A Bonfire of Worlds

by Steven Mohan Jr.

  And then her Destroyer raced off, to find another enemy to destroy.

  * * *

  Anastasia stood in the center of the terrible storm, fighting to give her people time to extricate themselves from this disaster of her making. Fighting to take the best possible advantage of the slender hope held out by Julian Davion and his First Davion Guards.

  She stood in, her armor a desperate checkerboard of yellows and reds, her left missile-launcher blown to hell, and her right down to the last few flights of advanced tactical missiles.

  She stood in.

  Anastasia fought so ferociously, dispatching opponents one after the other, that she did not notice she was alone until it was too late. She looked up and found that her Wolf Hunters had all fled.

  Or had been destroyed.

  That was when she saw the Jupiter stalking towards her. The hundred-ton beast was painted dark brown, with savage orange highlights that looked like fire.

  Verena Wolf.

  Her radio crackled. "It is time to end this, Anastasia. You have fought well, but it will soon be over. I offer you your life. Power down your weapons and I will take you as a bondsman." The triumph rang in Verena's voice.

  And she had every reason to be triumphant. The Jupiter had twenty-five tons on Anastasia's Wolf and the Wolf had seen heavier use. There was no way for her to stand up to the pair of extended range-PPCs, the two missile launchers, and the quartet of Ultra-5 autocannons.

  Anastasia set her machine as the Jupiter bore down on her, closed her eyes, drew a deep breath of superheated air into her chest. She would lose a slugfest in minutes.

  This had to be ended quickly.

  "No answer, Anastasia," sneered Verena. "Has your terror gotten the better of you?"

  Anastasia opened her eyes, marked the shadow of Verena's body in the Jupiter's cockpit. She reached forward.

  And powered down her targeting system.

  Verena laughed. "Who would have believed it? The great Anastasia Kerensky humbled by—"

  Anastasia pulled into her trigger, her missiles flashing out in a purely manual shot, running straight and true, smashing into the Jupiter's ferroglass canopy. Starring it. Cracking it.

  Anastasia threw her machine right, bringing her Wolf's arms up and firing manually and on the move, but two shards of azure lightning still somehow following the missiles right in, smashing through the cracked ferroglass.

  For a moment the Jupiter just stood there. And then slowly, horribly, it toppled over.

  Anastasia's radio was filled with a scream of incoherent rage. She glanced left and saw another Savage Wolf stalking towards her.

  Alaric Wolf.

  * * *

  Julian Davion understood that a battle was like the confluence of two mighty rivers. Powerful currents collided, roiling the water, sometimes pushing flotsam and jetsam downstream.

  Sometimes catching debris in swirling eddies.

  Julian's line was moving steadily west, Julian's Templar anchoring the rear-guard as his forces covered the Wolf Hunters running for the cover of the First Davion's Fortress-class DropShip.

  And then Julian looked up and saw Anastasia Kerensky caught in one of those eddies.

  She was three, four kilometers distant. Far out of range.

  Julian saw two Mad Cat IVs facing off, one painted dark brown with molten orange accents, the other painted gun- metal gray, its canopy limned in red the color of bright arterial blood.

  There was no doubt how this confrontation would turn out. Alaric's Mad Cat was scarred. Anastasia's was battered.

  It was impossible. There wasn't time. He'd have to fight through the Wolf line and by then— It was impossible.

  Still, Julian stalked his machine forward.

  Callandre's red Destroyer slid up in front of him, blocking his path. "Callandre, get out of the way. Anastasia needs our help."

  "Look again, Lord Davion." Her voice was heavy with contempt. "Aside from Alaric's Mad Cat, there's seven, eight vehicles surrounding her. That's a Circle of Equals. If you violate the circle they'll tear you apart. You can't save her."

  He stepped right to go around her, but Callandre jogged her SM1 forward, still blocking his path.

  "Damn it, Callandre, this is not a game."

  "No," she said coldly, "it's not."

  "I'm going," he said tightly.

  "Then so am I."

