“I wish I could say that maybe the conspiracy’s not as big as I’m making it out to be, that the fact that the rest of us missed it means it’s relatively small. But I’ve seen the names on Victor’s list. This is a cancer. There was already a long list of problems for the new Exarch to deal with, but this might have to move to the top of the list. They’re trying to rot us from our core.”
He sat down.
The silence lasted for nearly a full minute. Then fourteen sets of hands—everyone but Jonah and Drummond—attacked their keyboards with a vengeance.
Drummond stood. “Thank you, Paladin Levin, for that information. Your reputation for integrity assures us that your investigation was conducted with all due diligence . . .”
Drummond’s formal drone provided cover for the messages flying from screen to screen.
Good work.—Jorgensson
We’re grateful for your efforts. However, what I’m curious about is how this affects your vote. Clearly we need strength to fight this menace, and I hope you’ll keep in mind which Paladins might be best suited to a battle of this nature.—Kessel
Thanks, Jonah.—Sinclair
Jonah responded to the last one.
For what?—Levin
You didn’t mention that my name appeared on Victor’s list.—Sinclair
I thought about it.
Jonah’s hands hovered briefly above his keyboard.
Didn’t think it was relevant. You seem like one of Mallowes’ early, unsuccessful experiments. That’s why he had to get more assertive as he went on. I didn’t want the others to associate you with what happened.—Levin
That’s why I’m thanking you. I owe you one.—Sinclair
Jonah almost laughed aloud when he read that. He hadn’t meant to get it, and he had no idea what to do with it now that he had it, but Jonah seemed to be in possession of his very own little voting bloc. And he hadn’t even mentioned the Kittery Renaissance connection. He’d leave that for Heather, when she made it back.
58
Warehouse District, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
20 December 3134
The fifth warehouse cache showed up in the heads-up display in Heather GioAvanti’s Spider BattleMech, as well as on audio for weapons-correlated sounds.
“Looks like we’re going in hot,” Heather said to Santangelo over the ’Mech’s command circuit.
“Roger that,” the senior Knight replied. “They’ve got scouts and skirmishers out, and it looks like they’re bringing into position more of that inventory we’ve been blowing up all morning.”
“Figuring that if they’re going to lose it anyway, they might as well expend it? Probably a good choice.”
“We don’t have time for a siege,” Santangelo said, “not if we’re going to hit the other places too. I say we stand back and blow it up from a distance.”
“Long-range weapons aren’t going to mesh with the no-casualties objective in the rules of engagement.”
“So? Frontal assault’s too messy,” Santangelo said.
They had drawn closer to the target building by now, and Heather had it on visual from her ’Mech’s cockpit: a two-story warehouse made of poured concrete.
“Frontal assault’s what we’ve got,” she said. “Hit ’em hard; hit ’em fast.”
“We’ll need someone to go in first, to draw fire and break the situation.”
“That’s what I’m built for,” Heather said. She increased the loping stride of the Spider, taking it up past 100 kilometers per hour.
The first of the machine-gun bullets took her by surprise from behind, as she sprinted past a barbershop on the road leading up to the warehouse. No problem for her Kallon armor; she left the machine-gun nest for her troops to deal with and kept on going.
The key to dealing with ambushes is knowing they have narrow kill zones. Once you’re through the zone, you’re safe—unless the bad guys have set up multiple kill zones.
For a hasty defense, Heather noted, the KR was doing pretty well. Their commander had taken some time to prepare, and had clearly thought through his defenses in advance. It was enough to make her suspect that he’d had some kind of military training.
“Trouble coming up behind,” Santangelo told her over the command circuit. “Medium force, mixed scout vehicles and civilian trucks carrying shoulder-launched stuff. They’re following us in.”
“Roger that,” Heather replied. “Santangelo and Koss, take the Fox and the Shandra and peel out. Try to get around behind the pursuers. Failing that, stay out of the way. I can’t afford to lose you.”
She switched to the external speakers. “Foot troops, come to me. Meet me in the building.”
Heather throttled forward, moving her ’Mech into a sprint, and slammed her feet down, launching her Spider’s jump jets. What she was planning was risky—but if it worked, and she didn’t break off one of her ’Mech’s legs in the process, she’d have a strong defensive position.
The BattleMech soared high up over the street, followed by streams of tracer bullets and the eerie glow of laser light in the smoke trails of missiles. The patter of bullets and shrapnel on the Spider’s carapace beat a counterpoint to the deep roar of the jump jets.
She sailed up, letting momentum carry her forward, until she was over the center of the warehouse. Then she cut the jets, felt the bulk around her slowed by the drag of the air, and dropped down straight-legged onto the flat roof.
It didn’t have a chance against her. She went crashing through the warehouse’s flimsy roof, through the floor of the upper story, and down into the center of the warehouse’s main open space. Open crates and barrels lay scattered all about, and a Fox armored car with its insignia painted out waited near the still-closed warehouse doors.
