Maurer stopped before a door and pushed it open. "I quite agree, Highness."
A man sat in the room at a teak conference table inlaid with black glass. He wore a charcoal suit, a royal blue tie, and a bright yellow shirt that set off his dark complexion beautifully.
Duke Vedet Brewer.
"No," she whispered.
The soldier with the flat eyes shoved her into the conference room. Maurer followed and closed the door behind him.
"Hello, Melissa," said Vedet, who smiled broadly. "I don't know how Zdenekova felt before he died, but rest assured I am glad to see you."
Melissa turned on Maurer. "But you hate Duke Vedet."
Vedet chuckled. "But not as much as they hate being destroyed by the Wolves."
"Just so," said Maurer.
Melissa looked from Maurer to Vedet, and then she laughed.
Maurer started.
"I think there is one thing you are forgetting, Herr General. In order for your plan to work, Duke Vedet has to win the war." She shook his head. "There is no magic bullet. He won't make any more progress than I did, not until you find someone who can take down Alaric Wolf."
Maurer look startled, but when Melissa looked over at Vedet he looked smug. He lifted a communicator to his mouth. "Nathan."
Melissa frowned. Nathan Hawkins was Vedet's personal assistant. What was he—
The door opened behind the and Melissa turned to see a beautiful woman with dark red hair and sharp, green eyes. A black leather jacket over a black tanktop hugged a curvaceous figure. Black leather trousers outlined slim legs. A symbol graced the black tank top.
A red hourglass.
"Melissa Steiner," said Vedet happily, "please allow me to introduce you to the only person to ever defeat Alaric Wolf on the field of battle.
"Anastasia Kerensky."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hôpitaux Universitaires de Genève, Genève Terra
Fortress Republic
7 December 3140
Tucker almost couldn't believe the nightmare really was over. He'd read newspapers, watched local news, even checked the steel asset plate riveted to the medical monitor in his room for the hospital's name. At night he went to his window and searched the dark sky for Luna's gleaming face.
Anything to prove to himself that he really was on Terra.
And now they were finally letting them go. He found a pair of jeans and a red polo shirt in the oak wardrobe in the corner and slipped them on. Exhaustion, dehydration, radiation poisoning—these could all be treated. But there was nothing the doctors could do to heal his damaged mind.
The thought left him cold. A part of him had been stolen away by his sister's madness and no force in the universe could make him whole again.
He drew a deep, shuddery breath. So. The new Tucker Harwell would begin a new life, a joyous life, free of intrigue and secrets of universe-shattering import.
He checked the wardrobe one last time, wanting to make sure he left nothing behind. Once he left the hospital he wasn't coming back. Nothing there.
He frowned at the empty space. Something felt vaguely wrong. Well, what did you expect to find? he asked himself. His uniform had been filthy and irradiated, probably destroyed. And the slug thrower. They'd never let him keep a weapon in a hospital. And Alexi's rank pip. Whitfield had destroyed Alexi's pip, or Alexi had destroyed Alexi's pip. He shook his head, it was hard to keep it all straight some times.
But wasn't there something ...
A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. Alexi stepped into the room, followed by a man.
Plastic surgery had accomplished what Patricia had never been able to do: kill Sandra Whitfield. The knight looked like herself again, her face more angularthan Whitfield's, the long auburn hair replaced by a short, spiky blond look. Alexi wore a pale green sundress that picked up the color in her eyes.
Tucker smiled. This was the Alexi Holt he remembered from Wyatt.
She smiled back, shyly. Then she leaned forward and touched his arm. "Tuck, I want you to meet Paladin Kelson Sorenson."
The paladin's face was weathered by age, his forehead marked by deep furrows. He had dark hair, cut short, but there was a touch of silver mixed in with the black. He wore it shaved on the sides, no doubt to facilitate better neurohelmet contact. He flashed a polished, disarming smile.
But his gray eyes were flat and calculating.
Tucker shook hands with the paladin. "Thank you, Paladin. For rescuing me."
