Warrior: Riposte (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Two): BattleTech Legends, #58, Page 2

  Myndo bowed her head. “It shall, Primus. It shall.” When next I make a move to undercut your power, it will be even more subtle—so subtle, in fact, that you’ll not see it coming, nor will you survive it.

  PART ONE: ENVELOPMENT

  Chapter 1

  NEW SYRTIS

  CAPELLAN MARCH

  FEDERATED SUNS

  10 OCTOBER 3027

  “Damn you, Hanse Davion!”

  Duke Michael Hasek-Davion’s oath echoed off the white adobe walls of his private office. Angrily, he crumpled the message he’d just read and hurled it across the room. It bounced from the wall and Michael stared at it, wishing fervently that it would utterly vanish or, better yet, have never arrived at all.

  The duke narrowed his restless jade-green eyes and shook his head in a motion that made his long, black braid slither like a snake. “How pained your wording sounds, brother-in-law. Written even in your own hand. You honor me with the information. You trust me with the information.” Michael spat at—but missed—the crumpled piece of paper. “You damn me with it.”

  He crossed to the missive and recovered it in his prosthetic left hand. Returning to perch himself on the edge of his desk, he smoothed out the sheet against his thigh. Though he hated to do it, he reread the message, hoping that somehow he had missed some fact, some nuance that would cast the whole communication in a more benign, beneficial light.

  “My dear Michael,” it began—with a lie. “Had it been solely up to me, I would have apprised you of this information much earlier. As well you know, I value your wisdom and devoted service as the guardian of the Capellan March. However, other forces have prevented me from sharing this joyous news with you before now.”

  Michael snorted derisively. You pretend to blame the security precautions of your own Quintus Allard or the Lyran Commonwealth’s Simon Johnson for this unspeakable breach of faith, but you do not fool me, Hanse. You are not known as the Fox for your slavish devotion to the wishes of subordinates. No, Hanse, I see your shadow hand behind all of this.

  The duke slid from his desktop and crossed the room to stare out the arched window. Any other time, the view he had of the New Syrtis Spaceport would have calmed him, because it was such a strong reminder of how much power he did wield. He studied the dozen egg-shaped DropShips squatting on the tarmac. Their cargo ports stood open for loading, with service personnel hurrying about to fill the ships’ empty bellies before New Syrtis’s unpredictable weather could close the scheduled launch window.

  In and around the DropShips marched BattleMechs on sentry duty. Ten meters tall and humanoid in configuration, the heavily armored war machines moved steadily around the spaceport’s perimeter. Though the duke was too distant to hear the thunder of their heavy tread, he accurately conjured up the sound from memory. Each step raised a thick, red cloud of dust, but Michael saw it as a blood mist.

  I am the master of all this. I command those ships. My orders dispatch them to rendezvous with JumpShips, and my orders send those JumpShips hopping thirty light years at a burst to carry out my whims. And I command the BattleMechs of a dozen Regimental Combat Teams. I should be invincible. He glanced down at the note. How is it that this piece of paper can destroy me?

  He forced himself to continue reading. “Ordinary though the situation is, it will come as a shock. Yes, Michael, my years of bachelorhood come to an end next August. In Melissa Arthur Steiner, I have found a woman who is all that I have been looking for.”

  Michael’s fingernails scratched across the window’s casement as his right hand slowly tightened into a fist. You speak of your bride as though she is secondary to the whole situation. You call her a woman, but she’ll reach her majority barely six months before your wedding. Yet, I must agree that you speak true in saying she is all you have been seeking. She is the link that forges an alliance between your Federated Suns and the Lyran Commonwealth. You’d have married her as a babe in bed if her mother Katrina would have stood for it, or you would have wed Katrina herself were she capable of bearing you an heir.

  A purple storm cloud roiled overhead, cutting off the soft golden glow of New Syrtis’s nearest star. It robbed the angular landscape of its bright scarlet, bathing it in a deep maroon whose color reminded Michael of dried blood. Lightning spikes stabbed down into the earth with terrible power, forcing even the BattleMechs to retreat before the storm’s fury.

