BattleTech, page 12
The room quieted. Wide eyes on every face, including Nikol’s.
“Now,” Armand continued, “I don’t need to be a student of astrography to point out the impossibility of the Hegemony obtaining these munitions solely via raiding. The Hegemony obviously does not share a common border with the Capellan Confederation, but the Magistracy does. And I imagine some Capellan supplies do populate Magistracy worlds within reach of the Marian strikes. But such a sizable concentration of foreign supplies among the Marians’ stores indicates that they most likely did not steal them. Thus, the only logical conclusion is that the Capellan Confederation is indirectly assisting the Marian Hegemony in this attack on our nation’s sovereignty.”
The declaration struck Nikol harder than a BattleMech fist crunching into her fusion-reactor heart.
Danai…
Danai, did you know about this? If you did, would you have even been able to warn me? Would you have wanted to warn me that your brother is aiding and abetting my enemies?
Have all of these years of friendship been genuine, or was it all just another cleverly crafted Capellan fabrication?
Nikol thought back to the last missive she’d received from the Chancellor’s sister—a normal message asking about her well-being, saying she was on deployment but could not elaborate further due to operational security. All of their back-and-forth correspondence had undoubtedly gone through Maskirovka and SAFE filters on both ends of the transaction, but their discourse throughout the years had led Nikol to believe that she knew Danai Liao-Centrella like a sister. And perhaps she did.
So what was this notion of Danai’s nation quietly supporting an attack against the Free Worlds League? Betrayal? Misunderstanding? Coincidence?
Nikol chewed on the possibilities as Armand reviewed the ramifications of these new developments. “So the question remains,” he finished, “what do we do about this? What can we do about it?”
“We certainly cannot ignore it,” Wallace Stewart said. “If we divert too much of our focus to this Marian incursion, our other campaigns will suffer. The Sea Fox blockades have made the Regulans desperate, so we should brace for a major strike from that direction, perhaps redistribute more of our forces. And the Anduriens still cry for blood, despite how our campaigns there have progressed. Thankfully the Rim Commonality is no longer actively under siege, but Canopus could decide to renew their offensive at any moment. And now the Marians prove a credible threat to us. Can we effectively look four different ways without going cross-eyed?”
“But none of that takes the Capellan factor into account,” said Serafina Rivera said, tapping a fingertip against her crimson lips. “We need to gather conclusive proof of whether Daoshen Liao provided arms to our enemies.”
Nikol crossed her arms. Some days, the ebb and flow of all the wars her nation was fighting felt like she was punching smoke. She needed water to put out this fire, and a strong breeze to dissipate the fumes. Her troops could contain the blaze, but she would be the butterfly on the opposite side of the world, the one whose flapping wings would summon the storm strong enough to blast away all traces of the inferno.
“At the moment,” she said, “Capellan support of the Marian Hegemony is a distraction from the attacks on Tamarind-Abbey. The Marian forces are strong enough to take a military district capital, so we can only ignore them at our peril. We cannot repel enemies at our front gate if we ignore those already inside our rear gate.”
Heads nodded around the table.
“What plan of action do you suggest, Warden-General?” asked Wallace Stewart.
Nikol regarded everyone in the room. “We must campaign to retake Gibraltar, and then investigate whether this accusation of collusion with the Capellan Confederation holds any merit. To strike against the Confederation without proof would only escalate matters. So we must shore up our borders before slinging accusations against our most powerful neighbor.”
She owed Danai that much.
18
CHATEAU MARIK
PALTOS, ATREUS
FREE WORLDS LEAGUE
31 JANUARY 3148
The chateau’s courtyard gardens bloomed at the height of splendor. Native Atrean flowers in a variety of colors and shapes strained upward for warm sunlight. Stark white blooms from the Winter Palace on Marik had been transplanted here, as a subtle reminder of House Marik’s roots. Nikol had always enjoyed a calm stroll through these grounds, especially in her younger years, back when she needed a moment of tranquility amid the turbulence of the Free Worlds League’s rebirth.
