Walter returned with the glasses half full. “What’s changed?”
The elder MechWarrior held his glass up. “You’re kinda generous with my whiskey.”
“Way you’re talking it’s going to be mine pretty soon anyway.”
“Good point.” Hake touched his glass to Walter’s. “So while you’ve been working with the kid, I’ve been making the rounds, talking to folks, and there’s been some chatter . . .”
Walter smiled broadly. “You got your eye on someone.”
“Let’s not be—”
“Did Chris’s wife set you up? She’s good, but this would be going above and beyond.”
Hake fixed him with the one-eyed death stare. “Laurie had nothing to do with it—though she did gather some information after the fact. And it’s not that this woman is the deciding factor. It’s just that I’ve come to realize that the whole ‘girl in every spaceport’ isn’t something that’s going to work for me forever, handsome as I am. So I want you to think seriously about what you see as your future with the Angels, and what you see as our future. I mean, you get the Chairman Presumptive through the Final Vetting and I’m sure he’d be happy to make the Angels an adjunct unit to the Litzau Lancers. Take a couple-year gig here, get everyone healthy, then, like you said before, you go to Galatea and pull some lucrative contracts.”
“Hake, I can’t buy the unit from you.”
“Son, I’m not looking to cash out.” Hake smiled. “If this thing works out here on Maldives, cash isn’t going to be my problem. I just want to see that everyone gets taken care of, and you’re the guy who can do that. Leastways, that’s my thinking.”
Walter sat forward, cupping the crystal glass in both hands. All this he’s saying, and here I am lying to him. I can’t . . . “Look, Hake—”
“No, stop there, Walter. This isn’t a decision you need to make right now. We’re not talking about it any more—at least, not until the Final Vetting is over, right?”
The younger man looked up. “Okay, deal.”
“Good. Good.” Hake smiled broadly. “Now, here’s another thing, this Final Vetting, there is betting on it. Lots of odd stuff, like what you’re going to be eating out there, how often he gets distracted by flowers, that kind of thing. There’s some serious money going down on how efficient he’s going to be in shooting up the simulated targets. How many shots per, weapon choices. Care to help a buddy out?”
“Missiles, mostly. He likes the pyrotechnics. Lasers, well, beams travel in a straight line except when he shoots them. Hell, half the time I take cover, and I’m usually behind him.”
“The over on attacks-per is seven and a half.”
“The targets have to go down in less than eight shots for you to win?” Walter snorted. “Take all the action you can on the under, and give odds. Long odds.”
Hake arched an eyebrow. “I thought you said the kid isn’t any good.”
“He isn’t, Hake.” Walter winked. “But Companion shots only count for half, and I am that good. And then some.”
Sophia gave the blue sash on her brother’s uniform a tiny tug to set it perfectly in place. “There’s something different about you. What?”
“I am uncomfortable with my Companion.”
“With Walter?” Sophia’s stomach fluttered. “Do you fear someone has bribed him or . . .”
Ivan’s reflection stared back at her from the full-length mirror. “You have spent enough time with him in conversation over dinners. Do you think he could be bought?”
“No, but you are not answering my question.”
“The two of you share that predilection for being quite direct.”
“Ivan, you do not win this game. Not with me.”
He smiled. “Steeped as we are in tradition here—shackled by it, really—I was comfortable. My course in life, the family’s work, it really left me no doubt about anything. But Walter, free as he is, provides a different perspective. It’s unsettling. Am I wrong, or is this something you have seen in him, too?”
Sophia turned away, hiding the flush rising to her cheeks. “I do find him intriguing. And I trust him. I think he sees more than he lets on, but keeps his own counsel.”
“How far would you trust him?”
She spun to face her brother. “What are you thinking, Ivan?”
“Just that our work might require some outside support.”
Sophia hesitated. “I don’t know, Ivan. Perhaps, after the Final Vetting. After he proves himself . . . Father’s plans never mentioned . . .”
“But did not rule out off-world help.”
“But he did warn of off-world interference.” She frowned. “So many families have mythologized what Maldives was before the war. They want a return to that glorious age, and are willing to court external forces to win themselves a place in the future. But Maldives’s future is not in a return to the past.”
“Agreed.”
Ivan’s sister laughed. “And once again, you have wandered away from the subject I asked about. Are you uncomfortable with your Companion, or uncomfortable about the Final Vetting?”
Ivan ran a hand over his forehead. “The Final Vetting, of course. To fail would be unbearable, but to succeed could be worse. It will trigger so many intrigues that surviving the ordeal will seem simple by comparison.”
“But that, dear brother, is a problem for the Chairman to solve.” Sophia linked her arm through his and steered him toward the door of his chamber. “Think first about getting through dinner, then the Final Vetting. All else will sort itself out in due time, I have no fear.”
Rivergaard Rangers Security Services Headquarters, Rivergaard
Maldives
Lieutenant Aaron Doukas paused in the doorway to Richard Oglethorpe’s office. “You asked for me, sir?”
