“Open your eyes slowly, Major. Everything will be dark, but that’s because we’ve darkened the room. Go ahead. Open.”
Justin took a deep breath and opened his eyes. They snapped almost immediately shut as even the low light seared into them. Once more, he forced his eyes open and blinked them rapidly, finally becoming accustomed to the darkness. I can see! His smile almost cracked his dry lips, and brought a hearty chuckle from the doctor.
Justin turned his head to the right and focused. The doctor, a tall, sandy-haired man, returned his smile. Justin squinted and finally succeeded in reading the name on the doctor’s white coat: James Thompson, MD. “Dr. Thompson. Thank you. I am Major Justin Allard.”
Thompson laughed. “Yes, Major. I know that.” He turned toward the plump nurse standing at the foot of Justin’s bed. She wore no nurse’s cap to restrain her curly riot of blond hair, but had gathered it at the nape of her neck with a ribbon. “This is Nurse Alice Forrester.”
Justin nodded at her, and she returned the gesture. I can see! Thank God, I can see. “So, Doctor, what is it you think I should understand?”
The doctor hesitated, but Justin saw his gaze flick toward the far side of the bed. Justin turned his head slowly and looked down.
There, nestled like a viper in the sharp folds of the starched white sheets, Justin saw the blackened steel thing that engulfed his left forearm.
Chapter 8
NEW AVALON
CRUCIS MARCH
FEDERATED SUNS
8 JANUARY 3027
A helmeted and visored guard swung open the heavy bronze door to Hanse Davion’s private planning chamber. Quintus Allard saluted the bodyguard with a curt nod of his white-maned head, then swept into the room. His slightly oversize green jacket and loose pants hid a strong, lean body that belied the years shown in the color of his hair or the wrinkles around his blue eyes.
Prince Hanse Davion, sole and undisputed ruler of the Federated Suns, looked up from the massive antique desk and frowned. Something must be very wrong, he thought. Never, in the five years that Quintus has been acting minister of Intelligence Investigations and Operation, has he looked so disturbed. The man’s anxiety and anger was palpable. “What is it, Quintus? Has something happened to Justin?”
Allard shook his head and moved toward the wall console that controlled the office holoviewer. “Justin’s doing well. The doctor released him only a week after he came out of coma, and he spent the New Year’s holiday with my wife, his sister Riva, and me. He pushes himself, and Dr. Thompson is pleased with the gross mobility Justin is showing with the, ah, the…” The voice of Hanse Davion’s master of counter-espionage trailed off as he looked at his own left hand and twisted it up and down.
The Prince was relieved, but still concerned over what was troubling Quintus. “If Justin is fine, what is the matter?”
Quintus held up a green and gold holodisk, with a look of distaste. “This arrived in the company of more lawyers and ‘security’ men from the Capellan March than ought to be allowed on any DropShip. Michael Hasek-Davion seems to think I can’t handle the Counter-Intelligence Division in addition to the IIO Ministry, and so is trying to help me.”
What the hell is that scheming idiot up to now? Hanse wondered. He leafed through a pile of papers, and plucked a shipping schedule from the middle of the stack. He held up the sheet for Quintus to see. “How did they get here so fast? I haven’t been expecting any ships from New Syrtis. Nothing due in for two weeks.”
Quintus nodded and shoved the holodisk into the viewer. “Your beloved brother-in-law learned of Leftenant Redburn’s departure from Kittery for the awards ceremony. Because you approved the expense of having Redburn travel on the command circuit, Duke Michael decided to send a few representatives of his own along. The command circuit worked its normal wonders, of course. The DropShip passed from JumpShip to JumpShip and made the voyage from Kittery to New Avalon in twenty-four hours instead of two months. Some of Michael’s own men had been on Kittery conducting an investigation, and so they just boarded the ship with Redburn and got permission from Michael to proceed. This holodisk was recorded from a ComStar transmission, and they brought it with them.”
Hanse’s blue eyes turned to slits as barely controlled anger flashed across his face. “Wait, Quint,” he said. “Before you start playing that tripe, let me get Ardan in here.” The Prince punched a button on his desk. “Find Ardan Sortek and ask him to join me in my office, please.”
