She caught a glimpse of Star Captain Cox’s Warhammer IIC blasting a modified AgroMech with its short-range missiles while it cut into a rushing Sun Cobra with its large lasers. Half of the lasers missed, but the AgroMech came out of the encounter looking more like a wadded-up foil ball with legs than a war machine.
A boxy Zahn armored personnel carrier raced toward her Sniper artillery piece. The Zahn skidded to a halt and popped open its rear hatch. Combat engineers and Purifier battle armor troops jumped out and tossed satchel charges on top of the Sniper as it attempted to back away and gain distance from the close-range threat. It was too late. White-flash explosions went off, punching through the top armor. The Sniper stopped dead in its tracks and its barrel drooped down.
A salvo of missiles slapped into Miss Direction from a fast-passing Pegasus hovercraft, rocking her hard to one side. She fired her pair of medium lasers into the hovercraft more out of spite than need. The beams hit the flank of the gun platform, cutting two black furrows from the front to the rear of the vehicle.
Her damage display was flickering red from the holes in her armor. Glancing out the side of her viewscreen, she watched the Sun Cobra riddle Star Captain Cox’s Warhammer with autocannon rounds. Cox’s ’Mech contorted and Alexi could see the massive holes in the armor, the shredded fibers of myomer hanging limp around the waist. His reactor was shifting to low-power mode. The Clan warrior was out of the fight.
A bright flash filled her cockpit as a PPC shot cut into her ’Mech’s right shoulder. Miss Direction listed heavily to one side under the impact. She heard a metallic tearing sound, then her damage indicators flashed red and went out on her right side. Miss Direction’s right arm had been blasted off.
Gritting her teeth, Alexi knew that they were in way over their heads.
* * *
Tucker, Patricia, and Corporal Pusaltari rushed forward to the remains of the Tamerlane hover sled that Chaffee’s Cut-Throats had taken out of the fight. Hunched down, they watched the carnage of the one-sided fight take its toll on what was left of the militia and the Spirit Cats.
The images, sights, sounds and emotions of the battle almost overwhelmed Tucker. The fighting was close-in, at point-blank range. The Oriente Protectorate was literally swarming through the thin lines and overwhelming the defenders. For Tucker especially, the prospect of defeat was chilling. It was beginning to look like he would be a prisoner of these invaders. It was as irrational as it was tempting to break and run, but he knew he would not get far. Where would I go . . . into the woods? Outdoor survival was not his forté. Still, all his instincts were urging him to do something to survive the battle.
Oddly, his sister seemed confident and unworried. She was fidgeting with her wrist communicator, but seemed to be paying little attention to the fighting. Tucker watched in horror as Star Captain Cox’s Warhammer IIC staggered away from an Oriente Sun Cobra, its front armor reduced to twisted, jagged fragments hanging from the internal structure. The Black Knight that Alexi piloted was missing its right arm; all that remained was a mangled, blackened stump under the shoulder joint.
Tucker practically leaped to his feet when someone slapped him on the back. He turned and was surprised and delighted to see a wet, winded Reo Jones. A smear of blood ran from his hairline down to his jaw. He gave Tucker a grin. “Remind me never to let Knight Holt plan any of my parties,” he joked.
Tucker slapped his friend on the shoulder as a voice emerged over his sister’s wrist communicator. “This is Captain Ivan Casson of the Oriente Protectorate. All forces hold your fire. Enemy forces, you are overmatched. Prepare to stand down for parley.” An uneasy lull broke out over the weary battlefield. The only sounds were the popping snaps of burning vehicles and the charging whir of lasers and PPCs.
Tucker wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to surrender, but he was tired of watching people be injured and killed because of him. We are outnumbered, outgunned, surrounded. Standing up, he stared at the Sun Cobra in the distance. He willed his feet to move, but they seemed stuck to the ground. He was frozen with fear.
Patricia stood up next to him and grasped his forearm. She was trying to protect him, just as she had his entire life. But this was a journey that he was going to have to make alone.
