BattleTech, page 27
“The prosecution and defense may now present their closing arguments. Mr. Isaacs?”
Isaacs stood, adjusted his jacket, and paced before the bench. “Your Honors, the evidence against Nikol Halas-Hughes Marik speaks for itself. Despite her seemingly self-effacing nature, she is ambitious and opportunistic in matters of politics. The prosecution has shown that the defendant sought to remove her mother from the League’s primary seat of power without violence, and when that ploy failed, she resorted to other means. Nikol Marik hired one Mr. Joel Collins, a man serving in her family’s employ, to remove her mother from power via any means necessary. The defendant may not have known the method in which Mr. Collins would remove her mother, or that he would attempt to cover his tracks by pinning the blame on a long-dead terrorist organization. But all of that is immaterial. On the morning of March the second, the Captain-General of the Free Worlds League, along with fifty-two other souls, was slain, and the prosecution has shown that Nikol Marik is the one who requested the Captain-General’s removal. I implore this tribunal to find the defendant guilty on the charge of conspiracy to commit murder.”
Isaacs returned to his seat, but what was that strange look on his face? Nikol had expected a far lengthier argument from the man who had tried to tear her apart, but instead he seemed unsatisfied, like he had somewhere else to be besides the trial of the millennium.
Sharise needed no prompting to rise from Nikol’s box and present her argument. She stood with confident poise in her impeccably tailored suit. Nikol believed she could have addressed the entire nation and not hesitated.
“Your Honors, my client cares about two things and two things only: her family and this nation. Of all the things my esteemed colleague Mr. Isaacs has claimed, only one of them is true. Yes, she did seek to remove her mother from power without violence, but she did so in the best interests of her mother’s safety and her nation’s security, and she did so via all of the fully legal channels available to her. There was nothing conspiratorial or underhanded about her motives, and all of that was aboveboard and well-documented. Nikol and others have even testified that Jessica’s removal from power was intended to be a temporary measure, one meant to empower this nation with executive leadership until such time as Jessica could return to her position with her full faculties.
“But to all of the other charges—conspiring to commit murder, hiring an assassin to permanently remove her mother from power—these accusations are patently false. They are fabrications constructed to delegitimize my client’s authority as the head of this nation. They are intended to pull our attention away from the political and military matters of truly national importance, all in favor of dragging one of the most honest people I know over the coals.
“Nikol has demonstrated a history of solid and upright service to this country, both on the battlefield and in the political arena. The primary piece of evidence the prosecution has brought against my client has been proven as being planted by the true culprit behind Jessica’s murder, one Joel Collins.
“Your Honors, during the recess, I received word from General Kirkland himself that Collins faked his own death in the DropShip explosion, and as we speak, Kirkland is personally hunting this murderer down to bring him to justice.”
Nikol fought to hide her relief. Someone crafty enough to spend nearly a decade plotting to kill her mother surely would not let himself get killed so easily. Folks like Collins would have plots within plots, contingencies within contingencies, and she had refused to believe the news that he’d met his end in fiery DropShip wreckage. For her own peace of mind, she needed a live body to question, not a dead one, and for that, Kirkland would need all the luck he could get.
“Your Honors,” Sharise continued, “the evidence against my client is circumstantial and fabricated. Also, consider this—condemning this innocent woman for a crime she did not commit will throw this nation into utter disarray. Nikol has not officially designated a successor, and she is without children, so the leadership of this great nation will suffer until a replacement can be installed. And even then, whoever might follow my client to the Captain-Generalcy will be grossly unprepared to lead a nation currently at war with so many of its neighbors.”
Sharise ensnared the bench’s full attention with the gravity of her cold stare. “Your Honors, not only is the fate of an innocent woman at stake, but the headsman’s ax hovers above the exposed neck of the nation that Jessica Marik fought to reforge, the nation she died to protect. Condemn my client unjustly, and you condemn this entire realm into anarchy and potential dissolution—exactly as Jessica Marik’s true killer intended. Are you prepared to live with that kind of blood on your hands? The defense demands that my client be acquitted of all charges and released from federal custody immediately.”