She suspected this was why Jessica had invited her out here to the gardens. Ever since her mother had emerged from self-imposed isolation, the mountain estate seemed far warmer in both tone and atmosphere, despite only seeing a change in the seasons.
Jessica wore an elegant gown of purple fabric edged in gold, an outfit not only suitable for meeting official visitors, but also comfortable enough for a casual stroll in the pleasant sunlight with her daughter. The lines of age and pain on her face seemed diminished.
“You look good, Mother,” Nikol said, and meant it.
“I did not ask you here to flatter me, Niki dearest.” A wry smile blossomed at the corner of Jessica’s lips. “But I will not turn down the compliment.”
Something had repaired her mother’s fusion engine—something longer and more enduring than the momentary flash of revenge. Was—was Jessica seeing someone?
But now was not the time to pry. The Captain-General hadn’t invited Nikol here to discuss her love life. “I would have preferred this be strictly a social call,” Jessica said, “but there is little time to waste.”
“What’s going on?”
Jessica inclined her head toward the path leading through the gardens, along the path of snowy spider mums that had been cultivated on Marik many decades ago. A few paces farther along the path, she said, “You were right. I let grief dictate my actions, and our people suffered as a result.”
“You were…” Not in your right mind, Nikol almost said. “…troubled. We both lost someone close to us.”
Jessica nodded. “Yes, you always were your father’s daughter. But where I strayed, you remained on the path in my absence, and I never properly thanked you.”
“It was my duty, both to this nation and to our family.”
Jessica waggled a finger. “Never diminish your conscientiousness as mere duty. Your conscience is a strength, not a weakness. Never let anyone tell you otherwise, understand?”
Nikol nodded. Nearly forty years old, and she was still the student, her mother still the teacher. Learn from her while you can, she told herself. The fallout from her father’s death had reminded her just how fragile her mother could be, despite the air of strength and confidence Jessica projected.
“Now, Niki, I have asked you here to extend an invitation to accompany me to Oriente for official state business.”
“May I ask what for, Mother?”
“The time has come to make peace with the Duchy.”
Jessica did not need to say which Duchy. The natural condescension in her tone told Nikol all she needed to know.
“Humphreys has agreed to send envoys to treat with us in a few weeks,” Jessica said, “and I would like you to accompany me.”
Nikol wrinkled her nose. “Why? Why now?”
“Something has curdled relations between Andurien and Regulus. I have some theories, but those are inconsequential if we can parlay these talks into us having a more amicable relationship with Andurien.”
Nikol caught a slight twinkle of pride in her mother’s eyes. “Meaning…?”
“If there is truth to the breakdown of Humphreys’ alliance with Regulus, then I will extend the invitation for the Duchy of Andurien to rejoin the Free Worlds League as a member state.”
There was no need for Nikol to school her surprised reaction in her mother’s presence. Full rapprochement with Andurien? Could it be possible? Never in her lifetime had she expected to see such diplomatic overtures.
Nikol’s battlefield sense tingled, like there was an ambush waiting just around the next bend. What sort of concessions would the Andurien envoys try to coax from her mother? Jessica seemed in high spirits, but treating with the Anduriens represented a minefield of possibilities. One wrong misstep, and boom! War with the Duchy could resume, costing the League far more than it was willing to pay.
“I do not believe the Anduriens will accept any offer to rejoin the League,” she finally said.
Jessica nodded sagely. “The offer is merely a formality, a statement of our intent. Whether they accept is immaterial. Our goal is to use this as an opportunity to turn Andurien guns away from us and toward Regulus instead. Then we can properly prepare for the future. House Steiner will retaliate against Fontaine’s adventurism—it’s only a matter of time. Alaric Ward will not honor his ceasefire with us forever. And I fear Daoshen Liao may come knocking down our door once he comes to terms with the knowledge that Fortress Republic is impenetrable. We must hedge our bets against that future. And if we must gather enemies to our bosom, then so be it. Besides, I think it will do you some good to leave Atreus for a while instead of being cooped up at the LCCC day in and day out.”
