of her pale blue eyes and the black plastic fist that emerged from her left sleeve hinted at the presence of prosthetics. She had fine, elfin features and full lips. Her ice white hair fell to her shoulders like a frozen waterfall.
She would have been beautiful except for two things. One was the scar that started at her left eyebrow and curled down toward her rosebud mouth.
The other was the casual cruelty that marked the lines of her face.
"We have shaped orbit about the planet," said the tech on the nav console, reporting the fact just as Beckett felt weight leave his body.
"Very well," said Malvina in an even tone. "Signal the Horses."
"Yes, Chingis Khan," said the technician on the communications console. He was a lean man with short, black hair, his face alight with a worshipful glow. Cynthy had drifted over to where the man was seated, studying his panel with evident interest.
His fingers flew over the board and there was an audio crackle. "I am Galaxy Commander Rose DeLaurel of Clan Hell's Horses, Zeta Galaxy, Heaven's Wrath."
"This is Chingis Khan Malvina Hazen and I challenge you to a Trial of Possession for the world of Romulus. With what forces will you defend, Rose DeLaurel?"
There was a slight pause as the distant Horse considered. "I defend with a Trinary of vehicles and a Trinary of ProtoMechs. With what will you challenge?"
"I will match your vehicles," answered Malvina. "I have no ProtoMechs, so I bid two Stars of Elementals and a Star of BattleMechs. And I will choose the ground."
Beckett blinked, surprised. The Horses' expertise in armor gave them the edge in vehicles, and since ProtoMechs outmatched infantry, they held a slight edge with the second Trinary, as well.
"Bargained well and done," said the Horseman quickly, and then she broke the connection.
Malvina turned and saw Beckett watching her. She kicked off and drifted over to him.
"You do not approve of my batchall, Khan Beckett?" she asked in a low voice.
Malvina was mercurial and deadly, ready to kill any who challenged her. But if he offered advice he was not challenging her, he was aiding her.
If he did it carefully.
"In this case I do not understand the advantage of choosing the ground." He pitched his voice low, so no one else on the bridge would hear them. Often privacy was the difference between advice and challenge. "That is why you bid as you did, is it not, Chingis Khan, so you could choose the location of the trial?"
A small smile curled Malvina's lips. She glanced back at the world on the viewscreen. "The land is everything."
Beckett's eyes followed hers. "Why this world, Malvina? Why not return to Skye and continue the desant? Or take more of the Wolves' former holdings?"
Malvina turned back to look at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes flickered down to the console. She suddenly went white with fury. Beckett looked down. An emerald light glowed on the console. The light indicated the station console was broadcasting to the entire ship.
Malvina braced herself against the console and pushed off, gliding forward. "Communications," she barked, "Report status of my station."
The dark-haired tech glanced at his board and then started. "T-the station is set to shipwide b-broadcast, Chingis Khan." He rose to his feet, arms at his sides, hands open in supplication, turning to face her as she tumbled towards him. "I d-didn't-"
In one fluid motion, Malvina pulled a curved blade from her hip and slashed down. His words were lost in a terrible gurgle as her knife severed his windpipe and the carotid artery. He grasped his neck with his hands, trying to stanch the spray of blood, but red droplets floated between his fingers, his life drifting away in a fine crimson mist.
The tech's error had transformed Beckett's advice into a challege—and Chingis Khan would tolerate no challenge to her authority. Beckett knew he was lucky the tech had paid for the transgression—and not he.
"Clear the bridge," Malvina shrieked.
Obediently, the crew rose and abandoned their stations.
Beckett glanced at the girl, Cynthy, wondering if the sudden display of violence had frightened her. The girl reached for the hatch, and then she turned to look back, her blue eyes on the dying tech, her chocolate-stained face totally blank, save for a little quirk at the corner of her mouth. A smile.
Cynthy was smiling.
In a flash Beckett understood. He remembered the girl's interest in the Comms board. She had set the station to broadcast. The girl had manipulated Malvina into killing the technician.
