Target of Opportunity

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  “Of course,” Buhl replied. “I trust that you’re not surprised?”

  “By you, never,” Precentor Svetlana Kerr replied, looking straight at Buhl. “Does he know what he’s up against?”

  The older man shook his balding head. “No. Some of it is in the briefing, and I’ll also speak with him while he’s in transit to the JumpShip. I intend to downplay the political issues at first, because I want his focus to be on fixing that HPG.”

  Kerr’s face seemed to sour. “Blasted Republic. At least with Exarch Redburn in power we knew what we were dealing with.”

  Buhl waved his hand in the space between them dismissively. “This isn’t just about the Exarch. The Paladin that he assigned to this, Kelson Sorenson, likes to champion causes others would give up as lost—not that our situation falls into that category, of course. He considers himself a man of the people, so I suppose the theory is that he tries harder. I’ve met with him twice and so has the primus. He’s bound and determined to get the HPG network back up, and up now.” His eyes widened slightly with his words, as if he were mimicking the expression of the Paladin.

  “Has anyone explained to them that willing it to happen isn’t the same as making it happen? If we could get the system up, we would. ComStar’s a corporation; we make our money transmitting data. It’s in our own best interest to get the network back up as soon as possible. But whoever sabotaged it did a damn good job.”

  “Almost as if it were an inside job, eh?” Buhl said coyly.

  “You’d better watch your words,” Svetlana replied coldly.

  “I’m as tired of the empty accusations as you. It’s almost hard to believe that a few generations ago, ComStar all but controlled the Inner Sphere from behind the scenes.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re pining for the old days?” she asked sarcastically. “You have to reread your history. We may have controlled thousands of worlds and dictated policies, but we also prayed every time we threw a switch or pressed a button. Dressing like monks—”

  “Yes, there was a price to pay for the power we controlled,” Buhl cut in. “But back then we were respected. My grandfather used to tell me that being part of ComStar was a high honor. In the last few years, we’ve been treated like outcasts. People think we downed our own network. They think we sabotaged The Republic.”

  Svetlana shifted. “With good reason, in some respects. Remember, the Word of Blake was ComStar at one time. Now when most people outside of the organization look at us, they remember the horror of the Jihad.”

  The mere mention of the Jihad seemed to layer silence over the office. It was the Word of Blake, the religious zealots of the old ComStar, who had savaged the Inner Sphere, plunged it into chaos, war, death, and suffering.

  “I know my history,” Buhl said testily. “I’m sixth-generation ComStar. Tucker Harwell, he’s seventh gen. That was one of the reasons I chose him. His family has seen the light and dark of ComStar. Eventually, he’ll come over to our way of thinking.” Buhl nodded decisively.

  “Are you sure?” Precentor Kerr asked.

  Buhl grinned, perhaps for the first time that day. “I’m positive. I set up the DeBurke Institute to overcome this network issue. We’ve spent the last three years trying to repair technology that we’ve barely improved on in centuries, rumors of some kind of super HPG aside. Most of the HPG network hardware is more than two hundred years old. Tucker Harwell knows more about HPG and interstellar communications theory than anyone working in the organization in the last century. He represents the future.”

  “Still,” Kerr returned, laying her noteputer on the desktop, “the odds are against him. That HPG on Wyatt already burned out one billion-C-bill core. And Paladin Sorenson, he’s sending a Knight Errant to baby-sit us when we install the new one. That’s a lot of pressure on an untested kid.”

  “I agree, but, Svetlana, you are making me feel bad. I had hoped that you’d have more faith in me. I’ve already sent some insurance to Wyatt to make sure matters are well in hand: you know that, since that asset reports to you. And that ‘kid,’ as you refer to him, he’s tougher than he looks. Yes, he’s a prodigy of sorts. But when he was ten, he was hit by a hovercar. They put him in one of our sponsored hospitals. The best medical minds we had said he’d never walk again. It took him two years, but he not only overcame his injuries—he graduated ahead of his peers.”

