Текст книги "Shrapnel: Fragments from the Inner Sphere"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Danforth

Соавторы: William H. Keith,Ken St. Andre,Jordan K. Weisman,Michael A. Stackpole
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

He felt the cockpit shudder as the gray Vindicatorreleased its grip. It turned and walked up the canyon. Now he could see its gray camouflage pattern, reminiscent of a dappled horse. It was MacLean's 'Mech.

Then he turned his attention to staying alive. The radio transmitter, as he'd feared, was dead. The hatch, bent out of shape by the gray Mech's hand, was jammed shut.

The imposter had boasted that he could get into this machine and walk away with it. If so, any damage to Tormana's controls must be reversible. Seizing his tool kit from a side compartment he unscrewed the plates under the panel, looking for anything obviously wrong. As-night fell, he took a flashlight from the box, and taped it to make a pencil-thin beam. No point in advertising what he was doing in here.

Tormana was intensely curious about the man his father had selected as the ideal son All his life, he had utterly failed to please his father. Marrying Hanya was just one of a long string of choices that had somehow disappointed or offended Maximilian. Finally realizing that he could never please the old man, Tormana had quit trying. Yet the question of what Maximilian wanted from him still nagged at the fringes of his mind. And here was the answer in flesh and blood. Mixed with his outrage and the need to kill. Tormana felt a desire to talk a little longer with this man. Not that he was likely to get the chance Shaking his head at his own folly, he went on probing gingerly through the tangled wires inside the control panel.

He'd found nothing to fix when the duplicate's Vindicatorcame striding back down the canyon, headlights sweeping the tumbled black stones. Its interior was dark, like his. It walked up to his paralyzed machine, touched face to face, and the man inside said, ‘There are 21 'Mechs up there. Enough to take the battalion if they catch it sleeping. They wear the insignia of the Crucis Lancers.’

‘No. Davion wouldn't use the Lancers for an assassination. I think these are Sharp's Stompers. They're disguised for some reason.’

‘Of course they are. I'm just telling you what I saw. Most of their 'Mechs are lightweights, faster than yours or mine. They've given up waiting for you and they're headed for Warex Base. I climbed to high ground and tried to tight-beam a warning, but I can't raise the base. It could be the radiation out here, or their receiver could be sabotaged. You know the planet better than I do. Got any suggestions?’

‘Set me free.’ Tormana replied instantly. 'I can get us in front of them, and we'll set up a trap How do I get this Mech moving again?’

‘Open up your instrument deck, and clip all the bundles with green tape.’

Wedging his thin-beamed light into a crevice beneath the panel. Tormana seized his wirecutters and went to work. ‘Don't forget.’ he said. ‘After we take care of these invaders, it's between you and me again.’

‘Of course. But if you win, the Maskirovka will kill you anyway.’

‘Unless I pose as you.’

‘An interesting notion, but you wouldn't last long. Sheila Po will be waiting at the door, with a cold beer if I give her the correct code, and a hot beam if you don't. And there are other agents, and other codes.’

‘I thought so. Maybe you'll tell me the codes, though.’ Cutting the last of the green-taped braids, he set the clippers down and eased quietly into his seat. ‘I'm having trouble getting this last panel off.’ He engaged the leg actuators. ‘That's more like it’ His hand hovered over the right leg keyboard. ‘Just a few more wires.’ He tapped a key.

The black Vindicatoryits knee up and slammed its foot down. It was a maneuver designed to scrape the armor plating off the shin of the other machine's rather delicate leg. The other MechWarrior was ready for it, however. Raising the left knee of his Mech and swiveling the hips, the imposter neatly deflected the attack, at the same time giving Tormana's 'Mech a hard push. Both machines staggered back.

Popping open a compartment in the top of its head, the gray drew out a coiled cable and offered one end of it to the black. It was a fiberoptic link, standard Fusiliers equipment for conditions of radio silence. With some hesitation, the black Vindicatorreached out and took the end of the cable, and plugged it into its own head.