  "No, you're not."

  "What? You're the only one who can die a stupid, pointless death for no good reason? Where is that written?"

  Julian drew a deep breath. "Calamity—"

  "Please, Jules," she said softly. Something caught in her voice. "It's not— I know it's hard, but— You know I'm right."

  And he did. But that didn't stop him from hating it.

  Julian took one last look at the gray Mad Cat awash in a sea of brown.

  And then he turned and looked away.

  * * *

  Alaric's Savage Wolf stalked toward her, but did not fire. Anastasia saw the Wolves closing around her in a ring, in a circle, the pack surrounding its wounded prey. Preventing escape.

  The dark brown Wolf stopped, facing her. Alaric's extended- range large lasers did not have the same punch as her PPCs, but that was her only advantage. Alaric still had both launchers and doubtless superior missile loadouts. But the biggest disparity was in armor. Alaric's Wolf had taken damage around the cockpit and across the left leg. But Anastasia's Wolf was showing reds and yellows all across her front.

  Against an average MechWarrior, hell, even a good MechWarrior, she might have had a chance. But this was Alaric Wolf.

  She looked at his magnificent Savage Wolf and knew she was looking at the instrument of her death.

  Her only possible victory was to take him with her.

  She keyed her radioto a common channel. "Well, I was right," she said dryly. "It looks we only require one more meeting."

  She did not get the cold chuckle she expected from Alaric.

  Instead he keyed his own transmitter and made an announcement to all the assembled warriors: "I am Galaxy Commander Alaric of Clan Wolf. I command the Shadow Wolves of Beta Galaxy and I pilot a Savage Wolf. I invoke the ritual of Zellbrigen and challenge Anastasia Kerensky to a duel of warriors. In this solemn matter, let no one interfere."

  "Seyla," called out the assembled Wolves.

  And then he triggered an alpha strike, missiles streaking toward Anastasia, emerald fire slicing towards her.

  Anastasia had been ready for the attack, she stepped right just before he let go, so his right laser missed her close left, but the other laser melted already weak composite on her left side and the missiles rippled across her cockpit.

  She fired her own missiles, a double shot, one flight after the other, then lashed out at Alaric's cockpit with her PPCs.

  "That trick will not work on me," he snarled.

  "It worked well enough on your girlfriend," she snapped.

  "You killed Verena and all you can do is joke." He ripped into her with his lasers, launching another double flight of missiles.

  "Why should you care?" asked Kerensky, aiming at his cockpit, but missing high. "I am sure you will find another female warrior to pass your 'Trial of Position.'"

  Alaric's voice was ice. "You never appreciated her value."

  And then he stepped forward and smashed into her left leg with flight after flight of missiles, lasers carving deep into the leg's myomer muscles, reaching for the ferro-titanium bones beneath.

  Anastasia punched out before her machine toppled over.

  She rose high in the sky on jets of flame and then her chute popped, jerking her upward. She looked up.

  In time to see a DropShip rising into the blue, blue sky. Her mouth tastes dry. I am finally abandoned.

  Wind swirled around her, moving her parachute across the sky. A sudden gust smashed her into a building. Crimson pain exploded in her left leg and for a moment darkness took her.

  She awoke on the ground, looking up
at the traitorous sky, the sky into which all her most desperate hopes had just fled. Her leg throbbed with such agony she could scarcely breathe.

  The ground shook with the deep rumble of near thunder, the vibrations sending shooting flares of pain up her injured leg. Incandescent supernovas exploded in Anastasia's head. She gritted her teeth against the pain.

  And looked up.

  Darkness fell over her, and she shivered with the cold. It was the shadow of Alaric's Savage Wolf. He stood over her, blocking out the sun.

  Blocking out the sky.

  She looked up at his cockpit and set her face into a mask of calm, determined to show him no pain, no fear. A tiny victory, but it was all she had left. She stared stoically up at the Savage Wolf prepared to meet her death.

