Текст книги "Mercenary's Star"

Автор книги: Уильям Кейт

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

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Renfred Tor matched his pace to the long-legged stride of the man who walked beside him. Salvor Steiner-Reese made Tor feel grubby and out of place, even on the streets of so egalitarian a town as Galaport. The Lyran Ambassador-at-Large was, as always, resplendent in scarlet trimmed with black. His elbow-length shoulder cloak was surely an inconvenience in Galatea's desert climate, but crisply immaculate nonetheless. The man was tall, powerfully built, autocratically handsome. His double-barrelled name openly proclaimed a much-publicized, if distant, relationship to the Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth.

For his part. Tor looked the part of a tramp frieghter captain, his shipboard coveralls greasy and bare of either rank insignia or a ship ID path. He carried a battered trade samples case in one hand.

"I'm afraid you don't understand. Captain Tor," the ambassador was saying. "There is simply no way the Commonwealth can involve itself in this matter!"

"You’re right, Your Excellency, I don'tunderstand. Jeri told me you'd at least be willing to listen!"

"And listen I have, sir! For the past hour! What would you have me do...involve House Steiner in interstellar war with the Draconis Combine...and for what? A handful of starving rebels on a planet givento the Combine by treaty a decade ago? Good lord, man, what do you take me for?"

Tor was not certain how to answer that one.

He had a friend at the Lyran Government building in the capital, a girl named Jeri whom he always looked up when in the Galatean system. She was pretty and fun. More important, she knew most of the important people in the stellar crossroads that was Galatea. She had put him in touch with "an old friend" at the Government embassy. Galatea, as a member of the Lyran Commonwealth, did not rate the exchange of diplomatic personnel usual between separate governments, but an Ambassador-at-Large such as Steiner-Reese helped tie distant, planetary governments to the Royal Court on Tharkad. If Tor were to have any hope at all of winning support for Grayson and the Legion, Steiner-Reese was the man to see.

It looked as though the man was not willing to help.

"Look, Your Excellency," Tor said. He hefted the briefcase he carried in his right hand. "Doesn't this interest you at all?"

Tor had taken the precaution of withdrawing his own share of the metal deposited with the ComStar factor on Galatea. He believed the sight of all that lustrous gray metal might stir the imagination of the ambassador, and make Verthandi something more than an unfamiliar name.

"Frankly, Captain, no. Vanadium is a common enough element Not here on Galatea, perhaps, but common enough elsewhere. There are hundreds of worlds within the Commonwealth, and most, sir, have adequate reserves of that metal."

"According to my man on Verthandi, Your Excellency, the Dracos have been mining like crazy in the southern desert. The planet was an agricultural backwater...until they came. Now they enslave the people and send them to work in the mines. Why?"

"Not for vanadium, certainly."

"No, sir. Not for vanadium. But possibly...for something else?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come now, Captain..."

"Please, sir, listen! In his message to me, Captain Carlyle described some of what he learned about Verthandi's history. The world was shaped thousands of years ago by a collision with an asteroid, an asteroid that struck near Verthandi's north pole. The impact created a vast basin that is now filled with jungle and sea. It must have hurled molten chunks of dense matter for thousands of kilometers into secondary impacts in the southern desert."

"So?"

"Your Excellency, vanadium is common there. If vanadium, why not other metals, too? Chromium. Titanium. Niobium. Tungsten. Osmium. Perhaps in abundance. Perhaps in dense masses close to the surface, where MinerMechs can dig them out. Elements needed by industries on worlds clear across the Commonwealth."

"You're asking me to believe that the natives of this world were just sitting on all this...this wealth, and were farming instead?"

"Oh, they were making use of the stuff. Grayson's message told about a local AgroMech plant that was started in a fracture cavern in the floor of that old impact crater. By and large, though, the original colonists were farmers fleeing persecution. They founded industry enough to support their own needs, but never bothered developing the mineral reserves further. They didn't need to."

"An interesting possibility, Captain, but not one that would lead me to support an attack on the Kurita forces there!"

"I'm not saying you need an attack! But fleet maneuvers, possibly. You could arrange it with the Galatean Military Charge d'Affaires."

"You don't know what you’re talking about, sir." Steiner-Reese was becoming progressively more undiplomatic by the moment, and Renfred Tor knew that he'd failed in his mission.

* * * *

The three men following Tor and the Lyran Ambassador were neither close enough to hear the conversation nor to see the despair in Tor's face. They knew only that Arvid would pay them 5,000 CBs apiece to murder the freighter captain, Renfred Tor. The presence of the ambassador was a plus. His death would make the double murder look like the work of political terrorists.

