Текст книги "Wolf Pack"

10

Most people think a warrior with a small build is worth little in a brawl, where the ability to inflict and endure punishment is usually paramount. The small fighter's lack of reach and mass are definite disadvantages in such a fight. If he's to survive, a small warrior must be fast and skilled. Maeve was that, especially the latter.

We were back on Outreach and I was just rounding the corner on Herrara Street in Harlech, when I came upon Maeve standing over an opponent, presumably the aggressor, who was on the ground. Downed he might have been at the moment, but he had four friends. The drunken laughter I had heard as I approached rattled down to an awkward stop.

"Tinspawn bitch," one of them growled.

"He asked for it," I heard her say. "Why don't you take him back to quarters and let him sleep it off?"

"Freeborns don't take orders from your kind anymore." The speaker's voice was slurred, but he moved fast enough.

Maeve ducked the punch, but her counterstrike was ineffective. Either the man was too drunk to feel the pain or else his big frame absorbed all the energy she could generate from her off-balance kick. He spun on her and she had to scramble to escape his grasp. One of the thug's companions clipped Maeve on the ear as she dodged. I saw blood spray.

I ran toward them.

All four were circling Maeve, but they were either too drunk or too absorbed to hear me coming. But Maeve had. She gauged my strategy and took advantage of it. Just as I came up, she struck out, opening herself up to the big one. Oblivious to me, he tried to grapple her.

I tucked into a ball as I launched myself into the back of the big one's knees. I imagined the surprise on his face as he got hit, and wished I could see his expression as we collided. We went down in a tumble, but I had enough momentum and he landed mostly off me. Wanting to slow him down, I cracked his knee hard as I pulled myself free from under his legs. When I was on my feet again, I saw that it didn't matter; he was heaving his guts up. We wouldn't have to worry about him for awhile.

Maeve had taken down her target, but had not taken him out. Unfortunately, he had dropped her to the pavement as well. Her attackers were closing on her as she pushed herself onto her hands and knees. The thugs had their backs to me, their problem. As I went by, I kicked the woman. She whuffed and collapsed, groaning as she joined her big companion in decorating the sidewalk.

"Two left," I said, moving into the freeborns' view. "Even odds. Still want to play?"

One of them risked a look over his shoulder, maybe to see if there were more where I came from, or maybe to check on his companions. The noise they were making should have told him their state. The other kept his eyes on us. The expression on his bloodied face told me Maeve had taught him to keep his eyes on her. I could have blind-sided his nosy partner, but I gave them a chance to answer my question.

The nosy one gulped and shook his head. The two freebirths backed away. The two still on their feet helped the exterior decorators up, and the four of them managed to rouse their leader enough that they only had to half-drag him away into the darkness.

"Nice timing, friend," Maeve said. She tossed hair back out of her eyes and got her first good look at me. "Brian!"

I was pleased to see her expression of relief change to one of gladness. "It looked like you needed help."

"They lost the first bid and upped the stakes." She shrugged and winced. "They were drunk enough. No real threat."

"The medical center is down the street. I was headed there anyway.",

"Don't need a doc," she said, rubbing the side of her head. She looked surprised to find blood on her fingers. "I would have handled them."

"Sure." I offered her the medpack from my belt. "Sure."

She smiled sheepishly as she took my offering. "Thought you were on duty tonight."

"Things were slow." I made a point of looking elsewhere while she tended her cuts and scrapes. "You fought well."

"Good reflexes," she said with a shrug. Then she smiled, a twinkle in her eyes reflecting memories of other times. I wished I could have been a part of those times she seemed to recall with such pleasure. Then the moment was gone and she returned to the present. "They should have known better, but everyone thinks they're better than the ones who tried before."

That didn't sound good. "You've been attacked before? The Wolf should be told."

She shook her head.

"Not his business. Not my style." She laughed, but she couldn't hide the concern in her eyes. "Come on, Brian. You're not a spheroid. You grew up in the Dragoons like I did. You ever go crying to your sibparents when another sibko gave you an impromptu test behind the barracks?"

"Of course not. It wouldn't be honorable."

"Or smart." Her expression demanded agreement and I complied with a nod. She shrugged again. "That's all that happened here. A few freebirths thought they were better than me just because they've got blood parents. I was just educating them."

"They didn't seem to be grasping the lesson too well."

"I guess it was a large class for just one teacher. I'm glad you came along."

Her smile melted me. "So am I."

"You said you were headed for the med center? The Wolf ordering up a new crop?"