The dark-haired unit commander glanced up from his desk. “Yes, I’ve been going over the unit performance assessments.” He tapped a finger against the desk’s glass top and the monitor beneath it. “I don’t like what I see. Not at all.”
“Sir?” The subordinate officer stiffened. “The numbers—”
“The numbers better not tell the whole story.” Richard stood, then glanced past Aaron, toward the office beyond. People were staring. “Come inside. Close the door.”
“Yes, sir.” Aaron kept his voice subdued. A tall, stocky man, he moved stiffly, as if dreading the dressing-down that was coming. He caught a couple of gasps from the office staff before he closed the door behind him.
Richard remained stiff and formal, again tapping a finger against the glass. Though electronic countermeasures would hamper any attempts to eavesdrop on the conversation, the glass wall behind him opened toward the city. Observers could easily catch a visual, so his body language had to belie his words. “I will make this up to you, of course.”
Aaron, playing his part, nodded once, sharply. “I understand, sir.”
“Preparations for our little ordeal are set, then?”
“Yes, sir. Those who don’t need to know, don’t know. All of them will comply, however.” Aaron pointed toward the desk. “The Rangers are all unfailingly loyal to you, Director.”
“I had no doubt.” Richard came out from behind the desk and paused in front of a static holograph of himself as a boy wearing a MechWarrior’s cooling vest, shorts and boots. He stood with his father—a man stouter than Richard was now, but there could be no mistaking their relationship. “Twenty-six years ago, the last Final Vetting. It should have ended in ten hours, fourteen at the most. But when it went on, it set things in motion. When they believed Chairman Thomas was lost, people jockeyed for position. My father, he became one of the leading candidates . . . the leading candidate. Many had said they would surrender their proxies to him, and he was willing to accept the responsibility of the office.”
The bearded MechWarrior shook his head. “I understand family and obligation, sir. I may not be Dhivi, but when my unit fell apart, you were willing to hire me into the Rangers. The Rangers are my family—your family. I have no doubt your father would have been a brilliant Chairman.”
Richard, playing for any distant observers, stabbed a finger at his subordinate. “This is why I have entrusted you with this operation. Now, I expect you to post my assessment of these results. You’ll revoke leaves for the Rangers during the rest of the Vesting Celebration, and schedule them for more training, especially up against the Final Vetting itself.”
“There will be grumbling.”
“Good. The only time anyone believes a soldier is telling the truth is when he’s complaining.” Richard, his back to the windows, flashed his subordinate a quick smile then returned to his desk. “Now, I need you to leave so I can dress for dinner. And please, forgive me.”
Aaron Doukas nodded, then opened the door. “Yes, sir.”
“And, Lieutenant . . .” Richard let his voice carry. “Just because certain entitled individuals believe they can get away with slovenly and sloppy performance piloting a ’Mech, my Rangers cannot. If you cannot make them understand that, there will be changes. Drastic changes. You earn a berth in the Rangers. It’s not a birthright. Do you understand?”
Aaron raised his chin, then saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“Good, go.” Richard narrowed his eyes. “And if the next assessment is this bad, just pack your bags and get off Maldives. Failure will never be tolerated while I continue to draw breath.”
Chapter Six
Litzau Lancers Garrison, Rivergaard
Maldives
6 November 3000
Walter stood at the feet of his Blackjack, staring up at it. The humanoid BattleMech had been painted in woodland camo to match Destrier. The Blackjack had a barrel chest that featured two medium lasers. Each arm ended in a pair of muzzles, the primary for a small autocannon and secondary for an additional medium laser. It boasted a fair amount of firepower for a ’Mech its size.
He patted the ’Mech’s foot. If your true owner is going to reclaim you, please, not here, not now. I need you. He smiled, content the war machine didn’t answer him, and that he heard no sirens suggesting law enforcement had finally tracked him down.
“Lieutenant, I know you’re going to be the best Companion my brother could have gotten.”
Walter spun on his heel. “Sophia, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be at corporate headquarters to monitor things with the others.”
Sophia laughed easily. “One of the reasons I spend so much time in the field, studying plants and bugs and critters, is that I can only take so much human company.”
“I never would have known that given how much I’ve seen of you during the Vesting Ceremonies.” Walter smiled genuinely. As she’d warned that first night, he’d found himself between her and her sister at a number of functions. Abigail had been coolly cordial. Sophia had been much more sociable, bringing him up to speed on the interpersonal politics within the network of First Families. She seemed quite at ease with others, introducing him to more people than he could ever hope to remember. “If you were at all uneasy, you had me fooled.”
“I was raised in the corporate world, so I know how to fake it. Spending time crowded into a modest venue with people I don’t know, watching a holographic recreation of what you and Ivan are, in theory, doing on the battlefield has no appeal for me.” She pointed back toward the simulation room. “I’ll watch direct feeds from in there, and then perhaps wander over to be sociable after the crowd thins.”
“One thing I need to ask you.”
“Yes.”