  Kerr frowned. “I didn’t see that in his record.”

  “And you won’t. You see, Svetlana, I don’t always put all of my cards on the table. You don’t rise far in this organization without knowing how to hold back some information.”

  “I’ve read the reports. The indigs on Wyatt aren’t too pleased with our lack of progress. He’s not going to get a warm reception. Not to mention what happens if he’s successful. You turn on an HPG and that planet becomes a target for anyone who wants to carve out a base of power.”

  Malcolm Buhl leaned back in his chair and turned to look out at the stark blue sky. “It’s all about people, my friend. Weak-minded pundits think that ComStar’s strength is our technology, our network, but they are wrong. They see us as a corporation that is too large and cumbersome to act. Wrong again. It is our people who make us a force to be reckoned with. There are times I think we’ve forgotten that. Those times are going to change.”

  Precentor Buhl’s face seemed to harden, as if he were angry. “I am going to make them change.”

  Book One

  Penance

  “There are several defining moments that helped shape the ComStar we all know today. Most people focus on the Word of Blake and the Jihad as the events that define ComStar, but there were much earlier, pivotal events that forged the contemporary organization. Understanding these events helps readers to understand the impact of ComStar on the lives of everyone in the Inner Sphere.

  “The first of these events was the formation of ComStar by Jerome Blake. By declaring the interstellar communications network neutral in 2787, at the beginning of the Succession Wars, and seizing control of Terra in 2788, Jerome Blake saved the cradle of mankind from three centuries of devastation.

  “The next critical moment was when Conrad Toyama ascended to lead ComStar after Blake’s death, and transformed the communications empire into a quasireligious cult. His pretext was simple: preserve knowledge and technology using the same methods employed by the monks during the Dark Ages of Terra. ComStar personnel intoned prayers as they worked, and treated their HPG generators as mystical shrines. Toyama could have no way of knowing the repercussions that would result from the seeds he had sown.

  “The third critical moment occurred when ComStar’s Explorer Corps discovered the remains of Kerensky’s Exodus fleet in the guise of the Clans, and with that discovery triggered the Clan invasion of the Inner Sphere. ComStar accepted the Clan’s goals at face value and essentially sold out mankind, providing the Clans with intelligence and logistical support to accomplish their goals—until they learned that the true objective of the Clans was to seize Terra, along with ComStar’s base of operations.

  “Then, in the spring of 3052, history arrived at a point that literally altered the destiny of mankind.

  “The might of the Clans was challenged by Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht leading the Com Guards, ComStar’s military arm. The result was the battle of Tukayyid. On that planet, beginning on 1 May 3052, the Clans and the Com Guards faced off in a horrific series of battles, with the fate of the Inner Sphere on the line. The Com Guards fought the Clans to defeat, which ended their drive to Terra for fifteen years. But Primus Myndo Waterly launched a backup plan: a complete shutdown of the HPG network, known as an interdiction, across the Inner Sphere. She hoped that with the battle raging on Tukayyid distracting all the leaders of the Great Houses, ComStar would be able to rise up and seize control of the Inner Sphere.

  “Her interdiction, named Operation Scorpion, was doomed from the start. Forewarned, the House governments preemptively seized HPGs on the worlds in their r
ealms, and ComStar began to crumble from within. Within a month the Primus was dead, ComStar had shed its religious trappings and one faction split away from the larger organization: the Word of Blake rejected the reforms of Sharilar Mori and chose to cleave to the technoreligious tenets of ComStar.

  “The spring of 3052 would change forever the face of the Inner Sphere.”

  —Forward by Historian Harold McCoy

  from his bestselling book,

  The Spring of 3052:

  Three Months that Changed the Universe,

  Commonwealth Press, February 3133.

  1

  Adriana Spaceport

  Wyatt

  The Republic, Prefecture VIII

  30 March 3135

  The DropShip Cambrai vented excess steam from the environmental system with a deep hissing sound, blasting a manmade fog across the tarmac. The condensed moisture didn’t last long in the first light of morning, but it did signal the end of the landing procedures. Alexi Holt stood on the gangway and looked back to watch the massive port-side doors of the Leopard-class DropShip crack open.