"No. Not that. I was ... I was just ..." I found myself wanting to tell her the real reason I was going to the med center, but her offhanded remark had struck too close to the truth and I was wary. I wanted to tell her, to share with her, but I was afraid. I tried telling myself that it was the scent of her in my nostrils and the heat of her nearness on my skin that made me, so unsure of myself. I wanted to believe that she would understand, but I couldn't be sure. I'd never met anyone who had understood, but then, I had never told anyone outside my sibko about what I did, and I hadn't even told all my mates. James would have laughed his derision. Maeve might scorn me the same way.

"Just what?"

Her eyes that had been steel when turned toward those who would harm her were clouds of soft gray now. They made me believe that she cared. Fearing that I might have misread her, I throttled up my courage.

"I was going to the wombs." Her brow wrinkled briefly in puzzlement. I quailed.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

"It's where I go when I have to think." There. I had said it. She could taunt me now. Better I had told James; I could have punched him. Waiting for her scorn, I realized my eyes were closed in anticipation of her harsh words. Wouldn't a warrior react harshly to someone who still ran back to where he had been birthed whenever he was troubled?

"Me, too," she said.

I looked at her. Her face was expressionless, tranquil. The pools of her eyes were cool depths. I could have drowned in them. The heat of my embarrassment was quenched. I was only too happy to agree when she asked if she could come along. I hadn't been sure I wanted to be alone, and I was not about to pass up the chance to spend some off-duty time in her company.

The womb halls were mostly dark; all the scientists having returned to their quarters for the night. Only a skeleton staff was on duty and they stayed at their monitors, leaving only to take their breaks in the lounge. We walked the corridors unchallenged. I knew our close connections to the Wolf were enough authorization for our presence, but had anyone noticed us, we would have been reported. I didn't want that, and I didn't need to ask Maeve if she agreed with my clandestine approach. Her stealthy tread as we neared the building had told me that she knew the unwritten rules concerning night visits to the wombs.

We made our way to the visitors' gallery outside chamber 17. Beyond the transpex was my birthplace. Or so I had decided. We were never told which of the womb chambers had been ours. If the particular gallery made any difference to Maeve, she never said.

Through the transpex we could see the iron wombs in the chamber. It was night cycle, but we didn't turn on the lights. We didn't need to; the chamber had light enough for our purposes. Most of the soft illumination came from the floor strips marking the aisles with dots of amber. The wombs themselves were firefly structures of monitors and status lights. There were no red lights. All was calm, quiet.

For a while, we sat without saying anything, content to soak up the peace of the place. Haltingly, we began to talk. At first we spoke about the little matters of our work, like returning to quarters after a contract or the problems of explaining to a tech how your 'Mech just feelswrong. Low-key shoptalk. She told a funny story of how a sibmate had gotten himself a year's worth of extra duty and that got us onto how our sib-mates were doing. From there we moved on to growing up in a sibko. I guess it was almost inevitable, given where we were.

She was a delight and I hoped I didn't bore her. I was startled-to notice how close together we were now sitting on the bench when she surprised me with a sudden shift of topic.

"You said you come here when you need to think. I don't think you wanted to relive your childhood. That's best done elsewhere and with your sibmates. What were you coming here for?" She rushed on before I could answer. "You can tell me to shut up, if you want. If it's business and you can't talk about it, I'll understand."

"No, it's all right. It's not business. Or at least not exactly." I knew my smile was lopsided, but I hoped it was reassuring. "I saw an old communique today. About the gene pool."

"You know your parents?" She was eager, excited by the possibility. Obviously our talk had brought such speculation to the front of her mind. She had told me that hers was an unnamed sibko and now it seemed that she had transferred her own hopes of learning her parentage to my situation. In her eyes I saw unfeigned joy for what she believed to be my good fortune. I had to disappoint her.

"No, not that."

"Don't you want to know?" Her own longing was naked in her voice. I was embarrassed.

"I've always known mine. I was of the William Cameron sibko."

"Right. I forgot. You're not a no-name like me."

There was pain in her voice. I reached out to embrace her, give her the human warmth that helped wash away that loneliness. She didn't move until I touched her, then she started. I pulled back and she turned her shoulder to me.

"You'll earn an Honorname," I said awkwardly.

Her voice was tiny. "I want my own."

I understood that. Compared to her, I was lucky. I knew my parents, knew I was the seed of an Honor-name bloodline. Even if I hadn't won the name, I could carry the knowledge of my heritage with me. But I had won a name. Unity! I must have sounded condescending to her.