‘Nice try, Tormana.’ The imposter's laughing voice rang out from a speaker in the back of the cockpit. It sounded unnervingly like a man standing just behind him—or like a voice from the back of his own mind. ‘You're a pretty good fighter, but you don't think like a Liao. I do. Anyway, let's agree on a truce until we've taken care of those invaders. We need our full strength for that.’.

‘All right.’ said Tormana. knowing this man's truce was worth the paper it was written on. ‘Follow me. then. I know a short cut. We'll get ahead of them.’

Switching on his low beams, he keyed in a fast walk and led the way south, away from the enemy. The lights on his 'Mech's lower torso swept the ground ahead of him. The lighted area showed up only as sparkles of glass on the black ground. Peering keenly through the port, he suddenly punched his override and took an extra long stride. ‘Watch your step. There's a crevice that's hard to see.’ Glancing at his rearview monitor, he smiled as the other 'Mech smoothly handled the obstacle. Good man. Then, remembering, he wished the other man weren't quite so good.

‘We're going to take the high ground,’ he said. ‘It's very unsafe, even in a jumper 'Mech. But if the base is destroyed, you and I are done for any way. First, though, we have to get far enough away that the enemy won't see our lights when we go above.’

They traveled south in distance-eating strides. The cliffs on either side began to ‘chatter,’ making an almost constant crackling noise, punctuated by an occasional crack or boom and the rattle of a small avalanche. This was what the Fusiliers referred to as ‘Kali's lullaby.’

Jumping over a low spot in a canyon wall, they followed a wider passage. The ground became smoother and seemed to be sloping upward. Smoke drifted across the beams of their lights.

‘Are we headed up a volcano?’ came the voice of the man behind Tormana.

‘A little one. I think this is the cone that broke through the Dragon Wall about a week ago.’

‘Broke through what?’

‘The Dragon Wall. These canyons are a maze. Most of the walls only go a short distance before they stop at a crevice or another canyon, but a few of them twist and turn for kilometers, unbroken. We memorize the shapes so that we can recognize sections of them on our tac screens. Helps us find our way around. The Dragon Wall runs all the way back to Warex Base. I'll know where we need to get on and off, to save time. There aren't many straightaways on the heading they've taken.’

A few minutes later, they stopped near the crest of the young volcano, some 90 meters higher than the canyon floor around them. About 14 meters down from where the two Mechs stood, the top of the nearest canyon wall twinkled faintly against the dead black of new lava.

There was still no response from Warex Base on the tight beam. This area was not radioactive, and so Tormana knew the problem was at the other end. Whoever had slipped the note under his door had also sabotaged the base radio. There would be 'Mechs on patrol, but in the canyons, they'd be out of contact.

Tormana switched on his searchlight and swept it across the landscape. Twisted ridges flashed into view, glittering snakes that curled and brokeand intertwined across the blackness. He looked for the familiar pattern of the Dragon Wall.

Finally, he thought he recognized it ‘This way.’ he said, heading down the slope toward one of the east-leading ridges. The other Mech followed. It occurred to Tormana that he could lead the imposter into a trap, maneuver him into stepping on a weak overhang or a lava bubble or some other trick of Kali. The man In the gray 'Mech knew the codes to satisfy the Maskirovka, however. Even if he did not need all the help he could get against the invaders, Tormana couldn't kill this man until he got those codes.

The Dragon Wall was 30 meters wide at this point, strewn with the rubble of its own decay. Tormana led the way straight down the middle.

‘You know, I'm very wealthy.’ he said. ‘Besides a third of my mother's estate, I've a bundle in the Capellan stock market.’

‘I know. I've studied your life.’

‘Do you know where the money is?’

‘Most of it's in a ComStar trust. Enough to buy a planet or two. Why do you ask?’

