Target of Opportunity

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  The governor made it sound so simple: come up with a strategy for dealing with a Clan force that had decided to drop onto their planet. Unfortunately, the situation was a little more complex than just the Clan threat. The mercenary group that had attacked the ComStar compound had yet to be tracked down and apprehended, which meant they were still a threat to Kinross. Which meant she couldn’t leave the capital unprotected in order to deal with the Spirit Cats.

  Deal with the Clan force, but make sure that Kinross is protected in case the mercs make another move. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

  She’d been considering alternatives for hours, but the list of options kept getting shorter. So far, the Spirit Cats had ignored all their attempts at communication. In order to force the issue, she would have to confront and attack them. Quite frankly, most of the planetary militias that chose this option had not been pleased with the results. As with all Clans, the Cats were formidable fighters. Against mostly untested militia, they were more than a match.

  She rose to her feet. She needed to play the role for which she had trained. “I’m not too enthusiastic about the proposal I’m about to make, but I don’t see an alternative.”

  “Go ahead,” Legate Singh prodded.

  “I’ll go out and attempt to parlay with the Spirit Cats.”

  “Negotiate with them?” Singh asked, his voice rising an octave.

  “I’ve dealt with Clansmen before. One of the few things they respect about the people of the Inner Sphere is those who make a sincere attempt to honor their traditions. I will meet their commander and issue a batchall, an invitation to a combat trial. Their presence on Wyatt will be the prize. If they win, they stay and do what they feel they need to do. If they lose, they leave.” She stared at the legate, who seemed stunned by her words. His mouth hung open, as if the right words to respond to her statement simply didn’t exist.

  Alexi didn’t wait for him to find his voice again. “Right now we don’t know why they’re here. If we manage the combat trial properly, we’ll learn the reason they’re here, and maybe even their objectives. This option also leaves the militia protecting Kinross in case the mercs raise their ugly heads again.”

  “You are going to risk yourself by going alone?”

  She nodded. That’s what separates you and I, Legate Singh. “It’s in my job description. ‘A Knight of the Sphere protects the citizenry, if necessary with his life.’ But don’t worry. I’m not sacrificing myself. A single trial combat just represents the best, most logical choice—the least amount of risk for the largest number of people.”

  * * *

  The warehouse of Universal Exporters Ltd. squatted in one of the seediest sections of the oldest part of Kinross proper. It was a run-down structure that appeared to the casual observer to be nothing more than a storage facility way past its prime. Vines wound their way up to small windows on the upper floor that shed minimal light to the interior. No one on the street would remember the last time they saw a vehicle enter the building, though there had been people going in and out for months.

  Reo stood at the personnel entrance door, casually rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as the security camera hidden in the brickwork scanned and validated his identity. A buzzing sound unlocked the apparently unsophisticated entry system, and Reo walked into the warehouse.

  The outside of the building was unremarkable, but the interior had the look of every military post that Reo had ever seen. Overhead cranes draped myomer hoisting cables alongside gantries where the ’Mechs and vehicles were berthed. The ’Mechs grabbed his attention, three-story-high machines that could raze a city block in minutes. Reo had never seen all the elements of Cut-Throat Chaffee’s military assets assembled together in one place, and it was impressive.

  Rutger Chaffee had been busy over the last three years building this little operation for Jacob Bannson. Reo had helped coordinate the transport of the ’Mechs, which had been the trickiest part; most had been sent in separate shipments labeled AGRICULTURAL EQUIPMENT. The rest of the gear had come from Chaffee’s other sources. Not counting infantry, there looked like nearly a company’s worth of armor and ’Mech assets. A fair match for the entire Wyatt Militia, if it came down to a slugging match.

  Chaffee, wearing a military jumpsuit with the rank of captain on his shoulder, swaggered over to Jones, looking like anything but a regulation military leader. “Nice of you to make it, Jones,” he said with a thin smile. “I’ve gotta tell you, I’m a little pissed off at you right now.”

  “You’re pissed off at me?” Reo responded. “That’s funny as hell.”