Sorenson shook his head. "You don't need to thank me, Tucker. Seeing to your safety is my duty."
Tucker noted the word is.
Alexi squeezed his arm. "The paladin has an exciting opportunity for you, Tuck."
Sorenson nodded. "We'd like you to take over a special project to end the blackout, to undo the damage caused by the Blakists."
"The same work I was doing for ComStar," said Tucker slowly-
"No, not the same," said Sorenson. "Because here your work will benefit all of humanity—not just a single twisted faction."
There was a time when Tucker would have accepted that statement at face value. But his ordeal had changed him. Now it occurred to him that whoever engineered the end to the blackout would command immense power. Whether it was Buhl—or Sorenson.
He felt a little flutter of unease in his gut.
"Why not do it yourself?"
"We don't know what an SHPG looks like," said Sorenson, "or how to undo its influence."
That's what was missing — the cube. They'd taken the data cube from him. It made sense really, that kind of information couldn't just be left lying around a hospital room, it had to be safeguarded.
Still, it left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Tucker," said Alexi softly, "the blackout has to be ended. War stalks us in the darkness. The Wolves slash through Lyran space. Malvina Hazen gathers herterrible strength. Terra hides behind a wall while her children are devoured by the great houses." She shook her head. "All my adult life I have fought for civilization. But everything I've done will count as nothing next to what you could do if you ended the blackout."
He looked into those green eyes and saw the passion there, the desperate need to make things right. He knew he could never say no to this woman.
"All right, Paladin Sorenson," he said, still looking at Alexi. "I'll help you."
Blauhimmel Drop Port
Hollabrunn, Bolan Military Province
Lyran Commonwealth
24 May 3141
Ian Murchison stood on the tarmac, feeling Hollabrunn's hot, summer sun bake the life right out of him. All around him, great clanking avatars of war debarked from their DropShips, carrying with them the sharp smell of metal and heat, the stink of grease and diesel, lift fans stirring up swirling clouds of dust, BattleMechs shaking the earth.
It would have been easy for Ian to be killed. All it would take would be a single BattleMech, maybe that little Puma over there, to step one foot out of place and bring its massive weight down on his fragile frame. No one would even notice—certainly not the Puma's pilot. He wouldn't be missed, not until it was time to lift.
Maybe not even then.
He turned, saw Anastasia Kerensky walking toward him, and felt a twinge of guilt. It was true he didn't understand the reason for half the things she did, but he did think she'd miss her coregn.
She wore MechWarrior togs, combat boots, a utility belt over shorts, and a cooling vest over a thin, cotton tee. She stood next to him, not looking at him, not speaking. For a few moments they watched the debarkation in silence.
After awhile, and without turning to look at him, she said, "You look troubled."
"Confused."
She waited.
"I was surprised you accepted Duke Vedet's offer."
"Is not the proper term Archon Vedet?"
Murchison snorted. "Not in my universe. Vedet is a dishonorable leader, quiaff?"
Anastasia nodded. "Aff, and his rival Melissa is a fool. This
is what makes it the ideal situation. The Lyran Commonwealth
teeters on the brink of disaster. When we save it, it will be the greatest accomplishment in the Inner Sphere."
Murchison raised an eyebrow. "And what will you win? Fame, fortune? More contracts?"
"Aff. All of those things."
"I really hate to tell you this, but you sound more like a Spheroid every day."
"To accumulate power in the Inner Sphere, one must understand how Spheroids think."
Murchison turned to look at her. As a freebirth and a physician, he was about as different from Anastasia as he could be. And yet sometimes he thought he understood her better than anyone else in the Wolf Hunters. "That's a funny point of view for a Clanner."
"I am Clan," said Anastasia. "But that is not all I am. If the universe will teach me, I will learn."
"And what will you learn today?" he asked, curious how she would answer.
A tight, dangerous smile flashed across Anastasia's pretty face. "I will impart a lesson to our former brothers and sisters in Clan Wolf. Today I am not here to learn. Today I am here to teach.”