  Michael returned to his desk as the storm started the wind howling like a kalacine waiting its turn at a slaughterhouse. “I’m sure, Michael, that you see the political benefits of this marriage. With the Lyran Commonwealth tied more tightly to us, we will box in the Draconis Combine. This means, as you have long requested, that I will be able to shift some of my military resources to your Capellan March. Together, we can strengthen your domain so that the covetous Capellans will be persuaded to look elsewhere.”

  Michael smashed his right fist into the desk and then, raising it to his mouth, sucked at his bruised knuckles. No, Hanse, you’ll not sink your military talons into my realm. No. You seek to be Brutus to my Julius Caesar. You cloak your attempt to oust me with words of friendly intent, but I see beyond them. Once you have married Melissa Steiner, you will need fear no one.

  Michael glanced at the shelves behind his desk. There, in rare leather-bound originals or holodisc editions, he had amassed an enviable collection of histories, some dating from the time even before the Star League. His bloody knuckles tasted salty-sweet, but he barely noticed it as his mind raced on.

  It’s all there, Hanse. Don’t you think I know it? Man’s history has always been the story of conquest by war. The advent of BattleMechs some six centuries ago did not change this basic fact, yet you have ignored it. You consider ’Mechs to be a necessary tool, yet you do not see these glorious war engines for what they truly are—the highest evolutionary state of mankind’s drive for conquest. A warrior may not become one with his BattleMech—though that legend persists—but in his ’Mech, he can reach the pinnacle of his personal abilities.

  Michael dropped his hand and pursed his lips. Hanse, you ignore this fact and force me to join you in playing at politics. How much do you know of my ties with Maximilian Liao? If you knew I’d visited him, you’d have stripped me of my office and settled it like a noose around my captive son Morgan’s neck. You may have your suspicions about me, but you have no proof. Trust me, Hanse, you shall never have any.

  Michael walked over to a map of the Successor States and let the fingers of his right hand trace the slender wedge that marked his Capellan March. My realm, larger even than the Capellan Confederation. I should be one of the five Successor Lords, but you ignore me and the claims of my blood, Hanse. You have forced me to deal with Maximilian Liao because you have refused to give me the forces I need to conquer him. Had I the troops, I could destroy him. Ah, but then, having proved to the entire Federated Suns my ability to lead, I would be able to take your place on the throne so that our people could have a proper leader at the helm of our nation.

  The salty taste still lingered on the duke’s tongue as his eyes flicked over the other Great Houses pictured on the map. Already, Hanse, your hatchling alliance with the Lyran Commonwealth has drawn your three foes together. The Draconis Combine’s leader, Takashi Kurita, has forced Janos Marik and Maximilian Liao to set aside their bickering so they may deal with you and House Steiner. Their alliance is not as strong as yours, for suspicion continues to undermine the ties between the Free Worlds League and the Capellans but their alliance is far from impotent.

  Michael smiled slowly. But then, your rivals do not know your alliance has fledged, do they? News of your impending marriage will galvanize them. They will bind together and they will come to crush you. Michael took a step back from the map. But how may I benefit from this turn of events?

  The Duke of New Syrtis tapped his index finger against his chin. Studying his map, he saw how the borders of the Draconis Combine and the Free Worlds League were poised like the jaws of some
fierce hunting animal to snap the life from the Lyran Commonwealth, Davion’s ally. As his thoughts raced, he slowly nodded to himself.

  Yes, I must inform Liao of your betrothal. I will continue to forward the information you send me on strengths and positions of your troops, and I will continue to undervalue the strength of my own troops in the same reports. I will convince Liao that the Lyran Commonwealth could fall to a combined strike by Houses Marik and Kurita.

  Liao, that little viper, will agree to this because it means that Marik will shift troops to the Lyran border, giving him a chance to recover some of the worlds his Confederation lost to the Free Worlds League over the past century. Liao, so confident that he knows my own strength, will pull forces from my border to launch an attack on his enemy.

