Warrior: En Garde (The Warrior Trilogy, Book One): BattleTech Legends, #57

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Justin cursed as a red light ignited on his control board. The last of the laser’s energy had damaged his ’Mech’s gyro-stabilizer and would force him to concentrate more on each little motion or get spilled to the ground. He slapped the heat override control and sneered. This ends now.

  Missiles arched from the Vindicator and smashed into the Hermes’s right side. The missiles exploded into brilliant orange fireballs, and the Hermes staggered as armor plates ripped free. Before the Hermes could recover, the blue whiplash of Justin’s PPC scourged the newly opened wound. What little armor the missiles had spared, the particle beam evaporated into a metal steam. Melted slag coursed down the Hermes’s front, but the beam had failed to bore into the ’Mech’s internal structures.

  The Vindicator’s laser flashed to life and stabbed into the other ’Mech’s left arm. It vaporized the remaining armor and shredded the flamethrower’s mechanisms. The beam sliced up into the Hermes’s armpit and baked the shoulder actuator. The left arm, locked in a slightly forward position, smoldered and began leaking flamer fuel.

  Justin cleared a tightbeam channel to his opponent, “Wolfson, your flamer’s leaking. Bail out now.”

  Justin could almost feel the fear coming through the radio link, but Wolfson’s words belied it. “Can’t. Got a hundred thousand–C-bill bond against surrender. You ain’t getting that from me.”

  Justin shook his head and droplets of sweat ran down his neurohelmet’s viewplate. “Dammit, you idiot! I don’t want it. Get out!”

  “Go to hell, you Capellan bastard!” The Hermes raised its right arm. The laser and the autocannon both came to life as Wolfson attempted the impossible feat of exchanging shots with a ’Mech that outgunned him. The laser cut flecks of armor from the Vindicator’s PPC, and the autocannon shredded the armor on the ’Mech’s right leg, but neither shot did enough damage to take the Vindicator down.

  Justin’s flight of missiles sent three explosive charges into the Hermes’s right leg, blasting twisted sheets of armor from the thigh. The laser burned into the same limb, excising even greater hunks of armor from the thigh. Neither attack damaged the limb, but that hardly mattered as the PPC flared to life.

  The PPC’s azure beam drilled through the melted armor on the Hermes’s right breast. As the artificial lightning bolt ate into the ’Mech, blue fire burst from the muzzle of the Hermes’s autocannon, and a dull explosion belched a black column of smoke from the hole in the ’Mech’s chest. Sparks flashed within the oily haze, and the Hermes seemed to fold in on itself.

  Suddenly, Wolfson jerked his ’Mech upright and charged. As the Hermes lurched forward, it accelerated to 97 kph, living up to its name. Wolfson held the ’Mech’s right arm wide and came in for a tackle. His laser flared to life at the last second, but the beam cut wide of its intended mark.

  Justin’s Vindicator ducked under the Hermes’s outstretched arm and buried its left fist into the other ’Mech’s flank. The giant analog of Justin’s own metal hand crushed internal circuitry and came away with wires and the autocannon’s ammo chain trailing on it. His medium laser, hastily aimed, sliced yet more armor from the Hermes’s right thigh.

  Wolfson spun his ’Mech on its right foot and tried to kick back at the Vindicator with its left leg. He failed because Justin’s punch to the Hermes’s middle had crushed part of the gyro housing. The Hermes merely spun to the ground. It landed hard on its left shoulder and ruptured the flamer fuel tanks. Even as the wounded ’Mech settled onto its back, the viscous liquid washed over its torso.

  The small laser on the Vindicator’s left arm struck like a neon-scarlet viper. The coruscating energy stream ignited the flamer fuel, sending a huge white-yellow tongue of flame licking up at the arena’s roof. The fire snapped and crackled in Justin’s ears, but did nothing to mask the screams and applause of the spectators.

  The Hermes’s faceplate blew upward. Wolfson hit his eject button and his command chair exploded out of his ’Mech’s head, spinning up into the conflagration. Almost instantly, the chair’s gyros kicked in the escape rockets and jetted the chair out of the danger zone. Singed and smoking, Wolfson’s chair landed at the Vindicator’s feet.

