Текст книги " Blood Legacy"

Автор книги: Michael A. Stackpole

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36

Unity Palace, Imperial City, Luthien

Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

26 December 3051

 

Theodore Kurita's decision to forego formal welcoming ceremonies for the mercenaries pleased Shin Yodama. Having been on Outreach, he disagreed with court protocol experts, who said that such a breach of honor would doom any hopes of a productive working relationship between Combine and mercenary forces. Theodore had reasoned, and Shin agreed, that a formal welcoming ceremony would only give many of the High Command who still felt contemptuous of mercenaries an opportunity to air their counterproductive attitudes.

Shin waited along with Theodore, Hohiro, and the leaders of the Combine defense forces in the cedar-walled reception chamber beneath the palace's helipad. He felt a mild tremor ripple through the floor as the helicopter landed and a shaft of sun streamed down the staircase from above. As the mercenaries began to descend, the whooping of the helicopter rotors drowned out the sound of their boot heels on the circular stone stairway.

Jaime Wolf was the first of the four men to appear. He bowed to Theodore, then approached to offer his hand. "Konnichi-wa,Kanrei-sa/na. I wish the circumstances were better for renewing our acquaintance."

Theodore, having returned the bow in both depth and duration, shook Wolf's hand heartily. "I agree this is not the most pleasant of occasions, but your presence makes it less oppressive. Still, I imagine a Christian hell or two has frozen over because of your arrival here on Luthien."

Morgan Kell smiled as he shook Theodore's hand. "We were speculating that Dante's Inferno would now have to be retitled Spark."

The Combine's Prince laughed politely at the joke and Shin smiled, though the reference went right by him. Theodore offered his hand to MacKenzie Wolf in greeting, then hesitated before the fourth man in the group.

Tall and broad-shouldered, the man wore the double-breasted shirt of the Kell Hounds' dress uniform, as did Colonel Kell. Shin noted that the man's eyes indicated an oriental bloodline, and his deferential attitude toward Theodore gave the impression that he must formerly have been from the Combine. His bronze hair and light-colored eyes led Shin to guess he was from the Rasalhague District. The ribbons sewn to the left ear of the wolf's-head on the man's jacket suggested he had been with the Hounds for a long time. Yet, even with those clues, Shin had no idea who the officer was.

The man bowed deeply to Theodore. " Konnichi-wa,Kurita Theodore-sa/na. It is the fulfillment of a life's desire to meet with you again and to stand with you as an ally."

"I am most honored to welcome you back to the Combine." Theodore bowed respectfully, then straightened up to his full height. "Akira Brahe, you have come a long way since your time in the Second Legion of Vega."

At the mention of the man's name, Shin began to recall the little he knew of the man. Akira was the son of one of the Combine's greatest MechWarriors, Yorinaga Kurita. In 3013, at the head of the Second Sword of Light, Yorinaga had killed Prince Ian Davion, Hanse's elder brother. Thirteen years later, he killed Patrick Kell, Morgan Kell's younger brother. Three years after that, Yorinaga and Morgan fought a duel on Nusakan that culminated in Yorinaga's committing seppuku.Akira repudiated his ties with the Combine after his father's suicide, left the Genyosha, and joined the Kell Hounds.

Shin shot a glance at Narimasa Asano. The gray-haired man smiled as Akira bowed, and then he returned the bow. "I recall that, twenty years ago, we did not look forward to meeting a next time because it could only mean contest in battle. How fortunate that life has proved us wrong."

"Most fortunate, Asano -sama."

Theodore completed introductions between the two groups. Hideyoshi and the First Sword's Yoshida looked less than pleased to see mercenaries on Luthien, but Shin knew their displeasure had even deeper roots. Both men had favored formal ceremonies to greet the mercenaries, less to give honor than to keep Theodore's father away from such an event.