‘It's also enough to, say, finance a nice little army. Think you might need a private army someday? It you and my father ever part company, for example?’

After a short silence, the other man said, ‘It's possible.’

‘I'll bet the Maskirovka hasn't managed to infiltrate ComStar yet Or have they? Do you know my trust account number?’

‘I see what you want. A trade Your fortune for my Maskirovka passwords.’

‘Well, after all, only one of us will have any use for both things. Neither of us has anything to lose by telling.’

'That's true. But not yet. After we've done whatever we can do against Davion's men, then we trade information.’

‘What if one of us is killed?’

‘Forget it, Tormana. You're not getting any passwords until you and I square off for our final battle.’

In the darkness of his Vindicator'scockpit, Tormana made a rude gesture at his rearview monitor.

Walking the Dragon Wall took all the skill they had. Often, the way was not even remotely flat. The two 'Mechs walked and climbed and sometimes jumped along the crest of a winding ridge, usually with a sheer 75-meter drop on either side, wind howling around their heads, trusting their 45 tons to crumbling ledges and eroded stepping-stones across the heights. Sometimes they followed the wall around a bend, going the extra distance rather than trying to find a way down. At other times, knowing a turn of the wall would take them far out of their way, Tormana led the other 'Mech to a less sheer drop-off and they would slide, dropping the last 30 meters on their jump jets, landing on flexed knees and left arms. Then they followed their compasses east over all obstacles till they rejoined the Dragon Wall. It was hard on both 'Mechs and men.

‘I can't figure out why they're disguised as Crucis Lancers,’ Tormana said as they toiled up a cliff.

‘It's obvious.’ said the other man. ‘You shamed Edgar Bentley's son. The kid wants revenge, but Bentley senior doesn't want your father to know who really killed you. Not with everything so cozy between your father and Michael Hasek-Davion.’

‘But my father hates House Davion!’

‘What a novice you are! Your father is a bitter enemy of Hanse Davion, the Prince, but he has a secret treaty with Duke Michael. That's why the assassins are wearing the insignia of one of the Prince's pet regiments—so Hanse will get the blame for killing you.’

‘A treaty with Duke Michael? After the things he's done to our kinsmen in the Capellan March? Never!’

Laughter echoed down the phone line. 'A Liao wouldn't say that, my friend. I wouldn't say it'

The great moon Ratra poked her horns above the horizon as they stopped on a ridge eight kilometers west of Warex Base. Not quite two hours had passed since they'd set out. Both 'Mechs had lost some armor on the rocky slides, and their leg actuators screeched with every step. The gray Mech had a broken finger, and the black seemed to have a boulder stuck in its foot; it wouldn't set down flat

‘That canyon down there should be the way they come, unless they're totally lost,’ Tormana said. 'We can kill them here.’

‘How?’

Tormana shifted the beam of his spotlight. ‘See that flat spot on the floor, next to the far wall? A booby trap. There's a huge cave underneath it, and the ceiling is rotten. We patched it with a thin layer of ferrocrete and painted it black. All we have to do is herd them over there, then shoot the wall above them. It's riddled with explosives. The wall falls, the ground collapses, and the invaders are buried.’

‘That's great, except how are we going to herd them all onto that one spot? If we start shooting at them, they'll just spread out and shoot back.’

‘Not if we use Kali's Torch.’

‘'Kali's Torch?’'

‘The argon in the atmosphere. It's concentrated down in the canyons. Fire a PPC into it. and it lights up.’

‘It explodes?’

‘No. It lights up. like a neon sign. Looks like a secret weapon. I don't think the Davion forces know about it.’ The black Mech pointed. ‘See how the wall bends here? If we get about three hundred meters apart, we can probably catch them in a crossfire. We'll catch them in a triangle, with you firing from one side, and me firing from one side, and the booby trap on the third side.’

‘All right. Give me my phone cord, and let's get set up.’

