But she wasn't smiling.
She held out a gray plastic cup with a straw. Water. He suddenly realized he was thirsty. So thirsty. He'd sell his soul for a drink of water.
He reached for the cup. Just as his fingers closed around it, something jerked his hand back. He was chained to the bed.
He looked up at the woman.
"That's the first lesson, Adept. You're not a pet and you're not a special project and you're sure as hell not a boy genius. You are a prisoner. My prisoner."
She held the cup out of his reach for a moment longer to emphasize the point.
Tucker nodded and she handed him the cup. He sucked greedily on the straw. The cool water was the most wonderful thing he'd ever tasted, even though the cold cut into his tender throat.
What the hell's going on?The thing with Patricia ... Had that really happened? Where was Buhl? And who was this? He managed to croak: "Who ... ?"
"My name is Demi-Precentor Sandra Whitfield. I am going to be your—" her lips quirked, "—minder."
"Where is-"
"Patricia will not be joining us. Precentor Buhl has decided that her interest in you is too ... personal."
"What ... I?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What do we have planned for you?"
Tucker hesitated and then nodded.
She smiled coldly and brushed back a strand of red hair. "It's quite simple, really. You're going to end the games and tell us everything we need to know. All of it."
Tucker wanted to say something, to answer, to protest, but somehow he couldn't make himself speak.
"Oh, I know you're somewhat challenged. Demi-Precentor Harwell's treatments have done some damage. You've been in a coma for quite some time. And it's likely there are some parts of you that will never wake up."
Tucker felt panic surge through him. Some parts of you that will never wake up. Brain damage. She was saying he had brain damage.
"Still, I know you'll do your best."
She leaned down so her face was only centimeters from his, her breath warm on his skin. "You may think the pain Patricia caused you was terrible. You may think the indignity of mind-rape is as bad as it gets." Her voice dropped to a whisper, a lover's whisper, soft and intimate. "But I assure you, the terrors have only begun."
Her breath was hot on his face and he tried to jerk away but-
He couldn't move his head.
What? He tried to lift his arm— It wouldn't respond.
A shrill beeping filled the room.
"I see by your heart rate that you have begun to understand your situation," said Whitfield calmly. She held up the gray plastic cup. "The water you just drank was laced with tetrodo-toxin. TTX is a drug from a small island called Haiti. It induces total paralysis. The followers of certain ... exotic religions refer to it as the Waking Death."
Whitfield reached down and swept aside the bed sheets. "Your mind is awake," she said conversationally. She pushed his hospital gown up above his knees, looked frankly at his bare legs. "And believe me—" She touched his inner thigh, dimpling the skin with her nails as she drew her fingers down his leg. "You will feel every last bit of whatever indignity I choose to subject you to."
He would have shivered if he could.
She looked up, met his helpless gaze. "So you will tell me the truth. Always."
She stepped away from the bed and out of his field of vision. "Oh, sorry." She stepped back to and turned his head to the side, so he was looking a small, steel wardrobe painted institutional gray. She stepped to the wardrobe and opened the door. Tucker saw a white ComStar uniform hanging there. His?
"And just so we're clear—" She reached up and did something to the collar. She came away with a small, metal dot. Alexi Holt's rank pip.
"There's no hope for you." She dropped the pip on the floor and smashed it beneath the heel of her boot.
"None at all."
CHAPTER FIVE
LCAF Staging Base Boelcke
Cavanaugh II, Bolan Military Province
Lyran Commonwealth
5 December 3139
The ballroom was exactly as Alaric imagined it: opulent, decadent, and wholly unnecessary. Crystal chandeliers splashed golden light across the immense room. The lower half of the walls were paneled in a rich, lustrous mahogany; The upper half painted dark red, giving the room a warm, cozy feel.
A bar constructed from the same dark wood as the room's wainscoting (Was that the right word?) occupied the east wall, though there were no guests at the bar. Instead, tuxedoed servants bearing silver trays circulated through the room, ready to instantly satisfy any guest's needs.
Not my needs, Alaric thought.