  “Your report said that the last time you saw Tucker Harwell, he was in the ComStar compound,” Chaffee said belligerently. “He wasn’t there.”

  “What were you thinking, Chaffee, striking at ComStar that way? You could have damaged the HPG. In case you missed the news, Sorenson has a Knight Errant on planet. Do you really want her breathing down our collective necks? I thought you were going to wait until the Spirit Cats duked it out with the militia. You jumped the gun.” Reo kept his voice low, but the intensity of his words carried. Even the technicians moving crates on the far side of the room seemed to pause for a moment. Few people talked to Rutger Chaffee the way Reo did.

  “You of all people know that plans change. I was following orders, just like you. I received a coded message from the boss himself, and you don’t question Jacob Bannson. He says jump, you say, ‘How high?’ Mr. Bannson wanted us to grab Harwell, so that’s what we were trying to do, no thanks to you. And the HPG was never at risk.”

  Reo was tired and frustrated. Since the attack on the compound, someone in authority had made a guess at a connection between the mercenary attackers, Reo, and Jacob Bannson. As a result, he was spending too much of his time evading capture by the police, and it was starting to wear on him. “You should have told me that you were planning the operation. I could have confirmed Tucker’s position before you went in. Hell, I eat with the kid from time to time. I could have arranged for a simple kidnapping.”

  Chaffee stiffened and his face darkened in anger. “I don’t clear my ops with you or anyone else, Jones. Get that straight.”

  Reo took a half step backward and forced a conciliatory note into his voice. He wondered if Chaffee was even working for Bannson anymore, or if he was just pursuing his own agenda. Reo’s information-gathering worked both ways, and the intel he’d been receiving about Bannson lately was very interesting. If the rumors were true, Jacob Bannson was currently on Sian cementing his relationship with House Liao by marrying into that crazy family. In Reo’s opinion, Bannson was going to be way less available to his minions for awhile. But this was not the time or the place for a confrontation with Chaffee. “I was just trying to say that I could have helped if I had known the plan.”

  “Instead, you let us down,” Chaffee snapped. “Now try to make it up to me. Where do you think they’ve taken Harwell?”

  Reo already knew. He just hadn’t had the chance to file a report today. “I’ve confirmed that Tucker Harwell is in the protective custody of Legate Singh and our visiting Knight Errant. From what I’ve gathered, he’s in the militia HQ.”

  “Singh’s not a problem,” Rutger chuckled. “He almost wet himself when our squad entered the building. According to the media, he emptied his weapon at our forces at point-blank range attempting to defend the building. But I saw the battlerom from the Raiden suit that knocked him out. He was shaking like a leaf. One badly aimed shot, and then a whack upside the head.”

  Reo already knew the media had exaggerated the legate’s performance under fire; his public image had always been his strongest suit. “I agree that the legate is just a paper tiger. But Alexi Holt can’t be dismissed so easily. She’s got the skills and experience to cause us some real trouble.”

  “I’m less worried about her since the Spirit Cats made planet fall,” Chaffee replied, watching a pair of techs paint a Fox hover scout with a dull gray-and-black
urban-combat camouflage pattern. “Our Knight has more than enough to keep her pretty head busy.”

  Use that tone with Alexi, and she’d snap you like a dry twig. “So you’re thinking of striking at the militia headquarters?”

  Chaffee’s expression turned sour. “I don’t think so. Not that we couldn’t pull it off if we wanted to. My troops are seasoned mercenaries, not weekend warriors like the militia. But I don’t like the odds of going up against a heavily fortified and well-protected bunker.”

  “What about your orders from Bannson?”

  Chaffee shrugged. “He’s not here, so that gives me room to maneuver. I just have to get this kid. I was hoping to do a snatch-and-grab from ComStar. That didn’t work, but that doesn’t mean that another chance won’t present itself. For now, we lay low and exercise some patience.”

  “What do you need from me?” Reo asked.

  “I want you out on the streets. Find out what you can about how the militia is planning on handling the Spirit Cats, now that they’re on the ground.”

