Marcus waited until silence fell again. "Jase has gone on ahead via commercial transport to look things over, make contacts. The Pinhead and the rest of our people are on the way here to rendezvous with us. A JumpShip will be here in three days, and be ready to jump us out in about a week, so time is short. We bail out of the Baron's party at midnight and burn for the zenith jump point, which means the Heaven Sent's got to be loaded and ready to go in three hours."
Charlene watched Marcus climb to his feet, and pushed herself up off the ground as well, giving Brent's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she did.
"Commander," Paula Jacobs called out, reaching over to tug at his pants leg. "Where are we headed?"
Marcus shrugged, as if their destination wasn't that important. "The Magistracy of Canopus," he said matter-of-factly. "We're heading out into the Periphery."
Glancing from face to face, Charlene read the sudden flashes of concern—the same worry she'd begun to feel from the moment she'd read that message. The Periphery had long been a dumping ground for broken units and a place to which mercenaries crept off until their finances— or lack of them—either improved or got the better of them. It was hard to make a name for oneself out there, so far from where the real action was, and the leaders of Periphery realms could be notoriously capricious.
Vince Foley was the first to speak, shocked straight out of his exaggerated cowboy drawl. "Wasn't there anything else? I mean, we aren't that bad off, are we?"
"We need the work," Marcus said, avoiding the question. "They wanted a unit with our kind of expertise and were willing to pay well for it. Enough to slash away at our back debts and bring our finances back up to where they were before Arboris. And we'll have the chance to get everyone outfitted again."
Charlene knew that meant heavy salvage, which would be appreciated by the two Angels who were Dispossessed. But nothing ever came free. If some Periphery state was willing to pay out good money and generous salvage, the job wasn't likely to be an easy one. The Magistracy must be desperate. "You know the mission then?" she asked.
Marcus nodded. "Most of you know enough about the Periphery to have heard that the Marian Hegemony's gotten pretty aggressive of late. Not only have they stepped up their raids on Canopus worlds, but they've somehow gotten their hands on new technology and 'Mech designs.
"Our job is to locate the line of supply to the Hegemony, disrupt it, and report back to Emma Centrella on the identity of the supplier and the location of any equipment caches we aren't able to capture ourselves. With any luck, Jase will have solved the first problem for us by the time we get out there." Marcus shrugged. "That's it."
"That's it?" Vince asked, incredulous. "One company against a supply depot garrison force? Probably something between a battalion and a full regiment? That's enough. More than enough."
"Anybody wanting a leave of absence?" Marcus asked softly, glancing around. Charlene saw the worry still showing on the faces of several people, who quickly flushed with embarrassment as their commander's gaze moved from face to face. If nothing else, they'd learned to trust him.
"Well," Faber said, swinging down to the ground and landing lightly on his big frame, "think I'll go rack the Mary Dear." He walked over to the retractable ladder that would take him up to the cockpit of his Marauder, the 'Mech which he'd baptized with such an unlikely nickname. "Sounds like we're done here."
Without further comment, Marcus walked off too, headed toward the DropShip. Charlene watched him go. She was glad the Angels would have work and a chance to rebuild, but she couldn't help wondering what Marcus had gotten them into this time.
3
Shienze Stronghold
Bastille, New Home
Chaos March
19 March 3058
Marcus' restraint lasted only until dessert.
It wasn't anything Precentor Sandra Schofield said or did. In fact, Schofield was the very soul of politeness from the first moment Baron Shienze introduced her to Marcus. That had been over appetizers. The Precentor and her aide, demi-Precentor Ryan Hughes, had arrived late.
Baron Shienze had tapped his knife against his wine glass for attention. The piercing chime cut through the murmur of a score of conversations, commanding silence down the impressive length of the formal dining hall. The table had places for two hundred, and its setting rivaled the many tales Marcus had ever heard about the royal dining halls of New Avalon or Tharkad. Crystal with the Shienzé family crest cut into the base just below the stem. Fine china and gleaming silverware, each piece engraved with a stylized "S" and picked out in gold leaf. The baron claimed the set dated back to the days when New Home had been part of the Terran Hegemony, one of the six states that made up the legendary Star League. The Hegemony, along with the Star League, had dissolved some three hundred years before.
