Текст книги "Lost Destiny"

Автор книги: Michael A. Stackpole

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Rising up from behind his desk, a scarlet-swathed, rotund man extended his hand toward his visitors. "Welcome, welcome. The Peace of Blake be with you." He shook Deirdre's hand, whispering, "Be seated, my dear." Then he enfolded Kai's hand in both of his and gave the Mech Warrior a smile that Kai found uncomfortably familiar.

Kai sat down next to Deirdre and felt pleased when she slipped her left hand into his right. Khalsa lowered his bulk into a huge chair, then leaned back until the light from above glowed off his shaved pate. "How can I help you, Mr. Abunai and Ms. Stratford?"

"As I told the Acolyte, we need to send a message."

"Well, that's what we're here for." Khalsa swung the monitor for his data station around so Kai could see nothing of the screen. He drew a keyboard toward him. "To whom is this message addressed?"

"Consolidated Manufacturing NA." Kai smiled as he gave the demi-Precentor a military-intelligence dummy corporation name. "It needs to go to the central office."

Khalsa arched a black eyebrow. "That's on New Avalon. This will be a costly message to send."

"I have a number." Kai closed his eyes. "1024-G15a-4432-44323-19826." He opened his eyes again as Khalsa punched the numbers into the computer. "I think that should be enough to get the message off."

Khalsa nodded. "That is a Davion military code."

Kai felt a microtremor pass through Deirdre's hand. "Is it?"

"I am afraid it is. And, of course, Consolidated is a FedCom Milint cut-out." Khalsa frowned as the light reflected in his eyes told Kai screens of data were scrolling by. Like a teacher disappointed with a student's improbable excuse, the demi-Precentor shook his head. "Really now, you shouldn't have tried to fool us. We know who you are."

Kai raised an eyebrow. "What difference does it make? I have given you an account number. You should accept my message and send it."

The ComStar official shook his head. His jowls jiggled, making him look more like a basset hound than a man. "I'm afraid you don't understand. The Clans own this world now, and ComStar is administering it for them." The door behind Khalsa opened and two men with automatic rifles entered the room. "We will have to detain you until an escort arrives to take you to our holding facility."

Deirdre glanced at Kai. "I thought the account code wasn't supposed to betray us."

Khalsa smiled coyly. "It didn't, Doctor Lear. You did. You were betrayed by your beauty: I recall seeing you at a concert here in Dove Costoso a week before Christmas. I had hoped for a chance to meet you and have kept an eye out for your name on the lists of detainees we have gathered. I could never let someone like you be billeted with mere warriors. That would never do.".

Kai looked over at her. "Glad to see the Alyina branch of your fan club in such good hands."

Deirdre's eyes asked forgiveness, and Kai gave her hand what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

The demi-Precentor stood and bid the two ROM agents forward with a flick of his fat hand. "Please forgive the shoddy nature of our accommodations, but I cannot afford to take any chances with Dr. Lear just yet." Khalsa tapped the screen of his monitor. "Your file was one of those we recovered from some damaged Davion computer equipment. Says here, Doctor, that you scored two points shy of perfect on your survival and evasion course. I'm afraid it's the dungeon for you until more suitable arrangements can be made."

Kai let her hand drop. "Surely you don't have to put me away with her. I'm harmless."

Again the demi-Precentor looked at his screen, but ruefully shook his head. "Do not try to play innocent with me. Despite your diligent attempts to erase all traces of your identity, we know who you are. We are too smart for you. You cannot fool ComStar."

"I suppose not."

Khalsa nodded sincerely as a ROM guard prodded Kai with a rifle. "You suppose correctly. Tracing you through the contents of your rucksack was simple. The holodisks were sent through ComStar, after all." The demi-Precentor sighed wearily. "ComStar does not appreciate deception. I suggest that be something you consider long and hard while awaiting transport to the reeducation camp, Mr. Jewell."

