18
Blood Hills Barracks,
outside Cingulum Mirach
1 May 3133
The huge unwinking disk of the springtime sun splayed across the western horizon, confusing the eye with strange crimson wavelengths and allowing twilight to sneak in to claim the rugged land for night. To the north, glaciers had retreated forty thousand years earlier, leaving behind steep valleys with rounded bottoms and more minerals than could be mined in any man's lifetime. To the east a plain stretched to the Marabot Ocean. This ragged plain was all that looked familiar to Austin Ortega.
As a child, he had hiked there and knew how deceptive it could be. Small ferocious animals snapped at unwary hikers' ankles and the dearth of water made a trek of any distance hazardous. Southward lay the capital of Cingulum, the city where Austin had been born.
Mirach was a cold, obscure world ignored by most of The Republic, but to Austin it was home.
Savage weather, wan sun, oceans dotted year-round with icebergs-it was the perfect training ground for a warrior. In spite of this, Austin felt he had been shortchanged. He wasn't a warrior, not like Dale had been.
Stop that,he thought. It did no good dwelling on what he thought were his shortcomings. If he didn't stay positive about uncovering the information he needed, he would certainly fail. Austin wasn't going to let Manfred Leclerc take the fall for the attack at Industrial Giants.
This set off a new circuit of thoughts. He had to prevent his friend from being used as a pawn in Elora's power game, but there was more to his mission. Austin reluctantly admitted he wanted to prove he wasn't useless to his father. Sergio Ortega was a decent man, a great man in many ways, who had guided Mirach through good times and bad. But he was pigheaded and never admitted he was wrong. Austin couldn't convince his father that a good Governor was not only beneficent, but also able to rule with an iron hand when necessary. The demonstrations across Mirach were growing in violence now, and yet Sergio had failed to quell them.
A battalion of battle armor patrolling the cities would do the trick,Austin thought. That would keep the hotheads from whipping up the fear that threatened the stability of an entire world. Seeing companies of the Legate's finest marching through the capital would also put an end to Lady Elora's verbal tinkering. No riots, no paranoia about being cut off from the rest of The Republic, and she would become a toothless tiger.
But Sergio continued to counsel Tortorelli not to deploy troops. His one concession to restoring order had been to send out the police, but Austin saw this as too little, too late. The police had no stomach for trying to control the uncontrollable.
Austin snapped back from his reverie when he almost missed the turn in the road. He careened through the curve, fighting the controls and finally righting the car. Then he opened up the throttle and whirred along to the barracks at better than two hundred kilometers per hour. All too soon, he saw the rotating blue and yellow lights atop the guardhouse and knew he had to slow down. More than a klick away, he took his foot off the accelerator.
Speed peeled away like layers of an onion, bringing him to a reasonable pace by the time he could make out the individual guards on duty. Austin braked and brought the car to a halt beside the guard standing duty on incoming traffic.
"Sir, good evening," the guard said. She bent over and peered into the car. "Just you?" "Returning from R and R," he lied. Austin had pulled out his uniform from storage, the one he thought he would never wear again, and had put it on for this charade. Although he was no longer entitled to wear the black-and-silver, it surprised him how right it felt.
"What unit?" she asked, frowning a little.
He started to say he served under Captain Leclerc, then caught himself. Even if Manfred hadn't been in serious trouble, that wouldn't have been an acceptable response. The FCL was being broken up, the soldiers deployed to smaller units all over the continent of Musasalah. Some of the scuttlebutt he had overheard between the FCL guards still at the Palace detailed how some of the First Cossack Lancers were even being sent across the planet to the other continent of Ventrale to garrison research outposts. Any cohesion in the FCL would be completely erased within months.
Austin figured that was Tortorelli's intent: destroy the Governor's bodyguard and leave him vulnerable. Any element of the Legate's force sent to protect Sergio Ortega wouldn't have the devotion, the loyalty, the take-a-bullet dedication Manfred had instilled in the FCL.
"On detached duty with the Legate's staff. Liaison with Governor Ortega's office." Austin fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his legitimate ID. It said nothing of military standing but had the official seal and his father's signature at the bottom of the card.
