Alaric did not doubt the map was perfectly up to date.
Khan Seth Ward leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands, touching his fingertips to his lips. "She threatened us," he murmured.
"She did not," said Khan Patrik Fetladral of the Exiles. His voice was a rumble from deep within his broad chest.
Alaric glanced from one man to the other. The room's steel table was circular, implying equality, but Alaric understood the implication was false. Seth and Patrik were the two most powerful men in the room. It was they who would make the decision.
Interesting that they did not agree.
Seth leaned forward. "She made it clear that if we did not do her bidding, she would withdraw Lyran logistical support for the move of our civilians."
"She merely brought the logistical difficulties to our attention, quiaff?" said Patrik. He was a head taller than Seth, a big, muscular man who looked like he might have a hint of Elemental in his genetic make-up.
"Aff," snapped Seth, "to remind us of our vulnerability. Thus she makes the threat without ever having to utter the words. Is that not how it is done in the Inner Sphere?"
"Just because you hear the threat, Khan Ward, does not mean it has been leveled against you," said Patrik.
Alaric knew Seth had the right of it, but now was not the time to speak. There would be a better moment coming.
The Exile's saKhan, Selvina Woods, leaned in. "Does it matter whether she thinks to threaten us? The movement of civilians is well underway, but it will not be complete for a good year, especially with the recent delay. Why should we not feast on the worlds of the Free Worlds League while we consolidate our new holdings?"
Alaric saw the answer to that question written on the faces of the men and women around the room.
Liam Ward put their sentiment into words: "It is unworthy for a Clan to bow to the threats of Spheroids," said the Loremaster in a low, aggrieved voice.
That brought silence to the room.
Patrik glanced at Liam. "The Exiles have long benefited from our partnership with the Lyrans. The price for such a relationship is compromise."
He will never turn against House Steiner, Alaric realized. The Exiles are more Lyran than Wolf. Many things will have to be concealed from them.
"We have yet to hear from our ristar, the commander of the invasion," said Liam Ward. The Loremaster turned to gaze at him. "What say you, Galaxy Commander Alaric?"
Alaric saw at once that the question was a trap. He had gained position and prestige from the Marik conflict, and Liam expected him to press for continuing the invasion. But even if he did not, what could Alaric say? Melissa Steiner had left them without alternatives. So Liam thought.
Because that was what Alaric wanted him to think.
Liam, like the Lyrans, did not understand that a great warrior would never trade away his honor, not for a civilian life, not for a billion civilian lives.
Alaric looked at the gathered Wolves and allowed a charming smile to grow on his face, showing his brothers and sisters the same face he had shown to Melissa Steiner. "Why, we should continue the invasion, of course."
Liam leaned back, the hint of that triumphant smile again quirking his lips.
"Really we have no choice," said Alaric. "For are we not Melissa Steiner's tame wolves? Are we not her dogs?"
The room lapsed into stunned silence.
Until Khan Seth Ward threw his head back and laughed.
Right then, Alaric knew he had won. And then he was back among the bonfire of worlds Melissa had shown them, remembering three perfect gems colored Steiner blue.
Where his victory would begin.
ComStar Secret Research Facility Omega One
Luyten 68-28, Exact Coordinates Unknown
Prefecture X
9 January 3140
Tucker Harwell found himself in the most surprising place he'd ever been in his life—Sandra Whitfield's personal quarters. There wasn't much to the place—it looked like a hotel suite. And like a hotel, it was anonymous. Tucker didn't see any personal touches.
She's new here, he thought.
He stepped into a living room: sofa opposite the wall screen. Behind a half-open door, Tucker flashed a scrap of shimmering white silk cast aside over rumpled covers.
Whitfield followed his glance and arched a delicate, red eyebrow. "Really, Tucker? My bedroom? Surely you don't think you've earned that kind of incentive?"
Suddenly, Tucker was tripping over his tongue. "No, I just— I mean, the door was open and I just glanced—"
"Sit down," she said coldly. Tucker dropped onto the sofa.