Her mother did have a point. A trip to Oriente might do her some good. But she would go to witness history in the making—and to ensure Jessica didn’t give away the whole farm while she was away from Atreus.
19
HALAS MANOR
AMUR, ORIENTE
ORIENTE PROTECTORATE
FREE WORLDS LEAGUE
1 MARCH 3148
The best way to avoid undue attention when breaking and entering was to have a legitimate reason for being in the place you needed to be. No one would suspect Carsten Valentini didn’t belong there in the Halas family’s residence, because technically, he did belong there. He’d spent years cultivating his current persona. Everyone of importance here knew him. Some of the staff even greeted him by name—a different name, of course—as he walked the halls with a bearing that suggested he had a purpose.
As far as Lubov knew, Carsten was “off on assignment,” and that was just how he liked it. He was on assignment, in a fashion, just an assignment of his own choosing—not Lubov’s or any of his ultimate masters’ in the big machine. Now was the time for the cog to slip from its axle, to create a machine of its own.
He imagined the red-faced wrath if Lubov ever found out what he’d been up to. But she would at least have plausible deniability, which would clear her in the eyes of the higher-ups. No one would blame her for anything, but he’d brace for her fury regardless. Always best to plan for every contingency…
In one of the manse’s great corridors, he stopped in front of an ancient, sturdy wooden door. His easily obtained passcode—he was meant to be here, after all—opened the door, and he skirted into the shadowed interior without being seen. Having a purpose here, even a manufactured one, still called for operating with discretion. After all, even the seemingly righteous could be arrested for wrongdoing. Even heroes and saints could be caught with their knickers down.
Instead of skulking in the shadows like a common thief, Carsten flicked on the lights and walked over to the large, ornate desk dominating the windowless room. Were the lights off, any security personnel who entered or spotted him through the room’s cleverly hidden security cameras would immediately know he harbored ill intent. However, if he was standing in full confidence in a brightly lit room, any guards would assume he was meant to be here. But they wouldn’t know about his second, less-than-legitimate purpose, which he would accomplish with a long-rehearsed feat of legerdemain that the security recordings would not catch.
It took him less than two seconds to slide into the desk a document whose truth would bring the Free Worlds League to its knees.
Part of him wanted to also insert the postcard nestled in his shirt pocket, to show them the face of why he was doing this, but he couldn’t bear to part with it even now. The memento was his last link to Evangeline’s treasured memory, and if he left it here, he doubted anyone involved would be perceptive enough to understand the meaning of such a message.
The document itself would be damaging enough. There was no such thing as a true saint: all had sinned and fallen short of the glory. And he would expose these false saints for the liars, thieves, and murderers they truly were.
Everything was now in place. All of the pieces of the puzzle had been accounted for. Now all he needed do was vanish back into the ether from whence he came and watch the gears of his carefully crafted machine finally grind out its vengeance.
If Lubov found out, she would doubtless try to kill him for this, for acting without sanction, but that would not matter. Once he’d seen all this through, he would either be successful or dead or both, and neither Lubov nor the higher ups would be able to touch him.
20
HALAS MANOR
AMUR, ORIENTE
ORIENTE PROTECTORATE
FREE WORLDS LEAGUE
2 MARCH 3148
In her childhood bedroom, Nikol awoke in a cold sweat, barely able to move. Her limbs, eyelids, rib cage—everything felt weighed down by a BattleMech’s foot, crushing her spirit. Her head swam with an achy, nauseating dizziness. Fever raged through her body, far worse than the day before, so she pushed her blankets aside to cool off, only to shudder violently with cold and repeat the cycle.