The meal proceeded in eight courses. Servants attired in formal wear, one for every four guests, kept plates heaped and glasses full. Marcus couldn't begin to estimate what the whole thing might have cost, but the extravagance was impressive even though he was sure it was more for the benefit of Word of Blake than his mercenary crew. The Blakists and their rigid adherence to the old ComStar secrecy and fanaticism annoyed Marcus, but he also understood why Baron Shienze might be courting them. The Baron needed a firm source of supply if he was to continue to defend his world, and the Word of Blake now controlled the production of weapons and everything else on Terra. Besides, the festive atmosphere had done much to dissipate his people's concern over assignment in the Periphery, at least for the evening, and that in itself was welcome.
The high-pitched peal caught Marcus with a mouthful of some delicious local fowl, the slivers of meat roasted in a honey sauce and spiced with something hot enough to make his eyes water and his mouth burn. He swallowed the morsel quickly, then drowned the fiery aftertaste with a heavy draught of dry white wine.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the baron called out as the white-robed pair were led to the head of the table. "May I present Precentor Sandra Schofield and her aide Ryan Hughes. Precentor, these are the Avanti's Angels, the mercenary company who has just completed a successful contract for us here on New Home. And this"—he gestured to Marcus, who had stood up automatically—"is Marcus GioAvanti, their commander." Introductions complete, the baron ordered fresh plates brought for the new arrivals.
Demi-Precentor Hughes went straight to his place at the table, two seats down from the baron and next to Charlene Boske. Sandra Schofield took a moment to greet Marcus personally before taking her place at the baron's immediate right.
"Commandante GioAvanti," she said, changing his rank into the Italian equivalent and adding the correct accent to his family name. She offered her hand formally.
Marcus' eyes widened in surprise, not altogether pleasant. He'd been born to a wealthy mercantile family that had kept alive its Italian heritage. It was a part of his life he had turned away from. Far from being flattered that the Word of Blake precentor would know his family's dialect, Marcus was put on his guard.
Still, old habits died hard. Coming to strict attention, Marcus clicked his boot heels together smartly as he bent over the precentor's hand. In less formal circumstances he would have brushed the hand lightly with his lips, but as she was the guest of honor he maintained proper decorum. "Il piacere e mio, Signorina Schofield," he returned. The pleasure is mine.
The precentor's smile was easy and full of warmth. "I have been informed of your recent successes, Commander. It seems appropriate that your Angels should herald the true beginning of New Home's move to independence."
"You are very kind," Marcus told her, executing a simpler bow this time. And very smooth, he thought.
The rest of the dinner went on in much the same way, with Precentor Schofield charming everyone around her. She could instantly put someone at ease, and not once did she mouth any quasi-mystical phrase by the oh-so-sainted Jerome Blake. Marcus watched as even Charlene Boske fell under her sway as Schofield inquired and commented with grea
t interest on Charlene's Federated Suns background. Baron Shienze too was utterly captivated, forgetting his food and drink as Schofield also drew him in with a knowledge of New Home and its former place among the worlds of the ancient Terran Hegemony.
"It's true," she said, setting down her fork and letting her gaze travel the faces of those nearest her. "New Home was famous as a place of culture and refinement. The arts flourished here and several of the Star League's greatest statesmen came from this world."
"Ah, yes," the Baron Shienzé said with obvious pride.
Marcus dredged up what he could remember about the long-gone Terran Hegemony. That it was one of the ring of worlds that surrounded and was governed from Terra. That it had been founded by the McKennas and later ruled by their cousins, the Camerons. That it had been Ian Cameron who had forged the alliances that ultimately formed the Star League back in the 2600s, uniting the far-flung worlds colonized by humanity under a single government. Then near the end of the twenty-eighth century, the Star League came apart at the seams, and the worlds of the Terra Hegemony were eventually absorbed by the five remaining Houses. He couldn't recall any specifics concerning New Home, but then his school-day memories were certainly no match for the precentor's apparent studied knowledge.
