Marcus shrugged, looking around at the Astrokaszy natives in their sun-shielding robes or extremely light cotton clothing. "As long as it affects the masses and not you, why would you care?" He started walking again.
Remembering the fruit, Jericho popped the segment into her mouth and then moved to catch up. "It's irresponsible," she said, sounding frustrated.
"And every Great House has probably done the same thing. Not to the same extent, though. Only in times of dire need. That's one of the reasons why House Bills are almost always rated under C-bills."
The two paused in the shade of a two-story adobe shop. The owners sold baskets and pottery out of the lower story. All useful items; Marcus saw nothing just for decoration. Laundry hanging out of a second-story window said that the owners lived above the shop. "Astrokaszy isn't so different from the rest of the Inner Sphere or the Periphery. There are always those who want supreme power and are willing to hire or threaten others into helping them get what they want." And maybe that's why I'm feeling particularly fatalistic. Feeling used, Marcus?
"Meanwhile they trade off ownership of villages the way the Successor Houses trade planets," Jericho finished the thought.
Marcus leaned back against the adobe wall, its rough surface grabbing at the leather jacket and pulling it off one shoulder. "It's just a bit more brutal," he said, then lapsed into silence while he finished off his fruit.
It was interesting to stand there watching the faces of those passing by, but it was hard to tell what they were thinking or feeling. Most wore expressions that were either unreadable or simply drained of all emotion by the struggle to survive. The few who seemed to take notice of the two outsiders gave them glances or stares in various mixtures of curiosity, fear, and a good dose of hatred. Sidearms were common, slug-throwers mostly, and Marcus began to feel naked without his Sunbeam laser. No one stopped to harass them, though, and thinking about it now, it seemed strange that no one had asked for handouts after the way he'd spent money on some simple fruit.
Then he remembered the looks of fear. Word has gotten around that Caliph Rashier guarantees my safety. Nihail promised me I wouldn’t need my weapons, and I don't. He thought about the caliph's dark-robed advisor, still intrigued by the enigmatic man even after several days in the city, but then a hand on his arm drew his attention back to the here and now.
Jericho had turned so that she could face him, her left shoulder still up against the light-colored adobe wall. "Marcus, what are you going to do?"
It was the start of a conversation he'd dreaded ever since she invited herself along on this walk through the city. He could hear the real question lingering behind her words, what are WE going to do? Not the hardest question to answer, except that he felt sure she was speaking in terms beyond the end of their walk and maybe beyond Astrokaszy.
So keep it in terms you can deal with. "I'm going to pull what I can of the Angels together, assuming there's anything left. Then I'll work on how to get us off this world."
"And if there's nothing to pull together?"
Her hand remained on his arm, and Marcus tried to ignore the flush of warmth spreading slowly up toward his shoulder. "I started the Angels with nothing more than four 'Mechs, a beat-up DropShip, and a small pile of salvaged armor," he said, his tone more brusque than he'd intended. "That's about what I have now. I can resurrect the unit if I have to." He glanced down the bare-earth street. "I won't let it die here."
"The Marathon will bring back the Magistracy Armed Forces. You know that, don't you? We'll have help."
Marcus shook his head, refusing to meet her stare, afraid of what he might see behind her eyes. "I can't count on that, Jericho. Keppler reported that the Marathon had escaped by the time he got there to warn her, but that doesn't mean they'll be back in time to do us any good. We're looking at months of round-trip time."
The hand fell away. "So you plan to be gone before then?"
A single nod. "But first"—and now his head came back up, though he still wouldn't meet her gaze—"I plan to hurt Shervanis as deeply as possible."
"An avenging Angel?" she asked without a trace of humor.
"Sure, if you like. Some religions say the Archangel controls the gates of heaven," he said. "If Shervanis and Rashier want to start a holy war, I'll happily kick those gates wide open."
Jericho smiled, though sadness still showed in her green eyes. "So that's how I'll picture the pearly gates from now on. Heavily fortified and with a big BattleMech guarding the entrance."