The only part of the decor that truly mattered were the twin banners hanging from the rafters at the north end of the ball room, one blood red and bearing a wolf's head, the other a mailed fist centered on a field of Steiner blue.
The two banners hung side by side.
But the Archon's guests put the lie to the banners' symbolism. Wolves and Lyrans stood in two groups on the parquet
dance floor, the Clanners in gray leathers, the Spheroids in dress blue uniforms or formal attire.
It took all of Alaric's considerable will not to turn around and leave.
Certainly the delay in the migration of the Wolf civilians would add a pall on the Wolf side of the reception. Reports were coming in from Watch operatives salted in the civilian population that their transports had been delayed because of an ugly shortage of food.
Alaric could not help wondering if it might be something more.
If the Lyrans abandoned the move, Clan Wolf did not have the lift capacity to finish the migration. Much of the Wolf population would be stranded along the spinward border of the Commonwealth.
Knowing the magnitude of such a disaster, Alaric had not settled for reading the Watch's summaries, but had spent hours sifting through the raw intelligence. He had found a troubling piece of information. The captain of one of the waiting DropShips was overheard cursing Melissa Steiner for the delay. Now how could the Archon be held responsible for an agricultural pandemic?
Unless the reason for the delay was really something else.
Alaric wondered if any of his fellow Wolves had bothered to dig out that tiny morsel of information.
He walked forward, seeking out Khan Seth Ward. He glanced at the Khan on the other side of room. Seth was a man of slender build, the pale skin of his face pock-marked by acne scars, his dark brown hair thinning on top. He did not look formidable.
Until you looked at his eyes.
Seth Ward's intense eyes were dark brown and deep-set, lending him the appearance of a skull stripped of its flesh. One only had to look into those eyes once to realize they would never let you go.
Standing next to the Khan was the Wolf Loremaster, Liam Ward. Liam was tall and lean. Light brown hair rising from a
widow's peak shadowed his head. His pale face was set into grim lines of rectitude. As Loremaster, it was Liam's task to keep the ways of Clan Wolf, to ensure his people kept to the truth of Nicholas Kerensky's path.
Liam's eyes flickered to Alaric and then he leaned over to Seth. The Khan looked at Alaric, and then turned to say something to his Loremaster.
A great battle will be waged during the conference on Cavanaugh II.
Without his mother's coaching, he doubted he would have even noticed the exchange between Loremaster and Khan. Now it was all but transparent.
Liam met his eyes and offered a tight smile, a smile that hinted at hidden triumph. For a moment Alaric stared back, his expression blank. And then he allowed a broad, cold smile to stretch across his face. Be careful who you choose as an enemy, Loremaster. He turned his back on Liam Ward and walked over to the Lyran side of the room.
Although he did not really have anything to say to the Spheroids either. Gathered around the Archon was a gaggle of Lyran generals, gray-haired and elderly, well past the age where they were truly warriors. They did not deserve his
attention.
He saw Trillian Steiner talking with Colonel Roderick Steiner of the First Steiner Strikers. Alaric approached the pair.
Roderick offered a small nod. He was of average height, maybe a centimeter taller than Alaric, with short blond hair and green eyes—unusual for a Steiner. "We are honored to see you, Galaxy Commander."
"Believe it or not, he really means it," Trillian interjected. She looked like a younger version of the Archon, blond with sapphire eyes and a mischievous smile. She wore a short black dress that hugged her body. She shook her pretty head. "Look, no one's talking. It's like a Mittelschule dance. Everyone's afraid to mingle."
"We are not afraid," said Alaric stiffly.
"No, no, of course not," said Trillian quickly. "I didn't, excuse me, did not mean it like that. I am quite sure you would wres- tie an Atlas barehanded, if your honor required it. I just meant that Clanners are not so big on the small talk."
"Is it not more efficient to plainly say what is on your mind?" asked Alaric.
Trillian smiled sweetly. "No, as a matter of fact, it is not."
Alaric frowned.
Trillian shook her head. "Clear communication is efficient,
uh, quiaff?"
"Aff" said Alaric slowly.
"Ideas are communicated more clearly when people are comfortable with each other."