  Alaric raised his 'Mech's right arm and aimed it at her, the massive barrel a scant meter from her head. Anastasia did not flinch, did not even look at the weapon that was going to vaporize her down her constituent atoms, so there would not be even a molecule of Anastasia Kerensky left. She looked up at Alaric in his cockpit.

  And waited.

  Then, for the second time that day, he shocked her.

  His voice boomed from his BattleMech's external speakers: 'Yield."

  * * *

  Anastasia Kerensky lay on a stretcher her leg immobilized, no longer feeling any pain.

  No longer feeling anything at all.

  All her life she had understood the universe around her, looked at it with a cold, dispassionate eye. And because she did understand it, she was able to bend it to her will.

  Not anymore.

  She did not understand any of this.

  Alaric walked towards her, still wearing MechWarrior togs, his blond hair lank with sweat, his blue eyes burning with an intense fire she had never seen when he was her captive.

  She did not understand why Alaric had spared her, why his medtechs were working so hard to heal her? Unless—

  Of course. She would not have a quick, simple death. When Anastasia captured Alaric, she tortured him, she broke him. Could she expect any less now that the tables were turned?

  She swallowed, readying herself for what would come next.

  So he had no words when he knelt beside her and slipped three bond cords around her wrist. The three white loops indicated that she was his servant, little more than his property, but they also held out the promise that one day he would cut the cords, making her a full-fledged warrior of Clan Wolf.

  "I will never forgive you for killing Verena," he said, his voice tight with emotion, "but you were born to serve Clan Wolf. I will see to that."

  "No ..." She shook her head. "No t-torture?" She hated herself for the weakness in her voice.

  "I am not Malvina Hazen," he said. "Or," he added bitterly, "Anastasia Kerensky." He looked down at her, his eyes holding hers. "We Wolves are strong. In battle, we are ruthless. But we are not monsters."

  She looked up at him for a long moment. He did not turn away.

  "Tell me one thing," she whispered. "How did you neutralize the guerilla assault in the city?"

  "I will not tell you." Alaric smiled. His smile was proud, but it was not cold or cruel. "I will show you."

  * * *

  They loaded her in the passenger's side of a hoverjeep, careful, oh so careful not to jam her injured leg. Alaric slid into the driver's side. The jeep slowly lifted.

  And turned towards the city.

  Alaric did not look at her. The jeep moved slowly, drifting down the autobahn at no more than fifteen kph. After a minute, Anastasia gathered she was supposed to be watching. There was little to see beyond the wreckage of battle—actually the wreckage of her Wolf Hunters, not to put too fine a point on it. Thank the Great Father there were no civilian casualties. She was glad she had cleared the autobahn before the battle.

  They turned down a street. It looked like any street in any city. A green street sign hanging from a light pole proclaimed that it was "Frederickstrasse." There were cars parked along the side of the street. Buildings pushing into the sky.

  And then she saw the first body.

  A woman in a light blue summer dress sprawled across the sidewalk, blond hair fanned over her face like a veil. Who had

  murdered her? Wolf infantry? Elementals? Anastasia looked for the pool of blood, the charring from a laser.

  But there was nothing.

  She turned and looked a question at Alaric. He did not look at her, did not say anything.

  He just turned down the next street.

  Here a metallic red Durandel-British "Blue Nova" had swerved from the road, its sleek bumper crumpled against a parked truck. The driver was slumped over his steering wheel, but the glass was not starred. In fact, other than the damage caused by the crash there was nothing wrong with the car at all.

  She glanced right and saw another body, a man—only this time a Wolf medtech crouched over the prone form, administering a drug and checking the man's pulse.

  They're not dead.

  Anastasia turned to Alaric. "You gassed them." Her voice was hushed with wonder. "You put them to sleep."

  Alaric only smiled.

  She shook her head, startled that Alaric Wolf would show mercy to a dishonorable guerilla force. But there was something even more surprising. That he would have the insight to understand the city would be used against him. Anastasia suddenly saw how she had been defeated. This was not the same Alaric Wolf she had beaten before.