The leader of the three nodded to the others, and each drew a lean, black Calaveri 10 mm automatic pistol from beneath the folds of his cloak. There were three sharp snicks as the assassins chambered their rounds, then they quickened their pace and closed on their unsuspecting targets.

* * * *

"I guess I've wasted your time, then," Tor said.

"Not at all, not at all," the ambassador said. "I appreciate your problem, and I'm sorry I could not be of help. But don't hesitate to call on me some—"

He was interrupted by the sound of running feet close behind them. Tor and Steiner-Reese spun around, and saw three others rushing them from across the street. Their pursuers were bringing their pistols up into line with Tor's chest.

"No!" the ambassador shouted, but the first pair of gunshots drowned out the sound. Tor was holding his briefcase in front of him like a shield, but the twin, 10 mm slugs tore easily through the fragile plastic, hurling the freighter captain backward into a whitewashed wall. Three more shots followed as Tor lurched down onto the pavement, the face of his briefcase fragmenting with each ruthless impact.

"What are you doing?" the Ambassador shouted. By that time, three pistols were swinging around and up to point at him. As five shots roared out in rapid succession. Steiner-Reese instinctively felt for his chest, expecting to encounter blood. Instead, he clutched at a body still miraculously whole.

At the same moment, one of the thugs was flailing backwards into the street in a spray of blood. A second slumped to the pavement, his pistol a meter away from stiff fingers, which continued to spasm against the ferrocrete. The third clutched his suddenly bloody arm and shrieked agony. A sixth shot cracked, and his shriek changed to a harsh gargle as the man flopped onto the street between his two comrades.

Captain Tor stood up slowly, still clutching the shattered briefcase, the smoking barrel of a 9 mm automatic pistol protruding from underneath. He had drawn the weapon from some concealed spot in the case.

"Captain Tor! But how...?"

Tor snapped the safety on his pistol and then tucked the weapon away. Picking apart some of the fragments of his briefcase, he exposed the dull gray lining of vanadium. Steiner-Reese could see the deep pits in the soft metal where the attackers' slugs had expended their energy.

"Vanadium's not all that dense," Tor explained, "but it was heavy enough to stop those bullets. Knocked me silly, though. I almost couldn't get my gun clear."

For Steiner-Reese, it had all happened so fast that his heart was still racing. "Good lord, man, they were trying to kill us! I must apologize. They must be terrorists, out to get me..."

Tor looked thoughtful. "I don't think so, sir." He shifted the case under one arm, took the ambassador's arm with his free hand and began steering the man down the street "If they'd been terrorists, they'd have gone after you first, sir. No way they could mistake me for you. No, Your Excellency, they were gunning for me. I guess you were a bonus for them."

"But why?"

"Why do you think? It could be someone's afraid the Commonwealth will discover just how valuable Verthandi is. They were afraid I would get help from you." The words had come to Tor unbidden, an inspiration.

The ambassador nodded. "I'm beginning to believe you, Renfred. Will you come back with me to the embassy?"

"Certainly, sir." They began hurrying down the street Galatea's constabulary would be along eventually to investigate the gunshots, though such attacks were relatively common in the less civilized parts of Galaport. Tor had no wish to be detained for questioning. "I am going to need a new samples case, though," he said.

* * * *

Grayson studied the screen of the palm-sized electronic instrument in his hand. "No listening devices that I can see," he said. "The 'TronicsTechs can take care of the mines."

Sergeant Ramage nodded and pointed northward. "I've got a small army checking out the caves. Funny. They took all the equipment, of course, but they didn't blow the place afterward."

"Maybe they figure to use it themselves sometime."

The Gray Death, with its entourage of rebel soldiers and ‘Mechs, had returned to Fox Island. Most waited at an encampment a few kilometers away in the jungle, but Grayson had detailed Techs and the sharpest of the rebel trainees to check out the old camp. In the meantime, Lori and McCall had taken their ‘Mechs up the Basin Rim Road to search for listening devices or booby traps.

It was beginning to look like Nagumo's people had done a halfhearted job here, once they'd finished with the assault itself. They'd burned the Ericksson mansion to the ground, of course, and leveled most of the barns, warehouses, and other structures as well. They'd taken all the electronics equipment, machine tools, electronics parts, computers, the pair of ‘Mech simulators—anything that could be moved—and the rest they'd destroyed. Nagumo's forces had stripped the island of everything. Everything, that is, except the one thing the Gray Death needed the most.

A secret and unexpected site for an advance base camp.

The surprising thing was that the enemy forces had not been more thorough. Grayson had expected the electronics and machinery to be gone, but he'd also expected to find the cave dynamited, the island stripped bare of trees, the ground scorched. They had probably been in a hurry, he decided. From the reports he'd been getting, Nagumo's forces were being stretched tighter and tighter. The units that had staged this raid must have had to return to Regis as soon as they knew that the rebel column was beyond their reach to the south.