Alaric just looked at her.
A waiter came around with champagne. Roderick handed a flute to Trillian, another to Alaric, and took one for himself.
Alaric took the glass and sipped. The wine was sweet and bubbly. It was like much that came from the Inner Sphere—at once pleasant and frivolous. It was not the kind of thing Alaric would have chosen to drink, but if the Wolves were to survive this strange new relationship with House Steiner, they would have to learn something about Spheroid ways. He forced himself to take another drink.
Trillian sighed and brushed a strand of golden hair out of her eyes. "OK, let's try an exercise." She indicated Roderick. "Say something nice about Rod, here."
"Trillian," said Roderick in a low, warning voice.
"Anything, really," said Trillian, "as long as it is a small thing and plausibly true."
Alaric looked at Roderick for a long moment. "You are an adequate leader," he finally said. "And I have never observed you behave dishonorably."
"Wow," muttered Roderick, "thanks."
Trillian clapped her hands together and laughed merrily. "OK, apparently we still have some work to do." "You think Clanners are incapable of understanding Spheroid social dynamics?" said Alaric coldly.
"Not incapable," said Roderick. "Just out of practice, that's all."
Trillian offered him an impish smile.
They are of Steiner blood, Alaric thought. As am I. In a way we are sibkin. Suddenly he did not like this woman making sport of him. Alaric looked around the room, calling on the skills Katrina Steiner had spent years teaching him, seeing the people with his mother's eyes.
Alaric pointed at Duke Vedet Brewer. The Duke wore a white cotton suit that set off his ebony skin nicely. He was very tall and his head was shorn. Duke Vedet stood near a clutch of generals, a drink in his hand. The Duke appeared to be listening to their conversation, but he stood half a pace outside their circle and none of the general officers met his gaze as they talked.
"Vedet is not well liked," said Alaric. "Or perhaps it is worse than that. Perhaps it is that the Duke is out of favor."
He turned back to Trillian and Roderick. They were both watching him closely. He met Trillian's gaze. "And what of you, Lady Steiner? Not once during our time together has your— cousin? Is that the proper word? Not once has your cousin the Archon looked at you, nor you at her."
"Melissa is busy attending to her guests," said Trillian primly, as am I.
Alaric shook his head. "No. There is some disagreement between you. I feel it like the crackle in the air that precedes a PPC strike."
"I serve the Archon in all things," said Trillian tightly.
"One out of two," said Roderick. "Not bad."
"Sure," said Alaric. "One out of two."
Trillian bowed her head. "It seems I underestimated you, Galaxy Commander."
"As I did you, once, Lady Steiner." Alaric gestured with the hand holding the champagne. "I am sure it is a mistake neither of us will make again."
Trillian opened her mouth to answer, but right then a hush fell over the crowd and Melissa Steiner's voice rang out. "We welcome our guests who have come so far to visit us." The Archon was dressed in a dress of aqua satin that complemented her golden hair and picked up the blue in her eyes. A pearl choker was her only ornament. "I propose a toast." She raised a white-gloved hand clutching a flute of champagne. "To a lasting partnership between Clan Wolf and the Lyran Commonwealth."
"To partnership," said Trillian and Roderick, who clinked their glasses together.
Alaric said nothing. He just sipped his champagne.
6 December 3139
A bonfire of worlds hung above the great holotable, their combined light illuminating the darkened command center. The planets were divided into three colors: a delicate shade of purple for the Free Worlds League, Steiner blue for the Lyran Commonwealth, brown for Clan Wolf.
Melissa leaned forward. "The Lyran thrust will pass through the Protectorate Coalition, continue through the Covenant Worlds, and then hit the Clan Protectorate."
Over the holotable a blue arrow arced through the spinward half of the Free Worlds League, inscribing a backwards "C" on the map.
Alaric looked at the schematic and then at Melissa. She is lying, he thought suddenly. He did not question how he knew it. He just knew. Why is she lying to us?
The Archon was not looking at Vedet, though it was he who would carry out her orders. Alaric looked at Trillian, who sat next to Vedet. She was not looking at him either. Alaric's breath caught. Maybe this lie is not meant for the Wolves.