10

JumpShip Dire Wolf , Pre-assault Orbit

Hyperion, Free Rasalhague Republic

8 February 3052

 

Phelan Wolf looked across the room, drawing in a deep breath, then trying to expand his chest and look more massive as he exhaled. Dressed in a gray jumpsuit with a red dagger-star on its right shoulder and the red and black patch of the Thirteenth Wolf Guards on its left, he knew the uniform, at least, was impressive. In the three weeks since learning of Cyrilla's death, he'd trained hard and honed himself to a fine edge, but it might all be for naught in this first round of the Bloodname battling.

His first opponent, a huge Elemental, nodded slowly. With his clothing peeled to the waist, the man's bronzed flesh looked as if it had been spray-painted over veins and bulging muscles. His right hand twitched and Phelan caught the flash of a silver medallion. As the Elemental's hand closed over it, the Mech Warrior had no doubt the man could have bent the coin in half without raising a sweat.

Phelan turned his own coin over in his right hand. On the head it displayed the Wolf Clan crest: a wolf's-head with narrowed eyes and high, alert ears. On the reverse, as he turned it over, Phelan saw the name "Ward" emblazoned on a scroll. Beneath that, this name, "Phelan Wolf," was inscribed with the date.

Phelan looked up at the Elemental again and took no comfort in the man's evil smile.

Natasha slapped Phelan lightly on the back. "Can't let him get to you. He's just posturing, because if you win the decision, you'll pound him flat."

The younger Mech Warrior frowned. "I am not yet clear on this. If I win the decision, I choose the nature of our battle, but he chooses where it will occur, correct?"

Natasha nodded. "If you win, you choose to fight in your 'Mech. He'll don his armor and unless he's very good andvery lucky, you'll smear him all over the battlefield."

"Hardly fair."

The Black Widow's eyes narrowed. "Fair has nothing to do with Bloodname battles. You are fighting for an honor that knows no equal in the Successor States or beyond them! Defeat him, defeat the rest of those you face, and you prove yourself one of the ultimate warriors in House Ward."

Her fierce expression shifted down into a wry grin. "Besides, if he wins the decision, you know he'll choose to fight you bare-handed. You're no slouch in unarmed combat, but ..."

Looking at his opponent, Phelan saw a pec heave like a tectonic plate in an earthquake. "Yeah, I. don't want to get near him outside my 'Mech, either." He shuddered slightly. "I surrender three decimeters in height and at least thirty-five kilos to that clown."

Natasha winced. "Best not call him a clown until you beat him."

"Good point."

Back beyond Natasha, Phelan saw the small visitor's gallery slowly fill with his friends. Evantha Fetladral, the Elemental with a long red queue hanging from her nearly shaved pate, sat next to Ragnar and appeared to be explaining the whole procedure to him. Next to Ragnar sat a small man with an oversized head topped by a shock of blond hair. Carew, like Phelan, was unblooded, so he listened intendy to Evantha's explanation of the ceremonies. In the same way that Evantha and others had been bred for the massive size Elementals would need, Carew's smaller size had been deemed desirable for aerospace fighter-pilots.

Last into the box walked a tall, slender woman whose white hair was cut boyishly short. Ranna smiled at Phelan, her blue eyes flashing encouragement. Phelan returned her smile and felt his spirits buoy. Ranna sat down next to Carew.

Natasha passed a hand in front of Phelan's face, breaking off his stare. "Think about her later."

Phelan smiled mischievously. "Sorry, but you and your granddaughter are mesmerizingly beautiful."

The Black Widow shook her head. "Fine, dream if you want to, but when I was in your shoes, I was trying to figure out how to even the odds in a straight-up fight with an Elemental."

That sobered Phelan. "What did you do?"

Natasha shrugged. "I won the decision."

The MechWarrior turned the warm coin over in his hand, then stopped playing with it as ilKhan Ulric Kerensky stepped into the room and took up a position in the center. Natasha gave Phelan a pat on the back, then retreated. The Elemental's friends and supporters also withdrew, leaving the combatants alone with the ilKhan.