Kittery Renaissance street fighters filled the high-ceilinged room. Heather’s arrival, in a cloud of rubble and dust, jerked their attention away from the attack that was developing outside. She was limned with the light of energy discharges, deafened by the sound of small and medium arms being fired in an enclosed space.
She reduced the gain on the ’Mech’s external audio and concentrated on keeping moving, while producing her own light show with her paired medium pulse lasers. This much hell in this small a space meant that people were going to get hurt; she spied a couple of nasty casualties. At least she wasn’t violating her own personal rules of engagement, though she could still see having to explain it all at her trial if things turned bad. At least she’d have the battle-rom, the visual and audio recording automatically created by every ’Mech in action, to back her up.
The defenders closest to the front of the building were turning away from her ’Mech, moving outside and firing as they went. Then the doors and windows exploded inward, and her reinforced militia squad came leaping in. Like her, they were shooting to miss—but the defenders didn’t realize that yet, and made a hasty retreat from the building.
Within minutes, Heather was alone with her troops, along with the injured members of the Kittery Renaissance left behind by their fleeing comrades.
“Orders?” the corporal in charge of her detachment asked.
“Form up on the walls, hold against attack from outside,” she said. “Give them some rounds to let them know we’re here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the soldier replied, turning to the rest of the squad and placing them into position with hand gestures.
That only left the materiel, the arms cache that was the purpose of the raid, remaining to be dealt with. She couldn’t use demolition charges on it while her own troops were in the building.
Instead, she walked first to each pile of weapons, and then to the armored car, and carefully stepped down on every one of them with the Spider’s full weight. Thirty tons of ’Mech was as effective as a pile driver for turning weapons and vehicles into scrap metal.
“Now, we aren’t staying,” Heather told the corporal. “But we don’t want them to know we’ve left. Rig collapsing charges agains
t the back wall. When I give the word, blow a breach back there, and everyone pile out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the corporal replied, and again instructed his troops using a series of hand gestures.
Heather took her own position by the front, and added her laser power to the armament display outside. While she was doing so, she radioed Santangelo.
“What’s your situation?”
“Made contact; lobbed a couple of missiles into their midst to let ’em know we’re here.”
“Good job. Break contact, but do it without making it obvious you’re running away. Meet me over at Grid Posit 21391038.”
“Roger, copy all, out.”
“Corporal,” Heather said, “how are you doing?”
“About ready, ma’am. On your signal.”
“Do it now.”
An echoing boom, and the rear wall of the building dissolved into dust.
“Everyone out, follow me,” Heather said.
The newly breached wall opened onto a plaza, and beyond that a set of roads leading away from a fountain and a statue. Heather walked to the far side at a speed the infantry could keep up with. They set a perimeter. Minutes later, Koss and Santangelo arrived.
“To target four,” she replied. “My guess is that the guys who hit you from behind are from there—the place should be unguarded.”
She was right, but when they arrived at warehouse four it was empty—the cache had already been distributed. The same was true of caches six through ten.
She froze in place after the last cache had been inspected. Where to now?
The answer came quickly over the comm. “Paladin GioAvanti?” It was Koss. “Some of our people have been tracing signals all morning, signals we think are communications with the troops we’ve been fighting. They’ve got something I think you want to see.”
Information flooded Heather’s screen. Koss was quite right—this information was definitely worth a look.
59
Chamber of Paladins, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
20 December 3134
Stop voting for me.—Avellar
Jonah stared at the message for a good half minute. Everyone, it seemed, was better at this game of knowing who was doing what than he was. He thought about asking her how she knew, but knew she probably wouldn’t tell them. If someone at the table is giving away their hand, you don’t want to go out of your way to tell them what they’re doing wrong.
He opted for a simple reply.
Why?—Levin
I don’t have a chance, and your vote’s better used elsewhere. If everyone stays divided, Kessel will find a way to sneak Sorenson in.—Avellar
Dislike—or at least distrust—of Sorenson seemed to be a major factor in the shifting alliances of the trial ballots. Four had been cast so far, and in the latest one only four individuals had received votes. Avellar had received Levin’s single vote, and the other three had divided the remaining fifteen evenly. One of those three was assuredly McKinnon, another was Sorenson. He guessed the third was Heather—she was well liked and respected, and her absence perhaps was making some hearts grow fonder. Maybe he could fish for some information.
If not you, who?—Levin
How about McKinnon?—Avellar
Jonah had thought plenty about McKinnon, and on another day he might have given serious consideration to supporting him.
Not today, though. Not after knowing what Mallowes and his compatriots were up to. He wanted someone who could keep anyone tied to the Founder’s Movement at an arm’s distance, and that someone was not David McKinnon. Though he was seen as more steadfast and trustworthy than Sorenson, the two men’s politics were not all that different.