  Michael touched the long border between the Davion and Kurita realms. Hanse will strike at the Draconis Combine to relieve pressure on the Lyran Commonwealth. He might even finance some insurrections in the Rasalhague Military District, for haven’t they always resented House Kurita’s domination? No matter what he does, though, his war will be a stalemate, because he does not possess enough strength to defeat the Draconis Combine.

  The pain forgotten, Michael balled his right fist and punched it into the palm of his artificial hand. When the people grow weary of a war that cannot be won, a war launched to help the Lyran Commonwealth and Hanse’s child-bride, I will strike at the Capellan Confederation and crush it. I will be the Federated Suns’ conquering hero. In one bold stroke, I will prove myself Hanse’s superior militarily. I will negotiate a peace and the people will proclaim me the new Prince of the Federated Suns.

  Michael returned to his desk, where he took from a drawer his leather-bound copy of the Lyran classic, Origins of the Three Great Families, by Thelos Auburn. Without committing anything to paper, he mentally composed the message he wanted to send. Then, thumbing through the book, he assigned a three-number code—corresponding to page, paragraph, and word numbers—for each word in the message.

  As he did so, he cupped his artificial hand in his good hand and pressed his flesh and blood fingers against the joints of their artificial mates. Executing simple, natural, and almost undetectable motions, he recorded the appropriate numbers in a RAM cache that Capellan scientists had implanted in his hand during his first visit with Maximilian Liao. Even the closest observer would see nothing more suspicious than the duke skimming a book while massaging his artificial hand.

  The Capellan engineers had also equipped the hand with a tightbeam, high-speed data pulser that would broadcast information in one incredibly short burst. Limited to a range of about four meters, its onboard programming prevented operation unless activated by a signal sent from a receiver—a receiver of the type built into the local Capellan ambassador’s prosthetic leg. Then, by pressing his thumb to the base of his little finger, the duke could pulse the message out.

  Michael closed the book and returned it to the desk drawer. Scanning the stacks of documents on his desk, he quickly selected one showing the local Capellan ambassador’s letterhead. Michael read the text, then stabbed the button on his personal intercom. “Agnes, tell Ambassador Korigyn that I expect him in my audience room in two hours.”

  His personal secretary hesitated, her fear almost crackling through the speaker. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but the ambassador is not in the capital right now—”

  “I don’t want you giving me his excuses, Agnes!” he snarled. “If that idiot thinks we’re going to increase his embassy’s yearly shipment of vodka from the Confederation just so he can sell it on the black market here to keep his mistress, he is sadly mistaken. Two hours, Agnes, or there will be hell to pay.”

  Michael never heard her reply. He patted his left hand and smiled to himself. In two hours, the ambassador will get this information Hanse has so graciously supplied me. Korigyn will turn it over to ComStar and their hyperpulse generators will flick it across the stars via their communications network. Liao should have it in a matter of days, and then he will act. Through him, I shall light the fuse that will throw the Successor States into one final chaos, and from the ruins will I rise to rule supreme over all…

  Chapter 2

  SIAN

  SIAN COMMONALITY

  CAPELLAN CONFEDERATION

  15 OCTOBER 3027

  Justin Xiang smiled as his subordinate, Alexi Malenkov, handed him a stack of blue files. “I appreciate this very much, Alexi,” he said, setting the files on his desk and idly covering them with his left hand. A black leather glove sheathed the prosthetic limb, and Justin chose to ignore Malenkov’s look of repugnance as his gaze fell on the lifeless hand.

  Nodding his blond head, Malenkov quickly recovered his composure. “I assumed, Citizen Xiang, that you would be especially interested in our reports on how the Davion unit you once commanded had done in the recent military exercises. The First Kittery Training Battalion will be shifted, in a month or so, from probationary status because of their performance, and will become part of the Davion Light Guards, First Battalion.”

  Justin smiled easily. “Is Captain Redburn still in command, or did they provide a new commander for the unit?”

  Malenkov seated himself on the edge of Justin’s desk and lowered his head to just beneath the level of the gray cubicle walls. “It’s all in the reports, Justin. Because of Redburn’s loyalty to you during the trial, Count Vitios recommended that he be replaced. Apparently, however, the MechWarriors in the battalion protested and he was retained.”

