“Agreed.”
“Is that why you were dancing with Richard?”
“You are such a child.” Abigail’s eyes half shut. “As the saying goes, keep friends close and enemies closer. Plus, he is a good dancer.”
“Wait until you dance with Walter.”
“Walter, is it?” Abigail shook her head. “No, little sister, I shan’t deprive you of that dubious pleasure. I only hope your judgment of him is not in error. Any failure on his part, and we are all doomed.”
Litzau Lancers Garrison, Rivergaard
Maldives
16 October 3000
A day later Walter met the Chairman Presumptive at the Litzau Lancers garrison—a place that appeared to be as much museum as it was a working military installation. The front third really was a museum, featuring rooms of exhibits covering everything from Litzau Enterprises history to high points of the war and famous Dhivi who had earned fame far from their homeworld. The hangar space comprising the rest of the building provided housing for the Lancers and the Angels.
A central corridor opened up onto a tall glass wall fronting the hangar space, behind which stood Destrier, spotlighted from below. The ten-meter-tall war machine’s right arm ended in the twin muzzles of a pair of medium lasers. The left arm, which had a hand, sported a third medium laser on the outside of its forearm. A long-range missile launcher rested on top of that same forearm, while the ’Mech’s other missile launcher hid behind closed launch panels on the right side of the torso. Scaffolding surrounded the machine and workmen scurried over it, removing the gray-and-blue parade paint, replacing it with light green woodland camouflage.
That’s not right. Walter had arrived for the first of the training sessions with Ivan and expected that the Chairman Presumptive would use Destrier for the exercises. Beyond the Dhivi ’Mech, midway back in the hangar, Walter’s Blackjack stood ready. All Walter needed to do was strip out of his coveralls, pull on a neurohelmet and he’d be good to go.
Walter flashed the ID tag he’d been given and the guards waved him through. He entered the hangar through a door between Destrier’s feet. Ivan waved to him from a low corridor to the left. Walter jogged over to meet him, frowning because the young man hadn’t dressed for training. “Was I mistaken, my lord? We are training, yes?”
“As I told you—at least, as I remember telling you—I have spent hours running simulations . . .”
“I appreciate that, sir . . .” Walter stopped himself. “Calling you ‘sir’ doesn’t feel right, especially not for a combat exercise. What’s your call sign?”
Ivan blinked at him. “My call sign?”
“What they call you when you’re training.” The mercenary rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Mine, at least among the Angels, is Rail, short for Azrail, the Angel of Death.”
“In the Christian tradition, that is the archangel Michael, or perhaps Samael.”
“The Angels are better warriors than they are theologians. Point is, Rail is fast to say, easy to understand in the heat of combat.”
Ivan pursed his lips as he considered. “I would gather you’ve earned this sobriquet through prowess in battle, then.”
“You’ve not been around mercs much, have you? We had a bad billet when I first joined. Completely filthy. I killed a lot of what passed for cockroaches.”
“Irony, then.”
“Yes.” Walter posted his hands on his hips. “And you have to stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Directing conversations off into dead ends. You did it at the reception, you’re doing it now. I understand that you might do that to mess around with people who bore you, but I can’t be one of those people. We don’t get things straight and accomplished, none of this is going to go well.”
“Ah.” Ivan slowly nodded. “I see you’re operating under some misconceptions about the Final Vetting.” He turned and walked down the corridor, pausing only when he realized Walter wasn’t following in his wake. “Please, come, let me show you.”
“Okay, but I’m not forgetting you need a call sign.” Walter headed down the hallway, entering a side room a step behind the Chairman Presumptive. Computers filled it, with four simulator pods along the back wall, and every other wall covered with projected images of simulated fights. As training centers went, it wasn’t the most up to date, but eons ahead of what some facilities had deteriorated into.
Ivan turned and opened his arms. “I’ve been working in here for days, since before you even came into the system. It’s true that the Final Vetting is meant to recreate the exploits of my ancestor, Augustine, back when he defended Rivergaard, but it has evolved since then. We are a people of traditions, and we are survivors. Things have changed to reflect that aspect of our lives more than to simulate history. It’s become symbolic.”
“I’m not tracking the relevancy here.”
“The Final Vetting is an exercise that I am required to endure, not emerge victorious from in a martial sense. Thanks to my father, it isn’t a combat exercise anymore. As such, the only way we can really fail is if we’re forced for some reason to abort the exercise.”
“So as long as you get back from our camping trip successfully, you’re in the clear?”
“Yes, precisely . . . Rail.” Ivan’s eyes widened. “Yes, yes, I see how call signs help.”
“Stay on target.” Walter looked around. “So you’ve been logging lots of hours in the simulators here?”
Ivan clapped his hands together. “I think you took my meaning differently than I intended. Not working in the simulators, but working on simulations.”
Walter’s eyes narrowed.