The guard took the ident-card and peered at it under the bright guardhouse light. Then she ran it through a verifier. Austin held his breath until he was sure the guard wasn't calling up his full dossier.
"Go on in, Lieutenant," she said. "You know the way to Colonel Armitage's office?" "To the command office? Of course," Austin said, "but I have to stop at the barracks for a few minutes." She stepped back, saluted, and waved him on in. He realized then that he had passed one final, small test. It was good that he had come out here several times with Manfred, Dale, and the other FCL officers for training seminars. Austin refrained from flooring the accelerator. He drove slowly into the tangle of narrow streets, hunting for the proper crossing thoroughfare. When he found it, he turned in and pulled over.
Austin jumped from the car, made certain his uniform was in order, then entered the front door of the barracks. Two men lounging around looked up but, once they saw his FCL uniform insignia, hastily turned away. That gave him an idea of the status of Manfred's former unit. Insulted by this pointed disregard, he made his way upstairs to the rooms allocated to the FCL. Or what remained of them.
The first three he checked were empty, but in the fourth he found a veritable fountain of information. Master Sergeant Dmitri Borodin was like a spider in the middle of a web. Every vibration, no matter how tiny, became a full-fledged rumor in a single telling. He was just the man Austin wanted to see.
"Master Sergeant, as you were," Austin said. Borodin looked up from the tech manual he studied intently, startled.
"Lieutenant, didn't know you were here. Most all's out and about tonight." "Pulled punishment duty again, Sarge?" Austin laughed as he perched on the edge of the desk where Borodin struggled to make sense out of the material. Austin reached over and looked at the title.
"Must have been a dandy. Not black-marketing again, were you?" "It was only meant to be a prank. Didn't mean no harm, Lieutenant. Honest. That major's behind was only slightly singed. Hardly noticed it, 'specially after he got the hole in the pants fixed." Austin wished he could hear the entire story, but he was on a mission. Dale's death, his own brush with death, Manfred's indictment-all were more important than a passing diversion of what had to be a funny story.
"You didn't come out here for my stories. How are you faring since the... exercise?" Borodin asked. "Damn shame about your brother. He should have been in armor..." "I'm getting ready to transfer back," Austin said, hoping to spark a comment from Borodin. He wasn't disappointed.
"Reckoned that might be what happened, what with Dale dead and Captain Leclerc up to his neck in hot water. We need all the leadership we can get, not that there's many of us left. I do up the roster, you know." Borodin looked at him, as if expecting comment. Austin wasn't certain what the master sergeant hoped he would say.
"I wish I could help Manfred," Austin said. "He's a fine soldier, no matter what they say about him." "You heard the rumor, too? That he's run off to hide in Cingulum and do nothing but start riots? Pure garbage." Borodin's voice lowered. "I support Aaron Sandoval all the way, but as Lord Governor of a Republic Prefecture, not any other way." Austin said nothing. There was more making the rounds in the barracks than he had expected.
Soldiers generally held themselves above political concerns.
"No, Lieutenant, I tell y
ou, Sandoval's a respectable fellow, brave and true as a tempered steel blade, but he's got my loyalty only as long as he follows in Devlin Stone's footsteps." "I can't believe Manfred-Captain Leclerc-would support any opposition to the government." "Might not, but that's not what some are saying." Borodin cleared his throat. "I know you and the captain are friends and all, but I got to know where his true loyalties are." "Manfred supports The Republic all the way," Austin said without hesitation. He straightened a little when he saw that wasn't the intent of Borodin's nascent question. "You think Manfred's sold out to somebody else?"
"Not me, Lieutenant, not me," the sergeant said, not wanting to condemn an FCL officer after Austin had so strongly spoken his praises. "But the others, now, they don't know him so well. But is there any chance he might be running with the MBA?" Austin knew he had to be careful answering this. He knew a fraction of his father's plans, and they seemed to involve Manfred training in the MBA's modified 'Mechs.
"The Mirach Business Association? What does a trade group have to do with Manfred?" "Now you're insulting my intelligence, Lieutenant." Borodin looked as if he wanted to spit.
