But maybe that was what he wanted.
Marcus slowed to a stop as he neared her. "Commander Ryan," he said.
Jericho felt the coolness in his words, and thought she understood. This is my nation, not his, she reminded herself. And contract or not, money or not, we've cost him a comrade and a warrior. She had stood apart from the service, not wanting to intrude, but close enough to have heard Marcus' words. "... who had worked hard to become one of us," he'd said. "Not beholding to nation, world, or even to paymaster, but to the unit. To the Angels."
Is it really so simple, Marcus? Jericho wanted to ask.
Now she merely nodded a greeting. "If this is a bad time, I understand."
He shrugged. "Mercenaries can always make time for business. You need our cost projections and loss-indemnity claims for the battle?"
His tone was almost mechanical, as if the question were part of a litany learned by rote. Jericho searched his face for some clue to his feelings, but found nothing. "I don't need those now," she said. "I know it might take a few days. I do have authorization for you to draw initial supplies from the Indian Island facility, and to move your unit to Jubilee as soon as you can complete your salvage operations. Or before," she quickly added, "if you'd like to begin settling in your families and other field personnel. But that's not really why I came out to meet you."
Marcus' eyes narrowed. "No?"
"I was hoping to talk to you about the battle." She glanced back to where only a few Angels remained. Or anything else. "Maybe it's not the best time."
"I sent a report to Major Wood last evening," he said evenly. "It detailed the entire battle and I've already promised her copies of the battle ROMs. If there—"
"Dammit, Commander," she cut him off with a shake of her head. "I don't want to read a report of the action. I was there, remember? I saw it. You bloodied and then turned back a strengthened company with apparent ease." She allowed her voice to soften as a few Angels turned their heads to stare as they passed by. "I also remember you breaking from your plan of battle to save one of my warriors from being stupid. Ensign Williams would have died in her Trebuchet otherwise, and I'm grateful. I can examine your tactics all day long, Marcus, but what I want to know is what you were thinking."
She paused, biting on her lower lip and uncertain of how to proceed. Finally, she risked the truth. "Major Wood never allocated reinforcements. Not even when she learned she was facing no more than six medium 'Mechs. She wrote you and the facility off because she never thought you'd be able to hold out long enough for help to arrive. I still can't believe you turned the raiders away— and so quickly—and I was there." She shook her head and turned to leave. "It's just that I don't want to ever make the mistake Major Wood did."
"Jericho."
Marcus' voice was quiet but strong, freezing her in mid-turn. When she looked back, he met her gaze with a reluctant nod and fell into step beside her. "It's not anything special about me," he began, then shrugged. "Not really. You were born and raised in the Periphery, which means you haven't seen quite the variety of tactics I have." He held up his right hand in a quieting manner before she could reply. "And I'm sure there are a few things out here that I've never seen," he said to her unvoiced objection.
After a moment, he continued in a softer tone. "But think about this. The Inner Sphere recently fought the biggest threat it's ever faced when they halted the Clan invasion. Older tactics were swept away in favor of new ones, and these are traveling out to you even slower than the new technology. MechWarriors are afraid of the Periphery." He glanced at some of the Angels who walked nearby, and kept his voice low. "This is Valhalla to them."
"The hall of slain warriors," Jericho said. "I understand. Much of the Periphery was settled by outcasts and rebels and pirates. And it's never been the safest spot to be. But it hasn't been that way for generations. At least not here in the Magistracy."
"Right," Marcus returned. "But a lot of MechWarriors think of the Periphery as the end of the line, a place to hide when on the run or to get banished to when you can no longer compete in the Inner Sphere."
She nodded. "Point taken. So how did that help you yesterday? When they cleared the woods, I figured them to burn us down, mines or not, in a few minutes."
Marcus shoved his hands into his pockets, staring into the distance as if at another place or time. "So did I," he finally admitted. "There were holes in that plan large enough to walk an Atlas through. Not the least of which was placing only five BattleMechs between the raiders and the depot."
"Since you mention it, why did you hold some 'Mechs back?"