Suddenly, another voice sounded from Patricia’s wrist comm, this time keyed to the militia command channel. “Now hear this. All ground forces, stand down and prepare to surrender all ComStar personnel. Say again, stand down or be destroyed.” He heard a deep, bone-shaking roar that seemed to alter his heartbeat. Looking up, he saw a spheroid DropShip on a low, sweeping approach. At first, its paint scheme, flat white with thick, black jagged stripes that seemed to distort its configuration and shape at a distance, made him think it was the Spirit Cats’ vessel. The ship arrived over the forest on a trajectory toward the south end of the lake. Tucker could make out the round bumps of turrets as it approached the battlefield.
The wash of the engines kicked up dirt into a swirling storm. As the DropShip passed overhead, a cargo bay door opened and three ’Mechs dropped into the middle of the camp. Tucker shielded his eyes with his hand like a visor over his glasses and leaned into the hot blast to avoid being knocked over.
It’s over. Tucker slumped, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. The ship slowed its approach to a low hover and landed on Lake Higgins’ south shore. Tucker knew enough to recognize two of the BattleMechs as an Atlas and a Mad Cat. The other was a configuration and shape that he didn’t recognize. All three ’Mechs were painted stark white and were pristine—and obviously deadly.
Then he stared at the ship, in shock. On the side of the DropShip was painted a familiar symbol, a star with the two bottom points stretching downward set against a blue field. The symbol of ComStar. But that was impossible! ComStar didn’t have a military force, not since the end of the Jihad. Next to the ComStar logo was a stylized insignia, the words “Sword of Focht” emblazoned in red paint set under a flaming sword. He felt relief and confusion at the same time.
Patricia walked toward the ’Mechs, pulling him with her.
“How is this possible?” he asked his sister.
“I contacted our superiors right after the HPG came up,” she said. “We took matters into our own hands to ensure your safety.”
He followed numbly behind his sister. Suddenly, he saw Alexi Holt jogging toward them. It was obvious that she was as shocked as he was. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked Patricia.
“We protect our own,” Patricia replied flatly. “ComStar will evacuate Tucker and me.”
“Are you serious?” Alexi exclaimed.
Patricia looked grimly amused at Knight’s response. “Saving Tucker is what all this has been about. Be thankful that a rescue team has arrived, even if it’s not the one you expected. What’s important is that he not fall into the hands of the Protectorate.”
“I’ll come with you,” Alexi replied firmly.
“No,” Patricia Harwell said. “You will not.”
* * *
Captain Casson stared at the DropShip, stunned that the message to stand down had been transmitted on his command channel. His fists were clenched so tight that the tendons were cracking. ComStar. Who were they to interfere like this? His jaw clenched as he stared at the deploying ’Mechs. Where did ComStar get BattleMechs? And a DropShip? The Com Guards had been wiped out in the Jihad; ComStar had no military arm! This should not be possible.
Two people were moving toward the ’Mechs. Casson watched as the Knight Errant rushed to join them. One of them had to be Tucker Harwell. He had been so close. Casson stared at the DropShip, its cannons aimed at his ’Mech and his troops.
He rapidly sifted through his options, then signaled his forces to retreat. He had failed to secure his target, but the intel he had gained on ComStar was a prize worth presenting to his leader.
* * *
Patricia made hard eye contact with the Knight Errant. “Captain Casson is showing good judgmen
t. I hope you also will show good sense.”
Alexi Holt refused to be intimidated. “Where are you taking him?”
“Home,” was all that Patricia offered in reply. She spoke into her wrist communicator. “All remaining ComStar personnel, report to my location immediately.”
“Republic forces will be in system in just a few days,” Alexi pressed. “If your forces remain, we can ensure Tucker’s safety together.”
Patricia laughed out loud. “Look around you, Knight Errant. Look at the devastation here. Think of how many people have died. The Republic can’t protect Tucker. ComStar will take care of him. It is our way. More important, it’s our choice.”
Alexi looked at Tucker, her expression both frustrated and sad—at least that’s how she looked to him. “My orders are to ensure your protection.”
He couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind was reeling, trying to make sense of the situation.
“I’ll miss you, Tucker,” Alexi said. “But at least you’ll be safe.” She leaned forward and gave him a hug. He held her stiffly, too surprised and uncomfortable to hug her back. He felt her slip something into his pocket as she leaned back and stepped away. She gave him a solemn nod in parting.
Tucker turned to Reo Jones. His friend smiled, winked and gave him a firm handshake. “See you around sometime, partner.”
As Paula Kursk and Kurtis Fowler joined them, Tucker turned to face his sister. “Where are we going?”
She looked at him expressionlessly. “We’re going someplace safe, where even The Republic can’t reach you.” She led him past the ’Mechs, and the huge machines turned to follow them like an honor guard. Tucker glanced over his shoulder and caught a final glimpse of Alexi Holt and Reo Jones.
“What about my work?”
“You serve ComStar,” Patricia replied, “as our family has for decades. You will do what you are told, as have we all.”
What was she saying? “Patricia, I don’t understand. . . .”
She smiled at him. Raising her hand in a gesture he had seen only in historical accounts of the Word of Blake and the Jihad, she spoke words that chilled him to the bone. “Peace of Blake be with you, Tucker.”
He let himself be led aboard the ship.
Epilogue
Republic Internal Affairs, Office 2-B
Geneva
Prefecture X, Terra
23 August 3135
Alexi Holt stood at attention at the conference table as Paladin Kelson Sorenson entered the room. She admired her superior officer. Paladin Sorenson was a veteran of the Jihad who had fought alongside Devlin Stone. His critics sometimes referred to him as the Paladin of Lost Causes and, to his credit, he embraced that reputation. It was just one of the things she liked about him.
“Please sit,” Sorenson said, waving her to a chair and taking one himself. “I meant to meet with you sooner, but I wanted to make sure that I had all of my intel in order first.”
She understood. Her official report from Wyatt and the copy of her battlerom from Miss Direction must have been unnerving to officials of The Republic. Men like Sorenson did not enjoy these kinds of surprises. “Alexi, your recent performance was admirable. You performed exceptionally under difficult circumstances. I know at times it must have seemed overwhelming.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied. Alexi knew that from her Paladin, this was no faint praise. She dove right into the subject foremost on her mind. “What has ComStar said about Tucker Harwell?”
The older MechWarrior frowned heavily. “I met with Precentor Buhl weeks ago to ask about Mr. Harwell, and he assured me that the adept was safe under the protection of ComStar. When I confronted him with the evidence of ComStar fielding BattleMechs and DropShips, he would only say that, like every large Inner Sphere corporation, ComStar has always maintained security forces for its own protection.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
The Paladin shook his head. “It gets better. I met with Primus Mori, and she denied that ComStar possessed ’Mech forces, even reminding me that the Com Guards had disbanded after the Jihad. I showed her the sensor data you gathered, and she claimed that it had to be another faction attempting to frame ComStar. When I asked her about Harwell’s status, she referred me back to Buhl. And now Buhl’s gone on some tour of the Inner Sphere.”
“Convenient,” she said. “And a little unsettling. Is it possible the primus doesn’t know that someone in ComStar has outfitted a small army?”
He waved his hand in the air. “In the end, what she knows or will admit to is irrelevant. What we know is this: ComStar has a secret military arm that includes DropShips and ’Mechs unique to their ranks. Based on those unique designs, we have to assume they have their own military production capability. They have Tucker Harwell, a man capable of restoring HPG service on countless worlds, and they clearly have no intention of turning him over to The Republic or even giving us access to him.”
“So a military threat exists that we had not anticipated. That’s not good.”
“We’re in the dark—not where I like to be.”
“And the production capability to create new ’Mech designs?”
“The design you saw is not in any of the war books. And that DropShip represents an even bigger mystery; its profile doesn’t match any known design or prototype. Apparently, ComStar has some incredible assets at their disposal. But all I got from Buhl and Primus Mori was that it was none of our business.”