That would have been incredible,Shin thought as he visualized a meeting between Jaime Wolf and Takashi Kurita. The last such took place at Hanse Davion's wedding more than twenty years ago, and had become something of a legend. Jaime Wolf, whom the Coordinator had tried to have killed, took Takashi to task for his lack of honor. Later that year, after suffering a minor stroke, Takashi issued his infamous Death to Mercenaries order that had alienated so many officers, Akira Brahe included. As nearly as Shin knew, Takashi still awaited the day when someone would deliver Jaime Wolf's head to him in a box.

The Kanrei conducted his entourage to an elevator, which took them down to an auxiliary briefing room next to the command center. Shin and Hohiro both logged onto terminals in the room, starting data feeds pouring information onto their screens. With the flick of a finger, either man could summarize the data into charts holographically projected above the meeting table.

Theodore stood with his back to the double doors of the black room. Jaime Wolf and Morgan Kell stood facing him at the far end of the table. The other officers filled the space between the Kanrei and the mercenaries, with Akira Brahe and Narimasa Asano at Theodore's right. Near the center of the group, Shin and Hohiro formed a buffer between the Combine officers and the mercenary leaders.

Theodore wasted no time getting started. "Before your arrival, we were looking at five crack regiments of 'Mechs: the First Sword of Light, the Otomo, both Genyosha regiments, and the Second Legion of Vega. We also had three militia regiments. Two were to be assigned to field operations against the Elementals, using analogs of the armor suits we captured on Wolcott. The third is an Omega regiment that will make any enemy pay dearly if it comes to house-to-house in Imperial City."

With a nod from Theodore, Shin produced graphic representations of each unit's table of organization and equipment. Yoshida winced to see his unit's secrets revealed before men he had ever considered enemies, but Wolf's appreciative grunt and nodded salute clearly made him feel proud. Morgan Kell's dark gaze drank in all the information but, unlike Jaime, he did not reveal his thoughts.

MacKenzie glanced at Theodore. "With one regiment in Imperial City, you must be planning to fight nearby. What is your choice of position?"

The Kanrei signaled his son to provide a map. A green neon topographical representation of Imperial City and the surrounding area floated above the table. Small red rectangles represented the units to be used in defense of the capital.

"Logistical necessities force us to battle within a fifty-klick radius of Imperial City. Luthien is so heavily industrialized that virtually any other venue would cause incalculable civilian injuries, not to mention damage to industry. We are fortunate that, aside from Turtle Bay, the Clans have fought a clean war. Even if they lost the battle but destroyed our industry, we would still be hamstrung. As it is, we intend to evacuate Imperial City the moment the Clans appear insystem."

Theodore pointed to a flat plain that stood beyond the hills that ringed Imperial City like fortifications. "This is the Tairakana Plain. We intend to defend here, then use the hills to fight a delaying battle as we come back toward the city. The hills will shorten ranges so that the Clans no longer have a gross equipment advantage. Our companies that have undergone field modification will act as a harassing force to keep the enemy concentrated on one front. If the Clan forces want to spread out and encircle the city, that's to our advantage, but we cannot allow then to flank our forces and cut them off from the city."

"Agreed." Morgan Kell stroked his snowy beard. "With us, you add seven regiments to your number, three of those—my first and two of Jamie's units—are equipped with Clan-type weaponry. With our strength added to yours, will you want to modify the plan?"

Theodore folded his arms over his chest. "Not substantially. What I really hope to do is use your regiments as reserves to bolster our line." He nodded to Hohiro, and symbols for the mercenary regiments appeared in several locations in the hills. "We will be holding the only quick route through the hills, so if the Clans pierce our line, they will lay open the way to the capital. If we fail, the fate of Luthien is in your hands."

"lie!"

The fear and fury breathed into that single word shocked Shin. As his head snapped around, he saw Takashi Kurita stalking through the doors. Silhouetted by the light from the open door, the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine gave off outrage like heat waves from a fusion engine. He stopped before Jaime Wolf, giving the mercenary a cobra-like stare. "So, the rumor is true. My son brings his treason home with him."