  He was something more.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Project Sunlight, Genève

  Terra

  Fortress Republic

  18 March 3143

  A single desk light gleamed in Tucker's office, splashing soft buttery light across the chaos of his desk. In his heart, Tucker believed the answer was here somewhere, buried in the clutter, if only he could find it.

  He felt the same way about his mind.

  The broad windows that made up two walls of his corner office looked out on darkness through which he could barely make out a sleeping Geneva. The gloom had crept into his office when he'd turned off the lights.

  Not that he had a choice.

  Tucker's head rang with pain and light only made it worse. The headaches had grown steadily more agonizing in recent weeks, so bad that he could barely stand them even with best pain drugs legally available. Tucker got the distinct impression that Sorenson would get him pain drugs that were not legally available if he wanted. All he had to do was ask.

  And Tucker would have asked—if he thought there was a chance in hell there was anything out there that would work.

  He shoved aside some papers and touched the black glass inlaid into his teak desk, bringing up the time in blue phosphorescent numbers: "02:14."

  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Two o'clock in the morning. No wonder he was so tired. Maybe ... maybe he should just go home.

  His team was making progress, but it was slow, too damn slow. The project was called Sunlight, because they were supposed to chase away the darkness. But as much good as they'd done so far, Sunlight was too grandiose a name. Hell, candle was too grandiose a name.

  And there were consequences for their failures.

  Alexi's position allowed her access to The Republic's best intelligence. What was happening outside Prefecture Ten's walls was terrifying. The Jade Falcons and the Wolves were tearing through the Lyran Commonwealth, no doubt readying themselves for an assault on Terra.

  Would Exarch Levin's wall really stand up to a Clan's fury?

  People are dying. Tucker, because YOU haven't found the answer.

  He drew a deep shuddery breath and sat up straight.

  "I will work until we find an answer," he said to the empty office, the deserted facility. Tucker stared, his mind fogged with fatigue, not knowing what to do next.

  When stumped, return to first principles.

  He leaned forward and called up the document he'd found on the derelict space station, the only piece o
f evidence they had regarding CLARION NOTE. Unfortunately, it wasn't really a technical document so much as a strategic directive discussing the use of the SHPG as a tool to cause a blackout. A weapon.

  What he wouldn't have given for a set of simple schematics.

  But it was all they had. So he read it again, projecting it up onto the wall screen to save his tired eyes.

  He was half-asleep as he read until a little section of text jerked him to full consciousness: "A blackout is a devastating weapon, but like any WMD, its use cuts both ways. A total blackout cannot help but lead to unforeseen consequences."

  Tucker's heart was pounding in his chest. What the hell? He put a hand to his forehead. Why had he reacted so strongly to those two sentences? He shook his head. You are cracking up, Tucker.

  Then he thought, No. I've seen that before.

  He leaned forward and typed the phrase "like any WMD, its use cuts both ways" into a search engine and selected The Republic's collection of interstellar communications documents.

  He let it run, turning to look out at the darkness. After five minutes he glanced back at his desk screen. Still running. He shook his head. "You are a fool, Tucker." He reached forward to interrupt the search—

  The computer beeped.

  It had found something. The document was a communications overview from the early days of The Republic, back when Devlin Stone was Exarch. Tucker remembered it now. It had been a study of the consequences of a communications blackout.

  He opened the file and looked from his desk screen to the wall screen and back again. He reread both passages three times.

  They were identical.

  He blinked. How could that be? When he'd first read the study, he thought it was a strategic assessment of a ComStar interdiction. During the Succession Wars, ComStar had maintained a monopoly in interstellarcommunications. Sometimes, to punish the great houses, they would turn the flow of messages off, until the targeted house acquiesced.

  But an interdiction was a policy, not a WMD. So the passage really didn't make sense if one were discussing an interdiction.

  And more importantly, how had Blakist language come to be repeated in a Republic document?

  The Streets of Tharkad City Tharkad

  Donegal Military Province