“Yessir!"
His console warned him of probing radar. "Move it men! We're out of time!" Explosions echoed across the desert. The Marauder was there, four kilometers off and closing with ponderous, slow-motion strides. The hovercraft peeled off to meet this new menace, snarling low across the wastes to loose missiles and pulses of laser light.
Grayson had a new worry now. None of the ex-prisoners had cold-weather gear. The sub-zero temperature would quickly kill them if they weren't moved to shelter fast. It was also possible the Marauder might get them.
Grayson tracked and fired with his laser. At over three klicks, he thought he had scored hits, but could not be sure. At such ranges, even the most powerful ‘Mech-borne lasers were practically useless.
The Marauder's autocannon winked fire in return. Flame gushed from a striken GEV, strewing metal, plastic, and bodies across the sand. The other hovercraft circled around, seeking to strike their target from the rear, where the armor was thinnest. The Marauder slowed, paused, searching for ambush or concealed attackers.
The transporter ground to a rumbling halt, and the freed prisoners swarmed up along the sides, grabbing handholds and being pulled up by troopers onto the broad deck. Heavily laden hovercraft thrummed past, racing for Sarghad. Others deposited their passengers beside the transport, then swung north to gather more stragglers.
The ferrocrete emptied, except for the littered debris of battle. Grayson called all units.
"That's it! Fall back! Striker Four, drop your mines and break off! Rendezvous at Sarghad!"
Autocannon shells probed and followed, falling short.
They were well underway when the Marauder, perhaps suspecting an ambush, broke off the chase.
* * * *
Thirty hours after the battle at the wadi, Harimandir Singh stared at an image of the boy he'd thought was dead.
"So," he said. The word held calm acceptance, as well as grim anticipation. He fingered the 2-D photo his spy had handed him. "So Carlyle's son is alive. And you say he's the one behind this... this situation?"
Stefan nodded jerkily. Singh terrified him. He never knew how the Red Duke's man would react to the news he brought, and the uncertainty was wearing on him.
Stefan had been recruited by one of Singh's agents in Viscount Vogel's staff shortly after the Commonwealth representative had arrived at the Castle. The Young Trell was proud and ambitious, and bridled under the subtleties of custom and prejudice that separated the offworlder starmen from the "indigs", the locals. That agent had played on both Stefan's pride and his greed. Stefan now had more money in one of Sarghad's banks than he'd ever seen in his life, and had been promised even larger rewards for continued loyalty in service to the Red Duke.
Stefan swallowed hard. "I was at the celebration, Lord. The King gave him a medal — his second, I believe — and made a speech. He called Carlyle's son the Deliverer of Sarghad."'
Singh's eyes flashed, sharp and cold. "He didn't see you?"
"No, Lord. I was in the back of the room. The light on the stage was bright. He couldn't have seen me, not in that crowd. I think everyone in Sarghad must have been there."
"That's good. Otherwise he might recognize you from our assault on the Castle."
"Yes, Lord."
"Carlyle will have to die, of course. The question is what to do with this new unit he's forming. Singh looked thoughtful. "They have a full Lance now. Four 'Mechs."
"Only three, Lord. I overheard two astechs talking at the reception. I gather that one of the Wasps cannot be repaired, and they're using it for salvaged parts."
"Three 'Mechs or four, it cannot matter. Light 'Mechs are no match for a Marauder and a Shadow Hawk." He flipped Grayson's photograph aside. "Carlyle knows he cannot win. Perhaps he will try something desperate." Singh smiled to himself. "Now, that would be... pleasant."
"You will attack, then, Lord?" Singh's relaxed and talkative mood made Stefan more bold.
"Eh? Not while they remain in that city. Those narrow streets and alleys are deathtraps for 'Mechs. No, we will remain here, and wait."
"But Lord, how will you bring them out to fight?"
"We won't need to. They cannot attack us here in the Castle, and very soon we will no longer need to attack them."
"I don't understand, Lord."
"And it is not desirable that you do. If you knew the Plan, I would kill you now."
Stefan paled, and remained silent.