A dull susurrus filled the courtroom as Sharise took her seat, but Torres did not bang her gavel to quiet it. The haunted look in her eyes told Nikol that Sharise’s words had struck a nerve, but this tribunal consisted of three individuals, and Marshal Graves and Deakin-Jones’ faces remained inscrutable. Nikol held her breath for as long as she could, but it did not silence the terrified beat of her pounding heart.
Torres exhaled. “Thank you, Ms. Morello. We will now take a recess to deliberate, and we will reconvene once we have reached a verdict. Court is adjourned.”
38
DUCAL GUARD HQ
NORTH OF ATREUS CITY, ATREUS
FREE WORLDS LEAGUE
25 MARCH 3148
Decked out in combat boots and MechWarrior shorts, Wil pulled on one of his fingerless, black-leather gloves while addressing his three lancemates in the ’Mech bay. “I’ve always been honest with you all, and that’s not going to change. That said, I do not know what to expect out there. All I know is that we have one of the most important fugitives in League history at large, and the Capellan agents that were loaned to my investigation are all AWOL. So this bastard has help, enough to pull off that fake-out with the DropShip. He’s either going to be hard to find, or he’ll put up a huge fight if—when—we do find him.”
He pulled on his other glove. “It is possible that the DropShip Major Gannett’s wing destroyed had already unloaded BattleMechs and munitions before it even left the ground. That means we could be facing a full lance of ’Mechs, ones specifically outfitted for a covert operation like this. But I honestly do not know. Nor do I care. Still, we need to stay on our toes, be wary of traps and ambushes.
“And remember, this is the capital of the Free Worlds League. We’re not going up against the Regulan military here. This will be a precise operation. Absolute minimum collateral damage. We endanger civilians with this op, and we’re no better than our quarry, understood?”
Nods and “rogers” came from his lancemates: Major Alice Wakefield, Captain Mithras Hassan, and Lieutenant Rosenda Cruse. Damn good soldiers, all.
“We’re starting from the spot where the DropShip launched and working our way from there,” Wil said. “Any questions?”
“Just us four, sir?” said Wakefield.
“For now. We’re all that can mobilize at the moment, and every minute we waste to wait for additional lances to deploy gives our quarry more time to escape. The rest of the company will be at least an hour behind us, but I’ve also routed additional backup to deploy from Camp Karpov ASAP, to help broaden our search. Hopefully we won’t need them, but every little bit counts.”
“I can’t speak for the rest of us, sir,” said Cruse, grinning, “but I think the four of us could take on a whole army by ourselves if we need to.”
Hassan nodded. “And how about a friendly wager? Let’s say whoever bags this perp won’t have to buy themselves drinks for a whole year.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Wil said with a smirk. “All right, let’s go find this bastard and nail him to the wall.”
* * *
250 KM NORTH OF ATREUS CITY
“You are an utter fool, Sylas,” Lubov radioed via their private channel, just the two of them, as their four ’Mechs cautiously worked their way through thick forest cover in the dead of night.
No, Sylas had to keep reminding himself. Not Lubov. Huli Jing. One of the Confederation’s best. And not even she had managed to discern his plan for Jessica. That alone was the true testament to his abilities. The thought put an indulgent little smirk on his face.
“Oh, I know,” he replied, edging his unfamiliar 75-ton Prefect around a large bole to avoid crashing it to the ground. “But this fool ensured the death of Jessica Marik. And I was about to make the rest of her children suffer, had you not interfered.”
“That is not what I meant. You were a fool to not include me in your plans. We wouldn’t be in this mess had you told me what you were doing.”
“Nonsense. You would have talked me out of it.”
“Perhaps. But the fact still stands—you are a fool.” The line quieted for a few moments, only the industrial machinery sounds of actuators moving the lance through the forest. “Be completely honest with me,” said Huli Jing. “I’ll shoot you down where you stand if I believe you’re lying to me. Did you assassinate Philip Hughes? Did you instigate all of this?”