‘One more thing. As soon as we blow that cliff, our truce is off. So tell me your Maskirovka passwords now.’

Ten minutes later, the two Mechs were 150 meters apart on the jagged ridge, hidden behind its crest except for their heads and right arms. A flash of light around a bend in the canyon announced the approach of the enemy. Tormana began to pull himself up onto the narrow crest.

Twenty-one BattleMechs headlights bobbing in the darkness, came walking up the canyon. The impact of their steps rattled through rock and metal, and Tormana felt it as a faint vibration in the controls under his hand. He glanced across the canyon at the silhouette of the far wall against the sky. A deep notch marked the booby trap. When they came even with that, he would shoot.

They were almost even with the imposters position now.

Trying to keep the Vindicator'shead low, he pulled one metal knee onto the crest ot the ridge. They were not expecting an ambush. With any luck, they would not be scanning for heat, at least not upward.

The black Vindicator'sknee screeched.

One of the enemy 'Mechs stopped. A voice broke into the radio static. ‘Hey, Bent! There's something—’

The imposter fired. Blue lightning licked out from the muzzle of his PPC. lashing the canyon floor behind the invaders. In the next instant, a blue forest fire burst up from the stones and danced in flickering, interweaving sheets 15 meters high, sweeping across the canyon toward the flock of birdlike machines. Most of them ran, filling the ether with curses and screams of terror. One paused long enough to fire a laser at the blue fire; it had no effect. He ran, too.

They were even with the notch. Aiming his laser at the cliff under the gray Vindicator,Tormana fired.

There was a flare of white light. The black Mech clung desperately to the ridge as the wall under his enemy burst outward into the air above the canyon. He glimpsed the gray Mech tumbling through the air. wildly firing its Jets, trying even now to save itself amid the massive chunks of falling cliff. At the same moment, the entire canyon floor gave way, and the radio filled the cockpit with screams.

A few of the enemy were still screaming when he flipped the switch to shut off the sound. More explosions followed, as several power plants were crushed. Debris rained against the cockpit, and the wall bucked like a wild horse. Eyes tightly shut, he sank his nails into the arms of his seat as his Mech hung onto the shuddering ridge

After a while, the dust settled.

Amid a shower of loosened rocks. Tormana climbed down from the cliff, and down farther, into the pit. His lights, sweeping the piles of rubble, picked out gleams of metal here and there. A lot of equipment could be salvaged from these 'Mechs, but not tonight.

The gray 'Mech was near the top of a slope, pinned under a house-size rock. Tormana approached it carefully, in case it could still shoot Then he saw that the head was half-smashed, the viewport shattered.

Planting a giant metal foot on top of the other 'Mech's cannon, he lowered his machine to one knee, opened his hatch with the Vindicator'smighty steel hand, and climbed out His laser pistol was ready. Stepping onto the chest of the impostor's machine, he walked over to the head.

The man in the gray BattfeMech was not quite dead. Tormana reached into the cockpit and pulled him out. There was another body squeezed in there, but Maclean had been dead for quite awhile.

Because of the environmental suit, there was no spilled blood, but the man's right arm and the right side of his chest were crushed. Pulling the helmet off the shivering form, Tormana gazed into his own face, twisted with agony. The brown eyes seemed to focus on him for a moment.

With difficulty, as though he were moving his arm against ten gravities, Tormana lifted his gun, and fired.

‘You believed in our truce,’ he said to the dead man. ‘And damn me, I thought like a Liao.’

DANCE OF VENGEANCE

–William H. Keith, Jr.

‘And I say that you, Lord Garreth, are a coward, a liar, and a murderer. It was you who betrayed my father...had him murdered to keep the secret.’

The buzz of conversation and the clink of bottles and glasses dropped away to silence as the nobles scattered about the ornate hall turned to watch the two men standing at the door.

