Текст книги "Wolf Pack"

12

MacKenzie Wolf arrived on Outreach two weeks after the attack on his father. The trip would have taken longer had not Colonel Atwyl diverted some of the Dragoons' JumpShips from their regular duties and put them into place to create what the spheroids called a command circuit. A sequence of JumpShips was put at his disposal all along his route to Outreach. Instead of having to stop and wait while his ship recharged its interstellar drives, MacKenzie was able to transfer his DropShip from JumpShip to waiting JumpShip. The multiple transfers made the trip to Outreach relatively brief, but there had still been more than enough time for everyone to devise a favorite theory concerning the identity of the would-be assassin.

Some theories had more adherents than others. Clan assassin, pick your Clan. Spheroid revenge. Interference by the reactionary faction of ComStar. A first strike by the majority faction of ComStar. A simple rogue. Even a renegade Dragoon. The last was especially popular with spheroid Dragoons who wished to believe that we were led by a cabal of manipulative Clan puppets. I had formed no opinion; I was waiting for the evidence to come in. I was, however, troubled by the outcome of all this wild speculation.

Within days the leading theories seemed to have become ossified into rigid, almost political, positions. Arguments had erupted, even a few fights, between proponents of one theory or another. It began to seem that one could know the theory favored by a Dragoon by knowing which was his favorite among the factions that appeared to be developing within the Dragoons.

I found the division and acrimony unsettling.

In the sibko, I had been raised to believe that the Dragoons were one big family. Without knowing your genetic parentage, you could call any Dragoon from an older ageframe a parent and any of the same or a younger frame a sib. I had really believed that as a child, and that belief had made living in a sibko easier to bear. And why not? With every Dragoon either a parent or a sib, concern and caring could be found anywhere within our ranks. I was learning that life in the Dragoons, like life anywhere, I suppose, wasn't that simple. If we were a family, we weren't getting along very well.

I began to see the attack on Maeve as a symptom of a malaise afflicting the whole Dragoons, rather than an isolated incident. Once I had thought such differences merely the stuff of good-natured jibes. Now I saw a deeper source, a true rancor. I began to see that the Dragoons had families all right, families within families. Some seemed on the verge of feud.

Spheroids distrusted the oldsters, and sibkos held them in contempt for it. Those born of natural parents looked down on those of us who had been born of the wombs. And Clan bondsmen had nothing good to say about anyone else. I do not mean to suggest that everyone with a particular background felt exactly the same; they did not. But there were groups who nurtured those who shared their sentiments. Some were more open about it than others, but none were above recruiting more of their own kind. Each day, it seemed, the huddled heads in one corner or another grew in number.

I tried to tell myself that my fear of factionalism was paranoid. We were all Dragoons, loyal to the Wolf.

This outbreak of acrimony was merely a sign of stress. Worry for Jaime Wolf's health had made everyone edgy, distressed. When he was recovered, all would be well.

I hoped that I wasn't fooling myself.

During the weeks of Colonel Wolf's confinement at the med center, I was in almost constant attendance on him. That was how I came to be there whenever his family, his blood family, came to call.

Of course, I knew Marisha Dandridge. She was coordinator of sibko socialization, and I had seen her often during my early life. She had always been warm and, during my younger years, I believed that she was especially fond of me. Early in my third training frame, I had dreamed that I was in love with her. Then I learned that she was the Wolf's wife and I was filled with the sort of unformed terror that only a twelve-year-old can conjure. Our relationship changed overnight. I don't think she ever knew.

Marisha was Jaime Wolf's second wife. Though she was from a younger ageframe, her passionate feelings for him were evident. Uncomfortably so at times, for me, that is. Jaime Wolf certainly approved. A different sort of emotion was reflected in the two children she had borne him. There was an easy intimacy between the children and parents that I had seldom seen outside a sibko. Even in a sibko, I had never observed such depth of caring. I told myself that my flustered embarrassment was due to my old crush or my obvious intrusion on their privacy, but I knew better.

They were a blood family. I felt out of place.

But my duty was to be at the Wolf's side, except for brief times when he or Marisha requested privacy. In those weeks at the Colonel's side, I saw who came to visit him and who did not. I saw who was comfortable in his presence and pleased with his recovery, like the oldsters; and who seemed to harbor uncertainties. I felt sure that he noticed all that and more, but he remained cheerful and friendly to all who came.