"I want you to return to Sarghad. You've been my eyes and ears there, Stefan. Now you will be my hand." Singh smiled at Stefan in his icy fashion, and the young Trell found the expression horrifying.
* * * *
Sarghad's hospital complex lay mosdy below ground in the southern part of the city. Its ground level was domed-over against Trellwan's extremes of climate, but an open patient lounge and exercise area was bathed in ruddy light through wall transparencies during the day. Trell was westering. The spaceport battle was a standard week in the past
Captain Renfred Tor shook Grayson's hand.
"I take it you didn't get the job you were looking for," Grayson said.
"They refused rather bluntly, I must say." Tor was well on the way to recovery, though he remained in a wheelchair while tissue grafts healed on his toes. He had been carried to the transporter by another escaping prisoner when his frostbitten feet had given out The bruises on Tor's face had healed, but there was still a haunted look to the man, some secret honor that he would not discusss.
"Well, things have changed in Sarghad. I've got a job for you, if you want it."
Tor eyed Grayson's dress greens with exaggerated distaste. "Your choice of tailors seems to have changed for the worse. You're a soldier now?"
Grayson shrugged. "They haven't signed me up formally, but yeah, I guess I am. We've been putting together a 'Mech unit. We're listed as a regiment on the staff command's T.O-., but that's wishful thinking so far. One working 'Mech, some captures, and three companies of eager but very raw recruits. We could use you."
The freighter pilot looked thoughtful. "Doing what? I'm not a military man."
Grayson walked to the wall transparency and gazed out at the frost glittering on the sand outside, which was red in Trell's westering light.
"Helping us get a ship, for one thing. Piloting us to Tharkad for another."
Tor's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "Tharkad?"
"Well, maybe to a Commonwealth base, first. Drune II is a possibility. It's only about 90 light years in." Grayson turned suddenly to face Tor. "We've beaten the pirates a couple of times, but we can't expect that to continue. What we need to do is get Commonwealth forces back here to help fight them. Carlyle's Commandos... what's left of them... probably went to Tharkad. Maybe we could join up with them."
"If they're still in commission," Tor said gently. "With no 'Mechs to their name, and precious little equipment, where could they go?"
"The Commonwealth has to know what's happening here," Grayson continued, stubbornly ignoring what Tor had said. "They could dispatch a 'Mech regiment and mop those pirates right off Mount Gayal."
"From what I've heard, your Commonwealth was more than happy to turn this cinder over to Hendrik in the first place. Why should they bother?" Tor stirred in the wheelchair, "but that's really all beside the point because you need a ship before you need a ship's captain."
"Exacdy! And that's why I need you. Your DropShip is still at the port. Your freighter must still be parked at the jump point If we could capture the DropShip, pack it with soldiers..."
"And have them all flamed by the Invidious' meteor defenses the moment they get within 500 klicks of her. Lad, I don't think you know what you're up against."
Grayson felt discouraged, but rallied with an effort of will. It was too early yet to know what might work and what would not. "But you'll help us? When you get up and around? I'll make you my advisor, put you on my'staff."
Tor sighed. "There's no stopping you, I see." Then he grinned. "I always
did love a good fight, youngster, and I sure as hell don't know how I'm going to pay for my room and board here!" Grayson knew the government had already promised to pay the hospitalization expenses of those the Lancers had rescued from the spaceport But Tor was an outsider in the same curious limbo as Grayson, and belonged nowhere on Trellwan. With a shrug, Tor added, "Besides, you need someone to keep you out of trouble."
It was not so easy to convince Claydon, however. He had been among the 180-odd civilians and soldiers freed during the spaceport raid. Grayson saw him as the group disembarked at the Militia HQ, and had run up to him with a shout and a grin. But his greeting was rebuffed.' "I should be glad to see you?" The Trell asked bitterly. "After what happened to my home... to Father?"
"I — I'm sorry, Claydon." What could Grayson possibly say to bridge that rift? "Look... it wasn't my fault!"
"Not your fault?" Claydon's pale face flushed. "Listen, young Lord, you have a marvelous faculty for using people, for riding them like 'Mechs until they break down or you get where you're going. I'll have no more of it"
"Claydon, we need you!" With another Tech of Claydon's qualifications, the technical platoon would have half a chance to get the captured 'Mechs in fighting order. But, gods of the old League, the anger that was in him!