  The Cambrai had come all the way from Terra attached to its star-hopping JumpShip, Star Eagle, carrying a precious cargo. DropShips ferried materials to and from worlds, while JumpShips carried the DropShips from star to star. First of the cargo was the hardware it carried, including Holt’s BattleMech, which filled one of its massive bays. Second, the military hardware and expendables she had brought with her. Finally, the information that its captain would provide upon his own departure from the ship.

  With the sabotage and collapse of the HPG network, DropShip and JumpShip captains doubled as couriers of information and the equivalent of stellar pony express riders. Some captains transmitted their data and information as soon as they entered a system. Others, like the Cambrai’s captain, waited until they arrived on the planet. Local government officials and businesses often treated DropShip captains like visiting royalty because they anxiously awaited the information and news from The Republic that they carried. Naturally, some captains milked this treatment for all it was worth.

  Alexi reached the bottom of the gangway and stepped foot on Wyatt, drawing in a deep breath of air. It was a slightly thinner atmosphere than she was used to, and the air was cold and wet with the morning dew. She inhaled a mixture of smells: the oxidized air near the DropShip’s fusion engines, fumes from conventional fuels, the faint aroma of strange plants and pollen. It was sweet, an almost pinelike aroma. She had been on dozens of worlds, and they each had their own smell. Wyatt was no different.

  A young officer stepped forward and saluted, and she returned the honor. His uniform was gray and green, and from his rank and estimated age, she could see he was a junior lieutenant—very junior. “Lady Holt, I bring you greetings to Wyatt from Legate Singh. I am Lieutenant Johannson, First Company, Wyatt Militia.”

  She glanced past the young officer, then looked straight into his eyes. “While I am entitled to be called ‘Lady,’ I prefer to be called Knight Holt,” she stated flatly, but not unkindly. There were many titles for Knights; some of those coined in the past few years were less than complimentary. In general, she scorned the formality. “Where is the legate?”

  “He asked me to inform you that he is on maneuvers. While he wishes he could be here to greet you personally, he indicated that he would join you as soon as he returns.”

  Alexi had read the profile of Legate Edward Singh, and found his resume wanting. Yes, he had a good education and he showed administrative talents, but that information told her nothing about the man. Military academy training did not ensure leadership skills or competency on the field of battle, and she had her doubts. In her experience as a Knight, she had found that several of the legates who had risen to command planet militias were in over their heads. Hopefully, Singh wasn’t one of them. He was in the field; that was a good sign. Training troops was important.

  Hopefully not too important on this planet, but she knew combat here was a good possibility. She had come to Wyatt with a two-part mission from her Paladin. The first was to “work with ComStar to expedite restoration of the hyperpulse generator.” Which meant, bluntly, kick them in the butt. That had been clarified for her by Paladin Sorenson. In three years, ComStar had barely scratched the surface of restoring the HPG network. Sorenson had sent her to light the proverbial fire under the ass of ComStar.

  The Republic of the Sphere had been peaceful and thriving until the HPG network had been sabotaged. The new Exarch had tasked Paladin Sorenson with fixing the network. The logic was inescapable: since the crash of the network had led to war; restoring it should restore the stability that existed before. At least, that was the formal line that the Knights took, to support the public opinion. Most, like Knight Errant Alexi Holt, understood that the genie was out of the bottle. Now that the old factions and rivalries had surfaced and production was starting again on weapons of war, it was going to take more than just restoration of interstellar communications to end the conflicts and turmoil.

  It was that realization that comprised the second element of her mission. If the HPG could be made operational on Wyatt, the world would become one of the few that had contact with other planets other than by JumpShips and their DropShip shuttles. Wyatt, which had disappeared from most star charts, would suddenly become a world of tempting value. Her secondary protocol for coming to Wyatt was to defend the planet should anyone decide to seize it and its HPG.

