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

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Kym looked down at her feet. “I was…I just wanted…I was just having coffee!”

  Noton’s laughter stung like a neural whip. “We’ll have to peel you like an onion to get the truth, won’t we? That little bistro is a place where Davion agents get orders. Don’t bother to deny it. Tsen Shang has already confirmed it for me.”

  Justin’s silhouette grew taller and his hands dropped to his side. “What were you doing there?” His voice no longer begged for excuses. It demanded compliance. “Answer me.”

  Kym darted a glance at Noton. “Don’t believe him, Justin. I love you and Noton is the one who—unngghh!”

  Justin’s left-hand slap fractured Kym’s jaw with a loud crack. “Whore!” he shrieked. “You worm your way into my confidence, into my heart, just so you can steal my very life from me!” His metal fist rose again, but he stayed the blow. “You manipulated me—not for yourself and what you wanted—but for them!” He stabbed a finger back toward the bistro and, beyond it, to the Black Hills.

  The first burst of pain had shocked Kym into utter clarity of mind, but its echoes nibbled at her sanity and devoured her confidence. The fears held at bay during months of balancing on the razor’s edge of an undercover assignment finally overwhelmed her. The stiff defiance in her body melted. She curled her legs up toward her chest and hugged them with a low moan.

  As she lay there, Kym heard the click of a pistol being armed. Then she felt the cold metal pressed to her temple. She waited helplessly, knowing that there was no deliverance from the despair and terror that engulfed her.

  “No!” Justin’s voice reached out and touched her. Though she recognized it, she understood that it would never again soften with any trace of his former warmth and affection. “No, you will not kill her. Take this whore to the Davion representative on this world. I have a message for him—and for her other masters.”

  She sensed Justin’s presence. She could smell him, and for a moment, the scent brought back vivid images of their lovemaking. As his hand, his human hand, settled on her shoulder, she screwed her eyes shut even tighter. His touch would never again have the intimacy or gentleness of a lover’s. As it would have just an hour ago.

  “Hear me, Judas, and carry my message to your whoremasters, Prince Hanse Davion and Quintus Allard.” Justin paused as he gathered his thoughts. “You have driven me from you, yet you seek to maintain your hold on me. I am not yours. I have never been yours. I will never be yours. Spare me your lies and plots and false information. You refused to call me friend, now know me to be your worst enemy.”

  Chapter 33

  THARKAD

  DISTRICT OF DONEGAL

  LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

  24 APRIL 3027

  The clerk at Meier-Star Travel answered the holophone with a smile frozen on her face. “Meier-Star Travel. From A Place to Zwipadze, we’ll get you there. And how may I help you?”

  Melissa, her hair hidden by a brown wig and her gray eyes by dark contacts, smiled. “I wish to book passage to New Avalon.”

  The clerk nodded. “Direct, cruise, or local?”

  Melissa paused as though considering the alternatives. “Direct would get me there in three weeks, correct?”

  The clerk’s fingers skittered across the terminal’s keys. In response to her inquiry, data rolled through the text window beneath Melissa’s picture. “Yes, three weeks. Is speed urgent, or is this more of a pleasure trip?”

  “A vacation, I think, but I do have to get to New Avalon by July or August.” Melissa shrugged and smiled innocently. “I’ve never really traveled between stars before.”

  The clerk nodded. “Many of our customers are out for the first time. Direct will get you there in three weeks, but the cost is prohibitive.”

  The girl glanced as Joana Barker’s credit history rolled past on the screen. “You pay more for less time in transit. It would cost over one hundred thousand kroner.”

  Melissa’s eyes flew wide open. “Can’t afford that! Not on my teacher’s pay.”

  “Well, a local trip will never get you there by summer.” The clerk typed some more, then smiled. “I can book you passage on the Monopole Silver Eagle. It’s a Monarch-class DropShip that’s been refitted for extra luxurious travel. It will get you to New Avalon within your time frame and also give you a chance to see places like Skye, Terra, Fomalhaut, and Mallory’s World.”