Whitfield paced back and forth for a moment as if considering something, then she settled on the low-slung coffee table opposite the sofa, her knees nearly touching his. She leaned forward, her hazel eyes catching his gaze.
"I am afraid you're not quite living up to expectations, Tucker," she murmured.
Tucker swallowed.
"Here you were supposed to be our best hope to undo the blackout, and I have to say, you haven't come up with any new leads since—"
"Since Patricia damaged my mind," he croaked.
"Really," said Whitfield, "aren't we past the my-sister-did-it stage?"
Tucker shrugged. He was tired. So tired. He no longer cared if Whitfield shot him or not. A part of him just wanted it all to be over.
Tucker Harwell no longer knew who he was. Huge parts of himself, huge swaths were gone, stolen by the terrible things Patricia had done to his mind. Everything was harder. Walking was harder. Thinking was harder. He no longer could do single- order diff ee queues in his head. He had to write them down. And his hands shook when he jotted down the equations, the terrible tremors a reminder of just how much he'd lost.
At night he dreamt of a cat. He couldn't remember what the cat looked like or even its name, but he did remember its soft fur under his hand, the rattle of its contented purr. It was like someone had tried to erase all cat memories from his mind, but had only managed to find the boxes marked: "CAT NAMES" and "CAT PICTURES."
Sometimes he fell asleep at night, sobbing desperately into his pillow for a lost cat whose name he couldn't remember and whose face he couldn't see.
Everything was harder.
So yeah, she might execute him. But he no longer cared. Hell, he wasn't even sure who'd she'd be killing. The real Tucker Harwell, well, Tucker wasn't sure that guy was even really around. He shared the man's face, but he didn't feel like that guy.
Maybe Tucker Harwell was already dead.
Unaccountably she reached forward and patted his knee. "Don't worry, Tuck," she bit the name out, "Buhl turned to me because I'm in the solution business." She flashed him a cold smile. "And I haven't quite given up on you yet."
She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a thumb- sized device fashioned from translucent green plastic. She tossed it to him.
Tucker reached for it with shaking hands, but it tumbled it from his grasp and bounced off the brown and gold carpet.
Whitfield clicked her tongue as she bent to retrieve it. For a second her hand brushed against his as she pressed the little piece of plastic into his palm.
"What is it?"
"It's a key. It will give you access to Omega One's network. Apparently, you can no longer get by on what's in your head. So we're going to augment your effort."
She was giving him network access. For the first time Tucker was glad the damage to his mind had turned his face into a wooden mask, so she did not see the hope that surged through him. He closed a fist around the small piece of plastic and said, "OK."
There was a knock at the door and then a brute with a laser rifle slung over his shoulder pushed it open. "Is the prisoner ready to go, ma'am?"
Whitfield nodded and Tucker climbed shakily to his feet.
She stood as well, all slender grace. Tucker turned from her and plodded to the door and the waiting guards.
"Oh, and Tucker."
He turned, found her pee
ring at the carpet, hand pressed against her forehead as if she were trying to remember something. She dropped her hand and looked up. "Remember, here on Omega One, someone is always watching. So don't try anything naughty—or there will be consequences."
Their eyes locked and Tucker was unable to suppress a shudder.
A little smile of triumph curled across Whitfield's lips. It was enough to make Tucker angry. "Even you?" he snapped.
"Oh, yes," Whitfield whispered fervently. A cold smile blossomed on her pretty face. "Especially me."
The Fertile Steppe
Harvest
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
15 January 3140
Death lay drawn cross the land like a black shroud. A gentle breeze was enough to lift a swirling cloud of ash into the air. Beckett Malthus tasted soot.
It was not just that the land was charred, burned to blackness, but that it had been despoiled. There was worse here than the mere work of fire. There was the stink of petrochem and diesel, the electric taste of ozone, the terrible heat still roiling off mounds of burning metal slag, the invisible caress of radiation.
