"You forget who spearheaded the FCL attack during your so-called military exercise," Elora said. She wished she didn't need him to command the Home Guard. The civil unrest could be subdued quickly when he unleashed his forces, but it would come at a huge and bloody cost. Elora smiled faintly. She would be sure to assign the blame later where it belonged, after she was sure Mirach would be another shining jewel in the Clan's sword hilt and her true worth was recognized.
She rocked back in the chair behind her vast desk. Her eyes swept across the flat expanse.
Newly embedded in the surface, angled by clever lenses to follow her as she swiveled about, were a half dozen different projected images monitoring not only what was on-air but also the faces of her directors and producers as they worked. She reached forward, the ring on a bony finger clicking slightly as it touched the desktop, and brushed across a slight depression. The array of monitors changed, giving her a view on the world outside the Ministry of Information.
Tortorelli prattled on, citing how quickly the Baron had been isolated from all support, and taking credit for clever ploys she had suggested. Let him think he was in charge and not being groomed to be the eventual scapegoat. Elora was more intent on watching the renewed wave of rioting in the streets. Cingulum was torn apart by a dozen disturbances.
Stripping police support from Governor Ortega had been difficult because she had done it slowly, incrementally, so no one really noticed, least of all Sergio Ortega. He knew he was a toothless tiger now but could do nothing to retrieve control because he had lost the means of enforcing his orders.
The police had become looters and rioters themselves when Elora had planted rumors of manpower cutbacks, punishments, and huge salary cuts due to declining planetary revenues. Mirach's economy had not weakened appreciably, but without the HPG to furnish second-to-second comparisons with other worlds in The Republic, gullible people would believe anything she told them because the news spoke to them directly every day, every night. She controlled the news and would the Minister of Information ever lie?
Elora almost laughed at how she had reported fighting on Achernar and set off another round of riots in Cingulum. She had heard only rumors from DropShip crews, but it sounded better-and served her purposes more-to report huge loss of life as if it were literal truth. Let the whispering spread.
"Can you be certain Kinsolving and the Baronet are not going to be problems?" she asked.
"What of that renegade captain of yours?" "Leclerc?" Tortorelli finished his circuit around the room, fingering all the small statues and objets d'art, then stopped in front of the huge faux window looking out across the city. Elora reached out a bejeweled hand to change the view to gauge Tortorelli's reaction, then stopped. He didn't care that he stared at a cleverly contrived monitor.
"You didn't arrest him at the Borzoi. Your military police have been equally incapable of tracking him since his escape." "The Borzoi?" Tortorelli frowned, trying to recollect the name.
"The tavern where the MPs failed to kill him and young Ortega." "Was that the name?" Tortorelli shook his head. "Some officer I didn't authorize was in charge.
I am sure he was disciplined for his incompetence. It's in the report my staff filed." Elora laughed and the Legate had no idea why. Tortorelli stood on the spot where the bogus MP officer's blood had been spilled by a single shot from her pistol. She had arranged for his body to be dumped at the edge of a riot and no one had noticed or cared. One day the Legate would suffer the same fate. But not today. She still needed his authority.
Elora considered all the possible replacements for Tortorelli after the Governor was deposed.
Prefect Radick would undoubtedly follow her guidance in the matter, since it would leave him in control of Mirach.
"Are you any closer to capturing Leclerc, Calvy?" She lowered her voice to a husky whisper to erase any hint of criticism. She had always been told she could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, though her need for an insect like Tortorelli was strictly circumstantial. He was already caught and when his usefulness evaporated, he could be quickly swatted.
"My best officers are working on finding him. He might be hiding in Havoc." "They'll never find him there unless you move in adequate military power to level what buildings are still standing." Havoc was the name her own newscasters--in private-had given to a particularly ugly section of the city. Nothing but burned-out buildings and dangerous refugees filled the ten-square-block area.
"That might not be a bad idea. Thank you for suggesting it to me, Elora," the Legate said.
Elora had just set into motion the next step in her plan to marginalize Governor Ortega further and paint Legate Tortorelli as a bloody-handed butcher. She had to fight against overconfidence, but the time was almost at hand to contact Prefect Kal Radick and invite him to this fine world.
24
Havoc,
Cingulum Mirach
3 May 3133
Austin jumped at every small sound. Most were caused by rats and other scavengers feeding off the carcasses littering the streets-or what was left of the streets. Entire buildings had collapsed. He could picture in his mind's eye how the fronts would crumble and fall onto demonstrators, unable to escape because of their numbers. Then the remainder of the building, weakened to its foundations by fires, would slowly follow in a stately, almost majestic orgy of demolition.
His nose twitched at the scent of death and decay and dust, but he kept moving cautiously through the destruction. Austin clutched the small pistol Marta had given him so hard his hand turned sweaty. He kept thinking that the first two shells in the magazine were armor piercers, the third an explosive round. He concentrated so hard on that, he didn't hear the man creeping up from behind.
Austin jerked around when a tinypop! sounded and a brilliant white star illuminated the area from a height of almost ten meters. His eyes swept around and up to the burning spot on a third-story window ledge, then dropped back to the silently stalking dark form. His pistol lifted.