  Melissa frowned. “All those stops, and we still get there in time?”

  The clerk smiled reassuringly. “Monopole owns the DropShip, but jumps from star to star aboard independently owned JumpShips. This gives Monopole access to a far larger fleet of JumpShips than one firm could ever hope to put together. Because the JumpShips are waiting in-system when you arrive, you pass through the recharge points quickly. That’s how you’ll have time to explore the interesting worlds.”

  Melissa nodded. “It sounds perfect.”

  The clerk frowned. “The Silver Eagle leaves in two days. Is that a problem?”

  Melissa shook her head. “Not really. What is the cost?”

  “Moderate. Luxury passage is twenty thousand kroner, but we can get you a private room for eighty-five hundred kroner.”

  “Splendid!” Melissa clapped her hands.

  The clerk nodded as data on Joana Barker again flickered across the screen. “Your tickets will be waiting at the spaceport. The Silver Eagle leaves on April twenty-sixth.” The clerk hit the Enter button on her terminal and locked in Joana Barker’s passage among the stars. “Enjoy your trip,” the clerk told her.

  The data, recorded in a dizzying array of zeroes and ones, shot through fiber-optic relays, flashed into Tharkad’s central computer, then shot toward the Monopole corporate computer. There it triggered a program that immediately billed Joana Barker’s life savings (leaving her 5,000 kroner to spend on the trip). It kicked 850 kroner to the Meier-Star Agency, then sped Joana’s data to the Flight Engineering Section.

  Flight Engineering sifted Joana Barker’s data to determine her physical needs and possible stresses on the journey. It sent off her medical history to anticipate possible needs for medicine so that the appropriate drugs could be added to the ship’s pharmacy. Meanwhile, the history of food purchases she’d made from local stores and a catalog of meals she’d recently eaten in restaurants sailed into the Culinary Division. Her preferences for food and any possible religious taboos on certain foods were checked against the planned menu. The results of these calculations were added to the mass of data that slowly shaped the trip’s final menus.

  Joana Barker’s height, weight, social status, and age landed in the Housing database. Her mass determined whether her room would be toward the DropShip’s core or out on the fringes, to keep the ship properly balanced for transfer from one JumpShip to the next. Because of her relative youth—which the computer believed to be twenty-five years—she was berthed on one of the more active decks.

  Her known interests, club affiliations, and education influenced the selections available in the ship’s library. Her dining partners for the first couple of meals were selected easily. It seemed that Joana Barker was bland enough to fit well with anyone. Her tastes even colored the selection of activities aboard the ship, and reservations were made in her name for those activities she was most likely to attend.

  The computer wove all these threads back together into a profile of Joana Barker, then pumped the data to the Lyran Intelligence Corps computer. Though Joana Barker had been born within the LIC computer, the machines subjected the information to all the routine and rigorous searches for possible crime detection. Given the physical data, Joana Barker’s name vanished into a top-secret file of possible candidates to act as a double for Melissa Steiner. Beyond that, however, the LIC computer took no notice and sent the profile to Immigration.

  The Immigration computer quickly rifled Joana Barker’s medical history and determined that she’d had all the necessary inoculations for the worlds she’d be visiting. Then, while double-checking her me
dical history against the disease list for Skye, something odd occurred. A complete duplicate of the Joana Barker profile split off and traveled into a RAM trap while the original wandered merrily on its way. Immigration returned the file to the Monopole computer complete with visas and a note wishing Joana Barker a pleasant journey.

  Joana Barker remained in her RAM cell for three hours. Then an electronic inquiry freed the data and dragged it along to another massive computer, which broke down the profile into all its component parts. Immediately and simultaneously, a massive bank of parallel processors tapped the computer’s near infinite store of knowledge. Augmented by a hidden trapdoor into the Royal Tharkad Library system, the computer verified each and every bit of data.

  Everything checked perfectly. All the records of her education confirmed Joana’s personal profile. Computers confirmed the length of her current residence. Her credit history and her medical history matched, item for item, the masters that had produced them. Everything checked. Everything was in order.