Hanse Davion, often known as the Fox because of his cunning, suppressed his fury and forced a smile. “You have taken care of Michael’s representatives?”
The pall lifted from Quintus’s face as he smiled broadly. “Decontamination for the next thirty-six hours. Seems the batch number on their Kentares flu vaccine indicates that they got a bad dose, so we’re running a full set of shots and blood tests on them.”
The Prince of the Federated Suns laughed. “Always best to be cautious.” Well done, Quintus. Very well done.
The chamber’s massive door again opened to allow in Hanse Davion’s friend and advisor, Ardan Sortek, who was carrying an armful of folders. Younger than either of the other two men, Sortek had the fit form and handsome face that any Davion recruiter might have wished to reproduce on recruiting posters all over the realm. Ardan smiled warmly at the other two men, his brown eyes twinkling, then his expression changed to one of concern as he saw the worry on his friend’s face. “What has Michael done now?”
Hanse Davion returned Ardan’s smile, though somewhat wanly. As always, my friend, you see the truth at the heart of everything.
Quintus, too, was glad to see Ardan. Though Sortek was a military man who hated the compromises and shadowy dealings that politics often forced on himself and Hanse Davion, he had amazing political instincts. Indeed, he had managed to uncover and defeat a plot hatched by Maximilian Liao, leader of the Capellan Confederation, to substitute a double for Hanse Davion. Had it not been for Sortek’s resourcefulness and intelligence, Max Liao might have succeeded where all his legions had failed miserably. Through his fake Hanse Davion, he might have taken over the rulership of the Federated Suns, the most powerful realm in the Inner Sphere.
Hanse waved Sortek to a chair. “We’re not certain yet, but this holodisk is a message from Michael. It should be explosive.”
As if sparked by Hanse’s final word, Sortek extended the files toward Allard. “Some of your men said they’d found the originals for these files while they were decontaminating the luggage that came in with Michael’s ‘representatives.’ They also added the top file, which is a complete rundown on each of the men he sent.”
Allard took the files and set them down on a corner table. He dimmed the lights, then punched the viewer’s startup button. After an initial burst of static, a golden lion on a field of bright green filled the screen. As Michael Hasek-Davion’s personal crest was fading from the screen, Sortek noted drily, “Is it just me, or is that lion looking more and more Capellan every time we see it?”
Hanse exaggerated a frown. “You can’t believe that Michael might be talking to Liao, could you?”
“Ha!” Sortek laughed.
Michael Hasek-Davion’s face materializing on the screen cut off all further comment. Only seven years Hanse Davion’s senior, the Duke of New Syrtis wore his long black hair in a braid that curled around and up over his shoulder like a snake. His restless green eyes, just slightly too close together, kept shifting away from the camera, failing utterly to convey sincerity. His voice, though deep and well suited to speech making, carried no conviction.
“Greetings, brother. Your sister Andrea is well and sends her love. She is anxious for your welfare, and hopes you are as fit as ever.” Unknowingly referring to the brief period when Liao’s double ruled in Hanse’s stead, Michael continued, “Your bout with the Kentares flu last year worried her greatly.”
Hanse smiled in the shadows. “Michael could never lie that well. He’ll never know how close
Liao came to winning the Federated Suns.” With a nod, he saluted Quintus for his efforts in killing the news of the Liao plot.
Michael Hasek-Davion moved back from the camera, and the focus adjusted to take in the whole of the duke’s austere office. The tiled floors and white plaster walls were patterned after dwellings from the North American deserts on Terra, but the neocubist artwork and campaign maps tacked to the walls destroyed any of the peacefulness envisioned by the architect who had created the office. Hasek-Davion perched himself on the corner of his desk.
“It is not easy for us to speak with you about the following matter, Prince Davion, because it calls into question your motives toward the Capellan March. Yes, we fully acknowledge your anger with us because we refuse to commit our troops to your war with Kurita in the north, but House Liao eyes us with hungry intent. How well could I serve you as a March lord if I allowed you to strengthen one front, only to lose another?”