“You likely know the terrain we’re going to be traveling through better than most. I’m sure you could find your way through without any satellite positioning gear.”
“And can’t wait to get back out there.” Concern crept onto her face. “What’s going on?”
“I tweaked some equipment in my Blackjack and in Destrier. The satellite data that’s going into the displays will report us being a kilometer west and south of where we really are. You’ll know the landmarks aren’t where they appear to be on the map. And I even had one of the Angels go out and move the holovision recorders at our campsites. The signal repeaters will show us to be in the expected location, but we won’t be.”
Sophia’s eyes tightened for a moment. “Do you think there is an active threat against Ivan, or are you just necessarily cautious?”
“I’ve never really taken to the idea of folks knowing where I am when I’m out in a war machine. Unless they have hostile intent, they don’t need to know; if they do, I don’t want them to know.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Some people will consider this sort of thing cheating.”
“Probably, and I’ll take the heat for it. I’d rather apologize for being cautious than have your brother die because I wasn’t.” Walter shrugged. “I actually wanted some of the Angels to shadow us, but Ivan said that would be going a bit too far.”
Sophia nodded. “It would have been, but I am thankful you are on my brother’s side.”
“If you don’t point out the geographical anomalies, I think we should be in the clear.”
“And Ivan knows?”
“Yes. Being rather prudent, he has very reluctantly endorsed my effort.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” She leaned in on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Promise me you won’t let anything happen to him.”
“You have my word.” Walter gave her a quick nod, then mounted the gantry steps to the ’Mech’s access point. With every step she grew smaller and smaller, heading toward where her brother stood beneath Destrier. Somehow he looks even smaller than she does.
Walter entered the Blackjack’s cockpit through a small round hatch close to where the thing’s ear canal would have been. He sealed the armored door tight, then slid onto the command couch. He pulled up the cooling cable and snapped it into the slot on the cooling vest’s side. Piloting a ’Mech required him to be seated atop of a fusion reactor, using weapons and actuators that kicked out a lot of heat. MechWarriors were known to quip that it was like being in the heart of a star, but without any of the fun parts of that experience. The cooling vest recirculated coolant, which lowered the chances of him suffering a fatal case of heat stroke.
He reached up and pulled his neurohelmet from its perch above and behind his head. It rested heavily on his shoulders, and sensors pressed in a tight crown around his brow. They’d harvest neural impulses governed by his own sense of balance and translate those to the computers driving the ’Mech’s gyrostabilizers. He applied other sensors to his arms and legs with adhesive pads, then plugged their leads into the neurohelmet near his throat. That interface system allowed him to maneuver the ’Mech as if he was wearing it, allowing him to bring it to battle.
Once he had the helmet in place, he cinched it down to the cooling vest, then buckled himself into the command couch. He smiled. No matter where he went, what the weather or politics or his financial status dictated, he always felt at home in the cockpit. He shifted his body a bit, settling in, and tightened the safety harnesses.
I am good to go.
Walter punched the initiation code into a keypad on the command console. Lights began to flicker as various monitors came on line. A tone sounded in the speakers built into the helmet.
He cleared his throat. “Pattern check: Walter de Mesnil.”
The verification system responded quickly. “Voice Print Match obtained. Proceed.”
/> “Authorization code: Werewolves weave wretched rags.”
“Confirmed, Lieutenant de Mesnil. Weapon systems engaged.”
Walter’s primary and secondary monitors lit up. The larger monitor depicted bar graphs of the ’Mech’s weapons systems. They all showed green, which meant the medium lasers and autocannons were fully operational.
The fact that there wasn’t any active opposition force for the Final Vetting by no means meant the exercise wouldn’t be dangerous. Walter didn’t know if past Vettings had resulted in fatalities, but soldiers got killed in live-fire exercises all the time. Lasers, missiles and projectiles could malfunction, causing internal damage in the ’Mech, and possibly even lighting off a series of devastating explosions in an ammo compartment. Moreover, simply walking a ’Mech off the side of a mountain would do just as much damage as a pitched battle, and seldom provided a pilot a chance to eject safely.
Walter hit a combination of buttons that took the ’Mech’s heat meters from the secondary monitor and put them on the auxiliary monitor. He then put a small map of the local terrain on the secondary monitor. He smiled as icons representing the repositioned cameras slowly populated the area. Though he had not mentioned it to either Ivan or Sophia, he’d be calling up spot video checks for security purposes as they worked through the Final Vetting. It might be cheating, but doesn’t feel that bad when I’m the one doing it.
Lastly he brought up the holographic combat display. He left it on vislight initially, so the display floated a 360-degree image of the hangar before him, shrinking it into a 160-degree display. Golden lines defined the edges of the ’Mech’s forward firing arcs, and a pair of blue lines defined the rear arc. The joysticks at the end of either arm on the command couch controlled the aiming reticles. They drifted over the display as he ran through a targeting check. Tightening up on the joystick triggers would fire the weapons.
He keyed his radio. “Rail is green and hot.”
Heir Apparent Page 5