  The Vindicator squatted over the ejected pilot. Wolfson scrambled to free himself of the command chair, but the Vindicator dropped its hand over the chair and encased it in a cage of fingers. Within his cockpit, Justin reached out his right hand to dial his directional mike in at Wolfson.

  “The next time you call me bastard, little man, you’d better win, because otherwise I’ll kill you for it.”

  Chapter 19

  SOLARIS VII

  RAHNESHIRE

  LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

  20 FEBRUARY 3027

  Gray Noton stared out at the killing field, watching his fortune dissipate with the smoke from the Hermes II as the maintenance crew extinguished the fire. He cursed inwardly at the loss. I should have known that anything Lestrade arranged would fail, and that the little weasel will never reimburse me. I’d love to try; but I can’t extort more money from Lestrade without ruining my own reputation.

  He also realized that Teng’s victory had cost him more than just the fifty thousand C-bills wagered on the battle. It would cost him five thousand C-bills to have Teng killed, and probably another ten thousand to make sure that the investigation of Teng’s death did not lead back to him. Damn! I hate the costs of doing business.

  Kym reached out and squeezed Noton’s left forearm. “That fight was incredible!” She paused and studied his face. “Gray, you didn’t have money on it, did you?”

  Noton started, then forced a smile. He shrugged. “A bit, but nothing really.” He narrowed his eyes. “Teng has apparently learned to fight while recovering from his injuries.”

  “Foul!” someone cried behind Noton. The spymaster turned and watched as people pointed at a small holovidscreen set into a wall beside the door. The camera had focused on the fight’s victor as he climbed down from the Vindicator’s cockpit. “That’s not Fuh Teng!”

  What in hell? Noton got up and shouldered his way through the crowd. A couple of people made to protest, but changed their minds at the look of angry concentration on Noton’s face. He reached the front ranks and stared hard at the man who had just won the battle.

  The MechWarrior’s dark hair, almond-shaped eyes, and yellowish skin marked him as Capellan, but Noton had never seen him before. As the camera concentrated on the victor’s face, Noton did recognize the wolfish look of hunger. He knew that he had once worn that same expression. This one is a killer.

  “Not fair!” shouted a noble from the Federated Suns, brandishing bet stubs as though they were legal documents. “We wagered that Billy Wolfson would defeat Fuh Teng! We were cheated!”

  “Shut up!” Noton snapped. “Just shut up. If you look at your tickets, you’ll see that you bet on a Hermes II defeating a Vindicator.” Noton stabbed a finger back at the arena viewport. “That was not a challenge match. Neither pilot specified the warrior he was to face. You may not like it, but anyone who owns stables of ’Mechs knows that a last-minute change of pilots is not illegal. The machines battle, and any fool old enough to bet should have known that a Vindicator would eat a Hermes II alive!”

  Noton posted one arm on either side of the holovision screen. The camera had panned back as the MechWarrior pulled on a jumpsuit. Noton’s heart caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse of a blue-steel forearm slipping into a sleeve, Even before he had time to voice his suspicion, the name Justin Xiang appeared on the screen as the announcer stumbled his way through an impromptu history of the fight’s victor.

  Justin, freshly showered and clad in a black leather jacket over a blue jumpsuit, entered the elevator and pushed the button to close the door. “Baron von Summer’s box,” he said. “I am expected.”

  The elevator, responding to his voice command, jerked upward, then glided smoothly to the left. Halfway around the arena, it slowed and stopped.

  The door opened and Justin f
ound himself staring out at a semicircle of hostile people. “Go away, traitor,” spat one white-haired gentleman. “You are not wanted here!”

  Justin frowned, but made no reply as Enrico Lestrade broke through the crowd to offer Justin his hand. “Pay no attention to them, Justin Xiang. They are only angry because you cost them money.” Behind the baron, Gray Noton and Contessa Kym Sorenson had drifted in through the angry guests.

  “He betrayed Hanse Davion, Baron!” The noblewoman who spoke wore a tartan that Justin identified instantly. She’s from Firgrove. Andrew Redburn was a native of that same Capellan March coreworld, and had hung a blanket of the same pattern on the wall of his Kittery quarters.