GioAvanti, then. It would be a test. If she got six votes in the next ballot, at least he’d know who the third candidate was. And his shift to her side might give her momentum that would propel her to the top.
Assuming, of course, she made it to the election. Drummond strictly enforced Devlin Stone’s suggestion that the Paladins be cut off from the outside world throughout the course of their deliberations. None of them knew anything that was going on outside the chamber doors.
“Paladins!” Drummond called. “Another hour has passed. The time for the fifth trial ballot has arrived. Please cast your votes.”
As had become the custom, a flurry of last-second, prevote pleas arrived on Jonah’s screen.
We will remember the contribution to The Republic you made today. Proper reward and recognition will be yours.—Kessel
He didn’t have to say that he was shilling for Sorenson.
You are perhaps the only person in the council whom I do not have to remind to vote with your conscience instead of with political expediency in mind. Yet I feel you could use the reminder.—Drummond
All conduct by investigating Paladins and their agents is subject to careful review.
Jonah almost leapt to his feet. How in hell did someone send an anonymous message? Who would put in the time and effort required to circumvent the built-in identification system?
Kessel seemed the type, but this day, at least, he appeared happy to be identified with the causes he espoused. The veiled threat of the anonymous message was almost enough to make him leap to the McKinnon camp. Say what you would about the man, his integrity was unblemished. He would not stoop to such tactics.
But someone supporting him might. Without him knowing a thing about it, someone could be attempting to push support into McKinnon’s camp. They knew how he’d react to this message, believing it might push him to McKinnon. As it almost had.
Jonah firmly cast his vote for Heather GioAvanti. As he did, a single green light joined the five red, yellow and blue lights already in place.
The third candidate wasn’t Heather. Jonah had guessed wrong. Again.
He shook his head as Meraj Jorgensson stood. Jonah cocked his head in interest. He had no idea if Jorgensson had anything helpful to say, but he usually was interesting when he spoke.
“Paladin Drummond,” he said, “the wisdom that an army marches on its stomach has remained true through the millennia. Though we are not actually marching, I think I can safely say that this morning, and early afternoon, have been a long haul. Might we break for lunch?”
“We are deciding the future of The Republic,” Drummond shot back. “Are you suggesting our appetites should take priority over that?”
Three other Paladins leapt to their feet. Jonah rolled his eyes. Even lunch could not be accomplished without debate.
While the arguing crescendoed, Jonah looked back at the vague threat still sitting on his screen. If it was any indicator, the rest of the day would be a long descent into the mud.
60
Teka-Net, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
20 December 3134
Cullen Roi looked at the overhead speaker, hardly able to believe the words from his blocking force: “Under attack, front and rear. Going to defensive perimeter.”
“Press them!” he ordered. “I want blood in the streets, people.”
“I’m on it,” Norah said. “We know where one group of troopers is. They seem to have two. Who knows how many more?”
“Looks like Redburn is trying our trick,” Cullen Roi said. “He wants his own Man in a White ’Mech to get voted in, and that buggering Spider-driver out there is the one on tap.”
“Do we call in our man now?” Norah asked.
“It’s still too early.”
“We don’t have a choice. They’ve forced our hand.”
Cullen scanned the feedback from recent skirmishes, encounters that his people were invariably losing. Norah was right. “Okay. Get a message into the Chamber of Paladins—use a Senate page, one of the sneakier ones—that there are riots in the streets, and that there’s a Mech Warrior run amok out there. Then make sure that there are riots in the streets by the time our man gets there.”
“I’m on it,” she said. “And after that?”
> “After that it’s mayhem for everyone,” Cullen said. “It’s been years since I’ve thrown a Molotov cocktail through a shop window. I hope I haven’t gotten rusty.”
Norah asked, “Do we shut down HQ?”
“Shut it down, burn it down, doesn’t matter. We’re done here. Let’s go while we’re clear.”
“Too late,” she said, and the change in her voice made his blood go cold.
A moment later, and he felt what she had felt: the regular, ponderous vibration of the floor under his feet. A giant’s footsteps, coming down the street and into the square outside the data shop. The unmistakable approach of a BattleMech.
“Go out the back,” he said. “Use the secret exit. They’ll have it covered in another minute, but there’s still time for you to make it past them.”
“What about you?”
“My hand’s played out. But if they have me alive to work with, they may not think you’re important enough to waste resources on. Find Hansel, if he’s still alive, and keep the organization going.”
She bit her lip hard, but said nothing, and left as he had instructed. Cullen waited alone in the empty headquarters, listening as the ’Mech’s footsteps drew nearer and halted. If the shop’s proprietor were wise, he thought, the man would see the day’s tri-vid news and decide to extend his visit to Nova Scotia indefinitely.
A couple of minutes later, the noise of vehicle engines revved and died outside the building. Then he heard running footsteps, first advancing, then retreating, and was not surprised, a steady ten count later, when the front of the data shop collapsed in a roar of explosives.
The Scorpion Jar Page 29