"But I don't need you! Leave me alone." Claydon had turned on his heel, leaving Grayson standing by the massive wheel of the transporter.
He mused about Claydon as he made his way north through Sarghad's streets toward Mara's apartment. He'd decided to walk despite the cold because he needed the time to do some thinking. Anyway, his cold-weather gear kept him warm enough. The streets were filled with the usual merchants, civilians, and soldiers going about their business, though there were no crowds this far from the merchants' quarter.
Grayson had not seen Mara in more periods than he could count, and schedule or no schedule, he'd promised her that during his next rest period they would get, in her words, reacquainted. Somehow he could not keep his mind on Mara, though, because something Claydon had said continued to echo in his mind. Use people? Of course he used people! As Lance Commander he had to use them daily to get anything done, trading favors for favors, bolstering egos to get work done, pulling strings on juniors and superiors alike. And the job HAD to be done.
But Grayson was becoming uncomfortable, certain that Claydon had been referring not to what he was doing, but why. In his heart, Grayson knew he was working to create an antiMech infantry unit, not merely to guard Trellwan, but as a tool for bringing down the black and gray Marauder. But revenge or not, if what he did also benefited Trellwan's people, what was the wrong?
A four-wheeled transport squeaked to a stop on the road beside him.
"Grayson! Wait!" Lori climbed out of the transport's cab. "It's all right," she said to the driver. "I'll be with him."
Grayson caught the green-coated driver's answer. "My orders, Sergeant. I'm to stay with you."
Lori's expression was one of frustration as she approached Grayson. A soldier, usually a Royal Guard, watched her whenever she went beyond the Lance HQ or the apartment that had been assigned to her.
"Hello, Lori. What can I do for you?"
"I need to... talk." She glanced over her shoulder at the driver, who had parked the vehicle and stood beside it now, just out of hearing.
Oh, hell, not now, he thought, but he managed a half-smile. "Sure. Walk with me?"
She nodded and fell into step. Her guard followed at a discreet distance.
"What's the problem?"
"What isn't? Grayson, this just isn't going to work!”
“Ah. Cultural problems again?" That was their private code for the difficulties Lori faced working with men from a culture that did not accept women in leadership or military positions.
"And then some! I've been trying to requisition ammo reloads, and those red tape-stuffed bureaucrats won't even talk to me. Insist they want to talk to a quote responsible officer or NCO unquote."
"You show them your warrant?" It had taken a special pass with Jeverid's seal and signature on it to let Lori accomplish much of what she'd had to do.
"Of course. And now there's the problem with Garik."
Garik Enzelman was Lori's former comrade, captured with his Wasp at the battle for the spaceport. After talking with Lori, he had agreed to join Grayson's command, but staff officers and even other members of the unit had ferociously resisted the idea.
"Did you get him sprung?"
She nodded. "Finally. They have watchdogs following him around, too."
"I can't really help that, Lori. You have to admit you two could do a lot of damage if you set your minds to it,"
"But they don't seem to understand that we owe Harimandir Singh and his bandits nothing! Nothing! He practically kidnapped us, killed one of our people on the way here..."
Grayson knew this really wasn't the right moment for the discussion. "Look, I'll talk to someone next work period..."
"Gray, I can't take this any more! Either they let me do my job, or I'm..."
He put his hand out. "Wait.
A noise, a low-pitched hum from behind, had alerted him. He turned just in time to see a small, dark-haired man stepping up behind him. For a frozen instant, Grayson tried to place where he'd seen the man before. But there was no time to pursue the thought. The vibroblade in the man's hand was white hot.
20
Grayson stepped back, and the blade swept up past his face leaving a trail of heat and the odor of scorched metal. The blade swung again, Grayson dodged again, and felt a stone wall press into his back. Lori shouted a warning and stepped between Grayson and the attacker.
The attacker stiff-armed Lori to the side. "Out of the way, lady!" But Lori's hands had closed on the man's wrist and elbow, her booted foot smashing into his knee.