Salvadore Tyrell knew with grim certainty that his words meant death. Garreth's polite smile had faded, replaced by the flushed skin and bared teeth of rage. Even his knuckles showed white against the pommel of the ceremonial wakizashiat his belt.

‘And you, insect...what business have you here, in this convocation of your betters?’

Salvadore let out his breath slowly. He must retain control. He must!

‘I seek your death. Lord Garreth. I claim vendetta for the murder of my father.’

The silence that had descended over the room at Salvador's first words to Garreth had been one of curiosity and expectancy. The silence that gripped the hall now was one of shock. By publicly challenging Lord Garreth. he, Salvadore Tyrell. had stepped well beyond the accepted boundaries for proper behavior within the noble classes of House Kurita.

‘Captain Tyrellf’ a voice barked from across the hall. ‘What are you doing here?’

Salvadore turned to face the speaker and bowed, his back stiff, his knuckles riding down his trouser legs almost to his knees. KugeUkita Hideie, Earl of Kajikazawa, was a wrinkled gnome of a man, with frosty-white hair that contrasted his dark, leathery skin. Hideie returned the bow, a nod of the head that acknowledged Salvador's courtesy, but not his right to be in this place.

Salvadore bowed again, lower this time. Hideie was Planetary Chairman of the world of Kajikazawa. At a word from him, Salvador's head would roll on the floor. Behind the old man. his personal guards were shifting their weight and their robes slightly so that they could, with equal ease, draw stunner or katana,depending on what the situation might require.

‘My Lord.’ Salvadore said. ‘I have at last won my right of vendetta.’

Chu-I Salvadore Tyrell had won both his promotion and his command upon the death of his father, and he'd found joy in neither. Tyrells Raiders was an independent company-strength BattleMech unit that had begun as a local Kajikazawan militia in ancient, understrength 'Mechs and become an auxiliary reserve attached to the Second Benjamin Regulars in front-line service. It had been four years since the Second Benjamin had gone into action against House Steiner invaders at New Wessex, close to the border with the Lyran Commonwealth and tens of lights across the Draconis Combine from Kajikazawa.

The relationship between the Regulars and the auxiliaries did not always go smoothly. Most Kurita line commanders mistrusted mercenaries, and they often viewed local units such as Tyrell's Raiders as mercenaries even when their prime motivation was home defense, rather than fighting for pay. Sho-saLord Victor Garreth, of the Second Regular's Third Battalion, had been particularly displeased at the Raiders being attached to his command at New Wessex

Salvadore still remembered Garreth's final conversation with his father on the afternoon that the Steiner forces were , closing in toward the Ouros River crossing. ‘Your Mechs would be better employed in my reserve, Tyrell,’ Garreth had said. ‘As a separate unit, they compete with my people for supplies and ammunition. And I, for one, am not willing to risk my unit's integrity on the untried temper of your…your militia.’

The elder Tyrell had colored at that. ‘Not militia, Lord! Auxiliaries...and damned good men! They have stood in the line of battle before. Give them the chance and they'll stop anything the Steiners can throw our way!’

‘You think so?’ Garreth's voice dripped sarcasm as he stabbed at a place on the map with a forefinger. ‘Our intel shows a Steiner company moving south, toward this crossing at Vesper-on-Ouros. You think militiacan stand against Steiner regulars7’

‘Yes. Lord!’

‘Then take your command there. Hold the crossing. I will expect regular reports, of course...’

Thus did the twelve BattleMechs of Tyrell's Raiders find themselves drawn up along the bluffs above the swift-flowing Ouros, 20 kilometers south of the main Kurita forces, awaiting the approach of the Steiner attackers. The Raiders were not a heavy unit. Their largest 'Mech was an ancient, 60-ton Dragon,piloted by the elder Tyrell. That 'Mech. Tyrell's Terror,had been in the family for four generations already, and it was assumed that it would go to Salvadore when his father decided to retire. Salvadore commanded the company's Fire Lance from the cockpit of a battered Centurionof uncertain vintage, one of the combat machines that belonged to the unit as common property. Like most line regiments, and unlike most mercenary units, few of the men of Tyrell's Raiders owned their own BattleMechs.

