Fortress of Lies mda-8

by J. Steven York

If his foot had been on the deck, Clancy looked like he would have been tapping it. “What you want, Duck? I got me a ship to run, and your big plans don’t make my job no easier.”

  Aaron frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘Duck’.”

  Clancy smiled just a little. “That all you called me down here for? Then you’re wasting both our time. You may be the Duke, but on my ship, I’m the king, and I calls them as I sees them.”

  Aaron sighed. “How about if you just hold the disrespect till we’re out of earshot of guests? Appearances are very important here, Clancy.”

  “You got a deal, if’n you remember that on my ship, you calls me ‘Captain’.”

  “Good enough—Captain.”

  “That’s better, Duck.”

  Aaron raised an eyebrow.

  Clancy feigned innocence as he looked around the room. “I don’t see no guests around, do you?”

  Aaron chuckled and shook his head.

  Clancy nodded. “We’ll do that a while. Things work out all right, I might even let you start calling me ‘Gus’.”

  Aaron considered. “There might even come a time when I started to prefer ‘Aaron’ to ‘Duck’.”

  “I’ll think about it, Duck. Now is that really all you wanted?”

  “I did want to talk about names. I want to rename the Tyrannos Rex.”

  Clancy’s expression turned to one of disgust. “No, no, no way! Not for all the riches on Tikonov. Not wrapped in a purse made out of your tanned hide. No way.”

  “It’s just for appearances again. I don’t care what you call the ship. I just want to change the name on the hull and the registration papers. You could keep calling it anything you want.”

  “No. Can’t be done.”

  Aaron sighed. He hadn’t anticipated this would be more of a problem than anything else he’d negotiated with Clancy. Though Clancy made a great show of resisting, he’d ultimately been quite accommodating on any number of issues, from use of his cargo bay, to Aaron’s subcontracting his off-duty crewmembers to work on his project.

  Clancy was an easy man to figure out. His primary concern was always the ship, as was his secondary. His tertiary concern was probably his pride, but his pride seemed to be tied up in the ship. Aaron’s plans were in the best interest of the ship, and Clancy understood that. To Aaron, he was that rarest of men: someone whose interests were simple, obvious, and for sale. As long as Aaron maintained the ship, he considered Clancy totally trustworthy.

  Still, it bothered him to be surprised by a conflict. It suggested his understanding of the man might not be as complete as he thought. He had to know more. “Why is this so important? Did you name the ship?”

  “Nah. She was christened with that name long before I had her, and fought through a couple wars with it on her hull. She’s got a history, this one.”

  “But you didn’t name her.”

  “And neither will you. Listen here, Duck. You plan to stay on this ship, or any ship, for a while, you should understand there’s a bond between us spacers—a tradition. Goes back longer than your SwordSworn”—he sneered a bit at the name, knowing full well that Aaron’s faction was brand new—“or your Republic, or your Star League, or your precious House Davion. Goes back to ships that sailed the water, and boats made out of wood and reeds.

  “We men and women who sail the black abyss know how small we are, know that no matter how mighty we build our ships or how big we think we are, it could swallow us up like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  “You could call us superstitious. Me, I say we know there are forces bigger than we are—forces you got to respect if you want to live, if you want to bring your girls and boys back to port safe, to hug their spouses and babies again.

  “A ship what changes its name is cursed. No good ever comes of it. You want a cursed ship, then fine, you change its name to anything you want. But it ain’t going to be my ship that you curse.”

  “But Tyrannos Rex. You know what it means, don’t you?”

  “Tyrant King, King Tyrant, Terrible King, something like that. I’m not much for Latin. It’s all Greek to me.”

  “I’m trying to piece together a coalition here, with me in charge. You see how that could be a problem for me?”

  Clancy considered for a moment, running his tongue under his upper lip, so his moustache undulated like a silver caterpillar. “You know what I think? I think that a man with such aspirations… I find out he changed the name of his ship from such a thing, I’d have to wonder, what’s he trying to hide? Maybe his true nature? Changing that name don’t make it go away, or the worries that make it troubling to you.