Takashi turned on his son. "It is not enough that you leave Luthien for nine months to consult with our enemy, but now you bring him here! Then I find you turning over to him responsibility for the safety of Imperial City!" Takashi faltered. "Maximilian Liao was fortunate in his child. At least Romano had the mercy to assassinate him before destroying his nation."

"If that is truly your mind, shall I get a gun and shoot you?"

At Theodore's reply, Yoshida and Hideyoshi looked in horror at the Coordinator, who seemed refueled rather than crushed by his son's words. Takashi's head came up and his dark eyes flashed ominously. "Your acquiescence comes too late to bring me solace. I have acknowledged your right to command the military forces of the Combine, and I would not unman you by stripping you of your office now." He fought to keep pain from his face. "Do not emasculate your own nation by putting the fate of our Imperial City in the hands of yoheiunits."

Theodore pointed toward the map. "As you can see, father, our forces are arrayed to bear the brunt of the attack. We will do all we can to be sure we never need the mercenaries' help. It is the DCMS that defends the capital; the mercenaries are only here to offer support." The Kanrei fell silent, the muscles of his face working as he struggled for inner control. "Besides, father, what unit would we draw off to ward the capital? We have no others."

Takashi shook his head as though rebuking a foolish child. "You have one more unit, Kanrei." His tone dripped scorn. "It is the one composed of my own bodyguards and of Mech Warriors who fought boldly long before you were born. These troops are known as the Dragon's Claws." The Coordinator raised his head and matched his son's stare without surrendering anything. "We will draw the line, and with me at their head, not a single Clansmen will cross it."

37

Stortalar City , Gunzburg

Radstadt Province, Free Rasalhague Republic

31 December 3051

 

To set foot once more into the Iron Jarl's antechamber sent a chill down Phelan Wolf's spine. With his ceremonial Wolf mask hiding his face, none who guided him toward Tor Miraborg's office guessed his identity or that he might have reason for unpleasant memories of the place. These guides had not been present two and a half years earlier when Jarlwards had conducted Phelan, severely beaten and half naked, to see their master.

And they wouldn't know that his office was the last place I ever saw Tyra.Phelan recalled the few minutes they'd had together, holding one another on the red leather bench in the room. This is where she gave me the belt buckle she'd made.He let his anger at Vlad rekindle his hatred for Tor Miraborg. If not for her father, Tyra would have come with him and the Kell Hounds, and he'd never have ended up on his odyssey with the Clans.

The hooded, charcoal gray cloak Phelan wore was just a shade darker than his leather garments and enamel mask. The cloak's wolf-fur trim broadened the shoulders of his silhouette and gave him a more imposing air. The mask, whose jutting muzzle and bared teeth resembled the head of his

Wolfhound,made him look truly ferocious. None of his escorts got too close, not did they speak to him unnecessarily.

As for Phelan, he spoke not at all.

He had disguised himself according to Natasha's suggestion because he relished the idea of fooling Tor Miraborg. Yet on the way down to the planet and after being met by lesser officials, his outlook on his mission changed. Were he there only to take revenge on Miraborg, he would have done anything to shatter the man.

I would have treated him as Vlad treated me.

That was the realization that struck Phelan just after stepping from the shuttle Carew had piloted down to the Gunzburg. While greeting Miraborg's envoys, he saw their unmistakable terror. All paid him great deference, continually apologizing for what they feared might be Tor Miraborg's hostile reaction to him. As one explained, "Well, the Varldherre is a military man, jalYou will understand him and his ways, jaT

Suddenly Phelan's little game took on great importance. Not only must he win Gunzburg's surrender for the honor of the Wolves, fie also had to win it for the people of Gunzburg. Should he fail and the mission fall to Marcos to complete, Phelan knew the Crusader would stop at nothing for a quick victory. Nor would Marcos shrink from acts of brutality if he thought they could redeem him.