Marcus smiled at the image she'd painted, but shook his head. "Ready to lead you into paradise or blow you into oblivion," he said, the whisper of laughter in his voice. "I suppose some people look at BattleMechs exactly that way."
She smiled in return, letting a comfortable silence exist between them for a few moments. "How can you expect to hurt Shervanis?" she asked after a moment. "Even with some losses the other night, his Hegemony friends must still have nearly two full companies."
"I don't know. Divide and conquer, I suppose. But that's going to be hard to do with the kind of numbers we're working with. Unless I can come up with some mighty clever strategy."
Jericho's eyes narrowed in concentration. "One who has few must prepare against the enemy," she quoted. "One who has many makes the enemy prepare against him."
Marcus nodded, recognizing the lines immediately. "They teach The Art of War in the MAF too?" Then he remembered another favorite maxim of his own. "The strong dictate, the weak posture. When my enemy cannot tell the difference, I have already won." He shrugged. "Or something like that."
"Can't place it," Jericho said, with a light shake of her head.
"Shiro Kurita. Twenty-three hundred and, well, a long time ago."
Jericho settled back against the wall, staring out into the crowd. "So you'll find a way to fulfill your contract, and then get away. Hopefully before Rashier finds another way to extort equipment from you. Then you collect the balance of your pay with the Magistracy and you go back to the Inner Sphere."
Again, Marcus heard the unspoken question behind her words and it tore at him. He knew she was fishing, hoping to find out if he cared, maybe even that he'd admit to it. But no matter how much he did care, he'd never tell her. There was a battle coming, and that meant he could lose her as he had so many others. Perhaps it was better to think only of what might have been. He reached over, enfolding her hand in his and holding it loosely. Leave it at that, Jericho.
"Marcus, what are you going to do?" The same question as before. The same pleading. Whispered so that he barely heard it.
"I'm going to head back to the hangar," he said, voice calm. He shoved himself away from the wall with a quick thrust of his shoulders, but did not release her hand. With his other hand, he pulled his jacket squarely over his shoulders again. "On the way I'm going to buy a whole bag of those expensive oranges. And then later I plan to sit down with some of my officers and try to come up with a plan."
He released her hand. "And I'm not looking beyond that. Not now."
34
Palatial Estates, City of Shervanis
Shervanis Caliphate, Astrokaszy
The Periphery
5 July 3058
Cameron St. Jamais paused just outside the doorway, his face almost pressing against the strings of heavy wooden beads that served as a partial curtain. The guards had passed him through automatically, and now he eavesdropped on Caliph Shervanis and Arch Vizier Ji-Drohmien as the latter reported on the defensive measures of the City of Rashier to his master. St. Jamais supposed it was considered an honor to be one of two men with unrestricted access to Shervanis, but all he felt was loathing and disdain for the caliph.
The Arch Vizier was a different story, however. Something about the man bothered St. Jamais. He was clever, possibly even as crafty as Shervanis. On Astrokaszy that could make a man powerful. But Ji-Drohmien also seemed to have a firm sense of proportion and, from what St. Jamais had seen, a nearly inexhaustible supply of pati
ence. A rare thing on this barbaric world, and a quality that could make any man dangerous. Just now the Arch Vizier was trying patiently to explain why Shervanis should not order an all-out attack on the Rashier Caliphate.
"Even with the loss of the Clint," Shervanis was saying. "I still outnumber Rashier in 'Mechs. How can you say I don't?"
"Highness, we have intelligence sources in the Rashier Caliphate. We know the Heaven Sent has landed within the city walls, and that it must carry at least five BattleMechs of finer quality than our own."
Shervanis slashed the air with the stump of his right wrist. "Damn the mercenaries and their 'Mechs. St. Jamais can give me one of his lances to match them. Or a company to crush them."
"St. Jamais will do nothing of the kind," the demi-Precentor said calmly, pushing his way through the curtain of beads, which rattled as they fell into place behind him. "My troops stay where they are until I'm sure the Angels are neutralized."
"Rashier invaded my city. That demands a response."