Monster.
Beckett opened his mouth to tell Malvina what he'd seen, just as he saw her glance down at the board. She scraped something off the panel with an index finger, something dark. She popped the finger in her mouth, tasting the substance.
Chocolate, thought Beckett with sudden insight. She knows. Malvina looked at the hatch through which Cynthy had departed.
And Beckett saw something on her face, he'd never seen before.
Shock.
Mammoth-class DropShip Wayfarer
Zenith Jump Point
Veckholm, Donegal Military Province
Lyran Commonwealth
In the dim light of pseudo-night, Captain Jonas Krick stepped over the young woman sleeping on the elevated catwalk. He glanced down at the small, huddled form and debated calling the master-at-arms. Technically, no one was supposed to be sleeping up on the catwalks. She was young, maybe early twenties, though the short black hair curled around her pale face made her look younger, and she was slender. A smudge of dirt on the left side of her chin told him she hadn't been through the wash bays recently. She didn't even have a blanket, she'd wrapped herself in a small, brown windbreaker.
That's when he noticed the toddler snuggled up against her, his blond head peeking out from beneath the light jacket.
Krick swallowed hard and turned away. I'll let this one go, he thought. Just this once.
Mammoths were gigantic cargo ships, able to haul north of forty thousand tons of cargo, which, just to put it into perspective, was something like seven battalions worth of BattleMechs. But Krick's vessel wasn't carrying a single 'Mech on this journey. Nor did she carry even a pallet of cargo. Wayfarer had been impressed by the Transport Division to carry Wolf civilians, and that's what she'd done month-in and month-out for the last two years.
It was hard, cruel duty.
Krick looked out over the Wayfarer's Number Four Cargo Bay and saw a vast refugee camp. Each civilian inhabited a two-meter by four spot on the deck (four by six for a family of five). Minimal privacy was provided by free-standing canvas sections bolted to the deck. And the smell. All those unwashed bodies created a terrible miasma that rose out of the cargo bay and made Krick's eyes water. He imagined what it must be like to live down there and shuddered.
People in pens. Like some kind of obscene zoo.
One of the Wayfarer's cargo decks was dedicated to feeding the refugees (not that there was ever enough food), another dedicated to washing them down (not that there was ever enough water), and a third dedicated to disposing of their waste (thatthere was plenty of.)
Once when he had owned a smaller ship, a Mule, Krick had transported a herd of cattle from one world to another. He glanced at the young woman sleeping with her child on the catwalk. This was a lot like that.
It was night watch now and twelve thousand souls slept aboard Krick's vessel. Sometimes he felt like he had all of the Inner Sphere crammed into Wayfarer, though in reality his present cargo was only a tiny drop of all the refugees that would need to be moved. Clan worlds typically had smaller populations than normal worlds, and the Wolves had only selected the cream of their citizens to move—typically young, able-bodied farmers or factory workers and their families.
Make all the qualifications you wanted, the refugees still numbered in the billions. The bulk of the population of the former Wolf Occupation was scattered in crowded camps from Ginestra to Amity. People were hard to move—and it took sixteen jumps to t
ravel from one end of the pipe to the other.
The expanded metal that made up the catwalk's decking shook in its steel frame as someone approached. The power of the footsteps told him exactly who it was. Krick didn't turn.
"There is another delay." The voice was a powerful alto. It rumbled out of a broad chest that somehow belonged to a human being. Somehow belonged to a woman.
"I am aware of that, Star Commander Amy," said Krick without turning.
"This is not acceptable," said the giant Elemental steadily, as if her will could change the situation.
Krick closed his eyes and bit back a sarcastic reply. He counted to ten and turned.
She towered over him. Krick was not a small man, but Amy was a meter taller. She wore camo fatigue pants and a black tank top stretched across her most impressive chest. (Her breasts were about at his eye level.) White-blond hair fell to her shoulders.
She stood uncomfortably close to him—whether because she was trying to intimidate him or because she was clueless about the Inner Sphere concept of personal space, Krick didn't know.