The smell of rotting flesh.
Khan Gottfried Amirault of Clan's Hell Horses stood looking out at the land that had been his before his warriors had lost yet another Trial of Possession.
"This land will never grow again," Gottfried said in a low, deep voice. Beckett almost he imagined he could hear grief in that voice.
Gottfried was a big man, tall but lean in a khaki tunic trimmed with dark brown and matching trousers. His skull was shaved, except for a queue of luxuriously thick brown hair that curled down from the back of his head.
He had turned his back on Malvina Hazen.
Beckett had known her to kill for less. Maybe it would be better if she killed Gottfried and shattered any possible alliance with the Horses. Better for all humanity.
But for once, Malvina Hazen did not succumb to the narcotic of violence. Instead she said: "Such are the wages of war, my Khan."
My Khan. Beckett thought that was a particularly nice touch. That was why he was here, Beckett realized, to show Gottfried there was still room for khans in Malvina's new Mongol order.
Gottfried turned to face her with a raised eyebrow. "You have attacked our agricultural worlds. Why have you done this, Malvina Hazen?"
"We are Clanners. Need there be any reason other than the right of the strong to take from the weak?"
Gottfried's handsome face twisted with rage. His black eyes marked her face. "You have slashed open the Horse's belly. Hunger stalks our worlds. Is this what you intended, Malvina Hazen?" The sweep of his arm took in the ruined land. "The Clans have always engaged in civilized war. But this, this, is wanton destruction. Is this what your perversion of the Mongol Doctrine has come to?"
"I will thank you to reconsider your words," said Malvina, her voice arctic cold.
Gottfried took a step towards her.
Something flashed in her right hand. It was not the knife Beckett expected.
It was a data crystal.
"Here, here, is the answer to your question, Gottfried Amirault." She tossed the crystal down. It landed at his feet.
The Horse Khan looked down. "What is it?"
"Battlerom footage," said Malvina. "From our recent battles. It is uncut and unedited. It shows that the destruction of the croplands was incidental to the battles."
Gottfried frowned, but after a moment he leaned down and picked the crystal up. He held it front of his face, peering at it.
"We Jade Falcons are not fools, my Khan," said Malvina. "We fight for what we want. We do not then destroy it."
And then it all clicked in place for Beckett. The reason for the strange battle on Romulus. Malvina had to make her scorched earth policy look like an accident. All those lives sacrificed so she could offer Gottfried plausible deniability.
The Horse Khan's eyes flickered from the crystal to Malvina's face. "What do you want?"
"I want Terra," she said simply.
Terra. The cradle of humanity. What khan did not dream of taking Terra and raising his Clan above all others? Whichever Clan claimed Terra would become the ilClan. They would rule all Clans and bring humanity to heel.
Beckett was Jade Falcon, but he was also skilled in the use of political machinations, so he was able to suppress the shudder of dread he felt at the thought of Malvina Hazen set above all humanity. This cannot be.
Gottfried did not bother to ask her how she planned to penetrate Fortress Republic. Perhaps he knew as Beckett did that Malvina would throw her body against the very gates of Heaven if her goal lay within.
"But," said Malvina, "I know that Clan Jade Falcon cannot complete this glorious quest on its own."
Gottfried froze. "You propose an alliance, quiaff?"
"Aft" she easily.
Gottfried stared off in the distance, considering his options. Beckett suspected the Khan had placed a member of the watch inside the Fire Horse Galaxy Malvina had adopted into her Golden Ordun. Surely he knew Malvina was mad, mad enough to use chemical weapons against civilians, mad enough to murder Manas Amirault.
Mad enough to plunge a WarShip into Clan Jade Falcon's heart.
Still, the Horses would gain much by joining with the Falcons. The Horses were surrounded, on one side by the Falcons and on the other by the Ghost Bear's Rasalhague Dominion. Alone, they had no path to Terra.
But to follow a monster ...
Do not make the same mistake I did, Beckett thought.