“Let me explain.” Ivan walked over to one of the control stations. “As complicated as is the method of choosing a Companion, the methodology for choosing the actual course of the Final Vetting is even more bizarre. The First Families gather in councils and they all vote to select from among scenarios which have been fashioned based on historical incidents. Now, what I did was study the First Families and their voting patterns in the past, as well as their reactions to various results. I weighted each of the scenarios based on a collated tabulation of their comments concerning me. Then I ran simulations of how they will vote. Thus, with 97.32 percent accuracy, I know what scenario they’ve chosen for us. Then I ran simulations of those scenarios, based on all the data I could cull about you and anything else that will be involved—seasonal weather, blooming of plants, availability of firewood, all that. I ran everything against the strategies that worked in the past, and those that did not. As a result, I have been able to choreograph a plan which, conservatively, gives us a 99.72 percent chance of completing the scenario successfully.”
“So you’re telling me that you’ve already mapped out and scripted our route for the Vetting.” Walter held his voice level. “You know where the slag heaps will be positioned, where we’ll walk, where we’ll find potable water and kindling for our campfires. That’s what you’ve been spending your time doing.”
“Precisely.”
The mercenary scratched the back of his neck. “I suppose you included a round of DNA analysis and correlated it with your selection biases just to cover everything?”
“Good lord, no.” Ivan shivered. “No, that is not allowed.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Lieutenant, the First Families keep track of genealogies as a matter of family honor.” Ivan raised his chin. “To do any DNA analysis is so far from our tradition that it constitutes blasphemy—well, maybe only industrial espionage, though most think it blasphemy. Please, do us both a favor and don’t ever suggest we have anything to do with DNA collection or analysis. Don’t even joke about it. The suggestion that it even had been considered would be ruinous.”
Walter raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t realize—”
&n
bsp; “You should have.”
“Sir, this is not my world. I’ve been here a day and a half.”
“But, still—”
“No, wait, stop.” Walter swung a chair around from another control station and plopped himself in it. “This is just another distraction. Good God, you need a hell of a lot more than just a call sign.”
The Chairman Presumptive frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Walter leaned forward, massaging his temples with his fingers. “You’re smart, I give you that. I’m sure that everything you’ve just told me is true, and that margins of error—even absent DNA analysis—are tighter than Hake’s grip on a C-bill. But there’s one truth you didn’t factor in to all this. It’s an old truth, more than a thousand years old: no plan survives contact with the enemy.”
“Rail, remember the ‘enemy’ in this case is piles of debris mapped to appear to be hostile ’Mechs and vehicles.”
“That has nothing to do with anything.”
“But, you see, I have factored in—”
“I don’t care if you can read the minds of every person on this rock, or if you have a crystal ball that shows you the future, it doesn’t mean what you foresee is going to happen.” Walter pointed vaguely in the direction of the palace. “Didn’t you tell me that if you were assassinated there’d be legions of suspects?”
“Yes, but they wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t do something weird? They wouldn’t cheat?”
The Chairman Presumptive’s expression sharpened. “We have traditions, Lieutenant. No one would interfere with the Final Vetting.”
“But they would murder you?”
“Well, that is a different tradition.”
The mercenary held his hands up. “No. Traditions don’t cover this.”
“But they do, Lieutenant.” Ivan exhaled heavily. “My mother likely told you that traditions are why Maldives is dying. But traditions are the reason it hasn’t died yet. After the war, after people began to drift away, tradition and family ties were all that held us together. Traditions are what tie us back to our Golden Ages. Traditions are what will let us rebuild Maldives.”
“And yet it’s tradition that prevents Abigail from being Chairperson.”
Ivan glanced at the floor. “It is, and I want to change that. My father wanted to change that. I cannot tell you how much it hurts me that my mother, as Acting Chairperson, has only been able to act in that role because I have granted her a proxy to vote Litzau Enterprises stock—but some people would have it no other way. The Dhivi who understand how good a leader my mother has been, or how good a leader Abigail would be, want to see all that changed.”
Walter shook his head. “And I’m sure there are an equal number who like the status quo. Who will stop at nothing to preserve it, even if it means violating some ancient tradition. They set up a scapegoat, destroy him, establish themselves as the new heir of Dhivi tradition and the society keeps going.”
“I . . . I . . .”
This is what Sophia warned me about. He stood and rested his hands on Ivan’s shoulders. “It’s not that you’re not smart, but you can’t know everything. Let’s assume that all the simulations you ran were 1,000 percent accurate.”
“There’s no such thing as 1,000 percent accuracy.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Sorry.”
“Even if you’re right, you are right up until the point that someone acts out of character. They have a bad dream. They can’t get their favorite wine and decide to blame you for it. No, don’t tell me that’s irrational, I’ve got a scar over my ribs from exactly that sort of thing.” Walter shook his head. “Heck, there may be players here you know nothing about, and so they aren’t even variables in your scenario.”
Ivan’s shoulders slumped. “I had dismissed that possibility.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Walter smiled and took a step back. “Look, you ran your simulations. You gotta figure that anyone planning against you has run theirs. When they look at you, what do you think they factored in as most important concerning the Final Vetting?”