I dropped my arms to my side and turned my face to the window. Beyond the transpex, the rows of iron wombs marched into the darkness in their immobile ranks, their inner warmth hidden within the chill metal. New life was stirring there in the core of those wombs that looked so hard and nonhuman. The children born of them would face lives full of fighting. Some would know their geneparents, as I did. Some would have no idea who had provided the sperm and egg from which they grew. All would grow up dreaming of earning a name. Some, a very few, would succeed in doing so. Many more would die.

And why?

To fill the ranks of Wolf's Dragoons. And why?

To be ready for the renewed assault of the Clans.

Jaime Wolf had determined that the Dragoons would be there to oppose the return of the Clans in their drive toward Terra. His official reasons were on record in the private Dragoon annals. The sibkos had been full of rumors that hinted at hidden reasons. I heard even wilder speculation once I left the sibko and had free encounters with spheroids. Correct or not, speculation didn't change truth.

The Dragoons were renegades from the Clans, the people who had developed the iron wombs. Most of the oldsters, the Dragoons who had been among the Clans, were freeborns. They had been born of human parents, and some had even grown up in real families. That parentage, derogatorily known as freebirth, had made them second-class citizens, looked down upon by the so-called trueborns who had gestated in the iron wombs and grown up in sibkos. The irony tore at my guts. Here on Outreach the Dragoons had turned to the iron wombs to save themselves as a group, much as had the followers of Nicholas Kerensky, founder of the Clans; the so-called renegades were walking the path of those against whom they'd rebelled. The sibkos were to fill out the ranks and make the Dragoons the elite warriors of the Inner Sphere. Like Clan warriors, the sibkin would become the Wolf's soldiers. They would be educated and trained from birth to be the best. Soldiers without parents, the elite of Wolf's Dragoons.

Like I was. Like Maeve was.

The children birthed of the wombs were our brothers and sisters, even those with whom we shared no genetic heritage. We were all a family. If the Wolf's plan worked, we would be more closely knit, better-trained, and more cohesive than the Dragoons had been when they had first come to the Inner Sphere, fresh from their Clan training.

"Brian?"

I grunted a reply. Very eloquent.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"You don't have anything to apologize for."

"I know you were trying to help."

"I . . ."

"Can we just forget it?"

"Sure." What else could I say?

"You started to tell me why you came here tonight."

"In the sibko we were told that the Dragoons take care of their own."

"Unity of mind, unity of purpose," she quoted.

"The communique I saw was addressed to the scientists. It was about an addition to the gene banks."

"A new Honorname line?

"No. New genes."

Maeve's eyes went wide. "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember when the leaders of all the Inner Sphere came to Outreach? The Wolf was supposedly warning them of the threat of the Clans. He told them of our origin among the Clans and our repudiation of that allegiance. He offered them anti-Clan training and intelligence. He even had them bring their heirs so the new generation would be ready to fight the Clans. The House leaders got training and information all right, but they paid for it in a way they will never know."

"You said new genes."

"That's right. The Wolf ordered genetic samples taken from all the heirs while they were having full medical evaluations. During those examinations, each of the children of the House lords was asleep. I hope they had pleasant dreams, because while they slept, they were leaving something of themselves behind. They're all in the genetic banks."

"The Wolf added spheroid genes to the pool?"

I couldn't tell if she was shocked or just surprised. I nodded.

"Even Kurita genes?"

"Aff."

She was quiet for a long time. "But he kept it secret."

"Aff. A commander must keep some secrets. It's not just a part of the mystique, it's a necessary tool in maintaining unpredictability. Secrecy is as much a part of war as particle projection cannons and blood. A lot of what the Wolf does is secret. He wears one face in public and another in the command center."

"Like any good officer."

I hoped that was all. "It's more than that. I wish I knew what."

"Maybe he's afraid that the adoptees will have a problem with his decision," she said thoughtfully. "They don't like the sibkos. I think they really do think we're not quite human."

"Maybe they're right."

"You know better," she said, touching her hand to my face.

She sounded like Lydia. My sibsister had always had a comforting word when I had not done well in a test, but Lydia rarely offered physical comfort. Maeve's palm was hot on my cheek. I tried to ignore the contact, but it burned its way to my brain. I mumbled, "Do I?"

She turned my face to hers and stared into my eyes. Her other hand dropped between my legs. "You're human enough for me," she said. And she was human, too.

11

If I hadn't been thinking about the previous night, I might have reacted faster. Maeve, too, must have been dulled by our late night, for she was just as slow. Then again, maybe it wasn't a fault in us, but I still don't believe it. We should have been more observant. Ishould have been more observant.