  The noblewoman shook a fist in Justin’s face. “This man sold out the Federated Suns to House Liao just the way he cheated here tonight.”

  Justin opened his mouth to reply, but Contessa Kym Sorenson thrust out a finger at the woman. “Always complaining, aren’t you, Doris MacDougal? One might think Firgrove’s major product was gripes. But then it’d have to beat out excuses, wouldn’t it?”

  Kym straightened up and took in all the Federated Suns nobility with one harsh stare. “You all bet your nationality, but just because Hanse Davion’s troops regularly defeat Liao’s soldiers doesn’t mean the same has to happen here. Perhaps gripes and excuses fall behind one other product of Firgrove—errors of judgment!”

  The Davion nobles drew back from the contessa’s assault, but Enrico Lestrade did not let them escape. “This man won, and he is my guest. You’d not want me to go back on my word, would you? As I recall, all of you thought that an invitation to the victor was a good idea, especially when you thought it would be Billy Wolfson! Whoever doesn’t like it here may leave right now.”

  Lestrade’s challenge broke the ranks of the angry nobles, who drifted off in pairs or trios to stare coldly at Justin. Their remarks, which included words like “traitor” and “bastard,” were voiced just loudly enough to reach him. Kym Sorenson glared back at the Capellan March nobles and slipped her arm through Justin’s as she steered him toward the bar and well away from the deprecating whispers.

  Away from the angry nobles, Justin jerked his left arm from the contessa’s grasp. “I do not need your protection, my lady!”

  Kym flashed an arctic blue stare at Justin. “I am not protecting you, Mr. Xiang,” she said coldly, looking past him toward the other Federated Suns contingent. “I despise boors and poor losers,” she said. “You are merely a convenient vehicle for getting under their skin.”

  Am I? Justin snorted. “Typical behavior for a Federat.”

  Kym’s eyes narrowed to slits. “My, we have a sharp tongue, and we’ve picked up the local slang quickly, haven’t we?” She stabbed a finger into the center of his chest. “I’m not going to be saddled with your anger at everything to do with House Davion. I’m here because my daddy finds it embarrassing that I share the view that most Capellan Marchers are parasites on the body of the Federated Suns. I haven’t been afraid to say that out loud, either, which is not very good for business. Hanse Davion kicked you out of the Federated Suns. It was my father who booted me. Cut back on your jump jets.”

  Justin boldly appraised Kym Sorenson, then slowly nodded. She sees me as a way to strike back at her father and the Federated Suns. I find her very attractive, and very different. “Very well. You’re right. As they say, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ I am Justin Xiang, and I appreciate your help back there.”

  The hint of a smile broke through Kym’s angry expression. “And I am Contessa Kym Sorenson. Pleased to have been of service.” She extended her right hand, and Justin enfolded it in a warm grasp.

  Justin noticed she held his hand just a bit longer than necessary, giving it a little squeeze before releasing it and turning toward the large man with a shaved head standing beside her. “Justin Xiang, this is Gray Noton.”

  Justin extended his hand to Noton and met the firm grip with an equal amount of power. Neither man tried to crush the other’s hand, but their grips conveyed a great deal about each man’s considerable strength of personality. “Gray Noton…I remember hearing about some of your fights on the flight in system. You must have been very good… Many people referred to up-and-coming fighters as ‘new Gray Notons.’”

  Noton smiled quizzically. “I have not lost all my ability, but I bow to one of your skill. You turned the Hermes with that flight of missiles. Not many fighters here on Solaris would waste munitions that way.”

  Justin smiled. “Ascribe it to the bad habits I picked up during Operation Galahad, those military exercises that Prince Davion put his troops through last year. He is generous with missiles, and as a battalion commander, I had to find new and interesting ways to use them.”

  Noton smiled warily. “I believe Solaris is not at all prepared for you, Justin Xiang.”

  Justin laughed and offered Kym his left arm. “Shall we?” He pointed to the bar. “I’m definitely in the mood for drink.”

  Kym Sorenson stabbed the glowing blue button on her Hurricane’s dashboard. The passenger-side gull-wing door descended on a whisper and shut out the cold, moist air. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the driver’s seat. The gentle vibration of the aircar relaxed her.

