Текст книги " Lethal Heritage "

Smoke drifted raggedly along the streets, snaking its way from small bonfires through the hollow shells of buildings. Bricks and mortar lay frozen in the dawn light. The bricks' color reminded Phelan of dried blood and the gray mortar of the ashes he saw everywhere. My God, they actually had to fight their way into the city!

The captive MechWarrior followed a step or two behind Ulric as Star Colonel Lara guided the Khan and his entourage through the conquered capital. She walked at Ulric's right hand, while the Precentor Martial accepted a place of honor at his left. A dozen of the giant Elementals formed a pocket around the visitors, but only two of them wore their metallic armor. In addition to Phelan, Clan MechWarriors trailed behind their leaders, including a smug-looking Vlad.

Lara pointed out a rough semicircle of buildings that marked the perimeter of destruction. "The Drakøns made a last stand in this area. We had not planned to be so destructive, but the tight quarters of the city made things difficult. And many of our people wanted to get it over with quickly after the strafing run their fighters made on us near Asgard."

Phelan heard her words but could find no relation between what she said and the scene before him. These buildings had not merely been blown apart. Rather, they looked like vegetables that had succumbed to rot. What had once been sharp angles had melted into curves. Buildings, their walls liquified by lasers and particle beams, had sagged in on themselves. Blackened by fire and streaked with red where new flows of fluid brick ran down the surface, the buildings might have been some flaccid fungi wilting in the sunlight.

And those weren't even the intended targets.The scraps and bits of Drak0n 'Mechs still visible seemed to Phelan far too few for this to have been a major battleground. I've seen the aftermath of a dozen battles, but this scene looks more like a thoroughly scavenged scrapyard.The largest concentrations of 'Mech debris were small hovels the refugees had thrown up, using armor shards for walls and roofs to protect them from the chill of night. Beyond that, the stripped skeleton of a 'Mech's hand pointing loosely off toward the north was the only real clue that 'Mechs had fought and died here.

The Precentor Martial uttered Phelan's question for him. "Did any of the Drak0n pilots survive, quiaff?"

Lara nodded. "Affirmative. Most, in fact. We decided early on that it would be best to base our occupational forces on cooperation with the Drakøns, who will be our ambassadors to the people on Rasalhague." She smiled at Focht. "Of course, we will work through ComStar's good offices, as usual, to facilitate the restructuring of the society."

Across the street, Phelan saw a small knot of people standing around a fire inside an old petrochem drum. Their mismatched clothing contrasted sharply with the green jumpsuit and synthetic jacket he wore. Through holes in their trousers and burned patches on their coats, he saw that most of them wore several layers of rags to ward off the cold. The haunted look in their eyes revealed the state of their hunger and their hopelessness.

"Forgive my presumption, Star Colonel," Phelan found himself saying, "but what provision has been made for the people whose homes were destroyed?"

Lara started to answer, but glanced at Ulric first, who gave her a slight nod. "We have housed the vast majority on the west side of the city. The facilities we are using were in disrepair, but they are adequate until things can be rebuilt." The Clanswoman pointed to the people skulking around the ruins. "These people have refused to report to the facilities, and therefore, will not receive support."

Phelan suddenly remembered a fragment of information. Camps on the west side of Reykjavik ... Wasn't that something described in Misha Auburn'sFreedom's Bloody Price? "Would you be referring to the Kempei Tai barracks over on the other side of the Oslo river, quineg?"

"Aff. I believe that name was associated with the place."

Phelan made no attempt to disguise his shock. "The Kempei Tai barracks was an ISF—Kurita secret police– reeducation center before Rasalhague became independent. The FRR maintained it as a reminder of man's inhumanity to man. Fully a quarter of the people sent there never returned. Is it any wonder these people refused to be herded in there?"

Before Lara could frame an answer, another incident demanded the group's attention. While everyone in the Khan's entourage had been distracted by the discussion, one of the refugees, a ragged man stinking of sweat and with sootstained face and clothes, approached the group. He tugged on the Khan's sleeve. "Please, sir. You must help us ..."