"Never, Master Sergeant, never. Fill me in." Austin glanced over his shoulder to the open doorway to be sure no one eavesdropped on them.
I'm getting too paranoid,he thought. He turned his attention back to the sergeant and tried to quash the feelings of being spied on.
"Well, sir, rumor has it that the MBA is outfitting IndustrialMechs. Lots of them. Like the AgroMech that almost did you in. It had missiles, didn't it?" "I can't say if there are more than a few refitted IndustrialMechs, but the one that attacked me was packing. But I refuse to believe Manfred was piloting it, no matter what Tortorelli or the Ministry of Information say." "Some say that he was in the cockpit, sir. Some." Borodin fixed him with a gimlet stare. "You wouldn't go against your own father. I know that, but the grapevine says maybe you and the head of the MBA are conspiring to overthrow him." "I am loyal to my father, to Mirach, and The Republic," Austin said forcefully.
More than this, he couldn't see Manfred doing anything but supporting The Republic. If the captain drove a 'Mech for the MBA, it had to be with the Governor's full approval and for some reason other than overthrowing the government.
Austin felt a small shiver when he realized other schisms were possible when Lady Elora and Calvilena Tortorelli were mixed into this brew of conspiracy. Austin was sure something Hanna had told his father about Lady Elora had brought about her death. Elora had made little secret of her contempt for the Governor, but how far would she go to oppose him? Would she be willing to kill him? How did he find the right threat to follow? Too many factions meant Mirach stood on the brink of a vicious civil war that could split it into several blocs, each fighting the other. It could take decades to pull such a politically sundered world back together.
"Yes, sir, it's possible the captain was out there on the test range when you tried out the MiningMech. The MBA gave orders for him to kill you." Austin had to laugh. "Then that probably means Marta Kinsolving knew nothing about the attack. She saved me." "She saved you by ramming the AgroMech, didn't she? Now that's a poser, unless there's argument in the MBA ranks about how to seize power." "That doesn't make much sense, does it? Too many rumors and not enough facts is the real problem, Master Sergeant." "Yeah, I guess so," the sergeant said, his forehead furrowing at the complicated situation. The problem with conspiracy theories was the myriad possibilities inherent in them. Anything could be proved-or disproved. Lack of evidence became proof.
"I'm glad one rumor is put to rest."
"That doesn't mean the MBA isn't getting ready to field all those converted 'Mechs. Who'd be a better pilot to lead them than Manfred Leclerc, especially considering how he's been treated?" "One man in a 'Mech, no matter how good, cannot stand forever against trained infantry and battle armor," Austin said. "It would be a hard fight, but sheer numbers would eventually overwhelm a BattleMech." Many of their unit maneuvers had been designed to prove this, not only to the soldiers of the FCL but also to Tortorelli.
"Has the MBA been recruiting pilots for their refitted 'Mechs?" "Not really," Borodin said. His tone didn't convince Austin he was telling the truth.
"Not that I'm interested, but where might the MBA approach a soldier about strapping down in the cockpit of a 'Mech? Think of the firepower compared to what we use! Autocannon, missiles, what a weapon that would make." He saw the dreamy expression on Borodin's face. Such a romantic vision appealed to the sergeant.
"They wouldn't find any recruits here," Borodin assured him. Austin waited. Heavy silence fell until the sergeant grew uneasy. "Not that I know anything, mind you." "You're a topflight tech, Master Sergeant. Getting your hands on a refitted 'Mech would be a dream come true. Almost as big a dream come true as me piloting one."
"Might be, if you have a thirst, you might stop at the Borzoi after midnight some night." "Some night," Austin said slowly. "I'm usually busy." "Might be a good time to go tomorrow night," Borodin said. "For a nightcap. Nothing more." "Nothing more," Austin said. "Unless I chance upon an old friend so we can reminisce."
"You might do that, too," Borodin said uneasily. He buried his nose back in the tech manual, then turned away so his back was to Austin. If he had written it across the wall in meter-high red letters, the sergeant couldn't have signaled the end of their conversation any more clearly.