As the Dragoons equipped more infantry troops with Elemental-style battle armor, people dressed in battle suits were an increasingly common sight in the streets of Outreach. The equipment of war is not out of place in a camp of warriors, and Harlech, as the capital of Outreach, was certainly that. On this particular day, this particular battle suit bore Dragoon markings, which was as it should be; Dragoon policy prohibited any but our own on the planetary surface. Battle suits were still not commonplace in the rest of the Inner Sphere, so we had no reason to suspect that this wasn't one of ours.

Still, I was disturbed to see the battle-armored infantryman lounging against the concrete barrier wall screening the side entrance of Wolf Hall. At the time, I put my unease down to thoughts that the soldier might be the big thug who Maeve and I had fought last night; he had been big enough to be an Elemental. Now I realize that I was dimly registering that the battle suit's markings were definitely Dragoon insignia and tactical signs, except that they were out-of-date.

Wolf Hall was the command center for all Dragoon operations, and it housed business offices for all senior officers. Today was paperwork day for the Wolf, and that meant time in the office. He would be there and we were very nearly late. Jaime Wolf didn't like his staff-to be late.

The sun felt warm after the chill of the tube station as we walked toward the small door in the east side of the building. The entrance was inset in the wall, the only shade in sight on that sunny morning. Maeve was passing through the scanners in front of me when I heard a groundcar pull up. I looked over my shoulder and watched the car stopping near the stairwell that we had just left. The flags on the car's fenders marked the vehicle as the Wolf's. I was relieved; we had arrived before he had. Then I thought again. Experience had taught me that the Wolf must be having a bad day if he wasn't an hour early. A bad day for the Wolf was a worse day for his staff.

I had no idea how bad the day was going to be.

As the groundcar doors began to open, the Elemental shifted from his position at the concrete barrier. He emerged from behind the creogan bush at the end of the fence, his weapon leveled. The snouts of the multibarreled antipersonnel machine gun built into the suit's right arm were dark with ominous promises of destruction.

It was too late to shout a warning. Wolf was out of the car and turning just then to see his danger. I reached for my pistol, a futile gesture because the weapon could never penetrate the battle armor. But I had to do something.

The Elemental opened fire.

His first shot went just ahead of the Wolf's ground-car, tearing up concrete beyond it as the heavy slugs impacted. With the next shot, the Elemental corrected his aim and sent fire ripping along the front fender of the car. The car's driver, who had been walking around the front of the vehicle, was cut in two. Grotesquely, her legs took another two steps after her torso hit the ground. Then the Elemental poured fire into the car, and shrieking metal shrilled.

I could see the Wolf crawling along the pavement, keeping the car between him and the Elemental. I guessed that he was headed for the stairs down to the tube station. The concrete would provide better cover than the groundcar. I was terrified to see that he left a trail of blood. He had been hit, whether by weapons fire or some of the shrapnel generated from the car I couldn't tell. He needed help.

If I ran to help him, I would be killed.

Leveling my pistol at the Elemental, I pulled the trigger and sent impotent slugs to patter against his bulbous chestplate. They were no threat, but I got his attention. I ducked back into the building as he raked the entrance with fire. The walls were thick enough to protect me.

I had bought some time for the Wolf.

Maeve crowded me as I blocked the door.

"What in hell's happening?"

"Elemental firing on the Wolf." I shoved her back, in case the Elemental changed his line of fire. Knowing nothing better to do, I changed the magazine in my pistol.

The door guard pushed his way past us. He had faith in his armor and weapons, but the Elemental cut the man down the moment he appeared.

Outside, the firing subsided.

Troops would not be long in arriving, but would they be fast enough to save the Wolf? Was it already too late? I risked a look. The Wolf was nowhere to be seen, but his blood trail led to the stairwell. He had made it!

The rogue Elemental was rocking from side to side as if trying to see through or into the burning ground-car. I guessed he was unsure of his handiwork. I thought to draw the rogue's attention again to give the Wolf more time to escape, but before I could move, Jaime Wolf showed himself. The Elemental spotted him, too, and sent a burst at him. The Wolf ducked, fast enough that slugs sprayed concrete shards over the sidewalk but missed him.

The rogue started to run toward the stairwell in ungainly strides. Four meters from the conflagration that separated him from his quarry, he cut in the suit's jump jets and arced into the air.

It was what the Wolf was waiting for.

A tight stream of water under high pressure burst from the stairwell, catching the Elemental square on his portside backpack launcher. Twisting backward under the impact, he lost control of his flight. The jets smashed him down into the pavement. He toppled onto his back, moving spasmodically as if dazed.

Then Jaime Wolf appeared at the top of the stairwell, fire hose in hand. He fought the stream down and directed it at the Elemental, setting the suit to spinning on its back as a child might toy with a tortoise. The rogue flailed his arms, apparently unable to regain control of the suit.