The Duke is a danger to Melissa's position, Alaric suddenly realized, but he is too powerful to destroy outright. The offensive will stop prematurely and Vedet will be blamed for its failure.
Alaric glanced at Seth Ward. Is this what you are planning for me, my Khan?
A Lyran supply general of some sort was talking about the logistics required to support the offensive.
"Excuse me, Archon," said Alaric, cutting the man off. "You are planning to attack the Spirit Cats and Clan Sea Fox? That is most ambitious."
Melissa Steiner looked at him as if she had just noticed him for the first time. "We have tremendous respect for the Clans," she said evenly. "But we do not fear them."
An answer that is not an answer, Alaric thought. So the offensive will be halted before you ever reach Marik.
This was a battle. And he had just seen an opening in the Archon's line.
Alaric turned to Seth Ward. "Perhaps there is an opportunity here, my Khan. Once we take Atreus, surely the Captain General will retreat to her Oriente Protectorate. By attacking spinward, we can draw Marik reinforcements away from Lyran thrust and ensure the Spirit Cats have to divide their forces to protect both their borders."
And, he did not say, we will be well positioned to thrust into The Republic's weak underbelly, carrying us ever closer to Fortress Republic.
And Terra.
Seth Ward met Alaric's gaze. Then he turned to Melissa. "The idea has merit, Archon Steiner."
Melissa Steiner shifted in her chair. "You can best help us by moving anti-spinward and cutting off the possibility of reinforcements from Tamarind-Abbey and the Rim Commonality."
She cannot allow us to support Vedet's drive, Alaric thought. She cannot risk the possibility that it will succeed.
Khan Ward sat back in his chair, his dark eyes on the Archon.
I wonder if he understands why she cannot accede to my plan, thought Alaric. He decided it did not matter. Seth Ward was Wolf. No doubt he smelled blood, even if he did not know its source.
"Once we pierce the bridge that joins
the League's halves, I doubt the anti-spinward Free Worlders will fight through our holdings to reach your lines." The Wolf Khan bared his teeth in a fearsome smile. "If they try, they will receive a most determined reception. I believe Galaxy Commander Alaric's plan will best support your offensive."
Melissa glanced at the supply general Alaric had interrupted, and then back at Seth Ward.
"Unfortunately, we are hindered by transport," said the general. "We just cannot provide the logistic effort needed to support the current Wolf and Lyran drives and also an added Wolf thrust."
"Especially," said Melissa softly, "since most ofthe excess jump capability in Bolan Province has already been consumed."
Moving Wolf civilians, she did not say. And there it was. Every Wolf farmer still needed to grow food, every Wolf laborer still needed to manufacture spare parts was a hostage against the Wolves' good behavior. Just as Katrina had predicted.
So Melissa had orchestrated the delay.
Melissa Steiner would never say it aloud, but until the Wolves completed their move from their coreward holdings, she held the upper hand.
And everyone in the room knew it.
"I see your point," said Seth Ward, his voice flat.
"Excellent," said Melissa. "I am glad to hear it." She looked around the room, catching each person's gaze in turn. "Because I believe in the alliance between Lyrans and Wolves. Such an alliance promises to be most ... profitable."
Profitable? Alaric thought. Freebirth! Does she think Wolves fight for profit?
But then her eyes alighted on him and Alaric smiled, a warm, charming smile that would have made his mother proud.
Union-class Pocket WarShip Snarling Leap
A troubled council of Wolves met in the Snarling Leap's wardroom, contemplating the battle plans the Archon had just laid before them. The Leap was the personal transport of a Khan and so, by Clan standards, it was opulent—though it boasted nothing compared to the luxury Lyran nobles claimed for themselves as a matter of course.
Red carpet covered the deck and select passages from the Wolf Remembrance were carved into crystal and set into alcoves inset in the room's bulkheads. A map of the Inner Sphere hung on the far wall, Terra in gold, Wolf holdings detailed in bright scarlet. The map was a message: a pack's success was measured by the size of its hunting ground.
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