Die Eisenbergen
Hollabrunn, Bolan Military Province
Lyran Commonwealth
25 May 3141
Die Eisenbergen stabbed into a blue sky, their flanks cleared of vegetation by a local mining interest, their peaks free of snow. The gray color of the granite Eisenbergen gave them their name: the Iron Mountains.
Star Colonel Bart Radick of Gamma Galaxy's Seventh Battle Cluster cared nothing forthe poetry of the majestic landscape. He only cared how it would affect his grasp on victory. As soon as he crested the foothill and saw the shape of the land beyond he stopped worrying.
He saw it would be his privilege to cleanse Anastasia Kerensky's chalcas from Clan Wolf.
He watched a gunmetal gray Vulture backstep as it fired its half-dozen extended-range medium lasers. Its cockpit was painted blood red, a matching paw print painted on its chest. Wolf Hunters, he thought with disgust.
Well, we shall soon see who is hunting whom.
The mercenaries were falling back, the stravag Anastasia conducting a well-ordered fighting withdrawal. He gave the filthy money-soldiers credit for their discipline, but immediately took it away for the stupidity of their commander.
He picked out her Savage Wolf, painted like the Vulture except for the addition of a red alpha on its left leg and an omega on its right.
She had backed her command into a trap.
The Wolf Hunters held a small plateau that necked down into a narrow mountain pass. On their left, the mercenaries were up against a sheer rock wall, and they had a steep dropoff carved out by an ancient glacier on their right. With the Wolf Hussars coming down out of the foothills, the mercenaries would be driven back into the pass. Radick did not have to beat Anastasia Kerensky.
The land was going to do it for him.
The pass narrowed as it twisted back into the mountains. It would funnel the Wolf Hunters into a smaller and smaller area, bunching them up, making them easier to target, making it impossible for them to concentrate their fire.
Making it impossible for them to run.
"All Hussars," said Radick, calling to his Wolves, "Long line abreast. Form up on me as we come down out of the hills. Flanks, keep the surats from escaping."
A series of Affs tumbled out of his radio as his people acknowledged their orders.
The Wolf Hussars fell into a long line as they descended from the hills, pushing Anastasia's force back into the pass that would be their destruction. Radick glanced left and saw that the plateau descended into a natural ramp that led into the valley beyond the drop-off. His line was about a quarter- klick from the spot where the land broke into two parts, valley and pass. That two hundred fifty meters was an escape hatch for the Wolf Hunters, if Anastasia realized the danger.
It was a hatch he was going to close.
"Striker Trinary, hold your right side and swing your left forward. Anchor the left end of the pass. Assault Trinary, anchor the right flank. All units guide on the Command Trinary. Hussar One, moving left."
Radick stalked his Ryoken II forward of the Wolf line and left, pushing his machine close to its eighty-six kph max speed to get there. If the Wolf Hunters tried to break out, the pressure would come on his left side and he would be there to support the light, fast units of Striker.
He targeted an enemy Koshi and punched a pair of Gauss slugs into the light machine's chest from long range. He glanced down and saw a yellow bloom of heat flare over the Koshi's heart. So he had smashed through reactor shielding. The next shot ought to kill the little machine.
He glanced right and noticed one of his SM1s swinging forward, chasing a Condor caught too far in front of the mercenary line, but also screening out a Wolf Thor.
"Neg," shouted Radick. "Hussar One Three, this is Hussar One. Hold your position. Hold your position." "As ordered, Star Colonel," answered Star Captain Melanie. The SM1 whipped around and swung back into line.
If he could keep his people in a long line while Anastasia's people bunched up, he would be able to catch the mercenaries in a brutal cross fire at the same time they were screening their rear units from the fight.
Radick dropped his reticle over the Koshi again, waited for the pair of Gauss rifles to recharge. Then he slammed another pair of ferrous-nickel slugs into the light 'Mech at hypersonic speed, following it with a flight of missiles that shattered armor all across the light machine's chest.
The Koshi blossomed white on his thermal scan.