St. Jamais shrugged. "Then go light some fires in his city and steal some of his prisoners. I see no reason to commit BattleMechs for no gain of my own."
"Do not mock me, Blakist. You made certain agreements and you will honor them."
"What my master means to say," Ji-Drohmien said, stepped forward, "is that he wonders about your promise to help him gain dominance over the other caliphates."
St. Jamais looked at Shervanis, who stood glowering near a small table set with wine and fruits. "Our agreement specified that we would assist as our forces permitted. There was never a time frame set. Just now I am content to guard the distribution point against any Angels still left. I'm down a full company of BattleMechs, and expect no replacements until the next ship from Campoleone. I will not waste more of the Word of Blake's resources chasing desert riffraff or pursuing your personal vendettas. My patrols will return within a few days, and will remain in the city."
"Perhaps I would not have need of your forces if I could have overhauled my machines with the materiel you took from the other DropShip. Our agreement was that the mercenary machines and materiel would be mine if I neutralized their commander. Which I did."
"Only after my forces were indemnified for actual battle losses. I lost three 'Mechs against the mercenaries because of that damnable Fortress DropShip. Then two more trying to track the Angels into the desert." St. Jamais paused. "And you did not neutralize Marcus GioAvanti. In fact, you let him escape, and then tried to lie and cover up your blunder when I could have detached a few 'Mechs to make sure he didn't make it out of the city."
"So I am to receive nothing out of our agreement?"
"I leave you the DropShip."
"Which I have no means to repair," Shervanis said with a snarl. At St. Jamais' shrug he crossed his arms and sneered. "And what of the prisoners? You took two Mech Warriors and some others. Or do you plan to recruit them as replacements for your own warriors?"
"The prisoners are my concern only as long as I think they have information or any other use against what may remain of the Angels. Once I'm done with them, you may have the women."
"I also turned over the other Angel to you. The man."
"Let's not kid each other, Malachye. You don't care a fig about him. In the condition you handed him over to me, he's lucky to be alive."
"My father would have sent them all out into the desert tied to some horses to let the sun devour them slowly." Shervanis smiled thinly. "At least I can find proper uses for two of them." A pause. "You find something amusing?"
"Just thinking, Malachye-pasha. You have given me an interesting idea that I may find use for in the future."
"Good. Then in return you will lend me a single lance of machines with which to punish Rashier."
He does not give up. Perhaps he needs another reminder. "And if I do not?" St. Jamais asked softly.
Shervanis shook off a restraining hand laid on his shoulder by Arch Vizier Ji-Drohmien. "You might find my caliphate less friendly to your cause."
"There are several dozen caliphates on Astrokaszy large enough to suit our purposes. I would imagine that the just stipend alone that we pay you for use of a few empty warehouses would be enough to purchase Rashier's loyalty."
Shervanis' grin turned wicked. "But you do not want it widely known that the Word of Blake is behind this operation. After all that evidence we have so carefully planted leading back to the Capellan Confederation ... it would be a shame for the effort to go to waste."
St. Jamais shook his head sadly. "Then you leave me little choice."
Shervanis clapped the stump of his right wrist down into his left palm. "Good, then we will expect—"
"No, no choice at all," St. Jamais interrupted. "After all, there are currently more Word of Blake 'Mechs in your city than there are Astrokaszy 'Mechs."
This time Ji-Drohmien physically imposed himself between his caliph and St. Jamais. "Of course there are," he said smoothly. "And we know there is nothing to fear because the Word of Blake is a friend of Astrokaszy and therefore a friend of Caliph Shervanis. My master was about to suggest that you thoroughly inspect the planted evidence that links us with House Liao. Especially that which proves we had no choice but to comply or face an assault by his Death Commandos."
St. Jamais crossed his arms over his wide chest. "Is that so, Caliph?" He waited for Shervanis' curt nod. Well, you don't get off that easily. "Then we're still friends, aren't we? And I would be happy to inspect the evidence. But my schedule is so tight, Caliph. You understand that overseeing our mutual concerns takes precious time." You acknowledge me as the stronger, so now it is time to pay for my services. These are your own rules, learn to play by them.