Ivan scratched at his chin. “I suppose it’s the fact that I’m not terribly experienced in piloting a ’Mech.”
Fact is, kid, you really suck in a ’Mech. Walter bit his tongue. “They’re looking at what you’ve done in the past, and they’re projecting it into the future. And you may be right, that being a little rabbit happily hopping down your bunny trail will be enough to get through the Final Vetting. But as your Companion, I have to imagine there are a dozen or so foxes looking to devour you.”
“Your logic is inescapable.” The Crown Duke looked up at him. “Is it too late for us to take prudent precautions?”
“Probably. Training you up to be a true MechWarrior, that’s not going to happen.”
“Oh.”
“But I can get you good enough that piles of debris will be really sorry they tangled with you.” Walter smiled. “As for protecting you from anything more malicious, depends on how good your simulations really were. Your surveys, do they include terrain analysis?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” Walter pointed at the simulator units. “Today you’re going to walk me through the Vetting route that your simulations predicted. We’re looking for secure locations where we can minimize any threats. Then, tomorrow and thereafter, we roll out in our ’Mechs and make sure the simulations match existing terrain and conditions.”
“But that will create new data for enemy simulations. Wouldn’t that be contra-indicated?”
Walter winked. “Here’s the deal. Because people love to think the worst about their enemies, we’re going to scrub our data of anything that suggests you’re getting better or reveals our plans. I let folks know that, in a ’Mech, you’re only a threat to yourself.”
Ivan pointed off to where the Angels’ ’Mechs were housed. “You will even lie to your people about me?”
“I’m your Companion. This is all need-to-know, and they don’t need to know. I trust them, but here their guard will be down and mistakes will happen.”
Ivan nodded solemnly. “My mother’s choice was perhaps more prudent than even she imagined.”
“I’d like to think so, sir.” The mercenary gave him a thumbs-up. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst. Doesn’t guarantee success, but tends to grind the edge off defeat. Right now, that’s going to have to do.”
Chapter Five
Rivergaard House, Rivergaard
Maldives
20 October 3000
Walter accepted the tumbler of whiskey from his commanding officer. “Thank you, Hake.”
The older man dropped into the chair behind his desk. “This world is incredibly weird. It’s wearing me out.”
“Should have retired before we got here.”
Hake saluted with his glass. “If I had, you’d be sitting here dealing with all the headaches.”
“Sure, but then we’d have Chris or someone else dealing with the rest of them.” Walter sipped the amber liquor. “Heck, there is no ‘rest of,’ just the one, really.”
“Progress that tough?”
“We’ve got his call sign narrowed down to four or five choices. Take that as a mark of his indecision.” Walter leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He didn’t like lying to Hake or anyone else in the unit, but Walter had to assume he was being spied upon as a matter of course. When he got called on it, after Ivan did better than expected in the Final Vetting, he figured he’d claim the kid swore him to secrecy as a surprise for his mother. Hake would see through that dodge, but if the Acting Chairperson was generously happy, he’d be in a forgiving mood.
“I’ve been putting the best spin on things that I can, Walter, but most folks think I’m gilding a turd. Not that they don’t th
ink the Chairman Presumptive doesn’t have talent, they just believe it lies in areas other than driving a ’Mech. This Final Vetting has some folks seriously concerned.”
Walter groaned, not having to fake that at all. “He’s real smart, Hake, smarter than anyone I’ve ever been around. He knows tons of things, maybe all the things, but he lets himself get distracted. In a simulator, he’s okay . . .”
“Good enough for the Angels?”
Walter shook his head. “We’d tell him to get four years of experience and check back.” He sat up and drank. “But actually put him in the cockpit of that Trebuchet and he moves like he’s pulling a plow. LRMs, he’s okay; with the lasers he’s no threat. But, as he says, he just has to get back in one piece. I do the heavy lifting in keeping him that way.”
Hake nodded, his jowls wobbling. “You’re his tour guide and nanny. I’d say it could be worse, but I’d be lying.”
Walter drained his glass and set the empty on Hake’s desk. “What’s your read on the politics here? Near as I can tell, everyone is related to everyone. Put two Dhivi in a room and you have four conspiracies. At dinners, people form coalitions just to get someone to pass the salt.”
“Seen that, but it’s all sound and fury.” The older man shrugged. “There’s a lot of grumbling, but it’s about as threatening as Chris or Spin when they bet too much on a crap poker hand. I don’t get the sense that anyone hates Ivan enough to actually kill him. He may not be all they’d like in a Chairman, but they figure he’s young enough and smart enough to provide more stability than those who would replace him.”
“That makes me feel a bit better, then.”
Hake finished his whiskey then set his glass next to Walter’s. “Why don’t you refill us both. You have time before dinner. We need to talk.”
“That sounds ominous.” Walter hauled himself out of the chair and made his way to the sideboard. “What’s up?”
Hake ran a hand over his unshaven jaw. “I was serious before when I talked about you taking over the Angels. You know, in my mind, I’m pretty much decided on it.”
Heir Apparent Page 4