The place hadbeen mined. The Dracos had sown both antipersonnel mines and anti– ‘Mech mines sown throughout the area, but the hand scanners his search team held were giving plenty of warning of the devices.

Khaled approached from the direction of the mansion. "We found them," he said, eyes dark and grave. "In the house?"

The Mech Warrior nodded. "Identification will be a problem."

Grayson turned and stared at the jungle, working to keep his feelings from showing. According to the muster books, eighteen of his own people had been at Fox Island when the raiders struck. Some might have been taken prisoner. Yorulis had been shot. The rest the Dracos had left in the burning house. Sixty-five rebels had been here as well. How many of them were still alive? Just counting the bodies left in the mansion would be a harrowing chore.

"We'll bury them in the jungle," he said quietly. "If we can't identify them then, well... that will be another we owe Nagumo for."

Khaled nodded.

Grayson turned to Ramage. "O.K., orders. When your people have gone over the area thoroughly—and I mean thoroughly—call them together. First off, deactivate all the anti-personnel traps and mines you can identify. We don't want our people forgetting where they are and blundering into them when they're out for a stroll. Next, I want...let's say two-thirds of the anti– ‘Mech mines left in place, including all those off toward the south perimeter, and on the approaches to the island."

Khaled's eyes lighted. "You want their patrols to assume we have not returned," he said.

"Right. And if they do, the remaining mines will have been moved."

Ramage grinned. "That ought to surprise them...unless they have their own detectors out."

"I'm hoping they'll be too busy for that Next, I want to set up a camp, a small one, just a few tents and lean-tos." He pointed north, past the ruin of the machine shop. "Let's put it over merc. Detail a watch to keep the place looking lived in. No fires yet...not until they're sure we're here. But have the stuff ready to make one. And plant a bunch of the mines you move in that area."

"Ah! So when Nagumo's ‘Mechs come to check on someone living here again..."

"They walk into their own surprise. Correct. Make sure you get good people for that detail, though. They'll have to be ready to move quick. They'll be volunteers, of course."

Ramage nodded.

"O.K. I don't see any reason to stay here. If the caves check out, we'll use that as a place to keep our ‘Mechs out of sight, and it'll be a good place for ammo trucks and supplies to rendezvous with us."

"Are you putting ‘Mech facilities in down there?"

"Some." He scowled. "We're short on Techs."

"Most of them were here when the Dracos came."

'Two of the rebel MechWarriors are pretty fair Techs, though. Olin Sonovarro and Vikki Traxen both worked with machinery and electronics before they opted for the outdoor life. Davis McCall may be an even better Tech than he is a MechWarrior. It's a wonder he didn't choose it in the first place. The money's certainly better."

"Unless you were crazy enough to sign on with a mercenary unit fighting a rebellion on a jungle planet"

"Yeah, well...Anyway, I may transfer them to the Tech department until we can scare up some more." "

Ramage rocked back on his heels, his thumbs hooked into his belt He paused, locking as though he were smelling the air, before he answered. "We're going to need all our Warriors pretty damn soon, Captain."

"I'm well aware of it, Ram. But first we're going to need Techs.McCall told me the other night that it wouldn't take too long to rig a couple of repair cradles down in those caves. Some of the bracing and mounting brackets for blocks and tackle are still in place."

"So? That's good news."

"Right, because it means we'll be able to re-arm our ‘Mechs right here, and not have to traipse clear back to Westlee to do it. McCall thinks we may be able to do some minor repair work here, too. Armor plate patches, circuit replacement, that sort of thing."

"Won't be too difficult," Ramage agreed, "if we can get the parts."

"Oh, we'll get the parts," Grayson said. "Governor General Nagumo will provide us with all the parts we need. I'm counting on him to provide us with some new BattleMechs, too."

Ramage lifted an eyebrow. "Getting cocky in your old age?"

"Nope. Getting tired of being shoved around by Nagumo, though. With this place back in operation as a base, we'll be able to shove himaround for a change."

* * * *

Sergeant Rodney Pallonby tilted his Phoenix Hawk'shead, scanning the horizon through the cockpit screen. The land northeast of Regis was a terrain of low and rolling hills capped by patches of light woods. Visibility here wasn't as bad as over the Rim in the jungle, but there were places that were ideal for ambushes. Not that an ambush was likely with thisconvoy, but the Verthandian rebels had done some crazy things in recent weeks. An attack certainly wasn't out of the question.