"Because if things had gone to hell quickly, the five of us presented a strong enough threat to hurt the raiders while the others made their escape." He glanced sidelong at Jericho, as if trying to gage her reaction. "I gambled, Marantha won."
Jericho considered that for a moment before speaking. "Were you so unsure of the plan?"
"Oh, it was a good plan. As good as we could manage under the circumstances. But that doesn't mean a lot on the battlefield." Marcus shrugged. "The raiders could've had the depot at any time."
"So if you'd been the raider commander, how would you have defeated the defense he encountered?"
The ghost of a sad smile played at Marcus' lips. "I wasn't on the defensive. But in answer to your question, I wouldn't have kept my forces bunched up. It should have been obvious that we couldn't afford to saturate the entire area with Thunders. Just a forward line and then spots here and there. So I'd have sent the jumping 'Mechs forward to engage at close range and keep us busy, then have the ground forces move up and finish the job."
"What do you mean, you weren't on the defensive? What do you call it when you're protecting a base?"
Marcus wouldn't meet her gaze. "I wasn't protecting a base, I was staging a battle around it. Make no mistake, Jericho, the Angels would've abandoned the depot in an instant and without a second thought. We were attacking. We drew first blood and continued to hammer at them once they saw they were hemmed in by Thunders. That's why the raiders didn't try any fancy tactics. They felt trapped. Then we hit them with the fighters and Charlie's force from the woods to keep them off balance. When the DropShips showed up, they were fooled into thinking reinforcements had come through—and that was the final shove needed to turn them back."
The implications whirled in Jericho's mind. The acrid, gunpowder-stench of the battlefield was suddenly stifling. "You risked our lives, your unit, on a bluff?" Then one of the pieces clicked in with an almost audible sound. "But then you weren't protecting the facility, so you knew the Angels could fall back from the battle."
"Intimidation is a major factor in any engagement. The Angels have been depending on it for years." Marcus let his gaze roam over the battlefield. "The raiders felt harried, so they gave me the initiative. But when the Shootist picked up that tree and used it as a giant broom, I thought we were done for." He frowned in remembrance. "Someone had started to think aggressively. Fortunately that warrior was in the minority."
"Was that their commander, do you think?" Jericho sounded hopeful. The ruins of the Shootist, and a few pieces of its pilot, were still scattered about on the field.
Marcus shrugged. "Maybe, but I don't think so," he finally said. "I'd bet on that Awesome. It was the only assault 'Mech and its pilot was damned good."
"Except that everything he did was in reaction to you." Jericho offered him a thin smile with the praise, trying to draw him out. She definitely wanted to get to know this strange, aloof man, but he definitely wasn't making it easy.
Marcus narrowed his eyes as he continued to sweep the battlefield with his gaze. "But it was how he reacted. The raiders never fell back and never seemed at a loss. The Awesome even managed to stall Charlene's advance almost single-handedly."
"But he lost sight of his goal," Jericho said, uncomfortable with hearing praise for the enemy, even a defeated one. "There must have been at least ten jump-capable 'Mechs on the field. With that ki
nd of mobility, the raiders could've jumped into close-combat and sent a few units on into the ordnance depot."
"The raiders were never after the ordnance depot."
Jericho started as if slapped by Marcus' soft-spoken words. "What do you mean?"
Marcus shook his head. "I didn't really see it till now, but everything points in that direction. For one thing, if you intend to take supplies, you land your DropShip closer. If you intend to destroy them, you assign Battle-Mechs in advance just for that purpose, but not one raider 'Mech ever seemed inclined to do that. The clincher is that they landed only hours after we did, with minimal forces in their DropShip to tie up any support we might hope for from the MAF. They were waiting for us."
"You're saying they had something personal to settle with you?"
Marcus shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe they know the Angels aren't here for garrison duty and don't want us poking around in the Hegemony. Doesn't matter," he finished, in a tone that made it clear he wouldn't invite further discussion. "They damaged our machines, though probably not as bad as they think—not with the auxiliary contract to support us. But the real hurt has yet to be measured."