Vlad lunged forward and bowled the vagabond aside with a backhanded slap. The refugee reeled away, stumbled, and rolled awkwardly into a crouch. Though he held up his hands and ducked his head in submission, the Clan MechWarrior kept on coming. A solid kick to the chest lifted the older man from the ground and dumped him on his back a couple of meters away. Stunned, arms and legs splayed out, the refugee offered no resistance and no threat, but that did not slow Vlad at all.

Phelan grabbed the Khan. "He'll kill the old man. You have to stop him!"

Ulric's steel blue gaze jolted the Kell Hound. "Do I?"

"We had a deal." The mercenary's eyes blazed. "This was supposed to be as bloodless as possible!"

Ulric turned and stared at where Vlad stood beating the beggar senseless. "If it concerns you, then you deal with him."

Like a warhound slipped from its leash, Phelan dashed forward. His left hand closed on Vlad's left wrist, locking the bloodied fist at the highest point of its arc. Before Vlad could disentangle his right hand from the old man's silvery hair, the mercenary slammed his right fist into the Clansman's ribs. He let Vlad tear his left fist free, then buried his own left hand in the invader's midsection. Vlad brought his left arm down to cover his side and stomach, but it did not help him. Phelan's right fist arced up and over Vlad's left shoulder and snapped his head around with a crisp shot to the jaw.

As Vlad dropped to the pavement, Phelan felt massive hands on his shoulders. Without thinking, he drove his right elbow back into this new opponent's stomach. The rock-hard muscles gave a bit and the hands began to tighten. The mercenary cranked his right fist up in a short hammer-arc, mashing thick lips against white teeth. At the same time, he twisted to the right, slipping his shoulders from the hands gripping them. His right hand dropped down, then shot back up, catching the Elemental on the point of her jaw. Evantha's eyes glazed over and she pitched onto her back.

A right hand exploded on Phelan's left cheek, but he'd already begun to pull back his head, lessening the effect of the blow. His own right hand shot across his body and hit Vlad in the stomach with a short jab. The punch forced a grunt from the Clansman and brought him up short. Vlad's right hand came in again, but Phelan faded back before it and guided it beyond his face with his left hand. Then the mercenary delivered his own right hand in a jab that came straight from the shoulder. Vlad's nose collapsed with a crack, then his legs turned to water and he sank to the ground.

Phelan pivoted on his right foot and looked back at the Clanspeople. On his left hand, Evantha began to stir, but on the right, only the rhythmical rise and fall of Vlad's chest and the slow trickle of blood from his nose gave any indication that he still lived. Sucking in cold air painfully through his clenched teeth, the mercenary surveyed the damage he had done. "He has, my Khan, been stopped."

Ulric's face betrayed nothing. "So he has."

Phelan eyed the rest of the Clanspeople with an open challenge on his face. A couple of the infantry men met his stare, then bowed their heads in a silent salute and looked away as their comrade moaned in pain. Their reaction, for a moment or two, struck him as curious, then he unraveled the myriad meanings of that simple gesture. In his martial society, what I have done is nothing short of a miracle. For me to beat another MechWarrior is within the realm of possibility because that is what I am. But to beat someone whose area of expertise is hand-to-hand combat, that is special, indeed. It does not matter to them that she was taken by surprise—it is her error for underestimating me. In their eyes, that does not diminish what they must consider an incredible victory.

He flexed his fists, then exerted control over his breathing. He felt his muscles begin to tremble as the adrenaline started to wear off. He bowed deeply from the waist—more in Kurita fashion than anything he had learned in his time with the Clans—and addressed the Khan. "I request leave, Master, to take this man back to bis people."

The Khan narrowed his eyes. "You know we will be leaving here an hour before sunset—approximately 1800 hours local time, quiaff?"

The Kell Hound nodded solemnly. "You know I will be there." Always testing, aren't you, quiaff? What do you want from me? I have given you my word that I will neither escape nor betray your secrets.

Ulric smiled wolfishly. "I had no doubt." He unfastened the strap on his chronometer and tossed the heavy steel timepiece to Phelan. "Here. This will keep you from being late."

The mercenary caught it and strapped it to his left wrist. "Thank you."

The Khan nodded. "You are my personal envoy to this man and his people, Phelan. Persuade them that the old days are no more. Encourage them to go to the camps so we may rebuild their homes. It is for the best."