"Halt or I'll fire!" he called. When the man hunting him did not stop, Austin fired. Once, twice.
Both rounds hit squarely in the center of the man's torso. Austin saw flesh and blood sail away from the impacts, but the man only hesitated. He looked at his chest, touched the two small round wounds, then grinned.
Austin started. The man confronting him was missing all but two teeth, but most frightening were the sunken eyes, mad and manic. No shred of sanity remained.
Austin fired a third time. This time the round detonated and sent blood and body parts into the air like water from the Czar Alexander Fountain. He recoiled, dropped to one knee, and used his free arm to cover his head as the grisly rain cascaded down. When Austin looked up, he fought to hold down his rising gorge. Hot blood had splattered in lumpy puddles as it fell on the street around him.
"Killing isn't quite as sanitary as it is in a trainer, is it?" came the calm question.
Austin swung around to face the new threat but quickly elevated the muzzle away from Manfred Leclerc.
"I don't know why the first two rounds didn't stop him," Austin said, his voice cracking with strain. "I hit him. I saw." "They were armor-piercing rounds and went through him like a laser through vacuum. Where'd you get the pistol?" Austin knew that wasn't Manfred's real question.
He really meant, why are you carrying a weapon whose capabilities are a mystery? Manfred was always the commander, always the instructor.
"We've got to get out of here," Austin said. "Marta Kinsolving-" "Marta!" The look on Manfred's face confirmed all he suspected.
"She gave me the pistol. She's back there in her limo. We've got to get you into hiding where-" Austin stumbled when another white-hot pinpoint blossomed above him, this time from the other side of the street.
"What was that?" Manfred asked, rubbing his dazzled eyes. "I was looking almost directly at it when it blew up." "Come on," Austin said, realizing what Manfred did not. "Don't say a word. Just follow me.
He preferred the cockpit of a 'Mech to being on foot, without armor, with a small but potent weapon that was inappropriate for the mission.
"There's the limo," cried Manfred, breaking into a dead run. Austin followed at a slower pace, winded from the dash through the ruins. He blinked as another of the brilliant white points flared a dozen meters beyond the limousine.
He caught himself against the side of the car, looked behind, and realized he and Manfred had attracted a considerable amount of attention. A small crowd of haggard, almost skeletal men and women dressed in rags trailed them, as if they were magnets pulling iron filings. Austin thought to shoot at them, then lowered the pistol and swung into the back of the limo. It would have been a mercy for the people, but it was wrong to murder those he was sworn to protect.
Manfred and Marta sat side by side, their thighs pressed together tightly. Other than this he would have thought they had just met, given how they kept their eyes locked on him and their hands to themselves. He dropped into the seat opposite them and said, "Can we get out of here?" The words hardly escaped his lips when he was thrown forward by the sudden acceleration.
Manfred caught him and gently pushed him back into the soft leather-upholstered seat.
"I'm glad to leave," Austin said. "How'd you survive there, Manfred? That place is terrible.
I've got to tell my father and do something." "He knows," Manfred said. "Other, more pressing problems need to be taken care of first." "But-" "Austin, be quiet," said Marta. "Did you notice the small explosions back there?" "What were they?" Manfred asked.
"Remote surveillance cameras. Tortorelli might have ordered them installed, but any picture has already made its way to Elora. Count on it," Marta said.
"Why did they blow up?" "All WorldComm makes them, so I can locate them. I might not be able to tap into their encoded signal, but once I know where they are, I can send a radio spike that will blow out the electronics. And I did."
"What are we going to do?" Manfred said. "Tortorelli and Elora both know where I am-and that puts you in danger, too." "While you were out sightseeing, I contacted my security chief. There's no way we can hide you, not on Mirach. We're going directly to our company's launch facility," Marta said. "A DropShip is taking off soon. You can hide out on Kuton." "I'm not leaving Mirach, not now!" Manfred protested.
"She's right," Austin said. "We need a leader and that's got to be you. If we don't split the Legate's forces somehow, he will seize complete control." "You're talking mutiny, treason," Manfred said. "I don't think so, Austin. Not enough troopers in the Home Guard would go along."
"If you don't try, there won't be any stopping Tortorelli and Elora," Marta said. "Austin's convinced me that the MBA can't put those refitted 'Mechs into the field without them causing terrible collateral damage." Manfred stared at Austin for a moment, as if seeing him in a new light. Then he nodded slowly.
"He's right, if he's been arguing that. The 'Mechs can defend your plants, but they'd be at a real disadvantage if you tried to field them offensively against soldiers in battle armor. Property damage in the city would be awful, and every soldier a 'Mech killed would be a loyal Mirach citizen following what would appear to be legitimate orders from the Legate." Austin sank back in the soft seat and felt every ache and pain in his body.
"That was clever leaving the message on the fountain," he said to Manfred. His friend smiled and nodded once. Austin got the message. Shut up.
He watched Manfred and Marta pressed so close together in the spacious limo, trying to appear as if they hardly knew each other, but since he was looking, he saw the glances and the small, furtive touches. He almost asked if Marta would accompany Manfred to the moon.