As Ulric drew himself up to full height, his white hair and goatee seemed to glow beneath the harsh lights overhead. "I am the Oathmaster and accept responsibility for representing House Ward here. Do you concur in this?"

"Seyla," Phelan breathed solemnly.

"Seyla," echoed the Elemental.

'Then what transpires here will bind us all until we all shall fall." The ilKhan nodded respectfully. "You represent the best the House of Ward has to offer the Wolf Clan. Yet it is not for the Wolf Clan that you fight today, it is for the right and honor of bearing the name Ward. This name is exalted, as were the names of all who remained loyal to the dream Aleksandr Kerensky had for his people. Do you understand this?"

"Seyla."

"And in accepting your part in this battle, do you understand that you sanctify, with your blood, Nicholas Kerensky's determination to forge the Clans into the pinnacle of human development? That you have been chosen to participate already marks you as elite, but victory here will rightly place you among the few who exist at the zenith of all the Clans hold sacred."

Phelan nodded solemnly. "Seyla."

Ulric looked at the Elemental. "You are Dean and you have seen twenty-seven years. Why are you worthy?"

Muscles rippled like molten steel as the Elemental stood taller and answered in a deep bass. "I have been nominated to this Bloodname by my elders because of my bravery in the conquest of Rasalhague and the taking of Satalice. I have consistently tested out at the top of my sibko and have never known defeat in single combat."

Ulric nodded stiffly, clearly pleased with the accomplishments of a Wolf, but reluctant to show any sign that could be interpreted as favoritism. "And you, Phelan Wolf, have seen twenty years. Why are you worthy?"

Phelan, as he had been coached by Natasha, raised his head and spoke in a clear voice. "I was chosen by Cyrilla Ward to be heir to this Bloodname. Captured and made a bondsman, I was adopted into the Warrior Caste after proving my worthiness for that honor. I trained and tested out as a Warrior. Single handedly I conquered Gunzburg, and on Satalice I captured Prince Ragnar of Rasalhague. For these things I have been chosen."

Again Ulric nodded formally. "The heroism and courage displayed by both Warriors have been established and verified. Your claims are not without substance. No matter what fate you meet in this battle, the brightness of your light will not be diminished." The ilKhan took a step forward and beckoned both men toward him. "Present the tokens of your legitimate right to participate here."

The two combatants solemnly lifted their coins like holy relics and approached him. As they did so, a small panel slid back in the floor and a conical stand mounted on a slender post rose up through it. Where the cone joined the post, it had been fitted with a section of clear plastic pipe that could be slid free. On opposite sides of the cone, Phelan saw a slot wide enough to accept his coin. On the part nearest to the ilKhan, he noticed a small button, but could not puzzle out its purpose. The shape of the whole device reminded Phelan of a Nagelring demonstration of how gravity wells operate.

Ulric accepted their coins and set each one in a slot. 'Though we train to be able to cope with the myriad situations of combat, we cannot control everything. A warrior worthy of a Bloodname must be able to rise above adversity to defeat the superior foe, even when at a gross disadvantage. The horrible chaos of war is reflected in this Trial of Bloodright.

"When one coin has successfully stalked the other and they complete their transit through this cone, the hunting coin will be superior. The Warrior will win the choice of style for the fight. The owner of the inferior coin will then decide the venue for the fight. In this way, each will fight on a battlefield not wholly of his choosing. Do you understand this?"

"Seyla."

As the last echoes of that word reverberated off the walls, the ilKhan pressed the button, releasing both coins. They slid down independent tracks and started rolling down the inside of the cone. Faster and faster they went, picking up speed as they sank lower and lower into the narrowing cone.

Phelan watched in both fear and excitement. Just like the gravity-well demo at the Nagelring! I'd levitate my coin higher if I could, but gravity is like death and taxes.Somehow he was sure his coin was winning the race, thereby ceding the decision to Dean. Then, as the coins started their descent into the post, they slammed into one another in a ringing collision and dropped from sight.