Phelan stared after the Khan as his party, including the two Elementals bearing Vlad and Evantha, walked away. I don't understand you, Ulric, Khan of the Wolf Clan. And that scares me. But what scares me even more is the feeling that, before long, I will understand you far better than either one of us has sense enough to dread.

* * *

The steel anchor monument against which Phelan leaned was cold, but he never noticed as he stared out at the broad

Oslo River . River gulls, with their blood-red bodies and black wings, hovered above him, screaming. He wanted to pick up a rock and scatter them, but couldn't muster the energy to do so.

"What is the matter, Phelan?" Ranna startled him as she gave his shoulder a squeeze from behind. "You are not an easy man to find. I doubt I would have if that family you brought to the refugee center hadn't mentioned something."

"I guess I didn't want to be found ... Not right now." Ranna pulled back, but he reached out to catch her hand. "No, I didn't mean it that way. It's just ..."

Ranna sat down beside him on the base of the anchor monument. The chilly air had brought a rosy glow to her cheeks and made her hands cold. She let him sandwich her hands between his for warmth, then smiled. "You do not have to talk about it if you do not want to."

He chewed on his lip for a moment, then shook his head. "I just keep thinking about the old man and his family. When I helped him up, he looked at me like I was the second coming of God. He babbled on at me in that Swedenese of theirs, and I just smiled and helped him over to where his family was standing around a fire. His son, who's at least ten years older than me, treated me like his overlord. He translated what his father was saying about the fight and he made it sound as though I'd taken a 'Mech regiment—a Cluster to you—all by myself."

A devilish look flashed through Ranna's blue eyes. "To hear the infantry tell it, you did more than that."

Her remark brought momentary life to Phelan's dour expression, but he wasn't deflected from his train of thought. "All the while they were praising me, all I could think about was how I helped sell this world to Ulric. I gave him the tools to outbid Bjorn."

"And that helped these people more than you know, Phelan. The Ghost Bears would have made bombing runs against the Drak0n positions in the city, and their pilots believe quantity beats quality when attacking the enemy."

"I know that, dammit, but it doesn't make it any easier feeling like a Judas." He turned to stare into her eyes. "When someone writes the history of the conquest of Rasalhague, I'll be cast as Stefan Amaris the Usurper."

Ranna jerked her hands from his. "Do not say that. You are no Judas and certainly not an Amaris. Your motive was not personal greed." She jabbed a finger back toward the burned-out section of the town. "You jumped a trained warrior to defend an innocent man. Many of the refugees saw what you did, and many followed you when you led the man's family to the shelter. The risk you took meant that those people will at least be warm tonight. They will have food, too, and soon their homes will be rebuilt."

She lifted his head to meet her gaze. "What happened to these people would have happened with or without your help. Aside from those we choose to join us, life here will return to normal."

Phelan turned away. "You make it sound as if being made a bondsman is an honor ..."

Ranna took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly in a wispy white vapor. "There are many things you have not learned about us because you have contact with only one part of our society. You see only the martial branch because we are the vanguard of the Clans. I cannot explain it all to you right now, but you're right—being made a bondsman isan honor. Those taken are selected to join our Clan and that is one of the greatest honors a person can know in life."

Phelan frowned. "But I have joined the Wolf Clan as chattel, not as a person."

"You do not understand ... All that matters is that you are part of the Wolf Clan." Frustration knotted her fingers into fists.

Seeing that the discussion would continue to run in circles, Phelan reached out again and gathered her hands into his. "I don't want to fight with you, Ranna." He shrugged sheepishly. "Maybe I'm just homesick, after nearly a year on DropShips and JumpShips. Having solid mass under my feet and feeling real gravity again ... Even the gulls, with their red and black coloring, make me think of my unit." He turned to stare out over the water. "I feel so alone."

Grasping Phelan by the wrists, Ranna pulled him to his feet. "As long as I am here, Phelan Kell, you will never be alone. As a Star Commander, I've been given a suite at the Hotel Copenhagen. Come share it with me. Let me show you that you truly do have a home in the Wolf Clan."

BOOK IV