I rushed to the guard's station and opened the comm-link to call for Elemental support and a medical team. As I directed the arriving security forces, Maeve slipped outside and scooped up the fallen doorguard's rifle. She set herself in stance and started firing in short bursts, seeking the weak spots in the battle suit as it rotated.

It took only two minutes for the Elementals to arrive, a five-man Point plus Captain Elson. With brutal efficiency, the Point pounced on the rogue, who was too disoriented to fight. They cracked him out of the suit. Maeve must have found at least one crack in his armor, for his right arm was bleeding. Except for that he seemed unharmed. The medical term arrived shortly afterward and rushed a gray-faced Jaime Wolf off to the med center. The would-be assassin went in a second ambulance, but he received less solicitous care.

Stanford Blake handed me my commnet headset as he brushed past me to join the group of officers gathered around the untenanted battle suit. Several senior officers were present, including the Home Guard commander, Jason Carmody, Hamilton Atwyl, the aerospace commander, and Hanson Brubaker of Contract Command. Elson, the helmet of his battle suit rocked back to expose his head, stood with the officers. His remaining men—two had gone with the Wolf and one with the rogue—were still sealed in their suits. The pair moved away to hold their own conference. I spent a few minutes linking to the commnet and assuring various commands that all was under control before joining the officers. I left a channel open to the med center frequency.

"Suit's Nova Cat style," Stan announced. He looked puzzled.

I looked at Elson. He was stony-faced and silent, but his skin had flushed a bright red. He had been a Nova Cat once and still bore their Clan name as his own surname, just as Jaime Wolf bore the Wolf Clan name. Neither was a member of his original Clan anymore. Was Elson feeling embarrassment that his old Clan would try this assassination attempt, or was it because they failed? Or did his apparent response mean something else?

Jason Carmody kicked the empty suit's arm. It barely moved, but the impact was enough to make the two thick fingers and the opposed thumb of the left gauntlet quiver and uncurl slightly. He shook his head slowly.

"Don't they know we've been repudiated by Clan Wolf?"

"They must know, Jason," Stan said. "Maybe they don't care. Maybe it doesn't matter to them because we helped beat them on Luthien. We know they overextended themselves on Tukkayid to prove that Luthien was an accident. All they did was end up getting soundly beaten again. Not to mention that losing the Battle of Tukkayid is the reason the Clans have had to promise to hold their invasion at bay for fifteen years. We've given them enough reason for hate by ourselves; they don't need the old feud with the Wolves."

"Can't be a feud with us. There was no declaration," Brubaker pointed out.

Stan sighed. "Be serious, Hanson. We aren't living in an honorsong. Nova Cats aren't the only ones calling us bandits. Nobody has to declare feud with bandits."

"But the ilKhan hasn't proclaimed us bandits," Hanson protested.

"And he won't," Carmody said. "He's a Wolf himself."

"Maybehe won't," Stan corrected. "He's got a lot more to worry about than the welfare of a bunch of runaway freeborn warriors."

Carmody looked unhappy at Stan's assessment. "Maybe this is an attempt to punish the Dragoons for betraying the Clans."

Several of the officers agreed with that theory.

"How much do you think the Nova Cats would have bid for that privilege, Elson?" Atwyl asked.

"I am no longer a Nova Cat warrior."

"So what? What do you think?"

"I never participated in such a bid session."

"Fat lot of good you are," Atwyl snapped. He let out his frustration by kicking the unoccupied battle suit. "I think Jason put his finger on it. The Cats would love a scheme like this. They ace Jaime and they make a double score. They get revenge on the Dragoons for Luthien and at the same time they get to embarrass the Wolves by cleaning up their mess for them. They'd raise their stock with the other Clans and that's something they need to do, especially after Tukkayid."

"Maybe we can learn something from the Elemental." Carmody sounded hopeful.

The messages filling my right ear gave me the unhappy duty of destroying that hope.

"Med center reports the Elemental DOA. Bit off his tongue and drowned in his own blood." To the chorus of questions, I added the more important news, "The Wolf is stable. Prognosis is good."

"Any word from MacKenzie?" Atwyl asked anxiously.

"Unity, Ham! The message only just went out."

"I know, Stan." Atwyl frowned. "I'll be happier if he's back here until Jaime's up and around. Somebody's got to ride herd on this bunch."

There was general agreement, but I was surprised to note that some of the officers seemed less than enthusiastic. I made a point of checking Elson's reaction, but when I looked for him, he was gone. So were his Elementals.