The two coins clunked down into the plastic pipe. Ulric carefully slid the clear section free, holding it out so all could see no sleight of hand had changed the outcome of the choice. His slender fingers plucked the top coin from the vessel and flipped it over to read the name. "Dean, you are the hunter."

Dean cracked his knuckles and grinned confidently. "The hunter sees no reason for an augmented fight. This pup has boasted beating an Elemental in a fist fight. Let us see how he does against a Ward."

Ulric looked at Phelan. "The style has been decided. Where will you be hunted?"

Phelan swallowed hard and saw his chances for victory getting sucked down into a gravity well. He started to open his mouth, then snapped it shut. He gave Dean a savage stare and smiled slowly.

Ulric watched him closely. "Phelan, where will you be hunted?"

Without breaking eye contact with Dean, Phelan raised his right hand and pointed upward. "Out there."

* * *

The DropShip's hold had been stripped of every last bit of equipment, leaving it a tall, empty arena for his fight with Dean. Aside from the exterior bulkhead, which gently curved inward to where the ship narrowed at the upper decks, the walls were normal and the angle's all 90 degrees.

Only scuffed-paint markings on the deck and oddly shaped stains from 'Mech-coolant spills hinted at this area's original function in the DropShip.

Never seen a 'Mech bay this empty.Standing there, clad only in a pair of the shorts he'd normally use in a 'Mech cockpit, Phelan had also never felt so naked. His choice of fighting in the zero gravity of space certainly helped neutralize the Elemental's strength, but it brought a whole array of other variables into play. All things being equal, he still wished they'd have let him wear the pistol he usually did when in a 'Mech cockpit.

Have to remember, equal and opposite reactions.As a child traveling with a mercenary military unit, Phelan had spent much of his youth bouncing around in the holds of DropShips in zero gravity. He couldn't remember ever fighting for his life in zero-G, though he did recall a couple of fierce wrestling matches that gamboled otterlike through the air of a hold. Not quite the same, I fear.

Phelan felt the ship tremble as the pilot fired the forward retrorockets. Grabbing a nearby stanchion, Phelan fought the tendency to float up off the deck. A second blast of retros brought the ship to a standstill in space.

The droplet of sweat that had collected at the tip of his nose jumped off and floated ball-like toward the upper deck.

It still amazed Phelan that the Clans would go to the incredible expense necessary to create this battleground for Dean and him. Here they were in a combat zone, preparing to invade Hyperion, and they cleared the 'Mechs from a deck of an assault DropShip. They detached the ship from the Dire Wolfand let it burn tons of fuel just to accommodate a one-on-one brawl by two men scrapping for a title.

But it's more than a title,he reminded himself. He knew the Bloodname held enormous power for the Clan Warriors. Winning one would assure the use of the Warrior's DNA in the Clan breeding program. It also gave the victorious Warrior a seat on the Clan Council and made him eligible for election as one of the two Khans of the Wolf clan. And, as in Cyrilla's case, a Bloodname could even provide a way to be useful to the Clans when one's military career was long over.

The Captain's voice crackled through the loudspeakers mounted in the interior bulkhead. "The ship is at zero acceleration. You have your battlefield. Skill, Warriors."

"Phelan Wolf, I will make this fast for you." Dean floated gently above the deck, drifting toward him like a ghost. The Elemental balled his fists, tensing every muscle up and down his arms into hard knots. "A freebirth like you is a disgrace to House Ward. Cyrilla must have lost her sense long ago."

Phelan bristled at the derision in Dean's voice, but forced himself to smile. "Is that so, Dean?" The MechWarrior opened his arms wide. "If you want me, come down and get me.

It took Dean about three seconds to fully comprehend his situation. He looked impressive floating there, but without propulsion gear, he could do little to affect his course of travel or speed. In a frantic effort to do anything at all, Dean began to flail about, but that only started him in a slow roll up and away from Phelan.

Pushing down on the stanchion, Phelan squatted with his legs coiled beneath him. With the swiftness of a striking snake, he kicked off and drove both his fists into the thick muscles over Dean's kidneys. The Elemental groaned with the impact, but was too intent on twisting his body around to pay much attention.