Their Recon Lance was deployed across the river to watch for the approaching enemy, while the rest of the unit found positions along the bluff and settled in for a wait. It was not to be a long one. One of the Recon Stingersspotted the enemy first and flashed warning of a company of heavy Commonwealth BattleMechs headed for the crossing. Then the other Stingerreported a sighting, at least a full company north of the first. The Waspand the Panther,hunting further out, made contact through a hail of static and explosions, reporting still more enemy Mechs at their position, but contact was lost before they could supply numbers or position.

Moments later, one of the Stingerscame bounding back across the river in a curtain of spray. The 'Mech's jump jets had been smashed and its left arm mangled by Steiner fire, but it joined the main Kurita line just as the first Steiner Mechs began to gather along the far shore of the river.

By now, Tyrell's Raiders realized that they faced far more than a single company —the strength of their own unit. The enemy consisted of at least a regiment, outnumbering them by three to one. Worse, a number of the Steiner 'Mechs now wading into the river were heavies, Warhammers, Archers.and Maraudersadvancing with a hunter's sure, relentless pace

The Raiders opened fire with everything they had, hitting the advancing Steiner Mechs hard. Salvadore could still see the damaged Stingerhurling itself against the hulking mass of a Steiner Archer.The next moment, the Archersmetal fists were coming down like piledrivers on the Stingersupper torso, splintering armor like plywood as flame boiled from the light 'Mech's shattered cockpit. The Warhammerand the Marauderwere, meanwhile, concentrating their fire against Tyrell's Terror.The lightning horror of their combined PPC bolts blasted at the Raiders's Command Mech, searing across the closing range in jagged blue discharges, tearing molten craters in the Dragonsarmor. Raymond Tyrell had fought back tenaciously, retreating step by step, dodging and weaving to avoid the worst of his opponents' fire, all the while laying down his own deadly barrage of heavy autocannon fire.

Satvadore had struggled to reach his father, his Centurionsautocannon adding the weight of its rapid-fire thunder to that of the Dragon.A salvo of long-range missiles arrowed from the Centurion'schest pack, striking home along the arm and torso of the lumbering Steiner Warhammer.

Just then, the Steiner Archercaught him from behind, while the Kurita line all along the top of the ridge began to crumble. The Archerhad shouldered its way past the other 'Mechs in Salvador's Fire Lance, leaving them to the Wolverinesand Shadow Hawksand Griffinsthat were climbing up on the Kurita side of the river now. Missiles from the Archercaught Salvadore squarely in his Centurionsback. The multiple hits gouged deep chunks out of his armor, crippling the 'Mech's rear-mounted laser and driving the 50-ton machine to its knees with a clamorous roar that momentarily deafened Salvadore, despite the protection of his helmet.

Somehow, he brought his 'Mech to its feet, lashing out with laser and autocannon fire. Everywhere he looked, Steiner 'Mechs were swarming across the ridge. Kurita 'Mechs stood alone or in pockets of two or three, huddled against the onslaught of vastly superior firepower.

‘All Raiders!’ His father's voice was harsh over the taccom line. ‘All Raiders... fall back! Regroup!’

The movement had started already and did not need Captain Tyrell's order to reinforce it. There was no way the Raiders' force could hold that ridge against so many heavy enemy 'Mechs, and to stay in place meant to die there as the heavier BattteMechs wore them down. A Shadow Hawkin Salvadore's Fire Lance was cut down at last by the combined fire from the Archerand a pair of Steiner Griffins.Fierce, white flame seared through the black webwork of internal structure and bracing exposed by char-rimmed gaps in the hull metal. The Hawksfinal explosion in orange flame and thunder came before the pilot could eject, and Salvadore had watched in horror as his younger sister Theresa met certain death trapped in that 'Mech.

