down with her left thumb.

  "Stop! Don't move!" she commanded the other two. "Guards!"

  The other two men reacted instantly. The nearer one turned, and as he tossed his bouquet of flowers at her, Francesca pulled the trigger. The cloud of plastic flechettes mulched the flying bouquet, reducing it to botanical confetti, and hit the man in the shoulder. Her second burst struck him in the center of his chest, shredding his shirt and tie.

  Her first target slowly spun and fell as the next man dropped the flowering plant he had been carrying. He cut to the right as he reached for his pistol, so her first shot only tugged at the hem of his jacket. Francesca tracked him to the left and, fighting the pistol's recoil, started snapping shots off in double-tap pairs.

  Her second and third shots also went wide. One exploded the holovision viewer in the waiting lobby while the next reduced the floor map on the wall to a crater in the wall. Her target had no more luck, his first shot sending a bullet clanging into the elevator doors.

  Instinctively Francesca moved to her right while continuing to track left. That saved her life because her target over-corrected, his bullet blowing by on her left. Fighting his own momentum, the agent tried to aim at her, but even as he had her staring down the barrel of his gun, Francesca shot back and kept her aim on target.

  Her first shot opened the man's belly. The cloud of flechettes ground through his midsection, perforating his bowels, stomach, and kidneys, as well as shredding major blood vessels and severing nerves. The second shot caught him in the face. The ballistic-plastic rain stripped the flesh from his bones more efficiently than a sandstorm. Falling back, the agent looked to Francesca less like man than a personification of death, and she took that as a dire omen.

  The first bullet took her in the left hip and began to spin her in that direction. As she came around, she saw that the man on the floor had freed his right arm from the coat and filled that hand with a snub-nosed revolver. Must have been at the small of his back. She triggered a shot at him at the same moment he fired at her.

  His second shot punched her right below the breastbone and sent her flying backward. Francesca never saw what her shot had done to him, but as she slammed into one of the waiting room couches, flipping it over, she saw Joshua's guards running down the corridor with their guns at the ready. She knew they would get the last man.

  She also knew Joshua would be safe, and her joy in that knowledge held off the pain for as long as it took for her world to dissolve into peaceful oblivion.

  Tamar

  Wolf Clan Occupation Zone

  Phelan Ward nodded to Khan Elias Crichell. "Please follow me, Khan Elias. I will take you to the holotank." Intent on irritating the Jade Falcon Khan, Phelan made no attempt to keep his contempt for the man from his voice. In return he got a satisfactory tightening of the man's blue eyes and considered it a battle won in what would surely be a long war.

  Phelan led Crichell through the maze of offices shared by the Wolf Clan's Alpha and Beta Galaxies. The offices themselves were ominously quiet. Coffee cups sat steaming on desks and the water level in water coolers still undulated, as if ghosts had been drawing it down. The whole complex felt like a place that had been abandoned in haste, as if a fire alarm had gone off, but the eerie silence canceled the chances of that explanation.

  From the corner of
his eye Phelan could see that Crichell was feeling uneasy. The Jade Falcon Khan had visited the Clan Wolf command center before and knew well the place where they had erected their holotank. He also knew they were not heading toward it. They were, in fact, heading away from it, toward the back of the building and the vast 'Mech hangars there. Phelan had no doubt Crichell was wondering if he was being led into an ambush that would take his life.

  When they finally reached the red fire-door leading to the hangar, Phelan opened it and waved Crichell through. The building's air cooling system surrendered to the humid, sweltering air of the hangar, but Crichell was sweating even before he stepped through the door. Phelan followed closely, bumping Crichell forward with his body, then pulling the door hard shut behind him. "After you, my Khan."

  Crichell stared forward at the smoked lucite panels of the holotank, which had been arranged in a large oval on the hangar's ferrocrete floor. Little lights around the holotank's rim showed it to be operational, but nothing of the interior could be seen from where they stood. A gap between panels at one end provided a point of ingress but, as obvious as it was, Crichell did not move toward it.