Using his opponent like a vaulting horse, Phelan spun around at an angle and drifted back down toward the deck. Most of his momentum had passed into Dean, sending the Elemental careening, but he maintained enough of it to get near the deck and bulkhead. Bending his legs to cushion his landing, Phelan prepared himself for whatever strategy Dean decided to employ in counterattack.

The Elemental smacked into the upper deck on his right side, but Phelan thought it probably made Dean mad more than it hurt. The Elemental grabbed on to a ribbed girder with a vise-grip, then snarled at his foe. "That is the sole attack you will launch on me."

Sidling over to another bulkhead support, Phelan shrugged again. "I am all yours, Dean."

The Elemental launched himself at Phelan, his powerful legs accelerating him smoothly. Fists cocked, he came in like a rocket. His grin grew as he sailed in, then faded when Phelan sprang up and away from the floor. With no target to cushion his charge, Dean crashed into the deck.

Phelan retained his grip on the reinforcement girder and his leap took him up and to the right. He let himself swing all the way around so his feet his the bulkhead on the other side of the girder. Clinging to the wall, he pushed off again and reversed his swing, snapping his heels down into Dean's shoulder blades. He jammed the larger man into the deck, then kicked off from the Elemental's broad back and twisted into the air.

Dean pounded a fist into the deck, but grabbed the reinforcement bar as he started to drift up. He spun quickly, spraying blood globules from his nose and mashed lips through the air. "Damn you, Phelan. Stand still and fight like a Warrior."

Reaching his hands above his head to soften the impact with the upper deck, Phelan laughed aloud. "Stop thinking of me as a freebirth, Dean. I am a Warrior and a member of House Ward. Think any less of me than you would think of Vlad, and you don't stand a chance."

"I will crush you!"

Phelan pointed at him. "Put it this way, Dean: I outbid you and now you have to fight at a disadvantage."

Part of that taunt got through to Dean. He slowly began to ascend, keeping one hand on the reinforcement girder. He reached out with his free hand and clawed menacingly at the air as he worked his way upward. "When I get my hands on you, it will be all over." Dean's derisive snort blew a spray of blood down his chest.

Phelan's mouth went sour. His early attacks had taken advantage of Dean's ignorance of the battlefield and his lack of respect for Phelan's fighting skills. Evantha had put Phelan through his paces in unarmed combat training, but most other MechWarriors disdained fistfighting. Though he had hoped, especially with Dean's dive, that the Elemental might knock himself out on the deck, he knew that was unlikely.

Phelan knew that zero gravity destroyed the hideous hitting power in Dean's muscles. At the same time, it also made any attack Phelan might choose less effective. Dean was not going to let Phelan trick him again, nor would he give him another missile-like attack.

The only way to beat Dean was to do what he wanted: get in close. Though Phelan's rational mind acknowledged the wisdom of that strategy, something in his soul recoiled at the idea of grappling with that monster. Blood and sweat glistened on Dean's body, and muscles moved smoothly beneath taut flesh.

He's a python waiting to crush me!

As Dean gathered his legs beneath him to spring, Phelan gently pushed off the upper deck and started to float down. Dean released his grip on the reinforcement girder and shifted around to push himself straight at Phelan. He launched cautiously and kept his arms outstretched expectantly.

Phelan whipped his legs up and tucked his torso down into a ball. The movement started him spinning in a backward somersault, but he kicked out just as Dean came in range. His feet clipped Dean's left ear with a glancing blow, killing Dean's downward momentum and starting him into a flat spin. At the same time, Phelan tossed his head back and arched his spin so he came out of his tumble with Dean's legs in easy reach.

Phelan grabbed Dean's ankle and pulled himself up. Twisting the larger man, and starting them both to spin, Phelan used the Elemental's waistband to haul himself higher up, then settled on Dean's back like a leech. He wrapped his legs around the man's middle, then snaked his left arm around the man's bull neck.