First, I win the planet's freedom, then I make the Iron Jarl pay!

When a civilian official opened the door to the Iron Jarl's office, Phelan felt as though his last time here was only hours before, not years. Seated in his wheelchair behind a massive mahogany desk, Tor Miraborg still looked every bit the strong leader a world like Gunzburg needed. His silver hair was trimmed short and shaved at the temples as though he were planning to strap himself into a 'Mech when the invasion came. The stripes of dark hair in his white beard still tugged down at the corners of his mouth, reminding Phelan of a badger's striped fur.

Even more memories were aroused by the scar bisecting the left side of Miraborg's face from eyebrow to beard. Phelan remembered how the people of Rasalhague had hated mercenaries after Vinson's Vigilantes caused Miraborg's crippling and scarring. An identical scar marring the face of Miraborg's tall blond aide reminded Phelan of how fanatical had become the devotion of Gunzburg's citizens, many of whom disfigured themselves voluntarily. The scar also reminded him again of Vlad and the Clansman's hatred for him.

The official who opened the door and ushered Phelan in began the introductions, but Miraborg waved her off. "I think the ilKhan's envoy knows who I am. My aide is Hanson Kuusik, a Kapten with the Gunzburg Eagles Aerospace Regiment."

Kuusik took a step forward and started to offer his hand, but Phelan's silent disregard for the gesture stopped him. The other man's face flushed as he dropped his hand and resumed his position. Miraborg's restless eyes drank it all in, and a curious look of respect settled over his face.

The official retreated from the room, leaving the trio of warriors alone. Behind Miraborg, a glass wall gave Phelan a good view of Stortalar City. It looked far different in midsummer than when he'd last seen it, and Phelan decided he preferred the flourishing green of trees and flowers to the white blanket of winter snow. From what he could see as dusk came on below, life continued normally in the city.

Miraborg interlaced his fingers as he rested his forearms on the leather blotter of his desk. "You surprise me by coming here. I thought all negotiations would be conducted via radio transmission. I had not heard that the Wolves negotiate in person."

"I am not here to negotiate." The mask's hollow muzzle let Phelan's voice echo back on itself, giving it a disembodied quality. "I have come to accept your surrender."

Kuusik's eyes narrowed and his urge to fight rode plainly on his face. Miraborg only stared at Phelan, as though his gaze could peel away the mask to reveal the man beneath it. "Our surrender?" He said the word not as though it were a ridiculous idea, but as though it were an option he had long ago dismissed. "Are your terms open to negotiation?"

"As I said before, I am not here to negotiate. Surrender, unconditionally, or your world dies."

The Varldherre sat back and stroked his chin. Kuusik, too, tried to hide the expression on his, face, but he failed. As he spoke, his nostrils flared and contempt edged his voice. "Perhaps we should be the ones offering terms for surrender. We have a formidable force on this world, and we know how to fight you. We almost beat you at Memmingen."

Phelan waited a moment to be certain Kuusik had finished speaking his threat, then he shook his head. "You are not dealing with the same commander who led the forces on Memmingen. As formidable as your force is, we have the equipment and personnel to destroy it. We know, for example, that half the fighters from the Third Drak0ns may have made it to Gunzburg, but less than forty percent of them are operational. We also know that air strikes at Danzig, Felskinka, and Kosparris will destroy your ability to resup-ply and maintain your aircraft. Perhaps you will have air superiority for an hour or two, but destroying those three bases will cost us nothing because we can accomplish it through planetary bombardment."

"You are bluffing!"

Phelan ignored Kuusik and looked at Miraborg. "You are a warrior with a long and glorious history. You have fought against great odds in your time, but none have ever been so stacked against you. What I say about your forces should tell you how much more other information I have. If you choose to fight, many, many people will die."

The Iron Jarl frowned. "I can acknowledge the truth of your information, but that still does not answer the Kapten's charge that you are bluffing."