  “But a man shows up with a ship named like that, puts that name right out there for everyone to see. Well, you ever hear the tale of the elephant in the room—the one nobody talks about? You put their greatest worry right there on the side of your flagship, in two-meter-tall letters. And they got to think, ‘Would he do that if he had anything to hide? Only a good, just, honest leader could get away with that.’ And there, your elephant’s gone. See what I mean?”

  Aaron grinned. Damned if Clancy wasn’t right. “It stays Tyrannos Rex. then, and we’ll use its name proudly and without shame. If my enemies make something of it, then I’ll simply feign innocence, and they’ll look like petty fools.” He chuckled, “Did you ever think of going into politics, Captain?”

  He grinned back. “Duck, I’d change the ship’s name first.”

  Erik waited impatiently in the small armored shuttle for the pressure outside to equalize. The pilot, a skinny lieutenant who was clearly bored with such a mundane assignment, sat at the helm station, humming some pop tune and passing the time fiddling with the ship’s more arcane systems. He’d kept to himself on the way over, and Erik wasn’t much inclined to make small talk with a junior officer.

  He’d just started coming to terms with his uncle’s death, and what it might mean for his place in the SwordSworn, and now things had been cast into a new sort of uncertainty.

  Though he felt guilty to admit it, even to himself, Aaron’s death would have created a power vacuum, one that might have pulled Erik several rungs up the ladder. Not to the top, certainly, but possibly to a place of independence and security.

  The light over the door turned green, and the double doors of the lock automatically cycled open. A DropShip crewmember appeared outside, a metal snap hook at the end of a line in her hand. She snapped the hook to a ring just outside the lock, then gave the line a sharp tug. An automatic winch on the other end whirred, pulling the line taut. He saw that the other end was anchored next to a handrail, which in turn led to an interior airlock.

  It appeared the bay had once been a ’Mech bay, though much of it was now equipped for cargo. A few ’Mech gantries were left intact though: some empty, some holding LoaderMechs, and one containing the Duke’s white-and-gold Black Hawk.

  He was startled to see the condition it was in—the paint scratched and scarred, laser and impact damage on the flanks, arms, and legs, much of the armor sheared away. The areas around the jump jet nozzles were blackened and partially melted. Bits of some kind of dried vegetation clung to every join and crevice. Most startling was the center panel of the cockpit—a shattered wreck with a hole in the middle. It was difficult to see how his uncle had survived. It obviously had been a close call.

  One more shell or laser shot in the right place—

  The woman outside the lock gave him a little wave, then pushed off sharply from the deck, sailing away into the depths of the ship.

  Erik had no idea if he’d have been included in the Duke’s estate—the misreporting of his death had not taken events that far. Certainly, it would have been expected, given their close relationship and Aaron’s lack of heirs, that he’d receive some substantial inheritance. But he had no assurances of that, and he had to wonder. Their relationship was often troubled, especially in recent years.

  He sighed, and started climbing down the line in the direction of the ai
rlock. His mind quickly slipped back into what might have been.

  An inheritance would have been only a bonus. Erik could have traded on his position, his past relationship to the Duke, the respect he had won in the military sector, and his citizenship to find a place for himself. It had been his experience that once one reached a certain social status among the elite, one never suffered from material want, even if one didn’t have a penny.

  Even without trading on his father’s money and influence, having a member of a great family like the Sandovals begging on a street corner—or even working in some common job—would be an embarrassment none of the family elders could tolerate.

  Someone would have found a board seat on a major company for him—one with a handsome stipend, stock, and other benefits attached. He had little doubt he could have these things today, were it not for the assumption that he was already provided for by Aaron.

  The thought filled him with an unaccustomed resentment, and guilt. What sort of person was he, that he would resent his uncle just for living?

  These thoughts haunted him as he wandered the corridors of the great ship, looking for his uncle’s quarters. He’d somehow assumed he’d be met at the airlock, but that hadn’t happened.