"Look," he said as calmly as he could. "Every ag world in this stretch of space has been struck with a virulent strain of rust. We think it's genetically modified, maybe a latent holdover from the Jihad suddenly catching fire."
"I have heard this before," said Amy. "And I do not care. Our people must be moved to the Occupation Zone."
"But they still must be fed, right? Even Clanners have to eat."
"So feed them."
"By stealing it from worlds facing food shortages? Not a chance."
Amy clenched her massive fists. It would only take a single blow from one of those giant hands to smash his skull in.
"You will resolve this situation. Now."
"Are you offering to have your civilians help us sort the suspect grain?" asked Krick archly. "That will speed up resolution of the issue. Though I can't guarantee any of your people will be alive when we reach the Wolf OZ."
"You are not amusing," Amy breathed.
Krick drew himself up to his full height. "Nothing's going to move until we get this sorted out, got it?"
Amy leaned down so only a few millimeters separated her face from his. "Not acceptable," she growled. And then she turned and stalked off, shaking the catwalk as she went.
Krick watched her go. Then he turned to look at all the people sleeping fretfully below, prisoners in his cargo hold. Krick didn't mind lying to the Elemental, but he did mind holding these miserable people, delaying a jump that would take them one step closer to a real life under an open sky.
"Devil take Melissa Steiner," he muttered darkly.
And then he stalked off, departing along the same route Amy had taken.
After his departure, it was quiet up on the catwalk for several long minutes. And then the young woman under the wind- breaker stirred. She stood, not sparing even a glance for the stray toddler who was not, in fact, her child.
She followed the catwalk five, ten meters until she reached the far bulkhead. Then she crouched down and pulled out a communication device that would automatically encrypt her words, raising the device to her lips. "This is Caroline," she said softly. "Of the Watch."
Canderon Agricultural District
Romulus
Clan Hell’s Horses Occupation Zone
22 November 3139
Beckett stood in a field of winter wheat that reached up to his chest. A gentle breeze rippled through the grain. It was like standing in a shallow, golden sea. All of Canderon was like this, a great expanse of cropland stretching across the heart of a continent.
A hundred meters from Beckett's position, a Tyr infantry support tank and a point of Elementals waited, hidden behind a low hill. Beckett had elected to observe on foot. He raised binoculars to his face.
Right now he was looking east at a ribbon of blue. A dust devil moved along the river, the Horses transiting Rural Route Four. The enemy was moving quickly, pursuing the smaller Jade Falcon force of armor and infantry cutting west across the golden wheat.
It was a trap.
Malvina's command Star was hidden in the river. When the Horses moved past her position, her BattleMechs would rise from the water and strike from behind. Malvina would fall upon the Horses' hindquarters, raking them with her sharp talons. It would be enough to bring them down.
It always was.
A clutch of seconds died. Then another. Beckett felt his breath tighten in his chest. He was certain the bulk of the Horse armor was south of the ambush point—what was Malvina waiting for?
A spark of ruby light was his answer.
He raised a pair of binoculars. Infantry in Elemental power armor were rising from the broad expanse of wheat. The left arm of each soldier ended in a wicked claw, the right arm in a laser. A pair of missiles were mounted over their shoulders, right and left.
Looked like ... both Stars. Fifty troopers.
A flurry of ruby beams sliced into the enemy's lead tank—a Scimitar Mark II painted in Zeta Galaxy black. There was a moment of pregnant silence and then the Scimitar erupted into an orange fireball, the victim of a secondary explosion.
Missiles streaked in toward the column of armor as the Elementals fired their SRMs, leaving behind gray lines of smoke hanging in the air.
Pointing back to their positions.
A black Enyo strike tank rotated its turret, tearing into an exposed Elemental with its pulse laser. Ruby darts of energy blew apart the unfortunate trooper and then set fire to a patch of wheat.
Black Ore ProtoMechs stalked forward sending flights of SRMs into the Falcon infantry. A Falcon Heimdall tried to move forward to give the retreating infantry cover, only to take a laser strike from the Enyo.