"Yes," Kuusik chimed in. "We hurt you at Memmingen. You do not have the resources necessary to fight us. We won't roll over and die for you."

"Remember, Kapten, war is not all glory and afterglow." Phelan's menacing tone took some of the sneer from Kuusik's face. "You may be prepared to die for your world, but is your family? Are your friends?"

He fixed Miraborg with a harsh stare. "You know I am not bluffing."

"Do I?"

The Clansman nodded slowly. "You do. What we ask is simple, and in return, we will leave you and your people in power. ComStar will act as liaison to keep us informed of what your government is doing. They will also advise us on your transportation needs for import and export trade with your usual trading partners. Your troops will be disarmed, of course, but they will not be Dispossessed."

"What good is it to have a neutered 'Mech?" Kuusik snarled bitterly.

"Is dying in the husk of an armed 'Mech somehow preferable?" Phelan brought his gloved hands out from beneath the cloak, forcing it behind his shoulders. "I offer you your lives and to spare your world the certain destruction that war would bring. It is your choice, Varldherre. The people will follow your lead. We do not ask that you embrace us as allies or friends, but only that you acknowledge us as master. Is not some loss of pride worth all the suffering it will buy?"

Kuusik dropped to his knees and took hold of Miraborg's right hand where it rested on the arm of his wheelchair. "Send this animal packing. You are the Iron Jarl. You are the champion of Rasalhague's freedom. If you give in to his demands, everything will have been wasted. Your daughter's death will have meant nothing!"

"What!" Phelan's surprise exploded through his mask. 'Tyra is dead?"

He and Tyra had shared three months of passion, then been torn apart when the Kell Hounds left for the Periphery. Though they had said their goodbyes and made a formal end to their relationship, all that had happened to Phelan since his capture by the Clans had not left him the space to put his feelings to rest. No matter how much he loved Ranna, he had hoped to see Tyra again if only to learn how she had fared since their last meeting.

Tor Miraborg yanked his hand free of Kuusik's grip. "Do not tell me what to do, Kapten." A tear trickled down the scarred side of his face. He looked up at Phelan, his eyes lifeless. "Yes, my daughter is dead. It was she who drove her fighter into your flagship. Jaime Wolf said her action killed your warlord and bought us a year's respite from your attacks. Even if that were true, it was not worth my daughter's life."

Kuusik sank back on his haunches, his face utterly drained of color. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying that I have finally learned the lesson that might have saved my daughter. A jeader must be more than simply a focus for his people's ambitions and desires. I am a military man, but my responsibilities extend far beyond soldiery on this world. Before, I could assure our people that their safety was inviolate because the Eagles could and would destroy all our foes. I cannot give them that assurance now.

"The time has come to truly act as a leader. Perhaps Tyra would not have left and joined the Rasalhague Drak0ns had I done so before. I blame myself for her death."

The Kapten sprang to his feet. "You were not to blame for her defection! That mercenary seduced her. He wormed his way into her heart and confused her with stories of glory to be won on distant worlds." Kuusik drove his right fist into his left palm with a loud smack. "I only wish I had killed him when we fought."

"It was enough that you bested him in single combat..."

"Ha!" Phelan's hands clenched in anger. "Single combat? Perhaps you were the only one left standing, but that's because your confederates had been scattered."

Puzzlement knitted Miraborg's dark brows while fear flashed through Kuusik's eyes. Even as Kuusik started toward him, Phelan realized that the Kapten had never told the Varldherre he had jumped Phelan with a gang of men that night so long ago. Of course, the Varldherre would have considered that an act of cowardice!Kuusik had been able to hide the truth because everyone believed that Phelan's protests about the number of attackers was a lie intended to hide his shame at defeat.

The Kapten's lunge came fast, but that mattered little. After Phelan's months of training with Evantha, Kuusik seemed clumsy and sluggish. Like a drunken brawler, the Kapten threw himself off balance as he punched, his fist looping through the air where Phelan's ducking head had been. The man stumbled forward.