The blade hummed through the air toward this new target, but Grayson took the man's right arm in an elbow lock as Lori spun him headfirst into the wall with a sound like eggs cracking. The vibroblade danced on the pavement, gouging out a chunk of ferrocrete as it fell. Then Grayson had pulled the power pack lead and the glowing menace died. His attacker slumped to the ground.
Grayson crouched and probed the man's throat, feeling for a pulse. "He's dead. Neck's broken."
"Damn," Lori said.
"What is it?"
"I didn't mean to kill him. Now we can't find out who he is."
"No matter. I know him."
"Oh?" One eyebrow arched. "Friend of yours?"
He shook his head. "His name is Stefan. He was an astech with the Commandos. The spy who let the bandits into the Castle. He must be working for... who'd you say their leader was?"
"Harimandir Singh. You must be getting on his nerves, if he's singled you out for this kind of special attention."
"Yes," Grayson said softly. "Singh." The name settled cold and hard in his heart. He'd vowed to kill the traitor who had opened the Castle's gates to the enemy. Though it had been Lori who had delivered the killing blow, what mattered was that the man was dead. Yet, Grayson did not feel the satisfaction he'd expected. Instead, the need for revenge was rising again, a blood-burning lust Stefan had been merely Singh's tool, and so Singh was the man he really wanted. But how?
Lori's guard appeared, automatic pistol in hand. "What happened?"
"I might ask you the same thing, trooper. Where the hell were you?"
"It... it happened so fast..."
The adrenalin surge had passed, leaving Grayson suddenly weak, tired. He closed his eyes to the guard's incompetence. "Never mind. You'd better take the sergeant back to her quarters."
"Yessir."
"No, Gray, let me stay with you."
Grayson frowned. He was already late for his meeting with Mara. "No," he told her. "Go with him. I'll see you next work period. I've... got an appointment."
Lori's mouth set into a hard line. "Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir." She climbed into the front seat of the transport without another glance at Gray
son. He knew she was upset, knew she wanted to talk more, but he felt so weak and suddenly tired. Did Singh want his death as much as Grayson wanted Singh's? Perhaps the man did not realize that Grayson's death would not stop the Trellwan Lancers. Though their training was still far below Commonwealth regular military standards or the standards Kai Griffith would have set, the cadre of trained and experienced troops was growing. Even if the bureaucrats wouldn't let Lori drive a 'Mech, several MechWarrior apprentices showed promise, especially the youngest one, Yarin.
Grayson clenched his hands into white-knuckle fists to keep them from trembling. It was just now dawning on him that he'd only very narrowly escaped death. It was the fact that Stefan had ignored Lori because he didn't consider her a threat — probably because she was a woman — that had saved him.
The transport pulled away from the curb and hurried off down the street. Grayson watched it go, then quickened his stride toward Mara's apartment
* * * *
"We don't dare attack, General. It would be suicide, and the end of everything we've built here."
Grayson paced the room before the desk where Varney sat. General Adel watched him from a chair in the corner. Chief Minister Stannic stood by the windows, his back to the group, a glass of something red and potent in his hand.
Grayson was afraid of Stannic. The planet's defense minister had a sharp, abrupt manner, a way of rapping out questions like autocannon fire. And Grayson did not know how much he knew about his daughter's liaison with the offworlder leader of the Trellwan Lancers. Trells were fiercely protective of their wives and daughters, and meetings between the sexes were usually supervised by a matronly female relative called a duennsha. Mara had more freedom and more unsupervised free time than most Trell girls. She had her own apartment next to her father's place on the Hub, and even walked unescorted to her place of work at the Palace offices. Does he know I've been sleeping with her, Grayson wondered?
Through the windows behind Stannic, green sky and red sun cast long shadows into the room. Seconday was passing with dragging hours. Outside, laborers worked to secure insulating panels to the windows. With the advent of Secondnight, the temperature would plunge in the final chill before the hemisphere's warming trend. In the distance, clouds hung grey and heavy over the mountains. It was still snowing up there, Grayson thought.
Decision at Thunder Rift Page 17