  * * *

  Corporal Pusaltari adjusted the Falcon-Is rangefinders and squinted, trying to get the best possible view. The Spirit Cats were sticking to their camp, close perimeter patrols of their landing zone constituting the bulk of their activity. They had launched a Crow scout that had buzzed nearby twice, and he was convinced that they had spotted him on the second pass. Pusaltari had grabbed his assault weapon and prepared to face a strafing run, but it had never come. Pusaltari was just about to open fire first when Lieutenant Tooley reached over and toggled his safety. He figured that’s what separated him and the lieutenant—experience.

  The action he was focused on at the moment was a BattleMech slowly making its way across the valley toward the DropShip. He knew the ’Mech, even if he couldn’t see the heraldic banner on its torso that identified it as belonging to a Knight of the Sphere. It was the only Black Knight class ’Mech he had ever seen up close. Its humanoid form moved fluidly, almost gracefully, a testament to the piloting skills of the person in the cockpit. As it walked, it left deep footprints in the sod, a trail stretching back toward Kinross.

  “Lieutenant, you’d better take a look at this.” Tooley rolled over from his position on the other side of the tree and re-focused the corporal’s binoculars for himself. “Creeping crudstunk,” was all he said.

  “Any idea what she’s doing, sir?”

  “Since Paladin Ezekiel Crow betrayed The Republic by abandoning the Highlanders on Northwind and then fighting against them on Terra, I’m suspicious—anything could be possible. But I assume she’s going in to parlay with them.”

  “Parlay?”

  “Negotiate,” he said, handing back the rangefinders. “Signal HQ and let them know what we’ve seen, just in case.”

  “Yessir,” Pusaltari replied, wiping his nose on his sleeve again. “You don’t think she’s going to negotiate our surrender do you, sir?”

  Lieutenant Tooley gave him a grim smile. “I haven’t spent much time with the Knight Errant. She’s a little above my station. But I’ve seen her on maneuvers, and so have you—so you know she’s a fighter. I know this, too: they offered to put her up in the Royale when she came on planet, and she opted to stay in the BOQ. Alexi Holt is regular people, and regular people don’t sell each other out.”

  “I hope you’re right,” the corporal replied, keying in the wrist-comm system codes for access to the militia transmission frequency.

  “Me, too,” Tooley said.

  13

  Spirit Cat Landing Zone

  East of the Bowie Factory Ruins

  The Republic, Prefecture VIII

  14 May 3135

  The shadow of the DropShip crept across Miss Direction, and still Alexi Holt stood facing the ship. She had powered down her BattleMech, dismounted and waited for the Spirit Cats to acknowledge that she casually had walked up to their LZ. The warriors and technicians performing their various tasks around the DropShip ramps eyed her, but they showed no other reaction to her arrival.

  As the shadow fell over her, the chill in the air caused goose bumps to rise on her arms and legs. MechWarriors always dressed sparingly because ’Mechs generated such intense heat in the cockpit. She had left her neurohelmet in the cockpit along with her cooling vest. That left her in shorts, short boots, and a T-shirt. She usually carried a pistol in a holster on her hip, but that would have been contrary to the message she wanted to send here. She had come to speak with the Spirit Cats, not fight them. Given the raw firepower of the DropShip looming over her, it seemed a good choice.

  By now Alexi was tempted to accost one of the warriors and demand to meet with their commanding officer. She had been waiting for more than two hours already, but she managed to keep her patience. She had dealt with the Clans before, so she knew that the Clans had their own way of dealing with negotiations, and ceremony was integral to their culture. She wondered if the test of patience was something they had picked up from their association with the Draconis Combine.

  Finally, a solitary man approached her from the camp. He wore a dull, green-gray jumpsuit that did not hide his muscular build, and his reddish-brown hair was cut short all over. On his belt he wore what appeared to be a hunting knife on one hip, and a small leather bag on the other. His face appeared to be chiseled out of stone, offering her no emotion whatsoever. She maintained parade rest as he approached to within a meter of her and stopped. He surveyed her BattleMech for a long moment, then locked his light blue eyes with hers.