  Alexi was sent to Wyatt to replace another Knight, Arthur Faust. He had kept the peace on Wyatt for years, and had, in a particular waste of a valuable asset, died in a house fire. She was new to this world, and wanted to walk with a diplomatic light step until she knew the people and their capabilities. She gave the far-too-young lieutenant a solid lock of her gaze. “I have brought a cargo hold full of hardware and munitions with me, Lieutenant. I need that gear secured, transported and stored in a safe facility.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I am here to make the necessary arrangements.”

  “You’ll need some vehicle drivers,” she replied. “I’ve brought some large gifts, compliments of Paladin Sorenson.”

  “Very good,” the man said, taking out a noteputer and stabbing at it furiously with the stylus. “I have arranged quarters for you,” he said. “Our standard arrangements for someone of your standing are to berth you in the Royale Hotel in the city. Per the information we received from Paladin Sorenson when he sent word of your coming, I have arranged for a room in the BOQ.”

  She nodded and favored the lieutenant with a small smile. Good. Alexi had spent enough time in her missions as a Knight Errant in cushy hotels or posh resorts. She had been a Knight for a year before the crash of the HPG network, and had been a guest of state on various assignments. Alexi had not become a Knight for the luxury some felt compelled to provide her. The field of battle was what she liked. State dinners had little appeal for her; she preferred field kit meal packs on an open campfire. To hell with formality and a plush hotel. The BOQ, Bachelor Officers Quarters, would be just fine. Sorenson knew her well.

  “Very well,” she replied, glancing around the almost-empty tarmac, watching a few workers moving a coolant replacement line to her DropShip. “My BattleMech is aboard as well. I will take care of it personally. I’ll need a map to the barracks or a guide.” The streets sometimes were not rated to hold the weight of a 50- to 100-ton BattleMech.

  “I will guide you myself,” he replied enthusiastically. She understood the excitement in his voice. Before the Jihad and Devlin Stone’s Reformation, BattleMechs had been relatively common. Now they were far more rare. In times of peace, a company of vehicles and a handful of ’Mechs were often more than enough to defend an entire world against pirates or other predators. Any world likely to face an invasion from a House or Clan needed a much larger force. Most locals were excited by the prospect of seeing just one ’Mech up close.

  She surveyed the tarmac again. More workers appeared, all w
earing the dull gray coveralls common at a spaceport. There was no sign of security; in fact, she realized the lieutenant had not asked for her identification. The bay of the DropShip carried enough military hardware to outfit a good-sized militia unit, and she was chagrined that she had let down her own guard. If someone unscrupulous was here, they might be able to seize the entire cargo.

  Best to be sure. “Before we begin, Lieutenant, I have to validate a few things.”

  “Sir?”

  “Starting with your identification, and proof that you have authority to be here,” Knight Holt grinned at the sudden look of fear that washed over the younger officer’s face.

  * * *

  It had taken nearly half an hour to confirm that Lieutenant Johannson was who he said he was and that he indeed was with the Wyatt Militia. Near panic by the time Knight Holt declared herself satisfied with his bona fides, the young officer ordered in a platoon of infantry to guard the DropShip and secure the tarmac. That took another half hour, but in her mind the result was worth the wait. The infantry secured the DropShip, but the spaceport itself was still wide open. She was already seeing areas where she could “assist” with the training of the personnel under Legate Singh.

  She noticed a man leaning against a pallet of crates on the tarmac, apparently gazing at her DropShip. He looked like a biker, a drifter. The beard-stubble on his face was at least two days’ growth. He wore sunglasses, and his black hair looked as if it had gone unwashed for the same number of days he had avoided a razor. The knee of his left pants leg was worn through.

  She tried to ignore him as she prepared to debark her BattleMech, but something about him nagged at her. The face was familiar. Her mind played over where she could have seen him before. Not on Wyatt, since this was her first time here. She looked back at him, then stared intently across the fifty meters separating them as she focused on trying to remember something about the man watching her DropShip.