  He occasionally spotted crewpeople going about their business, usually in a hurry, and often just out of earshot. He looked in vain for someone he recognized: Ulysses Paxton, his uncle’s bodyguard, or the lovely Deena Onan, whom he was always glad to see, even in the darkest of circumstances.

  But they were nowhere to be found, and Erik was quickly lost. Finally, he spotted a face that was, if not familiar, at least recognized. The man crossed a corridor junction a few meters in front of him, and was almost out of sight before he noticed the gray beard. “You there! Hold on!”

  The man had already vanished, carried on by his own momentum, but it was only a few seconds before he reappeared, peering around the corner of the junction. “Well, if it isn’t the Duck’s boy.”

  Erik was in no mood for this, and an impertinent commoner was a natural target for his aggravation. “Listen here—Gus is your name? I’m nobody’s ‘boy,’ except my dear departed mother’s. I’m looking for the Duke.”

  “Listen here, boy. On my ship, my name is Captain, and you’d be wise to remember that. I been through this already today with the Duck, and he and me got an understanding. I don’t bow to him, and I sure ain’t bowing to the likes of you. Now, you want to know where he is, you ask nice-like.”

  Erik was flabbergasted, but there appeared to be little point in arguing with the old lout. The Duke had hired him; he was sure that he could discipline him as easily.

  “Very well—Captain Gus.”

  “Captain Clancy,” growled the man.

  “Captain Clancy then. Please–where can I find my uncle?”

  Clancy jerked his thumb back the way he’d come. “Go till you see the green walls. That’s officers’ country. Room’s about halfway down, outboard. D-16. Most people couldn’t miss it.” He turned and braced to kick off down the hall. “You, I’m not so sure about.”

  Then he was gone.

  Erik felt his face redden. He’d have a talk with Aaron about this one. It would almost be fun to see what was in store for Captain Clancy.

  He had little trouble finding the quarters. In fact, he suspected he had passed them once before in his wanderings. He’d somehow expected something more in keeping with his uncle’s position. Judging by the distances between adjacent doors, this was no bigger than a third-class stateroom on a liner. Perhaps the former military vessel simply didn’t offer anything better. He stopped at the door and rang the bell. He heard a solenoid in the lock clunk, and the door slid to one side.

  He found his uncle crouched in front of a simple desk, his feet secured to the deck by loops of webbing. He was wearing utilitarian blue pajamas, and, as with his ’Mech, he was showing a lot of battle damage. He glanced up from his paperwork. “Erik. About time you got here.”

  Erik’s heart sank. He’d been hoping that some variation of the warm family reunion of his fantasies would take place, and wash away the dark thoughts that plagued him. Obviously that wasn’t to be the case. “My apologies, Uncle. I was lost briefly. It’s a big ship.”

  He didn’t look up from his papers. “It is, isn’t it? Perfect for my needs. All this space. A blank canvas for my designs.”

  What designs? Why his sudden interest in this whale of a cargo ship?

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Uncle. I’d assumed you’d be joining us. New Aragon is ours, but House Liao’s forces are moving on Halloran V and they’ve asked our help.”

  “And they’ll have it, but without me. As I’ve told you, the coalition is our only long-term hope here. We have to build a force capable of stopping Liao and mounting a counteroffensive. That may discourage them enough to withdraw from our space, or at least impress The Republic enough to support our efforts.

  “So I’ll be taking the Tyrannos Rex to Azha to take on supplies and materials, then on to Ningpo.”

  Erik was surprised. “Ningpo has been none too friendly to our diplomatic overtures in the past. If time is of the essence, shouldn’t you start with a more receptive world?”

  “That is exactly why I should start with Ningpo, Erik. If I can get them to pledge to our cause, the other planetary governors in the region will take notice. By winning one world, I may be able to win half a dozen, maybe more.”

  “And how do you plan to do that?”

  Aaron pulled out a data pad and scrolled through what appeared to be a financial report. “It’s enough for you to know that I have a plan, Erik. I haven’t got time to explain it to you. You only really need to know your part in it. In any case, it will be revealed in due time.”