Sylas scoffed. “I told you the truth when you asked me last time. Yes, I was present when it happened, but I had nothing at all to do with it. Philip was integral to my plans, and when he died, I had to improvise.”
“If not you, then who?”
“My L-bills are on Regulus. Cameron-Jones’ attacks on the League coincided with Philip’s death, and in our line of work, there is no such thing as coincidence.”
Huli Jing not twisting her Vindicator’s torso to fire her snub-nose PPC at his cockpit meant she believed him, which was good, because he’d spoken the truth for once. Philip dying had shined Kirkland’s spotlight on Sylas, and that spotlight had in all likelihood led to the arrest attempt back in the courtroom. Someone else’s carelessness on that ridge on New Delos had nearly blown Sylas’ cover before he could follow through with his plot. If not for Cameron-Jones’ interference, Sylas could’ve eventually killed the entire Halas-Hughes Marik family.
Ahead, Bashe’s Ostwar and Jiangshi’s Osprey were scouting for any surprises the Leaguers might’ve hidden in these woods. Sylas wasn’t sure how Huli Jing had arranged all of this—the DropShip, the ’Mechs, especially the Beagle Active Probe mounted on the Osprey. Or the plan to board a cargo ship moored off the Urquhart Rapids and sail to a safe haven on a different continent—but he knew she played the long game, same as he. What mattered was that her foresight had let them escape. Sylas had ensured Jessica’s death and seen her daughter blamed for the act, but to complete his revenge by targeting those Halas-Hughes stragglers who remained, he had to first find sanctuary.
The current plan was to find some distant, out-of-the-way place to hole up and ride out this storm until economic pressure forced Kirkland to lift the lockdown on the spaceport. Then they’d wait some more, until they could sneak aboard a garbage scow or some other ship heading off-planet. The ’Mechs, a carefully chosen quartet of models painted in a nondescript camo scheme perfect for the various Atrean landscapes, were just insurance, in case they ran into garrison forces running patrols or whatever Kirkland would send, should he see through the DropShip they’d exploded in orbit.
Although Sylas knew Huli Jing had a hiding spot all plotted out, their movements so far had certainly felt like they were wandering the countryside. But this was how all Huli Jings operated: deliberate movements designed to appear random, a deceit of the kind attributed to their Chinese-folklore namesake.
“Lākhey Four to Lākhey Leader,” Jiangshi’s voice intruded on their conversation. “Got something ahead, four hundred meters from my position, bearing twenty degrees.”
Sylas swallowed but did not flinch. Has Kirkland found us already?
“Ah, strike that,” Jiangshi followed up. “Just an overgrown ’Mech carcass. A Grigori, I think. Really old, from the looks of it.”
“Probably been sitting there undisturbed since the battle here during the Jihad,” Huli Jing said. “A Word of Blake ’Mech left to rot. Wouldn’t be surprised to find bones still in the cockpit.”
“There’s another,” Jiangshi said. “About a hundred meters past it. A Preta. And a Malak beyond that.” He whistled loud enough that his mic picked it up on the channel. “Whole graveyard of these things out here. Forest must’ve grown up around it over the past sixty-some years.”
The line deadened and remained silent as the lance passed through the old ’Mech cemetery with care. Sylas was not a spiritual person, but not even he wanted to disturb the ghosts here.
Halfway through their passage, a crimson flash slashed through the darkness from behind.
39
URQUHART FOREST
ATREUS
FREE WORLDS LEAGUE
25 MARCH 3148
Even through the cover of night and a thick swath of trees, Wil could discern the fleeing lance of ’Mechs using his Juliano’s sensors to pierce the moonlit darkness. The quartet of targets glowed a dull green on thermal—none of them running hot beyond simple movement through the forest—but magres sensors showed more concentrations of heavy metals than just the four ’Mechs. Odd.