The Falcon force was drawing the Horses away from the river, but they were paying a fearsome price to do it. The shriek of lasers and the death rattle of autocannons filled the air. And still the BattleMechs were nowhere to be seen. The Falcon infantry was dying point by point, men and women toppling to the ground under the terrible weight of a coordinated, overpowering assault.
Beckett slowly lowered the binoculars. How had Malvina's plan gone so badly wrong?
* * *
Water cascaded off the monstrous Shrike as it rose from the river. The thirteen-meter assault 'Mech was painted black with green highlights, its silver cockpit molded into the hook- beaked shape of a falcon's head. A pair of wings, painted buff and gold, extended from its broad shoulders. Its right arm ended in a terrible claw, its left in a pair of PPCs. Black Rose stalked out of the river on backward-bent legs.
The Shrike's right thigh was marked with the emblem of its name: a dark flower in bloom. Soulless blue eyes stared out from its chest.
Through the water sheeting off her canopy, Malvina watched the Horse line pulling away from the river. She dropped her crosshairs over the rear armor of an Ore. The dot at the center of the crosshairs blinked gold and she pulled into her main trigger.
Twin lightning strikes tore into the ProtoMech's ebony back. The lightly armored Ore staggered and went down.
Malvina turned, looking for another target. She found a Scimitar and ripple fired her Longbow ten-rack. Missiles tore into the tank and sent it careening into the earth.
All around her, her BattleMechs rising from the river: a Turkina to her right, a Phoenix Hawk lie to her left, an Eyrie farther down the line.
She dropped her reticle over a black SM1 and pulled into her triggers.
The Horses had been transformed from hunters into prey. A klick to the west, Malvina's armor stopped its fighting withdrawal, hitting the Horse tanks at point blank range, refusing to allow Zeta Galaxy to punch through their lines and escape the 'Mechs marching on them from behind.
Malvina's Elementals did not join in the brave stand of the Falcon force.
There were none left.
She worked her way forward, ripping through the Horse line, mopping up. She had already won the Trial of Possession for this world, even if the
Horses had yet to realize it. She stalked her machine through a charred landscape. All around her the golden wheat was gone, burned away by stray weapons fire. The conflagration had left nothing behind but bare earth dotted with glowing orange embers.
And the wreckage of war.
She stalked past a point of fallen Elementals, their armor burned and blackened. Saw a Falcon VV1 Ranger, its smashed launchers putting her in mind of a broken neck.
She crested a hill and came across Bee Malthus's Tyr. Her radio crackled, and the deep, sonorous voice of the Crow rose from their personal channel. "Chingis Khan, why did you delay your attack?" "I did not delay the attack, Khan Malthus. All has unfolded as I envisioned it."
"But Malvina, our infantry has been slaughtered. Our armor is in tatters."
She looked to the horizon where the fire was still burning, hungry flames racing through the breadbasket of a world. Malvina's laughter was joyous. "Why, Bee, you surprise me. How little you understand of what is truly important."
To the north, billowing, black smoke poured into the world's blue sky.
Time and Location Unknown
Tucker awoke to the gentle beeps and whirs of machines. He was swaddled in softness. A diffuse light the color of cream filtered through the room.
Hospital.
Was in. Hospital. He closed his eyes and shuddered.
He ... remembered. Patricia's mind. In his. Somehow. Taunting him.
From inside his skull.
He tried to swallow and jagged pain tore his throat.
"Your throat will be tender for a few days," said a voice, a woman's voice. (Not Patricia!) They had you on a respirator before you started breathing on your own."
"Wha—?" Tucker croaked. He made out a woman standing by his bed. She wore a gray uniform like Patricia's military uniform, but the rho on her collar marked her as ROM. Auburn hair cascaded to her shoulders. Her eyes were hazel, her skin pale and sprayed with a mist of delicate freckles. She was beautiful.
A Bonfire of Worlds Page 6