Jericho followed his gaze. Back where the Angels had conducted their memorial for Brent Karrskhov, Charlene still stood—alone now—as she gazed up into the brightening sky. Charlene was hurting, that much was obvious. Jericho had heard the teasing talk on the trip from New Home, good-natured kidding about how Brent and Charlie were becoming something of a item.
She wanted to know what this Marcus GioAvanti was thinking right now, suddenly as personally interested in the mercenary commander as she was professionally. But any chance for further talk seemed lost on the cool morning breeze as Marcus let the silence settle uncomfortably between them. So Jericho watched Marcus watching Charlene, who stood on the field in silent contemplation of Marantha's sunrise.
18
Palace of the Magestrix
Crimson, Canopus IV
Magistracy of Canopus
The Periphery
19 May 3058
Sun-Tzu Liao leaned against the balcony railing, tightly gripping the cool metal to keep his hands from shaking. He stared at the horizon, his green eyes wide and unblinking. Canopus' sun was just falling below the lip of the world, turning the clouds a mottled pink and gold. The light evening breeze felt cool and wonderfully refreshing against his face, ruffling his hair against his neck. The sweet fragrances of the royal gardens three stories down sent up their perfume and he inhaled the scent deeply.
It is true, what they say. Coming close to death does sharpen one's senses.
He stared out past the gardens, where the Thetis River flowed past the walls of the Magestrix' royal residence. In the deepening twilight, the river took on a hard, gun-metal cast. But he could still hear the soothing sound of the waters as they swirled over a shallows area. A shallows, right before the Thetis deepens to more than ten meters. Perfect for quietly disposing of the demi-Precentor's body. It appealed to Sun-Tzu, committing the assassin's body to the goddess of deep water.
From what his people had been able to uncover in the last hour, demi-Precentor Nicholas had first shown up at the Pearl of True Wisdom, only to learn that Magestrix Centrella had offered him an entire third floor of the royal residence. In another wing of the residence from her own, of course. Sun-Tzu had carefully not noticed the doubling of guards around the Magestrix and her private wing even as he mentally saluted her for it. Giving him these quarters kept him under observation, and he was sure there were more than enough hidden guards to deter his Death Commandos.
But he hadn't worried for his own safety. The last thing the Magistracy of Canopus could afford was to have his sister Kali avenge his death by launching an offensive into their territory. Not that Kali would care whether he died. But it would give her a convenient excuse for trying to take over the Magistracy. No, Emma Centrella needed him alive. Which meant she hadn't been behind this attempt on his life that had so very nearly succeeded.
A soft sound from the room beyond caught his attention, but Sun-Tzu waited while one of the two guards at the balcony door moved inside to check on it. His guess was confirmed when the Death Commando returned to announce Naomi Centrella. Sun-Tzu nodded his assent, never turning away from the view. He felt her quiet presence coming up behind him on the balcony, then her hand close enough to his on the rail that he could feel its warmth though not its touch. He waited quietly for her to speak some inane words of courtesy.
"What a view, Chancellor. A glorious sunset, and the Thetis is always beautiful."
Sun-Tzu smiled, eyes flicking back toward the dark waters of the river. "Yes, I suppose it is." He kept his voice pitched soft and gentle, as if not wanting to disturb the moment. "And your company is always most welcome," he added, wondering if his men were still so on edge that they might have insisted too vehemently on scanning her for weapons.
"You are an important man." Her voice was warm and held no trace of reproach. "Your people are loyal."
At the reception, Sun-Tzu had discovered Naomi to be a charming companion. She seemed able to enjoy the entertainment and other aspects of the reception for their own sake, and never allowed politics to intrude on the evening. In the week since, in between discussions with the Magestrix, Sun-Tzu had grown to welcome her company. As he did now. But as they lapsed back into a comfortable silence, he could not keep his thoughts from returning to the attempt on his life.
Demi-Precentor Nicholas had been visibly nervous upon gaining access to him. He'd put it down to the importance of a message she claimed to bear, but it was enough to put his personal guards on alert. Still, had she not fumbled the needler concealed within her wide sleeves, or had she been smart enough to wear some kind of body armor under those white Word of Blake robes, he would likely be dead. Of all the avenues of approach to his person, he would never have expected the Word of Blake to be a threat.