  “I see. Then I assume I’ll be continuing with our forces to Halloran V in your stead?”

  “You assume wrong. I have another mission for you. A very important diplomatic mission.”

  Again, he was blindsided. “Uncle, our forces need leadership.”

  “They’ll have it. I’m naming Justin Sortek as campaign commander. He’s proven himself again and again with the Davion Guard. If anyone can lead them to victory, it’s him.”

  Stunned, Erik found himself sputtering. “My Lord, am I being punished?”

  The Duke looked at him blankly. “Punished?” He sighed. “Erik, you are a Sandoval. To be a competent MechWarrior is one thing. To mistake your time in the cockpit for anything that will lead to your proper station in life is quite another. You’re far too much in love with the glory of battle.”

  “I have always served you in battle, Uncle. I carry the banner of the SwordSworn proudly. I’m not afraid to fight along with our troops in the cause of House Davion.”

  Aaron stuck the data pad to an adhesive strip on the desk. “I know you aren’t afraid of battle, Erik. I know you’d lay down your life if it came to that. Which is why I am sending you on a mission more important to me than any battle. While I negotiate with Ningpo, you will be bringing Shensi into our fold.”

  “Shensi? They aren’t even in the path of Liao’s current thrust. Our best intelligence shows them being bypassed.”

  “Then your job is to convince them otherwise. They’ve retained a substantial army. If they aren’t being attacked, it’s fresh and uncommitted—just the sort of reinforcements we need right now. I am confident you can do that—It may even be easier than you think.”

  Erik was skeptical, and deeply disappointed that he would be left out of the coming battle. Added to all his other negative emotions was another feeling of guilt—that he was deserting their forces when they needed him most. Once again, Aaron was shuffling him to the side.

  “With respect, Lord Governor, it seems that if you had confidence in me, I’d be commanding our forces in this campaign.”

  The Duke scowled at him. “Be careful what you say, Erik. I haven’t forgotten how you’ve disappointed me in the past. Recently I’ve given you opport
unities to redeem yourself—the latest on New Aragon. Your performance there was acceptable, if not exemplary.

  “But you are a Sandoval. Acceptable is not enough. If this mission is a sacrifice for you, then sacrifices must be made. You say you aren’t afraid to face danger and battle, yet you never know when those things will find you.” He reached up and touched the bandage on his chest. “Lord knows, I know that better than anyone.

  “This is an opportunity to prove yourself to me, Erik, the greatest one yet, though you don’t realize it. If you aren’t up to it, then I won’t force you. But if not, then I have no further use for you. In any capacity.”

  Erik blinked in surprise. His uncle sounded serious. Yet he couldn’t just cave in. “Of course I’ll do as ordered, but my objections stand.” He paused a moment. “I appreciate the trust you’re putting in me.”

  Aaron didn’t seem to notice. He’d picked up another data pad, and was studying a column of numbers. “Good. Send your shuttle back to the fleet with word you’ll be joining me. At Azha we’ll arrange transport for you to Shensi.”

  Erik was puzzled by this pronouncement. The trip from Azha to Shensi would simply take him back through Pleione. “Azha’s in the wrong direction.”

  Aaron gave him an annoyed glance. “There are things I need to take care of before we part company, and I don’t want your trip attracting too much attention. Using a less direct route serves my needs. At any rate, by then, proper diplomatic credentials should be arranged. I’m having Captain Ricco send over a small contingent of officers and enlisteds to act as my temporary staff. Pick someone to act as your aide, and have them sent over as well—and of course you should have your personal items sent.” He glanced at the time display on his data pad. “You’ve got about three hours.”

  Erik floated, silently, trying to take it all in, trying to think of some way around his exile.

  Aaron gave him a look of annoyance. “That’s all, Erik.”

  Erik licked his lips. At least there was one grain of satisfaction to be found in all this. “Uncle, before I go. I had a most disturbing encounter in the corridor with your Captain Clancy. His behavior was quite horrifying.”