At least he had found Sylas’ band; that was the easy part. He’d tracked them by using the Leopard’s launch site as a starting point from where the assassin would’ve departed, under the assumption the Leopard had offloaded one or more ’Mechs before takeoff. He had calculated the average distance a BattleMech could travel between then and the time of the DropShip’s launch. Then he’d plotted all of the possible paths toward Sylas’ potential objectives. Wil figured the man would likely head away from civilization as much as possible, try to wait things out, so he concentrated satellite reconnaissance on each possible patch of land. Casual orbital recon wouldn’t notice a single BattleMech or two unless the camera was actively looking for it in that region, but Wil’s direction gave the orbital eyes specific parameters for their search.
Less than an hour later, while Wil’s lance was out investigating the abandoned farmhouse for clues, the sats had come back with a lance of unidentified ’Mechs on the move. From there Wil triangulated the best path to intercept, and that interception had converged here, in this dense forest, where it would be impossible for Sylas to escape.
The assassin’s lance represented a mixed bag. The rearmost ’Mech, a Vindicator, was of Capellan manufacture, but they were a common sight in League space. The 75-ton Prefect, just ahead and to the left, had been manufactured for the Republic of the Sphere by none other than Irian Technologies—Philip Hughes’ company—but those were also quite common in the League nowadays. Several different manufacturers made Ospreys, but the Ostwar at the head of Sylas’ pack, a -3M model, had been built in a Regulan manufactory. In fact, all of these ’Mechs could easily have been acquired—or provided?—by the RSMC.
Who are you really working for? Wil silently asked his quarry.
Though Sylas’ band remained quite distant, Eagle Four, Lieutenant Cruse’s 50-ton Ghost, ranged ahead of the rest of Wil’s lance to ensure her Guardian ECM suite would disrupt any of the advanced targeting systems at the enemy’s disposal. Hers was the fastest ’Mech in the lance, not that ground speed mattered much among all of these damn trees.
Captain Hassan’s 65-ton Scourge fell just behind the Ghost, with Wil and Major Wakefield’s 70-ton Carronade forming the arms of the lance’s Y-formation. With so many long-range weapons among them, Wil had hoped to catch Sylas in the open near the Urquhart Rapids, where he could snipe at the bastard, soften him up at range, and then close in for the kill, but Sylas had proven smarter than that. Unless the battle spilled out of the forest, they would be forced to fight at knife-range among the trees.
To further complicate matters, Wil could only guess which of the four targets Sylas was piloting. If he guessed wrong and all went to hell, then Sylas might manage to slip away yet again. Smart money bet on the Prefect, the heaviest and fastest of the bunch, but it was a beast and would be the hardest target to take down. And Sylas—he never seemed to go the obvious route.
Wil took aim on the Prefect’s rear. It was a long shot to hit with his trio of extended-range large lasers, but well worth the risk. As the Juliano’s gait through the trees bounced him up and down, he kept the target in his sights and clenched the trigger for a single laser to test the waters. The shot hit a nearby tree, which superheated the sap and blasted a rain of toothpicks across the fleeing ’Mech. Kirkland winced: all the shot had accomplished was alerting Sylas and his compatriots.
And who were these compatriots? Had Sylas possessed a whole support network on this planet the whole time?
“All units,” Wil broadcast to his lance, “target the nearest ’Mechs and open fire!”
The otherwise silent forest erupted into pandemonium as a flurry of laser discharges, missile launches, and PPC strikes lit up the night. Trees bore the brunt of what should have been a devastating barrage, but a few minor hits made it through the arboreal screen.
In response, the rearmost ’Mechs of Sylas’ lance, the Prefect and Vindicator, immediately turned to confront Wil’s lance, but the farthest pair—the Ostwar and Osprey—kept going, pushing deeper into the tree cover.
Blast! If Sylas was piloting one of those two ’Mechs, he could easily keep going and leave his three lancemates to be carved up by the Ducal Guard ’Mechs…
Wil pounded a gloved fist on his thigh in frustration. Bad call, Kirkland. How are you going to make up for it? You can’t fight them all…
He pushed his throttle bar forward and shouldered his ’Mech through some smaller trees while steadying his reticle on the now-attentive Prefect, whose PPC barrels glowed blue with murderous intent as they charged up.