Sandra Schofield nodded to the baron, and her earnest expression turned to one of sorrow like the slow fall of a dying leaf. "New Home was also the first to suffer the ravages of the Succession Wars," she said slowly as if not wanting to shatter the image she'd built. "The Successor Lords saw to that, as each wanted to claim such an important symbolic prize."
Marcus felt a kind of warm flush spread over his face and head, and the dull roar of multiple conversations muted as the Precentor's words echoed within his mind. Warning bells were going off, though he couldn't put his finger on why. He only knew that Precentor Schofield was a dangerous person, for all her charm and poise.
"A symbolic prize?" he asked, sipping at the sweet wine the servants had just begun to pour them. "Like Word of Blake retaking Terra from ComStar?" Marcus was sure no one else caught the slight narrowing of Schofield's eyes, but then he'd been watching specifically for just such a reaction."
"I wouldn't compare the two things at all," Schofield returned, voice steady. "Terra is the rightful home of Word of Blake, just as New Home is the rightful home of the Shienzé line. We seek to claim no more territory, only to continue to protect technology from the ravages of war." She shrugged and turned up her palms in a gesture of harmlessness. Marcus could almost hear her saying, Look, nothing up my sleeve. "Surely that is a just cause."
Baron Shienzé was quick to agree, as were several members of the Angels who were near enough to be involved in the conversation. Charlene flashed Marcus a warning glance that told him she was beginning to sense something amiss as well.
Marcus merely shrugged and nodded with a smile, as if he had no interest in disputing the Precentor's words. He took another bite of his dinner, pretending to savor the spicy flavors and pungent aroma of the sauce. In truth, the food had lost much of its taste. He wasn't sure what game the Word of Blake was playing, but his own cautionary words came back to haunt him. The Angels don't need to make enemies here. He and his mercenary company had come to New Home to do a job, been paid for services rendered, and now the hour approached for them to leave the place for another destination hundreds of light years distant. They couldn't afford to get involved in politics, and soon New Home would be just a memory. He forced down another bite and tried to convince himself of that. The Angels don't get involved unless they 're paid to. That was a motto he could live with.
Until dessert.
"So, Baron Shienzé” Precentor Schofield was saying, "I understand that New Home is also suffering under attacks by the Bryant Regulars."
The baron frowned, his almond-shaped eyes nearly disappearing as he considered the problem. "The Bryant Raiders, you mean. Yes, this Viscount Dvensky has virtually seized Bryant for himself and seems determined to expand his domain by attacking his neighbors. Our problems with the New Home Regulars have given him plenty of opportunities to raid us when our backs are turned." He glanced at Marcus with a friendly, almost conspiratorial smile. "But maybe Dvensky won't be so anxious to hit us from now on," he said. "The Thirtieth Guards are predicting a fast clean-up ever since we put the fear of God into the Regulars."
Marcus did not miss the fact that Baron Shienze eliminated the word Lyran from the Thirtieth Lyran Guards, and he was sure the precentor must have noticed it too.
Precentor Schofield sipped at the dessert wine they'd been served. "So you believe the Bryant Regulars won't be back?"
"I doubt we will be so fortunate." The baron spread his hands. "New Home is Bryant's closest neighbor by only a few light years. Dvensky's bound to keep harassing us. But once we put down the New Home Regulars for good, the Thirtieth will be freed up to mount more effective defenses."
The precentor looked doubtful, the slightest frown creasing her pale skin. "I've heard that the Bryant Raiders have struck even as far away as Carver V and Caph."
Marcus rolled the sweet liqueur around in his mouth, noticing but not enjoying its fruity flavor and scent. What's your game, Precentor? Even without a star chart, he knew the worlds of Carver and Caph were at least thirty light years from the planet Bryant. Trying to make the Bryant Raiders look expansionist by adding a few more light years to their raids?
Shienze' nodded. "And Procyon," he added, naming a world on the far side of New Home from Bryant. "When your Precentor Blane visited New Home last month, he mentioned that Viscount Dvensky had refused to receive him at all. He and his people are a most disreputable lot."