‘All Raiders, retreat! Retreat!’ Captain Tyrell ordered. ‘Break off and fall back!’

Cut off by a wall of BattleMechs, Salvadore could not obey. His 'Mech's left leg had taken a full salvo of SRMs and a PPC burst.

and he was limping heavily now, the servo actuators in his knee barely functional. When a laser beam struck his right side, he spun his Centurionto face the new threat.

The cumbersome, 45-ton Blackjackwould not normally have been a worthy opponent for Salvadore's heavier Centurion,but his machine had suffered such massive damage that it could not take much more. His board controls lit up red across the console as autocannon shells slammed into his hull, and repeated laser strikes sloughed off armor that sent his internal temperature soaring. With the warning klaxon shrilling in his ear. he'd disconnected his helmet controls, flipped up the arming safety, and ground his thumb into the eject firing burton. By the time he came to ground a hundred meters away, his Centurionwas lying full length on the charred and blasted earth, unquenchable fires consuming its innards with a heat that forced him back even at that range.

The fight had not ended there for Salvadore. On foot, he'd made his way back through enemy lines toward the Kurita encampment, a 20-klick journey that took the better part of three days. The encampment was deserted when he reached it at last, dirty, hungry, and exhausted. Its only occupants were the corpses of the Tyrell Raiders who had escaped the Battle of the Ouros Crossing. They hung there in a ghastly row from a hastily erected gibbet.

He spent a long time staring at the body of his father, which swayed over his head with the wind.

He had no memories now of the time that followed, save one. He could recall foraging for leftover bits of food at the spot where the regimental mess had been. He had felt no emotion at all. It was only after an attempt to scare down a snarling, six-legged fuster-lizard that was challenging him for a scrap of meat that Salvadore realized his voice was completely gone.

He could not remember having screamed his throat raw.

By the time he rejoined the Kurita forces, the Second Benjamin Regulars had lifted offplanet. He'd learned the full story later, of how Major Victor Garreth had ordered the arrest of his father and his comrades for cowardice and treason, of how he had ordered the court-martial tribunal to find Tyrell guilty and sentence him to death. Raymond Tyrell and his men had been ordered to hold the lower crossing of the Ouros. In the face of roughly equal numbers, they had withdrawn, against orders, after suffenng only light damage and abandoning three of their 'Mechs to the enemy. Though treason could not be proved—there was, after all, no definite proof that Tyrell or his people had actually corresponded with the enemy—the charge of cowardice in the face of the enemy was obviously true.

Justice had been swift.

Salvador's options had been starkly limited at that point. He was a trained Mech-Warrior, a graduate of the prestigious Sun Zhang Academy on New Samarkand, but he had no BattleMech and no unit. The Mechs belonging to Tyrell's Raiders, he learned, had all become the property of the Second Benjamin Regulars.

Only one idea now dominated Salvadore Tyrell's thoughts. As a DropShip carried him above the smoke-smudged landscape of New Wessex on the first leg of his return to Kajikazawa. he swore an oath to avenge his father's death by somehow, some way, killing Victor Garreth with his own hand.

‘You murdered my father...and my comrades...to lay your filthy hands on those Battle-Mechs.’ he said. Garreth and Tyrell circled one another warily now, as the nobles and military officers in the Grand Hall moved themselves and the furniture out of the way to make room. Tyrell's wakizashishimmered, mirror-bright in the sunlight that spilled from the frost-tinged skylight. He hefted the blade, feeling its balance, its reassuring weight in his grip. Garreth moved easily beyond the point of the blade, then blurred, reaching in for a slashing cut toward Tyrell's abdomen. Tyrell leaped back and the slash missed. Tyrell parried, striking sparks from the other's blade.

‘How'd you get in here, pup?’ Garreth said, his eyes black and angry. ‘You would need a sponsor.’