Michael shrugged, then his face darkened with thinly disguised outrage. “How is it that you have not yet begun prosecution against the worst traitor the Federated Suns has ever seen? How is it that you have turned the resources of your vaunted New Avalon Institute of Science to help restore a vile quisling to his health? How can you justify anything but death for Justin Allard?”
The vehemence in Michael’s voice cut off any opportunity for the room’s trio of occupants to comment. “Justin Xiang Allard, the son of your own counter-intelligence chief, has betrayed the Capellan March on more than one occasion. You knew of, but chose to overlook, his dismissal of Sergeant Philip Capet. You yourself pinned the Gold Sunburst on Capet’s chest for his selfless valor on Uravan. How Allard’s dismissal of such a hero could escape your notice is beyond me—unless that report somehow never reached you.”
Though Hanse knew Quintus Allard was not so insecure as to need reassurance, he turned to him with a look that said, I know he lies. The grim smile on Allard’s ashen face showed that the man took the Prince’s meaning.
“We are certain, Prince Davion, that you have seen reports on the ambush that cost Allard his arm. Many people might have put his injury down to bad luck. My investigators, however, have uncovered information suggesting that the treasonous half-caste merely ran afoul of his incompetent confederates and was attacked before he could identify himself.”
Michael reached behind him and pulled up a thick folder. “Unsupported conjecture? No, it is not. It is fact. We have countless reports of Major Allard spending much of his spare time among the indigs of Kittery. We know of contacts he’s made with the local tongs, and how he has gained control of them. While reports to you might have indicated a pacification of Kittery’s largely Capellan population, my agents report that Allard had them biding their time until the moment when they could overthrow our authority.”
As Michael replaced the file on his desk, the camera slowly drifted in toward a close-up. “We realize this may seem like a trivial matter to you, but it is of the utmost importance here in the Capellan March. Our people already believe that your attention is consumed entirely with the Kurita front and the slender threads of an alliance with the Lyran Commonwealth. They feel you do not care about them and that you are willing to strip us of troops, ’Mechs, and resources merely to keep the Combine from your neck.”
Michael stared out from the screen. “If Justin Allard is not tried for treason—and we assure you that he is a spy of the highest order—what are my people to think? You know well how difficult it is to maintain an effective empire when civil unrest saps your strength from within. I would hate to think that the kind of problems that plague the Free Worlds League might also befall you. My people are at your command in pursuing the just resolution of this matter.”
The screen faded to black, leaving the three men silent in the darkness. Then, as static flashed like a blizzard across the screen, Quintus Allard rose stiffly from his seat and dialed the lights up brighter.
How dare you threaten me with a civil war! Hanse thought angrily. I have not forgotten, Michael, that Anton Marik’s forces in the Free Worlds League civil war were backed by Maximilian Liao. Have you tipped your hand to me, brother, or are you just too stupid to see that Liao would use you as shabbily as he did Anton Marik? Recall, Michael, that Anton Marik is dead…
Hanse looked over at his MIIO minister and felt a pang in his heart. “Gentlemen, let us review our options. Michael gives us little choice other than to sacrifice Justin Allard to keep the Capellan March a part of the Federated Suns. Are things that bad out there?”
Quintus shook his head and concentrated to clear away the shock he had felt at Michael’s message. “His allusion to the civil war in the Free Worlds League is an idle threat. Michael knows that many of the people in the Capellan March see him as no more than your half-sister’s consort. I doubt that he could get enough popular support to pull off a revolt.”
Ardan Sortek leaned forward in his chair and loosened the collar of his dark-blue uniform jacket. “I think Quintus is right, but Michael could influence his people to resist our sending troops from the Capellan March to other fronts. We’re nowhere near spread as thin on the Capellan border as House Liao is, but Liao can still cause trouble. The assault on Stein’s Folly turned out badly for them eighteen months ago, but a strike that deep behind our border badly scared some people. Michael is right when he suggests that further attacks would devastate morale and definitely slow down the production of vital goods. That spells unrest rather plainly.”
“Quintus, have we had any confirmation of Michael’s dealings with Max Liao?” Hanse asked.