  No physical barrier barred Crichell from crossing the short space to the holotank, but Phelan knew it would take a tremendous act of will for the man to take even one step in that direction. Lining the path, both on the flat and up on the various levels of catwalks, and standing throughout the hangar on anything that gave them a vantage point, were members of Clan Wolf all staring soundless hatred at Crichell. They watched him with the disgust and resignation professional warriors reserve for someone who rushes headlong into a war that need not take place. Foremost among them, Natasha Kerensky stood by the entrance to the holotank and defied Crichell to approach.

  Phelan remained behind Crichell until he saw sweat bead up on the back of the man's neck, then he nodded once. In conjunction with the signal, all the Wolves—save Natasha— turned away from the Jade Falcon. They did not speak, but the sounds of warriors preparing to fight filled what a moment before had been a soundless void. Stepping out from behind Crichell, Phelan waved him forward.

  After a moment's hesitation, the Jade Falcon began to walk toward the holotank. His pace slackened slightly as he drew abreast of Natasha. "Theatrics? The old Natasha Kerensky would never have stooped so low."

  Fury blazed in Natasha's eyes, but she somehow refrained from exploding. "The only reason you are alive, Elias, is because the old Natasha Kerensky was marauding through the Inner Sphere before you were ever allowed inside a 'Mech. Had I remained with the Wolves, even a freebirth wouldn't have wanted to acknowledge carrying your blood."

  She turned away from him and stalked into the holotank. Crichell stiffened, a retort frozen on his lips. Phelan again waved Crichell forward, then followed him, taking up a place beside Natasha just inside the doorway of the holo-tank.

  Crichell stared at the man standing in the center of the holotank, then turned to Natasha. "What is this? A Khan only negotiates with his equals."

  The Black Widow smiled cruelly. "Then you are fortunate Ulric has deigned to descend to your level. He speaks for me and for the Wolves."

  Ulric gave Crichell no chance for further protest. "I have reviewed the data you sent concerning the world where you wish to fight this Trial of Refusal. As defender of the Grand Council's vote, you have the right to choose the place you will defend. Computer, display the Jade Falcon data."

  At Ulric's command, the dim holotank interior filled with color, the computer using lasers to project both the Clan Wolf and Jade Falcon occupation zones into a three-dimensional display. Brightly colored spheres filled the tank. Reaching up to a world located near his heart, Ulric touched it and transformed it into a data window through which scrolled troop data. "I concur that Colmar should be the first battleground."

  "Good." Crichell nodded, then stiffened. "Excuse me, did you say the first battleground?"

  "I did."

  "But the combat on Colmar will decide matters."

  Ulric slowly shook his head. "You and I both know it will not. Were you to win on Colmar—though I assure you that you will not—the Jade Falcons would immediately break the truce and begin a drive toward Terra."

  "We would do no such thing. That is a decision for the ilKhan to make."

  Ulric squatted down and touched a golden world near the floor. "I have noticed that here, on Quarell, you have stockpiled incredible amounts of munitions—enough for a Galaxy-size force to wage a campaign through what is left of the Free Rasalhague Republic. That would put your troops sixty light years closer to Terra than any other Clan. Another hundred and fifty light years of space would still be left to cross, but having crushed ComStar's troops in Rasalhague, the way would be open to you."

  The leader of the Wolves straightened up again, giving Quarell a kick to close the data window. "You have your Peregrine Galaxy down there, quiaff?"

  "You are no longer ilKhan, Ulric. I am not obliged to answer your questions about my troop dispositions." Crichell tugged at his tunic to straighten it, but sweat had already begun to darken the green garment beneath the Khan's armpits. He turned to glare at Natasha. "We will stop you at Colmar, then a new ilKhan will be elected."

  "Which you expect to be you."

  "That may be."

  Ulric folded his arms across his chest. "Then I will challenge the election, and you will have to defend again."