Thomas Marik? The name rose like a specter within his thoughts. The Captain-General of the Free Worlds League was the Word of Blake's biggest supporter. Had Thomas finally decided to end Sun-Tzu's engagement to Isis in a permanent fashion? It made the most sense in one way, but Sun-Tzu could not imagine Thomas ordering such an underhanded act. Thomas cultivated an air of nobility, of higher morality, ideals, and honor. And unlike most Inner Sphere leaders, the fool actually seemed to mean it. Still, Sun-Tzu could not picture the Captain-General allying himself with the Marian Hegemony either, and Emma Centrella's probing questions over the last few days seemed to indicate that was her opinion also.
The last sliver of Canopus' sun slipped beneath the horizon, though the clouds still reflected its majestic light. Naomi half-turned to him, her voice soft. "What are you thinking, Sun-Tzu?"
The question seemed at once innocent and yet full of hidden import. The hesitant use of his name was not lost on him, either. He shrugged uncomfortably. "That appearances are sometimes deceiving." But often they're not, he suddenly realized. What was the term? Occam's Razor? The simplest solution is usually the correct one.
Naomi Centrella looked back out over the gardens and up into the sky. "Well, the sunset looks beautiful to me.
And it marks the start of Canopus night-life, which can be a most memorable thing."
Thoughts churned within Sun-Tzu's mind, as he barely registered Naomi's words. A Word of Blake fanatic tried to kill me because Word of Blake wants me dead! His thoughts turned to other pieces that might fit into place even as he answered Naomi in as calm a voice as he could muster. "But at this moment and maybe under a similar peaceful sky, your people might be fighting for their lives along the border of your realm. Or burying their dead. Or simply watching as the Marian Hegemony destroys a part of their world."
"Or making love," Naomi added, not a trace of shyness in her voice. "I have been trained for war, like my mother and sister, but I prefer to think of the benefits peace brings to our people. Is that wrong?"
Sun-Tzu listened to her with a slight sm
ile, but his mind continued to race with questions. How did Word of Blake profit from the raids on Canopus? He was certain the Blakists were supporting the Hegemony raiders, but reasons—he needed reasons. It would have to be for the same or similar reasons that they wanted him dead. Because I'm offering Canopus support. They want an unstable Magistracy. And an unstable Magistracy might lead to stronger ties between Emma Centrella and the Taurian Concordat, or a greater dependence on Word of Blake administration if they could mediate a truce or special alliances the way they'd been trying to do in the Chaos March. Or both. He pondered that even while speaking the answer to Naomi's question.
"Thinking about the benefits of peace is not wrong, unless you are a leader of your people. A leader must always be prepared for war."
Naomi nodded. " 'War is a matter of vital importance to the state,' " she quoted, " 'the province of life or death, the road to survival or ruin.' " At Sun-Tzu's look of surprise, she smiled thinly. "Sun Tzu, the Art of War. Your namesake. They made us study his teachings at the Canopus Institute of War." She bit down on her lower lip. "Will war come to my world, Sun-Tzu?"
"War always comes," he said.
"But will you bring it here?"
Sun-Tzu studied Naomi's face for a moment. I do believe she thinks I would tell her the truth. "No, Naomi," he said softly, putting as much innocent warmth into her name as he could. "I would not bring war to you." He turned back to his contemplation of the sun setting behind the river and possible Word of Blake motives, allowing her time to consider all possible meanings of his words.
Then her hand slid up against his own on the railing, its touch light and very warm. "My mother believes you might be helping the Hegemony raiders," she warned softly.
He nodded because it was expected of him. Beautifully done, he congratulated her silently. You give nothing away that I don't already suspect from talks with your mother, and you try to gain my confidence. Perhaps Naomi didn't have the same proclivity for warfare as her sister, but Sun-Tzu could easily see her as a leader of people. "Your mother is very wise," he said carefully, and with the proper amount of regret, "but not always right."
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