Today was to be a momentous day in the history of the Free Worlds League…and she could find no strength to push herself out of bed. She and her mother were due to treat with Andurien diplomats for the first time in several years, and she would miss the proceedings if she couldn’t drag her ailing body off her mattress. If it came to it, she’d crawl all the way to the opposite wing of the mansion, where the initial meeting was to take place.
Her vision focused on the clock next to her bedside. She was late. Hours late. The introductions and initial negotiations for a lasting peace had already started without her. Although Jessica had only invited her as a courtesy, Nikol could facilitate the conversation. Her position in the LCCC would lend weight to any mutual-defense clause in a potential treaty draft, and her presence could mean the difference between everyone getting what they wanted and both parties leaving the diplomatic table still at odds with each other.
“I cannot miss this meeting…” she mumbled, still delirious from whatever ailment plagued her.
The first indication of illness had reared its grotesque head aboard the Franz Joseph, during the DropShip’s nineteen-day transit from the Oriente system’s nadir jump point. The onset of a cough, which she’d blamed on the ship’s aging air-filtration systems, kept her up for a few nights, but it abated shortly before planetfall. And then came the fever, which tormented her with nightmares of this whole excursion being some sort of trap. She dreamed Andurien had set up this meeting as a smokescreen to help Regulus and the Marian Hegemony sweep in with deep strikes and make the League itself a convicted felon to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. In her dream, she’d stood outside the Chambers of Parliament and witnessed the sky of Atreus turn blood red as drive plumes of Regulan and Andurien DropShips filled the heavens above…
Just a nightmare, she’d reassured herself. It means nothing. Atreus was too far for the Marians to plausibly reach, and the Regulans could not hit the League’s capital with any major concentration of force, especially after the RSMC’s defeat and withdrawal from Marik. Doubly so with the Sea Foxes’ economic interdiction putting a stranglehold on all commerce throughout the Regulan Fiefs. The whole purpose of this visit to Oriente was to ensure what she’d seen in her dreams never came to fruition.
The night before, her mother had suggested she rest, take as much time as she needed to recover; the initial diplomatic proceedings would survive her absence, and she could join them the moment she felt up to it. Nikol had taken the advice to heart, assuming the worst of her symptoms would pass overnight, and she would still be able to attend the entire session.
But the echoing remnants of her nightmare spurred her to push herself up to a sitting position on the bed, nevertheless. Regardless of how dizzy she was, if she could only get dressed, prop herself up long enough to reach her mother’s audience chamber, and plant herself in a seat, she could…she could…
The merest notion of standing up summoned an insurmountable wave of nausea.
Regret weighed Nikol down. Her mother—no, her nation—needed her, yet she could scarce keep her eyes open.
Curse this ailment! She needed to be elsewhere, not here, not wanting to slip back into the recuperative embrace of sleep.
My mother is the Captain-General of the Free Worlds League, and I am my mother’s daughter…
I am my mother’s daughter…
I am my mother’s daughter…
The mantra summoned enough fortitude for her to swing one of her legs off the edge of the bed, and she used all the force left in her arms to prop up her torso into an awkward sitting position. The whole room spun like a cheap carnival ride, and she gripped her temples to fight off the watery feeling inside her brain.
I am my mother’s daughter…
Before she could lever herself to a standing position, a loud boom eclipsed her every sense. The deep resonance shook the entire estate, as though some wrathful creature had erupted from deep beneath the subbasement. She even felt it tremble in her rib cage, as though she’d taken a hard strike right to the sternum, a blow hard enough to dislodge her heart from her aorta.
All her years of military discipline kicked in. A frigid rush of adrenaline shot her to her feet and sliced through the haze of sickness to propel her into action. The stink of burning wood and oil reached her. Is the manor under attack? She glanced out the nearby window, hoping to spot the customary pair of Ducal Guard Hermes IIs conducting patrols outside, but there was no sign of weapons fire. This attack had come from within.