It was halfway through morning visiting hours and I was in the midst of the morning status report when MacKenzie arrived. Business was shunted aside as the younger Wolf greeted his sire with great affection. I stood back out of the way; the report could wait.

MacKenzie and his father were close, just like the rest of the family. Seeing MechWarriors of such different ageframes display so much affection still seemed odd to me at the time. They might have been sibkin. Once MacKenzie had assured himself of his father's condition, he kissed and embraced Katherine and Shauna, his wife and youngest child, before greeting his stepmother and stepsibs.

"Where's Alpin?" MacKenzie asked. "He said he had maintenance duty." Katherine's usually open expression was damped down, hardening the lines of her angular face. I knew she suspected the truth that I already knew from the duty rosters: MacKenzie's son had no maintenance duty this morning. All the 'Mechs in his lance had received operational certification yesterday.

MacKenzie frowned briefly, then turned to his father with a smile. "Even in bed you keep the Dragoons hopping, Dad. Can't have operational MechWarriors without operational 'Mechs. I guess I didn't need to rush back. You've got everything under control. Maybe we should get you attacked more often."

"Not funny, Mac," Marisha said.

"Sorry."

There was quiet for a moment. Feeling uncomfortable, I tried to leave but the Wolf stopped me. "Where do you think you're going, Brian?"

"I thought ..."

"That you'd get light duty just because this hellion is back home? Unlikely."

"Nice try, though," MacKenzie added. "It sounded like the morning report."

"It was," the Colonel confirmed. "But it's also routine. I think you've got something else on your mind, Mac."

MacKenzie nodded. Sitting on the edge of the Wolf's bed, he said, "I've been reading the reports and theories, Dad. They all lack something."

"Go on."

"Well, the facts don't fit exactly."

"You're being vague."

Sighing in frustration, MacKenzie slapped his thigh. The sound was loud. "This whole thing is vague."

"Life's not all open field battles." The Colonel reached out a hand to his son. "Work it out. Start with the most obvious."

MacKenzie bowed his head. Marisha shepherded her daughter-in-law and the children from the room. I wanted to go, too, but a slight shake of the Colonel's head gave me my orders. MacKenzie seemed to find where he wanted to start.

"The soldier in that battle suit was clearly not of the Clans' Elemental genetic line."

"Implying an Inner Sphere source," Jaime Wolf prompted.

"But Hanson says the pilot could have been a free-born not of an Elemental bloodline."

"And, therefore, a good choice for a dishonorable assassination attempt."

"Dad, I was just a kid when we left the Clans, so I don't really know them. But it just doesn't feel right to me. The Dragoons are out of their culture now. The Clanners might think us bandits, but they don't go around assassinating bandits. They wouldn't think it worth the trouble."

I had even less personal knowledge of the Clans and I wasn't one of those who doted on the Dragoons' Clan heritage, but I agreed. Still, I knew others held a different view. Ominously, some of those others were the Dragoons' newly acquired bondsmen and warriors. Those former Clansmen seemed to believe that the Dragoons had sullied or even betrayed their Clan heritage. They did not believe the Dragoons to be completely divorced from Clan society. Many of them voiced support for the theory that the Elemental had been sent by one or another of the Clans.

MacKenzie shook his head. "The suit does have Clan tech."

"Good thing he didn't know how to use it all," the Wolf said.

"A very good thing."

"And?"

"And that's why I don't think he was Clan."

"I agree."

"Do you know who sent him, then?"

"No. Does it matter?"

"Unity! Yes!" MacKenzie leaped to his feet. "They need to be taught a lesson."

"In time. We need to know the student before we can hold class." The Wolf smiled slyly. "I'm in no hurry."

"I just want to do something. I don't want anybody thinking they can strike at the Dragoons, especially at you, with impunity."

"You think you can do better?"

"Oh no." MacKenzie laughed wryly. "You're not catching me that easy. I'm not ready to take over the Dragoons yet."

Father and son laughed together, but I couldn't join in. MacKenzie's last statement was the one thing many of the factions agreed on. I had heard too many voices saying exactly what Mac just had. The Wolf's son was a good field commander; few questioned his competence. But watching him struggle with the problem of this assassination attempt, and knowing that the master of the Dragoons had to deal with more than just battlefield problems, I feared that those who thought him unready were right.

Fortunately, Jaime Wolf had survived the attack and would soon be in the command chair once more.