The blow to his head had dazed Dean, but he came out of it full of fight. Immediately he tried to jam an elbow back at Phelan, but his own broad frame made the blow miss wide. Still, it imparted a twist to the two pf them, setting them spinning crazily through the hold. Dean's left hand tore at Phelan's arm, but the MechWarrior held on tightly.

As soon as he realized Phelan was not trying to break his neck, and had failed to crush his windpipe, the Elemental shifted the focus of his attack. He kicked his legs to increase the spin and bring them closer to a bulkhead. His nostrils flared with exertion and blood splashed down on Phelan's arm. He smashed his fists into Phelan's legs, punishing the MechWarrior for his audacity.

Phelan pulled his legs free and twisted up and away from Dean's torso. He tightened his grip, determined not to lose it. Dean reached up and grabbed at Phelan's head. Phelan ducked it down closer to Dean's head, then tensed his stomach muscles and brought his right knee down into Dean's spine.

"Arrgghhh!" Breath hissed sharply from Dean's mouth. "Idiot, you can't even choke me right!"

Before Phelan could reply, the rotation caused by his knee in Dean's back brought the Elemental's legs within striking distance of the upper deck. Dean kicked off hard, shooting them both down at the deck. They hit solidly, Dean's bulk crushing Phelan against the floor. They drifted up again, but Dean kicked off and sent them at another bulkhead.

Again they hit, with Dean's shoulder battering its way into Phelan's ribs. The MechWarrior groaned aloud and the Elemental managed a harsh laugh. "Weakling! Kill me, break my neck or I crush you!"

"Not here to kill you, Dean. Just here for the ride."

"Then you get your wish."

Dean managed to grab a girder and whipped his back against the bulkhead, hammering Phelan into it. He reared back to do the same thing again, but Phelan planted his right leg firmly against the wall. Dean pulled his own body back into Phelan's knee, which tore a cough from the big man.

Instantly the giant tried to shift in Phelan's grip, then twisted forward, trying to smack Phelan's head against the girder. Phelan hunkered in close, keeping his head down. He tightened his grip one more time and braced himself against being driven back into the bulkhead, but Dean let go of the girder.

He knows!Dean clawed weakly at Phelan's arm. His fingers dug into the Mech Warrior's muscles, leaving deep bruises, but Phelan never let go. It felt as if Dean were trying to strip his arm clean, layer by layer, of flesh and muscle, but Phelan clung to him like a tattoo. It's too late, ithas to be too late.

Dean's struggles faltered, then ceased altogether. Phelan hung on for another ten seconds, then pushed the Elemental away from him. The man drifted up and away while Phelan grabbed the support girder. Phelan looked over toward the hatchway, then kicked off and floated over to it. He hit a button on the intercom. "It is over. Dean is defeated."

The hatchway slid open to reveal Natasha standing there. She smiled broadly. "I watched on the monitors. I was impressed, though you could have ended it sooner by breaking his neck."

"No need." A shudder rippled through the ship as the Captain applied some thrust. With the return of apparent gravity, Phelan suddenly felt the weakness in his legs and the weariness in his body. "There is no reason to kill when it's not necessary. My job was to defeat him, not kill him."

Phelan pointed to where Dean drifted down toward the deck. "He kept trying to figure what I would do, based on what he would do. He thought I was choking him or trying to break his neck. But I was using the naked-strangle technique Evantha taught me, and I cut off his carotid artery. All I had to do was hang on while his brain shut down from lack of oxygen."

Natasha nodded approvingly. "You do know, don't you, that the other fifteen first-round fights in this Bloodname fight ended with eight fatalities."

Phelan frowned. "Vlad?"

"Won the decision and killed his Elemental opponent in twenty seconds." The Black Widow smiled slyly. "They'll say you don't have the heart to kill, and therefore, you'll lose."

"Good," Phelan growled as he scraped Dean's blood from his arm. "I hope everyone I face keeps chanting that like a mantra." He jerked a thumb at Dean's unconscious form. "It will only make my job that much easier."

"Seyla," Natasha breathed, and then followed Phelan out of the hold.