  Her index finger punched a number into the car’s phone. She heard the chittering hum of a dial tone, then the piercing wail of a computer carrier before the phone muted the sharp sound. She punched in several more numbers, then picked up the receiver and spoke only one word, “Contact.”

  Putting the phone down, Kym watched raindrops splash across the Hurricane’s windscreen. A shadow flashed in front of the vehicle, and she opened the passenger door in response to Justin’s light knock. The Capellan MechWarrior slid into the thickly padded leather seat and tossed his bag into the small storage area behind Kym’s seat. He started to open his mouth, but Kym pressed the fingers of her right hand to his lips.

  “I don’t know why I’m doing this, either, Justin. Suffice it to say that I’m very attracted to you.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the garish red and yellow phosphorous facade of the Morpheus Hotel. “I will not have you stay in that place. Need you more of an explanation?”

  Justin kissed her fingers and shook his head.

  Chapter 20

  PACIFICA (CHARA III)

  ISLE OF SKYE

  LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

  1 MARCH 3027

  Nicholas Jones cleared his throat nervously. “I don’t think this is going to work, sir.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Patrick Kell shifted his gaze from the dignitaries alighting from the Lyran DropShip and looked at the sergeant. “Mr. Jones, don’t tell me you’re anxious about how Joss will react?” Get any paler, and I’ll have to send for a medic.

  Jones stammered. “W-well, sir, I am close to retirement, and I am still part of the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces, even though I’ve been assigned to your command. I don’t want any problems, if you know what I mean.”

  Patrick’s chuckle did little to hearten the enlisted man. “Don’t worry, Nick. I doubt she’ll even notice your uniform. Now back in line. They’re here.”

  Patrick Kell stepped forward with a smile and extended a hand to Hauptmann-General Sarah Joss. “Welcome to Pacifica, General. As always, the Kell Hounds are honored by your visit.”

  The Lyran officer, her long blond hair glittering with highlights from the dying sun, frowned. She looked beyond Kell at the collection of techs and astechs in the Kell Hound unit dress uniforms. “I hope you have an explanation, Colonel, because I do not find this amusing at all.”

  Kell winked at her and cleared his throat to cover the sound of Jones’s stricken gasp, then turned to the man following behind her. “Colonel Sortek, how very good to see you again. Shall I introduce you to my staff?”

  Pacifica’s growing breeze drove dust along the ferrocrete of the spaceport and tousled Sortek’s brown hair. He squinted and looked closely at the men and women standing with Kell. “They’
ve changed since I last saw them, haven’t they, Patrick?” Sortek offered Kell his hand and the two MechWarriors shook hands heartily.

  Sortek immediately turned and brought Leftenant Redburn forward. “Patrick Kell, meet Leftenant Andrew Redburn.”

  Kell smiled warmly. “Welcome to Pacifica, Leftenant.”

  Redburn nodded and shook Kell’s extended hand. “Thank you, Colonel.”

  Kell laughed. “Call me Patrick.” He turned back to Hauptmann-General Joss. “Please don’t look at me that way, General. I’m not doing this to embarrass you before these distinguished guests, despite the fact that the Kell Hounds hate duty here.” Joss opened her mouth to protest, but Kell cut her off with a friendly laugh. “No. We’ve something more diabolical planned.”

  Kell turned to Nick Jones. “Captain Allard, please conduct the troops inside before a storm starts blowing.” He nodded to the woman wearing Major Ward’s uniform. “Mare, would you be so kind as to ask Major O’Cieran’s jump troopers to roust the last radio outlet to see if it’s reported the bait is down?”

  She nodded and spoke into the radio microphone clipped near her left shoulder. Kell turned to his guests. “Smile, my friends, because the Kurita insurgents want to make sure you have a pleasant visit. We’ve jammed their audio pickups, but there’ll be someone watching with binoculars to confirm your identities.”

  Joss frowned. “What did you mean by calling us bait?”

  Kell laughed. “Kurita has had elements of the Second Sword of Light orbiting Chara IV for the past two weeks.”