Austin left the no longer garrulous Borodin, made a circuit of the adjacent rooms without finding any others from the FCL, then returned to his car and drove back to Cingulum. This time the drive was slower to give him time to think as three of the planet's four moons snaked across the dark sky above.
19
Borzoi Tavern, Cingulum Mirach
2 May 3133
The Borzoi Tavern was decorated as a Russian hunting lodge, complete with stuffed animal heads on the wood-paneled walls and long oak tables stained with beer. On closer inspection, Austin Ortega saw that the stains were designs embedded permanently into a plastic surface and the animal heads were as artificial as the Russian motif. A bear of a man with a bushy beard worked behind the long bar, his dark eyes roaming endlessly as if they were radar dishes searching out enemies. He kept his hands below the level of the bar, making Austin worry a bit about what he might be holding.
"Good evening," Austin said to the barman, who only nodded to him. The bartender kept his hands hidden from sight. "Stormy night, isn't it?" A stunstick was one thing, but a large-caliber pistol was something else, if the huge man chose to fight. Austin could outrun a man intent on stunning him but had found dodging worked better than running when his opponent carried a firearm. And that was the way Austin felt inside the artificially cozy tavern-if not surrounded by enemies, then by suspicious people who were not in the least friendly.
Or it might just have been that he was so keyed up that everyone looked suspicious. He tried to calm down, but it wasn't easy.
"Seen worse storms this time of year," the bartender said. Austin decided conversation wasn't too likely and went to the back of the long room to sit at an empty table. Both bartender and barmaid ignored him.
He wasn't here to drink. He was following the hint given him by Dmitri Borodin. He shrugged off his coat and draped it over his chair.
He lounged back and found his mind drifting. He smiled as he remembered better times with Dale, when he had been a recruit standing before Manfred for the first time and, in his haste to dress, had forgotten to zip his fly. He recalled the terror and outright exhilaration he had felt in the MiningMech as he battled the AgroMech on the test range. Those memory fragments were peculiar ones he couldn't quite fit together. Extreme fear and equally extreme gratification. He might have been killed at the 'Mech plant, but he had been doing what he had been trained to do. And he had been in a 'Mech, even if it had not been modified to carry weapons. Austin had felt complete piloting a real 'Mech.
When the stroll down memory lane began to stumble into such odd paths,
he grew restive.
Austin forced himself not to look at his watch, but he was sure he had been in the Borzoi for at least fifteen minutes. Past midnight now.
Nothing had happened. The bartender didn't even shout at him to order or leave, not that the business was particularly good; the Borzoi was empty of anyone else but the staff. Still, what business likes loiterers? Not being forced to order or getting chased out told Austin he was on the right track.
Then it hit him.He had to initiate contact, and he had been given the key.
"Can I get a nightcap?" Austin called to the bartender. The man's bushy eyebrows rose slightly.
He leaned over the bar and talked in hushed tones with the barmaid.
"You want anything else?" the bartender asked.
"Just a nightcap." Austin kicked himself for not speaking up sooner. Borodin had given him a code word and he had not recognized it as such. He should have realized, if these were Manfred's friends, they would require recognition signals. They wouldn't know otherwise that he wasn't bringing the authorities with him.
The barmaid went about her chores, disappeared into the back room, only to return with a tray of glasses a minute later. Another ten minutes passed and Austin half stood when a man bundled like a mummy against the night came in from the street, the gusty wind sneaking inside until the door slammed against the storm. The staff greeted him warmly, all gathering around to talk to him as if he were a long-lost relative, but Austin saw the barmaid cast a furtive glance over her shoulder in his direction. Whatever the newcomer said to her involved Austin.
He wished now that he had come armed. For all that, he wished he had worn battle armor.
Finally giving in to his nervousness, Austin checked his watch and saw he had been in the Borzoi for almost twenty minutes. It was time to go. He had hoped Manfred might show up, or someone who could help him get in touch with his friend. Borodin's recognition code hadn't amounted to anything.
BattleTech : MechWarrior - Dark Age 03 - The Ruins of Power - Robert E.Vardeman (2003) Page 13