  “Good.” Justin raked his right hand back through his straight black hair. “When do you anticipate your analysis team will finish up with their assessment of the Moravian part of Operation Galahad ’27? Lady Romano is quite concerned with the units used in that battle. She maintains that the First Bell Training Battalion was configured along the lines of Marion’s Highlanders, the ’Mech regiment serving on her world of Highspire, and she was upset at the ‘casualty reports’ suggesting that the defenders, the Sixth Crucis Lancers Regimental Combat Team, ripped the Bell Battalion apart.”

  The analyst from the Tikonov Commonality of the Capellan Confederation shrugged. “Your father has his Counter-Intelligence Division working overtime to give us plenty of false data about Operation Galahad ’27.” Malenkov smiled weakly. “The report Romano Liao is talking about has been utterly discounted.”

  Justin pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That’s something.”

  Malenkov nodded, then a pained look came over his face. “Unfortunately, the real report about that exercise is almost as dismal as the fake. About the only thing the Bell Battalion did right was to capture a mining center, but that was because it had been abandoned during a hideous blizzard in the area. The Bell Battalion got lost in the same storm and stumbled on the mine—which was never the objective of the exercise.”

  Justin chuckled softly to himself. “Were the Highlanders able to accomplish as much against the overwhelming forces pitched at their surrogates, we’d be more than happy.”

  Malenkov raised his head and looked around toward the other cubicles, then hunched down and nodded enthusiastically. “Just don’t let Lady Romano hear you say that.”

  Justin raised an eyebrow. “My dear Alexi, remember, we are the Maskirovka. Others must fear that we will overhear them utter disloyal truth, not the other way around.” Justin shot a glance at the appointment book on his desk, then looked up at Malenkov. “See if you can get a preliminary report from your people in the next two days. I…”

  Justin hesitated as a slender, smiling man framed himself in the cubicle’s doorway. He shared Justin’s oriental features, dark hair, and brown eyes but the sharpness of his expression—while not unhandsome—gave him a calculating, cunning look. He smiled at Justin and nodded respectfully at Malenkov.

  “Excuse me, Citizen Malenkov. Justin, we have been summoned immediately.” The visitor pointed toward the ceiling with his index finger as he spoke. Silhouetted against the bronze flesh of his hand and wrist, Ju
stin saw the ten-centimeter-long nails on the last three fingers of the man’s right hand.

  Justin stood and stretched. “Do you know what he wants, Tsen?”

  Tsen Shang shook his head. “No. The message just came down from Chandra Ling’s office. She told me to collect you and to report to the Chancellor without delay.”

  Justin nodded thoughtfully. Summoned to a meeting with Maximilian Liao by the head of the Maskirovka. I hope this is more than one of Liao’s temper tantrums. Justin turned to Malenkov. “Alexi, light a fire under your analysts. I want you at your desk, or easy to reach, while I’m in conference—just in case I need you to bring me some data.”

  Malenkov nodded and Justin swept past him. Shang led the way from the Analysis Division to the elevators. The two Death Commandos flanking the elevator up to the palace checked their identification papers and radioed for permission to allow the pair passage.

  Justin and Tsen Shang shared a secret smile as the commander barked a tinny order that made the soldier flinch. Ashen-faced, the guard inserted a key in the lockplate and twisted. The inlaid bronze doors opened and the Maskirovka agents entered the wood-paneled box.

  Once the doors had closed and the elevator was climbing up from the subterranean depths, Justin turned to his companion. “I realize you might not have wanted to speak in front of Malenkov. Have you any clue to what the Chancellor wants?”

  Shang shook his head. “The Chancellor has been edgy of late…”

  Justin nodded. Both Maximilian’s daughters, Candace and Romano, have been fighting since they arrived on Sian for their father’s birthday. They’ve trapped him in the middle of their little war, and he’s been in a bad mood ever since. Justin coughed, then shook his head. “If I’ve been asked in, we can bet it has something to do with the Federated Suns. Do you think it’s new troop strengths and deployment figures from our friend?”