  Crichell frowned heavily. "Have I misjudged you Wolves?"

  "If you thought us interested in power, yes." Ulric smiled coldly. "I am ten years your junior, Elias Crichell, and that means I am two generations your superior in breeding— apart from the fact that the Crichell bloodline is innately inferior to the Kerensky bloodline. I am a warrior, not a politician. But I think you have forgotten how a warrior thinks, Elias, and in doing so, you have most certainly misjudged me. In doing so, you have misjudged us Wolves, one and all."

  Crichell hunched his shoulders, then looked up. "What do you want? What must I concede to you, for I see where you are going with this. If I win on Colmar and am elected ilKhan, you challenge me again and again we will fight. If I win a second time and announce the resumption of the invasion of the Inner Sphere, you challenge me once more. And again and again, on every world, at every turn. What do you want?"

  "What do I want?" Ulric's eyes grew distant for a moment. "I want an end to any efforts to resume the invasion."

  "Impossible."

  "Then I want the truce respected and maintained."

  "Not possible."

  "Ah, but it is." Ulric reached out and touched four worlds in the Jade Falcon occupation zone. "I am going to hit you on Colmar, Dompaire, Sudaten, and Zoetermeer. After I have beaten you there, I will push up and through your occupation zone. To defend your position, you will have to defeat me throughout your zone."

  "And I will attack back into your zone."

  "Go ahead. What use will our worlds be to you when I have destroyed your Galaxies?"

  "You are telling me you will turn this contest into a Trial of Absorption!"

  "No, it is a Trial of Refusal—a refusal to let you destroy the Clans. If the Wolves must perish to save the rest, so be it."

  Crichell's face began to turn red. "This is madness, Ulric. It is suicidal."

  "Just as suicidal as resuming the invasion."

  "You are wrong."

  "No, Elias, you are blind." Ulric pointed toward Phelan and Natasha. "These are the two best commanders the Wolves have, and both have come to us from the Inner Sphere. Why are they the best? Because, in addition to being formidable warriors, they are flexible and sensible. They plan for victory, and consider the consequences of defeat. For them warfare is about more than winning enough glory to breed; it is about the way of the Clans and how we will pass that way of life down to future generations.

  "When Nicholas Kerensky founded the Clans, he envisioned the creation of the greatest warriors the human race had ever known. He accomplished that, and th
e soul of our being as Clansmen is the drive to perfect ourselves and our equipment beyond that of all others. Improving our ability to wage war has become, perversely, our reason for being.

  "The advantage Nicholas Kerensky had over all of us is one Natasha and Phelan share. They know that the purpose of life is to live, not to make war. They cherish life and are willing to fight for it and die for it. That is the reason for their superiority as warriors. And it is also the reason ComStar's army was able to defeat us at Tukayyid and impose this truce upon us. And it is the same reason I am willing to use all my troops and all my resources against you."

  "You cannot win."

  "Nor can you."

  Natasha stepped forward. "Phelan, please escort Khan Elias from this place. He has not bargained well, but the bidding is done. We choose to bid everything Clan Wolf has to stop him, and the Jade Falcons must bid just as high if they hope to survive."

  19

  I am more afraid of our mistakes than our enemies' designs.

  -Pericles

  Avalon City, New Avalon

  Cruris March, Federated Commonwealth

  14 September 3057

  Stepping from the elevator, Victor looked past the sheet-shrouded lump on the floor at the feet of Curaitis. "What happened?"

  Curaitis stepped past the forensic holovideographers, moving far more easily across the bloodslicked floor than anyone should have been able, as far as the Prince was concerned. He waved Victor around the corpse on the floor and past two others, then stopped in the small waiting lounge. "You should not be here, Highness."

  "I had to be here, Curaitis. Someone has tried to kill Joshua Marik." Victor took off his cap and almost used it to brush holovid monitor fragments from a chair. "May I? Has it been holographed yet?"