The white-haired man shook his head. “There is still only suspicion, except for official meetings that are matters of protocol—new ambassadors presenting their documents or Council of the Arts meetings and the like. We’ve also got the ‘officially reported’ texts of discussions, but no private meetings have been recorded, and so my cryptographers have no way to determine if Michael uses some elaborate code in the meetings. Anasta over at the NAIS has done some interesting work with rapid, high-frequency transmission of data, which is later slowed down and decoded. Without a recording, though, we can’t begin to look for that sort of thing.”
Hanse frowned. “No reported absences…no time when he could have been off meeting with Liao?”
Quintus shook his head again. “It’s possible that Max has created a double for Michael, but it’s unlikely. Barring that possibility, there’s no way he could have gotten out of sight long enough for a meeting with Max Liao.” Allard hesitated, then added, “Check that. Michael could have jumped out, met with Liao for four or five hours, and then jumped back in during a tour of some border worlds he took back three months ago. Still, it’s highly unlikely.”
Sortek stood and looked from Allard to Prince Davion. “I don’t know about the two of you, but I don’t need any proof of Michael’s duplicity. I can feel it in my guts.”
“As can I.” Hanse’s quiet agreement accompanied Allard’s solemn nod. “Quint, you know I must ask this. What are the chances that your son is a spy?”
Sortek immediately fixed Hanse with a harsh stare, but the Prince ignored it. “Is it possible that we’ve all missed some sign? It’s true that he worked hard for acceptance in some circles because of being half-Capellan.”
Quintus rubbed his temple thoughtfully as he stared at the floor for a moment. Then he straightened up and stared at Hanse.
“As an intelligence officer, I would have to say that sending a half-Capellan officer to head up a garrison-training force on a world we’ve only controlled for twenty years is a risky proposition. On one hand, his natural command of the tongue and his appreciation for the culture provide a bridge to normalizing relations with the native population.”
Quintus grimaced, but went on purposefully. “On the other hand, it could be very easy for enemy agents to co-opt such an officer if he were to feel betrayed or persecuted by his own troops or superiors.” Quintus shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know
about Justin. All I can do is review the evidence Michael’s men have gathered and see what I can come up with.”
Hanse smiled and nodded. “I know you’ll do your best, Quintus.” The Prince of the Federated Suns stood up, fingers poised against the polished surface of his desk. “It seems, gentlemen, that we agree. I believe that Michael Hasek-Davion wants to take my place, and I believe he’d league himself with the devil—or Max Liao—to do so. Both of you know how much I’d like to pay back Max Liao for the little trick he played on me when he put a double here on my throne… If I could, I’d like to pay him back a hundredfold.” He paused then, and the dramatic effect was not lost on his two visitors. “Yes, my friends, I think we can use Michael to get at Max himself.”
Ardan Sortek and Quintus Allard smiled at their leader. “Let us begin,” Hanse continued, “to feed Michael the kind of troop figures, locations, and projected movements that will show him we’re not abandoning the Capellan March. You, Quintus, will meanwhile thoroughly track the Liao countermoves as we shuffle our troops. I want to know exactly who I can trust in the Capellan March.”
Chapter 9
NEW AVALON
CRUCIS MARCH
FEDERATED SUNS
10 JANUARY 3027
“Hello, Doctor. How are you?” Justin slowly completed one series of tai chi chuan circular moves, then stopped. He plucked a white towel from a bench in the hospital’s solarium and mopped his sweaty brow. “Do you need me for some more tests?”
Dr. Thompson shook his head. “Not exactly.” As the doctor sat down on the bench, Justin dropped to sit facing him on the carpeted floor. “I watched your exercises for a while. What do you think of the arm?”
Justin frowned darkly and looked down at the metallic prosthesis. I hate it, utterly and completely. It’s lifeless, and because of its lifelessness, I’ll never pilot a ’Mech again. The wrist remained cocked at the slight angle he’d set for his last series of motions. The fingers, locked like claws, curled back toward his palm stiffly.
Warrior: En Garde (The Warrior Trilogy, Book One): BattleTech Legends, #57 Page 8