Swinging with everything he had, Phelan hammered his right fist into Kuusik's chest. A hollow thump sounded as the blow landed directly below the Kapten's sternum, knocking the wind out of him. Hands clutched to his chest, Kuusik pitched forward and desperately tried to suck in air. Phelan's left hand clipped him behind the ear and accelerated his descent.

A sudden fire ignited in Miraborg's eyes. "Who the hell are you?"

Phelan wanted nothing so much as to tear off his mask so he could gloat over the Iron Jarl. His hands started up toward the mask, but a cold detachment replaced the urge and instead he readjusted the cloak that enshrouded him. Revenge was something Phelan Kell would have demanded, but I am no longer Phelan Kell.

It was Phelan Wolf who spoke. "You do not know me. We captured Phelan Kell in the Periphery. I know something of his last days on Gunzburg from his debriefing. He spoke fondly of your daughter, and I know he would have grieved her passing."

"He is dead?"

"He was on the flagship that Tyra rammed. Shortly thereafter, he was no more."

The Iron Jarl looked up slowly. "I see."

"Perhaps you do." Phelan looked beyond him, watching as the city's lights began to glow in the dusk. "You have a beautiful world and are responsible for safeguarding it. I must have your decision."

Miraborg sat so still and silent that Phelan wondered if the man had slipped into a state of catatonia. The office dimmed and Kuusik's moans ceased as he drifted into unconsciousness. Hardly daring to breathe, Phelan, too, remained motionless, waiting for the Varldherre's decision.

Finally, Miraborg's head came up. "I accept your terms for the surrender of Gunzburg. I will inform ComStar of my choice as successor, then I will retire from public life."

Phelan shook his head. "Do not retire."

"What?" Miraborg looked like a man at the breaking point. "All I have done is poison my life and the people around me. Kuusik there is only one of thousands more misguided men and women on this world, thousands whom I have led astray. I cannot continue in this position."

"Yes you can." The Clansman pointed toward the window. "Today, by agreeing to this surrender, you go from being a symbol for your people to a leader of your people. Your discipline, your love of Gunzburg, and your firm hand are still important and vital. And now you show the wisdom of knowing when to change."

Miraborg seemed to weigh Phelan's every word, assaying their truth. "Yes," he said at last, "I created the problem. It is for me to solve it."

Phelan nodded. "I shall return to my ship and inform the ilKhan of your decision." He turned to leave, but Miraborg's voice called him back. "Wait!"

The Clansman faced the crippled warrior. Miraborg slid open a drawer in his desk and took out a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Phelan recognized them instantly as his, and recalled his promise to Miraborg that he would recover them one day.

The Iron Jarl slid them in his direction. "I believe these belong to you." The man's lower lip trembled. "To the victor go the spoils."

Phelan made no move to take them. "If that is true, these belong to your people, for it is they who have triumphed today."

* * *

When Phelan and Carew stepped from the shuttle, they were immediately caught up in a frenzy of activity as bondsmen scurried around the shuttle bay. They waded through a sea of bodies securing the ship to the deck and found Natasha standing by the airlock bulkhead. She smiled broadly and offered Phelan her hand.

"Very well done, Star Commander. The ilKhan sends his warmest congratulations."

Phelan stripped off his right glove and shook her hand. Looking around at the furious activity in the bay, and the lack of people there to greet him, he felt confused. "What's going on?"

Natasha gave him one of those grins that said she'd managed yet another coup. "While you were down there enjoying real gravity, I've been working. I taught Marcos another lesson in bidding and won the right to take Satalice."

Phelan blinked. "Another assault?"

She nodded. "We've just been waiting for you before we jump. The New Black Widows will get their first battle inside a week." She chuckled slyly. "You didn't think we'd let you have all the fun, did you?"