“Our corridor to the Duchy of Andurien remains secure,” Salazar reported. “A half dozen unaligned worlds remain sympathetic to proper rule and hostile to the Halas hegemony. Unfortunately, after its disastrously mismanaged war against Oriente, Andurien is not the capable ally it once was. In fact, in light of certain domestic alliances which have come to light, Andurien may be considered at best closely allied with the Magistracy of Canopus. At worst it may be regarded as a dependent state.”
“What the hell was Humphreys thinking?”
“He was thinking the same thing you always think, dear,” Emlia rallied to answer. “He was thinking that was the best he could do for his people.”
Lester was grateful she did not add that allying with the Regulan Fiefs had not served Andurien well.
Lester stood in the open frame of the French doors staring out over the rooftops of the lower city to the expanse of the BrahmaRiver. The water, dotted by hundreds of pleasure craft, glittered like a tapestry of silver threads beneath the white-hot sun.
How dare such a black day be so beautiful?
Snorting at his own foolishness, Lester turned away from the window. He saw Emlia was still wilted, despondent over the ascendancy of the Halas whore, and could think of nothing to say to her.
He had no idea what was the local time for AtreusCity. The installation of the captain-general could still be hours away or it could have ended before he arose this morning.
Lester could have been there, of course, with Emlia. All the noble families of the Fiefs had received invitations. Just as weeks earlier—still reeling from the defeat at Atreus—they’d been notified that the Regulan Fiefs were allotted a mere twenty-eight seats in her mockery of a Parliament. One planet, one vote? Egalitarian nonsense that ignored the basic precepts of any intelligently run nation. Not that Lester believed for one moment that the Parliament would exist for any other reason than to give the illusion of legitimacy to the Halas harlot’s despotism.
The third of July would always be a day of mourning throughout the Regulan Fiefs.
What had they now? What resources to fight the creature strangling the Free Worlds League?
The image of the star map formed in his mind. Enemies and stooges of Halas pressed close on three sides. Oriente, poised to strike at any moment; the Rim Commonality, equally willing but less ready; Tamarind-Abbey and the wounded remnants of the Marik-StewartCommonwealth, like the distant orphans of The Republic, too preoccupied with their own troubles to threaten; and the unreadable enigma of the Clan Protectorate. Cut off from the rest of the Inner Sphere by the horseshoe of the ersatz Free Worlds League, Regulus had only one ally of doubtful ability to rimward, and they were closely entangled with a traditional adversary. An adversary whom necessity might well forge into a friend.
But we are not without assets.
“Salazar, how go preparations on Operation Firebreak?”
“Further along than expected, Your Grace. We’re conducting final evaluations of the communications protocols now.”
“OperationBridge?”
“Phase one complete. We’ve begun phase two. And”—he anticipated Lester’s next question—“Operation Mockingbird is in place awaiting activation.”
Lester nodded, grateful for any good news on this nadir day.
“And what about our direct access to the lady Halas?” he asked. “What’s the latest on Operation Vole?”
Atreus City, Atreus
Free Worlds League
Jessica stood alone on the balcony of her father’s study, looking up into the evening sky.
Nikol and Thaddeus had left her to take their positions among the ministers of Parliament, to cast their votes with the rest. Philip had slipped away to the vantage point in the gallery that had been reserved for him.
The wind stirred, little more than a breeze. A strand of hair that had come loose from her severe braid blew across her face. She pulled it back absently, tucking it behind her ear.
Thaddeus had called the Free Worlds League a chimera. He’d been speaking of the military force gathered to liberate Atreus, but by extension his words applied to the entire League. Daughter of the whirlwind, a creature cobbled together out of mismatched parts. She could see why he had felt that way, could see what he saw when he looked at the assembled worlds, but he was wrong.
The parts of the Free Worlds League did not match each other, did not conform to a common model like the planets Thaddeus had organized into his “communities.” But that was because each world—each citizen—was unique. They were not supposed to match. What they were supposed to do, all of them: the stubborn, bitter Regulan Fiefs; the worlds under the heels of the Lyrans and the Wolves; the scattered, chaotic worlds abandoned by The Republic; even those worlds closed up inside the mysterious Fortress…
What every unique and special world of the Free Worlds League was supposed to do—what every one did—was fit together into a perfect whole. A whole greater than the sum of its parts.
She had done what she had to do to rebuild that shattered whole. She had given orders that had cost ten thousand innocent people their lives; that she had never intended so many to die did not absolve her of responsibility. She had sent as many soldiers to fight and die on a dozen worlds. She had sacrificed her family.
Janos.
Everything she had and was—her honor, her compassion, her integrity—she had given all for the greater good. Because she had stood firm when others fell; because she had acted when others faltered; because she had been willing when others were afraid; because of her the Free Worlds League—
“Captain-General?”
Jessica whirled, startled, and found a round little man she had never seen before standing in the doorway to her father’s office. He wore a formal jacket of a cut she did not recognize and the tab at his collar identified his homeworld as—Ariel? She refused to squint.
“Captain-General,” the man repeated, this time accompanying his words with a bow. “It is time.”
Back straight, eyes bright with purpose, Jessica Marik stepped forward to meet her destiny.
About the Author
Kevin Killiany is delighted to be in his second quarter century as husband to Valerie. Though he is looking forward to the empty nest, he’s also very glad their children—Alethea, Anson, and Daya—still seem happy to be around. Since the 1960s, Kevin has worked as an actor, a drill rig operator, a photographer, a warehouse grunt, a community college instructor, a drywall hanger, a teacher of exceptional children, a community services case manager, a high-risk intervention counselor, and a paperboy. He is currently a writer, with stories published in a variety of universes, including Star Trek, Doctor Who, Classic BattleTech, and, of course, MechWarrior. He is also an associate pastor of the Soul Saving Station in Wilmington, North Carolina.
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Prologue 1
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About the Author
To Ride the Chimera Page 34