  Though all the little details of her life fell neatly together, Joana Barker’s name actually taxed the computer. First, the computer checked the name against all the generations available for the Barker family. No one on mother Lucy or father Benjamin’s sides had been named Joana, though a Joan showed up as a possible match. Eliminating the obvious link, and bearing in mind Joana’s listed Catholicism, a quick check against a list of saints only produced another Joan.

  Unsatisfied, the program jumped to the largest list it contained. Cross-indexing her year of birth, 3002, with her location of birth on Tharkad, it then organized, by order of popularity, holovid and music stars of that era. Most matches, while close, produced such low probability scores as to be discarded easily. Even so, Yohanna—a female porn queen—joined both Joans as a possible candidate.

  Still unrequited, the program sorted through numerous other lists of famous people. Politicians and sports figures produced nothing noteworthy. Historical figures produced the same Joan as the saint list, but otherwise proved unsatisfactory. The names of famous ships and ’Mechs failed to offer any ready matches.

  Finally, the program reached the most recently added database. Greedily, it devoured the complete survey of eighteenth-, nineteenth-, and twentieth-century fiction and compared Joana Barker to a myriad of names. It found one perfect match for her first name: Joana, but that character had no last name. The program immediately traced back along the information tree concerning the mythical Joana. It was then that something else suddenly matched.

  Father Benjamin and mother Lucy fitted exactly into Joana Barker’s profile. The computer checked Benjamin and discovered that his last name had been Barker, though he was better known as Sweeney Todd. Joana, his daughter, had been lost to him as an infant, and thus had never known or taken the last name of “Barker.” In the works that popularized the legend, the girl remained Joana, just Joana.

  The program double- and triple-checked the data. The match satisfied all criteria for a perfect pairing. That tripped another piece of programming burrowed deep within the Monopole computer. It coaxed the entire passenger list for the Silver Eagle from the computer and retreated without leaving evidence that it had ever been there.

  The computer bundled all the information, including statements about probabilities and error disclaimers, and sent it out. The data package coursed through a series of computers. Once the information had passed all along the chain, the machines erased all traces of the data. Twice the information had to be moved physically from one machine to another before it could continue its journey.

  Finally, the report scrolled across the viewscreen built into a desktop. It paused at the end of each page so that the reader could catch up with it. Then, as the reader punched a button, a whole new page of text materialized. The overview, only three pages in length, contained all the pertinent information the reader would need.

  Duke Aldo Lestrade sat back in his chair. He smiled coldly and licked his lips. “So, the Archon-Designate is bound out of the Commonwealth. Having her kidnapped from a Davion world ought to put a stop to this alliance nonsense.” He smiled.

  Hunting and pecking with his right hand, Duke Lestrade edited the passenger list and itinerary from the document. Using an encryption program, he then scrambled the data. Packaging the data bundle once more, he started it off on its journey from Tharkad to Enrico Lestrade on Solaris.

  Duke Lestrade dumped the file from the computer’s buffer. “Bon voyage, Melissa Steiner. Don’t forget to write.”

  Andrew Redburn reached across the candlelit table and took Misha Auburn’s hand. She smiled at him, and he returned the smile, but said nothing until the servant had finished stacking the dishes on a cart and left the suite. “Thank you for dining with me tonight.”

  Misha squeezed his hand. “Thank you for arranging it. Everything was perfect.” She stood without relinquishing his hand and led Andrew to the sofa.

  Simultaneously, both began to speak. “I…” each one began to say as they settled against the cushions. Embarrassment washed over the faces of the two young people and then they laughed. Andrew nodded to Misha, but she shook her head. “You first, Andrew.”

  Andrew hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “You must know how much I’ve enjoyed being with you here. So much so that I don’t look forward to leaving. Tomorrow’s all filled up with making arrangements and briefings and another damned reception tomorrow night.” Andrew’s voice dropped off. “But I didn’t want to leave without letting you know how I feel.”

  Misha smiled, and caressed the side of Andrew’s face. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, too.” Her hand drifted down to cover his.