"And if I refuse?" said Gottfried finally.
A slow, frightening smile slipped across Malvina's pretty face. "Then you should remember that you would not be the first khan I have destroyed."
CHAPTER SIX
ComStar Secret Research Facility Omega One
Luyten 68-28, Exact Coordinates Unknown
Prefecture X
23 March 3140
Tucker Harwell lifted his trembling gaze to the radioactive disposal bin on his workbench. The radiac built into the wall chattered steadily, each click proof that an energetic photon or a lumbering alpha particle or a sleek, dangerous neutron had passed through the device's detector. Proof that invisible poison was sleeting through the room.
He glanced down at the noteputer in his hand.
And looked back up at the pile of debris sitting in the bin. The radiation level wasn't high enough to kill a human being. Oh, it would probably elevate Tucker's cancer risk later in life—always assuming he was granted a "later in life"—but it wouldn't kill him.
He was fairly certain it would kill a hard drive, though.
He thought sometimes when he was sleeping they came and took his 'puter. He'd find settings changed, like someone had used it. No doubt Whitfield was downloading his hard drive and tracking his keystrokes with a key logger. The first time he accessed something dangerous, like a map of the facility, or a JumpShip schedule, they'd know.
For two months he had been the model prisoner. He'd told himself he was biding his time, but the truth was he was afraid.
He clenched his fist, drew a savage breath. No security is infallible, Tucker. Whitfield is brilliant and ruthless and terrifying. But not infallible.
He was leaving.
Tucker could no longer wait for the Republic. He remembered the sound of Alexi Holt's pip crushing under Whitfield's heel. Alexi still hadn't come for him. It was time to put away childish things.
If he were to escape, he was going to have to do it himself.
He glanced down at the 'puter and swallowed. And then he began to type.
When he was done, he casually placed the device next to the radioactive disposal bin and laid down on his rack.
* * *
Someone was opening his door. Tucker woke up just as she stepped through the door. She was tall and strong. She wore MechWarrior togs: cooling vest, shorts, boots. A needler rested on one slim hip. Her blond hair was cut short and was spiked on top. Her green eyes settled on him and she brok
e into a huge smile.
"Tucker."
He tried to swallow in a dry mouth. "Alexi," he whispered. "I thought you had forgotten me. I didn't think you were ever coming."
"I could never forget you, Tuck." She leaned over him, gently touching his cheek with her hand. Then she pulled her hand back—
And slapped him.
The sting jerked him out of his sleep. His eyes fluttered open and he saw—
Whitfield.
"Don't worry, Tuck," she said, her voice mocking, "I'll never forget you."
Tucker sat up, gasping for air, his heart racing, his eyes locked on Whitfield. She held his noteputer in her left hand.
Whitfield wagged her finger at him and made a tut-tut sound with her tongue. "Tucker, I am afraid you have been very careless." She held up his 'puter. "You destroyed a very expensive piece of equipment."
"I'm sorry," said Tucker desperately.
"Oh, I'm afraid sorry won't do it this time, champ." She brushed a strand of red hair out of her eyes. "I've brought along someone to help you understand the importance of treating other people's property with respect."
The door opened again. Tucker instantly recognized the person who stepped through.
"Patricia," he whispered.
"Hello, Tuck," said his sister. "How are you doing?" She smiled, and it made her look beautiful. "I've missed you."
Merlin-class DropShip FWLS Marathon
Near the Nadir Jump Point
Atreus, Free Worlds League
12 May 3140
As Marathon's commanding officer, Marion Helm could have been asleep in her rack, but there was something about the midwatch that appealed to her. Her vessel was designed to watch.
And the dead of night was the time when watching was most important.
The Merlin-class DropShip certainly could defend herself in a fight, but she hadn't been placed on station to do battle. She was a command and control platform. To that end two of her extended range large lasers had been removed to make room for an extra-large telescope and the digital processing power to crunch any image or signal she might detect.
A Bonfire of Worlds Page 8