The implications stunned her. “I—I don’t know what to say. We have to find Tucker and help him. They’re obviously holding him hostage.”
“I tried to argue the hostage angle myself, but Buhl came back with a perfectly reasonable answer: how can someone be a hostage if they have not asked for release or been reported as taken?”
“ComStar has secreted him away. We have to help him,” she repeated.
“I agree with your goal,” he replied. “Though maybe not your motivation. It’s pretty clear you’ve developed a fondness for the man.”
Alexi felt her face redden. “He’s a friend. More importantly, he’s a citizen of The Republic. I swore to protect him . . . and I failed.”
“You didn’t fail,” the Paladin corrected. “Your report and the corroborating report from the Ghost Knight on Wyatt both painted a very accurate picture of events there. You performed with the highest possible degree of integrity.”
“Ghost Knight?”
Sorenson leaned back and grinned at her. “You didn’t think you were the only asset in play, did you? We’ve had an operative on Wyatt for two years now, monitoring Jacob Bannson’s activities.”
She frowned for a moment in thought, then said, “Not Reo Jones?”
“Yes,” he replied. “We created his cover years ago. Mr. Jones is a loyal servant of The Republic who has shown a remarkable amount of creativity in fulfilling his mission. Your bringing back Rutger Chaffee for interrogation has proven to be a bonus for us. He’s already helped us ferret out several other of Bannson’s covert hiding holes in The Republic, and we’re finding ways to legitimately seize his assets on those worlds. His involvement with Liao is making that pretty easy.”
She closed her eyes. The days after the fighting on Wyatt had been chaotic. The arrival of Republic reinforcements, ushering the Oriente forces off-world, rebuilding the militia, even the interviews with Chaffee were more a blur than a memory. Reo had stuck by her side through it all. Even as he proved himself to her time and again, she had continued to see him as a reckless traitor who was trying to do good. Now she knew the truth. A Ghost Knight—one of the secret protectors of the realm. It made sense.
“The last agenda item of this meeting,” Paladin Sorenson said, “is to determine the direction of your next mission, Alexi.”
She faced her mentor and sponsor with a determined look in her eye. “I need to finish this mission, first. I need to find Tucker Harwell.”
The Paladin smiled. “Oddly enough, not only was I thinking the
same thing, but so was Knight Jones. I suggest that you rest up and get ready to tackle your next assignment. My mission is to restore the communications network. I need Tucker Harwell to do that. That makes your job a little more complicated. First, you need to disappear, which I think Jones can help you with.”
“I need to disappear? Why?”
“You, Alexi Holt, are going to infiltrate ComStar.”
Outside McPherson
Marcus
The Republic, Prefecture VIII
Star Captain Cox arrived at the hard-shell field tent and stood at attention outside. He said nothing, nor did he knock. Galaxy Commander Kev Rosse had called for him, and he knew that his commander would know that he was there. He had that level of gift about him, an ability to see the unseen. Just as he assured himself of that, the door panel opened and the leader of the Spirit Cats stood before him.
“Star Captain,” he said. “Enter.”
“Aff,” he said, stepping in. The tiny flexplastic tent was Spartan, showing no signs that the slender man who lived there controlled such a powerful faction.
“It pleases me that you and your Trinary have returned,” the Galaxy commander began, taking a seat cross-legged on a rug and motioning for Cox to join him. Along the edges of the rug was a running list of the names of Inner Sphere worlds on which the Spirit Cats had fought great battles. Cox saw new stitching had been added to include Wyatt on the list. The implications were not lost on the Star captain.
“You honor my troops, Galaxy Commander,” he said solemnly.
“You honor the Spirit Cats,” Rosse replied. “I am disappointed to learn that Wyatt was not the sanctuary we seek. But you found other things there of importance to our people.”
“Sir?”
“Intelligence. You have proven that ComStar is more than it seems. That the darkness that engulfs the stars may or may not have been caused by them, but they seem uninterested in helping to banish that darkness. They have a military force. That makes them dangerous. I have foreseen that the intelligence you gathered is important for our future.”
Target of Opportunity Page 28