  “A Black Knight is a BattleMech worthy of much honor. It is said that many served during the first Star League. Yours is particularly interesting.”

  “Why is that?”

  The man offered her nothing but his words. “It bears the markings of a Knight Errant of The Republic of the Sphere. That makes you either a thief or a potentially worthy adversary.”

  “I am no thief,” she replied flatly.

  “And you have walked into our camp alone,” he nodded once. “That must make you a Knight. How did you know that I would not order my forces to attack you as you approached within range?”

  Faith . . . and hope. She didn’t dare say those words out loud. When she replied, she was careful to avoid contractions, knowing that the Clans considered that they weakened the language. “I have dealt with the Clans before, and am somewhat familiar with their traditions. I knew that no Clan warrior would attack a lone BattleMech approaching on low power. No honor would be gained in such a victory, quiaff?” She added the “query-affirmative” of the Clans’ language, to underscore her experience with their culture.

  “Aff, Knight Errant. Well spoken. I am Star Captain Cox of the Spirit Cats. I bid you welcome.”

  “I am Knight Errant Alexi Holt of The Republic. Thank you for your welcome.” She bowed her head slightly as a gesture of respect.

  “I have a fire on the other side of the landing zone. Join me, Knight Alexi, and we can discuss what would prompt a Knight of the Sphere to come to this place.” Like most trueborn Clan warriors, he did not acknowledge her last name. For the Clans, a last name, what they designated as a Bloodname, was a prize to be won in a combat trial, not something provided simply by birth. He turned back toward his fire, and she joined him, walking a half step behind him and to his side.

  The fire was small, surrounded by stones that some member of the lower caste had dug up and positioned in a circle. A few feet from the fire lay two dull-green blankets, opened on the grass. No chairs, as she had expected. Star Captain Cox sat cross-legged on one blanket. Alexi sat on the other blanket, only three feet away and on the same side of the fire.

  For a moment she said nothing. She had many questions to ask, but Cox was not likely to reveal his purpose on Wyatt just because she asked. She would learn more if she kept quiet and let him talk. He unhooked his canteen from his hip and held it out to her. She took it, drank the warm water and handed it back. She found the silence uncomfortable. Her eyes drifted down to the leather
pouch that hung from the Star captain’s belt, and it gave her an idea for opening the conversation.

  “I work for a Paladin named Kelson Sorenson. You have heard of him, quiaff?”

  Cox nodded once. “Aff, I have heard of him. We give Knights greater regard than others, and so seek to learn about the Knights and Paladins of The Republic.”

  She wanted to smile. “We also seek knowledge of those whom we respect. The Spirit Cats are said to be kindred to Clan Nova Cat. Do your Clans share traditions?”

  “Our customs and traditions are the same as and yet different from the Nova Cats,” he said, revealing nothing. “Those who confuse us with our kindred would be making a mistake. In the end, we are our own people.”

  “Do you keep the Clan tradition of collecting vineers?”

  Cox glanced down to the pouch at his belt. “Aff.”

  “As I understand it, these are the relics of your greatest fights. If I may inquire, what is your most treasured vineer?” Though vineer was an ancient derivative of the word “souvenir,” she avoided using that word because most Clansmen reacted violently to any suggestion that their traditions or language were a debased version of a Terran concept.

  The Star captain unfastened the pouch from his belt and opened it. She could tell that the pouch held several objects, things that he would consider important in his life. After digging in the small pouch with his large fingers, he finally pulled out a small red button and handed it to her.

  Alexi examined it. A firing stud of some sort? “It is a firing stud from a joystick, quiaff?”

  “Aff,” he replied. “I took it from the ’Mech of a warrior named Jackel in a combat trial. During the fight, one of my shots, a gauss rifle round, slammed into his cockpit. He was killed instantly.” Alexi handed the button back to him, and he stared at the red piece of plastic broodingly. Then, carefully, he replaced it in his vineer pouch.