"There it is," Marta said, the window polarization changing to show the DropShip field. "Let's hope we've stayed one step ahead." She looked at Austin and pursed her lips. "You should go with him. Your life's in as much danger as his." "I need to get my father out among the people where he can speak freely, without having every word censored by Lady Elora."
The limo drove to the far side of the field where the smallest of the ships stood. Austin fancied he could see the DropShip quivering in eagerness to launch, but that was only his imagination. If anything, there was less activity around it than around its larger companions across the field.
"I'll release the security ring," Marta said. She leaned across Manfred, who did not mind at all, and took out a small Span-net phone from the armrest console. Marta fiddled with it a few seconds and gave the authorization codes that would allow them to approach the DropShip this close to launch.
"I feel as if I'm running away," Manfred said. "There's got to be a better way for me to rally support. If I'm on Kuton, it'll make me look like a coward." He took the phone from her and tucked it into his pocket.
"I'll check to be sure everything's in order," Austin said, wanting to leave Manfred and Marta alone for a moment. He climbed out of the limo, looked around, and then walked toward the DropShip to stare up at its bulk. From a distance it had looked small; this close, he estimated that it towered more than a hundred meters. Lights from around the field caught the shining exterior and turned it silvery, with darker markings declaring that this was an AllWorldComm cargo vessel. Austin sucked in a deep breath, tasted the airborne metallic tang of reactants used as fuel.
Austin saw Marta hurrying toward him, but Manfred remained in the limo.
"Anything wrong?" he asked.
"No, he's coming. He's taking care of some last-minute business." Austin frowned when he saw Manfred using the phone. From the expression on his face, it looked as though whomever he spoke to must have given him disturbing news. Manfred looked around as if he expected to see MPs swarming over the field, then hastily broke the connection when he noticed Austin watching him.
Who'd he call?Austin wondered. He started to ask, but Manfred rushed past him.
"Hurry," Marta said. "The less time we take, the less likely Elora is to know what's going on." Manfred's arm snaked around Marta and he pulled her close to kiss her. Then he released her, slapped Austin on the back, and ran for the far side of the DropShip, where the small elevator would take him to the midships entry port.
"We've got to get out of here fast. The ship's on schedule for launch in five minutes." Marta hesitated, shot an almost shy smile in the direction of the DropShip, and climbed into the limo, Austin immediately behind her.
The limousine roared off at top speed, heading for a line of concrete control bunkers at the far side of the field.
"I've tapped into the field control," Marta said, putting the feed from the bunker onto the limo intercom. "We'll be well out of blast range." Austin caught his breath as the countdown neared its end. "Engines ignition," the controller intoned. "Five, four, three, two, one, liftoff."
Austin leaned forward anxiously, barely able to make out the DropShip through the rear window. A sudden flare illuminated it and made him squint, in spite of the polarization.
"There he goes," Austin said.
Then words failed him. The DropShip had risen less than a hundred meters, still building speed, when it exploded.
25
AWC DropShip launch pad
Mirach
3 May 3133
The accusation of treachery came unbidden to Austin's lips, but the instant he saw Marta's stricken face he knew she had no part in the explosion and Manfred's death.
"Find out what happened," Austin said, pushing aside his shock to take command. "The control center must have telemetry." "I... yes, of course. The controllers." With a shaking hand, Marta pressed in the access co
de that linked her directly with the DropShip launch bunkers.
Austin looked outside. Chaos reigned. Technicians ran about, shouting, gesturing, blaming one another, getting emergency equipment out to the crash site.
"We've never had a cargo DropShip blow up on us. Ben Nagursky had a few, but those were test vehicles. These... these were all nothing but workhorses. They're supposed to be dependable, reliable." Marta savagely threw down the phone. "No answer. Come on." She piled out of the limo and led the way to a nearby bunker. Austin pushed through the technicians inside so Marta could speak to the launch director.
"Dr. Penrose, what happened to the cargo launch?" demanded Marta of a pale-faced, still shaking woman.
"I can't say. Everything read in the green, Ms. Kinsolving," the launch director said. "But the sudden loss of thrust and the explosive nature of the accident makes me think the DropShip was sabotaged." "Someone sabotaged the ship? You mean a bomb of some kind?" asked Marta. She ground her teeth as she waited for the information. Austin knew better than to say a word.
Dr. Penrose pointed to a screen with a razor-sharp glowing line across it. "Here it is. A millisecond before the ship itself exploded, there was a major concussion inside, right by the fusion reactor. We're going to have to look for trace evidence and find out what kind of explosive was used.
If we can figure out what was used, we can start building a case for who is responsible for this.
Whoever it was, they were good enough to breach our security, and they know something about DropShips."
"The Legate would have access to all kinds of explosives," Austin said in a low voice. "Anyone with military ID could justify inspecting a ship leaving the planet." "Seal the area," Marta said decisively. "Question everyone. I want the saboteur located."
BattleTech : MechWarrior - Dark Age 03 - The Ruins of Power - Robert E.Vardeman (2003) Page 16