Then it immediately started to drop in temperature. Reactor shutdown. The twenty-five ton Koshi had pushed its heat curve too hard and its reactor had shut down in response. The light 'Mech was no longer a war machine.
It was a statue.
Radick dropped his reticle over the Koshi's "head" and fired. With one shot he cored the cockpit, killing the Koshi's pilot and taking the light 'Mech out of the fight.
He saw movement in his peripheral vision and looked right. Anastasia Kerensky's Savage Wolf was stalking toward him, trying to save her MechWarrior.
Too late.
And as he watched, his left flank reached the place where the earth fell away, his trap swinging shut on the Wolf Hunters. He was about to do what even Alaric had been unable to do.
Defeat Anastasia Kerensky.
Radick triggered a common frequency. "Anastasia," he said, deliberately dropping her Bloodname, "you abandoned the ways of the Wolf and dishonored the Kerensky name. Now you shall learn the price of chalcas."
He dropped his reticle over the Savage Wolf's cockpit, tying in both Gausses and all his LRMs.
And then the skies opened.
He heard the powerful boom of artillery even through his sound-deadened cockpit. Looked up. Gun emplacements, high wall above the above the pass. Saw a JES III painted gray to match the mountains launching a flight of sixty missiles.
And because he was looking up, he saw a pair of Yellow Jacket gunships diving out of a clear blue sky. One of the VTOLs targeted Radick, smashing its own Gauss slug into his chest, raining shards of Forging ZK20 all over the plateau.
"Really?" said Anastasia, shouting over the common channel so he could hear her over the thunder of destruction raining down on his line. "I dishonored the Kerensky name? And you are doing so well for Radick."
In a moment, Radick saw a Demon smashed by artillery shells. Saw LRMs gut a Bellona tank. The fire was concentrated at the point where Striker married up to the Command Trinary. Had to get clear of the kill zone. But the mercenaries were pounding the way forward. Only one way to go.
"Striker Trinary, shift left."
His fast units darted down the natural ramp that led into the valley. Radick stalked after them, effectively dividing his unit. Disaster loomed unless he acted fast.
"Assault and Command Trinaries drive forward and engage the enemy at close range." That would prevent Anastasia's artillery from retargeting and takin
g out the rest of his unit.
He looked up. His Strikers were bunched below a wall about fifteen meters high. "Hussar Five, leap up onto that wall." The Ocelot had jump jets. "Throw yourself into the enemy flank."
The mercenaries would not expect that.
If he could sow enough disorder in their ranks, he could reform his unit. His Strikers were fast enough to get around the corner and smash into the mercenary lines.
The day could still be won.
"Aff Star Colonel," snapped MechWarrior Kenneth. He crouched and jumped, rising on golden plumes of plasma. The Ocelot arced over the wall's edge, lost from sight for a handful of seconds.
And then it plunged backoverthe side again, spinning down in gravity's cruel grip, shattering itself against the valley's rocky floor.
Radick looked up. And saw the Savage Wolf perched on the edge of the pass, leaning over, looking at him. Aiming those paired particle projector cannons right at his cockpit.
It was the last thing he ever saw.
The Royal Palace, Tharkad City
Tharkad, Donegal Military Province
Lyran Commonwealth
8 November 3141
Archon Vedet hated everything about Melissa's office. He hated the dour colors, the forest greens and the dark woods. He hated the plum brandy on the credenza. He hated the vase of flowers—yellow tulips, fresh cut daisies—that the staff left on the desk every day, lending the room a floral scent.
But he loved being here.
He loved sitting in her chair, loved reading her correspondence, loved putting his feet up on her ironwood monstrosity of a desk. He toyed with the idea of taking a picture of himself drinking her plum brandy and having it sent to her in the undisclosed location where Maurer was holding her.
With his luck, Maurer probably wouldn't deliver the picture. The man had no sense of whimsy.
"This is not appropriate," said Maurer, almost as if to prove Vedet's point. "You cannot appoint a mercenary operational commander of the Bolan Military Province."
A Bonfire of Worlds Page 19