"I had not heard of their attacks on Procyon." Schofield sounded slightly worried. "Someone should really put a stop to their barbaric activity."
Marcus set his glass down on the table with deliberate slowness. "When one independent world attacks another, you call it barbaric, Precentor. When Word of Blake attacks ComStar, you call it policy."
The conversation Charlene had struck up with demi-Precentor Hughes broke off as both turned sharply to Precentor Schofield for her reaction.
Schofield only smiled. "Eloquently put, Commander. I consider myself chastened." The precentor raised her glass slightly to Marcus as if about to toast him, then paused dramatically. "Perhaps here lies your answer, Baron Shienzé. Why not hire these able mercenaries to put a stop to the Bryant Regulars, much as they did the New Home Regulars?"
The baron shook his head emphatically. "Hiring mercenaries to help establish peace on my own world is a far cry from hiring them to attack another world. My neighbors would suddenly look at New Home as a potential aggressor, and I prefer to get along with them when possible."
"There is much wisdom in that, Baron." Schofield nodded sagely. "I know Epsilon Indi suffered fewer raids after signing a mutual assistance pact with Epsilon Eridani. As you say, the peaceful solution."
The baron's eyes widened. "Epsilon Indi has won its independence? I'd heard that they were still beset by the Capellans."
She nodded. "Yes, of course, but ever since Duke Abraham signed the mutual assistance agreement, the raiders have concentrated their attacks against the Capellan forces. Epsilon Eridani is a powerful force when it comes to trade, and even Count Dvensky is wary of upsetting them."
"I had not heard of this," the baron said, voice thoughtful. "I understand that Precentor Blane planned to visit Epsilon Eridani after leaving here, to propose a formal non-aggression pact and see about opening up better trade relations. If New Home is beginning to see the end of our trouble with the Regulars, perhaps we should be thinking about making similar arrangements."
The precentor raised a delicate eyebrow. "Indeed? I will be on New Home for the better part of a week, Baron, after which I travel to Carver V to join Precentor Blane and then on to the Epsilon worlds. I would be honored to carry a message to him."
Marcus grinned broadly. "Most convenient, eh, Baron?" He kept his t
one light, but Charlene's frown reminded him of his own earlier advice.
The precentor turned it to her advantage, however, by quickly agreeing. "Very convenient." She favored Baron Shienzé with a warm smile. "Precentor Blane mediated the pact between the Epsilon worlds. The leaders of Epsilon Eridani would consider your initiatives with greater seriousness if he were to endorse it."
Marcus tried to convince himself that he was overreacting, that Precentor Schofield was sincere in making a simple offer of assistance. Am I merely letting my dislike for Word of Blake influence my thinking? Schofield herself had been nothing but cordial, but then maybe that was the problem. She was so smooth, almost too perfect as she ingratiated herself with Baron Shienze.
Marcus leaned forward to attract her full attention. "Why would Precentor Blane waste so much time away from Terra? You'd think he'd be needed there now more than ever."
Sandra Schofield offered him another palms-up shrug. "The Word of Blake does not forget its roots, Commander. Once we were ComStar, and thus we remain a logical choice for such arbitration. Mediators should be neutral parties, with no personal ambitions."
Marcus smiled thinly, a dry chuckle escaped him even as he ignored Charlene's glare. "Everyone has ambitions, Precentor. Only the methods differ."
4
Shienze Stronghold
Bastille, New Home
Chaos March
20 March 3058
New Home's moons hung at opposite ends of the velvet sky, two smiling crescents that seemed to share a private joke as they watched the Angels complete the loading of the Heaven Sent. And those grins suddenly looked exceptionally cruel to Marcus, as if the universe knew some joke on him.
But such gloomy thoughts were cut short by the approach of Baron Shienze, trailing a small retinue of soldiers. With a casual wave the baron halted the soldiers at a respectful distance and went alone the rest of the way toward Marcus. He extended his hand and gave Marcus' a strong handshake. "You have done New Home a great service, Commander GioAvanti. I will not forget it."
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