  Andrew shook his head sadly. “It feels so good to be with you that I don’t want to leave.” He shrugged. “But I have no choice. I know I don’t like the idea of being on Kittery, which is over two hundred light years from you.”

  Misha laughed. “241.24 light years from here.” She glanced down at their intertwined hands, then back up at him. “I checked when I learned you were leaving on the Silver Eagle.”

  Andrew opened his arms to enfold her, and they kissed deeply. She matched his passion, then broke their kiss and clung to him tightly. “I know how you feel, Andrew Redburn, because I feel the same way,” she whispered. “But all we can do is enjoy what we’ve got now…while we still can.”

  Chapter 34

  THARKAD

  DISTRICT OF DONEGAL

  LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

  26 APRIL 3027

  Ardan Sortek shook Andrew Redburn’s hand heartily. “Good luck, Andrew. Enjoy your trip home.” The colonel retreated back alongside the Archon-Designate. Melissa linked her arm with Ardan’s as they left the VIP lounge to give Andrew and Misha some time alone.

  Andrew forced a self-conscious chuckle, but the strong emotions he felt choked it off before it could be convincing. Misha came to him and he hugged her as fiercely as her heavy, gray woolen cloak would allow. As though his arms were a refuge, she lay her head against his chest, then kissed his throat. “I will miss you very much, Andrew.”

  “I know, Misha. I know.” He kissed her lips and forehead, then held her close again. “I’ll be back.” He smiled gently. “I can’t promise I’ll record a holotape each week, or write a letter each month, but I won’t forget you and I will return.”

  Misha smiled so beatifically that even the tears slowly running down her cheeks could not mar her loveliness. “And I’ll be here waiting,” she said softly.

  Andrew took her hands and held her at arm’s length for one last, long look. Then he released her and stepped onto the Silver Eagle’s gantry. He turned to wave once to Misha before vanishing into the DropShip’s dark interior. Down below, in the lobby for commercial passengers, Andrew imagined that he saw Joana Barker standing in line, waiting to board the ship.

  He made his way to his own suite of rooms, and tipped the porter twenty kroner for delivering his luggage. Rather different from the DropShips I’m used
to, Andrew thought, surveying the suite with wide eyes.

  Compared to his rooms on Tharkad, the Silver Eagle’s accommodations were cramped, but they were decorated almost as finely as those in the palace. Gilded fixtures, mirrors, and cut-crystal lamps combined with satin bunting and wooden trim made the suite an exact imitation of the ships plying Terra’s oceans millennia before. The quilted fabric on the walls and ceiling did betray the differences, but Andrew knew the ship needed them for safety. If the transit drive ever cuts out while we’re outside a planet’s gravitational grasp, we’ll be weightless.

  The living room boasted a pair of leather sofas arranged at right angles, one facing the suite hatch and the other the hatch to his bedroom. Between them was a low, glass-topped table. In the corner, immediately to the left of the entry hatchway, two wing-backed leather chairs bracketed a wooden table. A small, unobtrusive holoviewer sat on the table. Beside it, standing neatly in a rack, were holodiscs emblazoned with the logos of several magazines.

  Andrew shook his head. He remembered mentioning to Simon Johnson that he read those magazines whenever he had a chance. For Simon to remember… Andrew shuddered. That’s one man I wouldn’t want as an enemy.

  A closed hatch next to the bedroom hatchway opened onto his cleaner. Between that hatch and the one to the bedroom stood a wooden cabinet. Andrew crossed to it and opened its upper doors. Within was a holovision monitor and another, larger disc/tape playback unit. In the lower compartment of the cabinet, he found an array of liquors racked and secured against loss of gravity.

  Shaking his head in amazement, Andrew passed into the bedroom. It was small, though the chest of drawers built right into the bulkhead did save room. Two comfortable chairs and a round wooden table were opposite his bed, which pressed almost against the exterior bulkhead. Reminiscent of an older age, gauzy curtains and a canopy hung over the bed from four massive posts.