Ji-Drohmien never so much as batted an eye, though St. Jamais did notice a stiffening of Shervanis' posture beyond the Arch-Vizier's shoulder. "If my master would be so gracious as to allow it, I would like to honor your patience and generosity with a gift. Taken from my own estates, of course. A half dozen of the finest Arabian horses in my stable. Transported off-planet, they would fetch a nice sum. And of course for all your men a steady supply of fresh fruit for your tables."
And everyone saves face, eh ? St. Jamais nodded to the Arch Vizier. Such a waste, this man serving Shervanis. Perhaps I shall do him a favor and remove Shervanis from his path before I leave. The 6th of June can apply its proven methods in any environment, even a place as pitiful as Astrokaszy.
35
Shaharazad Desert,
Astrokaszy
The Periphery
7 July 3058
A wall of heat slammed into Charlene as the continual firing of her large and medium lasers spiked the cockpit temperature first into the yellow zone and then into the red. Fans did their best to remove the lung-scorching air, but in the meantime she gasped for breath as sweat poured down her face and arms and beaded on her legs. The cooling vest was all that was keeping her conscious at this point—that and a stubborn resistance to anything smacking of submission, even if to her own body.
The large rolling dunes of the Shaharazad Desert spread out on all sides, rising and falling like some enormous dun-colored sea. Dark, glassy patches where BattleMech lasers had fused the sand threw back sparks of sunlight. The only orientation points were those pre-programmed into the BattleMech computers. After several days of this, Charlene was beginning to think she could spot the telltale differences between dunes, but knew better than to trust such impressions yet.
The Phoenix Hawk rocked backward as a full flight of ten LRMs from the raider Grand Dragon she faced chewed into her left torso. A blue-white lance from its right-arm PPC followed, flaying away more of the Durallex plating as her armor there became more memory than fact. She carefully walked the Phoenix Hawk backward and around the slipface of the dune her HUD registered as point A-l. Sixty meters back she halted the giant battle machine, dividing her attention between the HUD and the true-life scene outside her viewport while the heat buildup in her cockpit slowly dropped back t
oward reasonable levels.
Now I'm supposed to wait.
Her targeting and tracking system had already lost its fix on one of the desert warriors and the raider he fought. The raider 'Mech was an Assassin; though she had no way of telling if it was the same one she'd seen before. Aidar Sildig in his Enforcer registered only intermittently, a good three hundred meters to her left and engaged in a vicious game of cat-and-mouse, with two heavy raider 'Mechs playing the cats. She had done her job, pulling the Dragon out of formation by pretending to give ground to the heavier machine. Not that it took much pretending. The Dragon's pilot was damn good and held a 15-ton advantage. Most of the armor replaced by Aidar's people had already been scoured off or burned away by his LRMs and PPC.
The Grand Dragon rounded the dune, its splayed feet kicking up large sprays of sand. It twisted heavily to the left to engage Charlene, belching a tongue of flame and smoke as another set of LRMs shot from the protruding launcher. Charlene quickly engaged the Hawk's jump jets and eased into a short backward hop. Only two of the missiles caught her, barely making a dent in her right-leg armor, and sixty meters further back she settled into partial cover behind the tailing of another dune. Just a few steps, she cajoled silently, intentionally firing her two medium lasers high of the mark. Just to let you know I'm still interested.
The Dragon gave her three more steps, scoring again with both PPC and LRMs. The stream of man-made lightning took her Hawk high in the center torso but failed to penetrate. Fortunately the entire flight of LRMs slammed into the dune guarding her Hawk's lower half, throwing a sheet of sand high into the air like a curtain. The wave broke over her, and when her monitor cleared it was as if she'd been transported to a scene from some holovid drama.
A dozen magnificent horses were converging on the Grand Dragon, racing down the dunes on either side of it and a few galloping up from the rear. Graceful and strong, the animals had long silky manes and tails that streamed as they ran. They bore their riders toward the raider machine, whose pilot seemed unaware of their approach. With the high background heat of the desert, that didn't surprise Charlene.
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