He canted the Phoenix Hawk'shead down to check the column of prisoners. There were fifty of them, all women, ragged and dirty and held in single file by lengths of rope draped from neck to neck for the column's length. Draco soldiers, some in the black of officers, others in the dull orange and brown of a line regiment, walked in columns to either side.

Showing little emotion, the women plodded forward in line, heads bowed, wrists bound behind their backs. Pallonby decided that the events of the past twenty hours had probably short-circuited whatever emotions they might have felt The battle at Regis University had left hundreds dead and many hundreds more prisoner in the rubble-choked University courtyard. For most of the day following the battle, the Governor General's personal Guard had been identifying ringleaders of the conspiracy that had infested the Loyalist Verthandian government. The shootings had gone on all day and through much of the night, leaving the corpses piled high in the streets outside the University.

All of the men who were left, and most of the women, had been chained together and marched off toward the south earlier that morning. The men would be employed in the mines at the desert's edge, mines run under Kurita supervision. Nagumo himself had picked out women, saying that they would be lifted off world in a Kurita freighter, transported to another Combine world as hostages for the behavior of the rest. Pallonby wondered if it wasn't more likely that they were bound for joyhouses on Luthien or elsewhere across Kurita's domain. Women such as these would bring good prices from the right buyers, and someone like Nagumo would be certain to have those connections...

Pallonby brought the Phoenix Hawk'shead around sharply. A warning had gone off on his Magnetic Anomaly Detector. A MAD reading of that strength could mean a BattleMech, moving swiftly.

"Denik," he said into his command circuit. "Phillips, Hoch-stater! Did you guys get a flash on your MADs? Oh-seven-five degrees or so..."

The other three ‘Mechs in the column paused in their march, scanners searching. Pallonby nervously fingered his Hawk'scontrols. If there were rebel ‘Mechs out there, it could be a nasty fight His force consisted of two Phoenix Hawks, a Wasp,and a Stinger.That was plenty of firepower to manage a column of prisoners and to keep rebel ground troops from making a try at a rescue, but not much good if it came to a knock-down, drag-out brawl with rebel ‘Mechs.

His orders had suggested that he be alert for rebel ambushes, though they also expressed the official opinion that the rebels would not chance it. After all, if rebel ‘Mechs attacked the column, fifty helpless women—the object of the rescue—would be trapped square in the middle of the firefight. The ropes and halters would assure that the women would not be able to scatter and hide. No rebel ‘Mech commander would risk slaughtering them.

"I've got movement at one-oh-three," Phillips reported. A newcomer to the unit, Phillips was the brash, young Wasppilot at the point. He was turning now, his laser held high toward the trees to the right. Pallonby turned, too. The low, scraggly growth cloaked a hillside half a kilometer away.

"Denik," Pallonby snapped. "Check it out."

"Acknowledged." The other Phoenix Hawkmoved toward the slope, its Harmon heavy laser at the ready.

The Shadow Hawkseemed to rise out of nowhere, materializing from the trees a few meters to one side of Denik's machine. Pallonby shouted warning, but Denik was already pivoting his machine, his laser coming into line. The rebel ‘Mech bounded forward, stepping inside the Phoenix Hawk's reach. The armor shield mounted high on the Shadow Hawk'sleft shoulder smashed into the lighter machine, and its left arm snapped across and clamped onto the PhoenixHawk'sheavy laser.

Pallonby brought his own heavy laser up for a shot, but Denik's ‘Mech and the attacking rebel's machine were too closely intertwined now. He set his Phoenix Hawkin motion, sprinting forward, watching for an opening.

The laser bolt caught him unaware, striking his ‘Mech in the back, low on the right side of the torso. That single shot penetrated the relatively thin armor there, savaging power cable bundles and lighting his control panel with baleful red eyes. A second shot caught him an instant later in the right leg, scattering armor fragments in smoking arcs. He spun, seeking his attacker. A Stingerand a Locustwere there, fifty meters away. The Stingerfired and the bolt caught Pallonby's ‘Mech in the front torso, scorching metal and blistering paint. The Locustcrouched slightly and spat a bolt of coherent light from the medium laser slung underneath its flat cockpit. It took Pallonby a moment to realize that the bolt was not aimed at him but had been directed at Hochstater's Stinger.

For a few rapid heartbeats, he stood paralyzed, wondering at which target to direct his own fire, but the initiative was lost when another laser bolt struck his Phoenix Hawksquarely in the back, enlarging the hole already burned through its thin armor. More red lights flashed. His jump jet circuits were gone, or so the warning indicators claimed He elected not to test the matter, but threw his machine into a lurching roll across me ground, seeking cover.

"Regis Command!" he bawled into his radio transmitter. "This is Escort Two-Four! We are five kilometers north of Regis and under attack! Do you hear me, Regis? We are..."

The second rebel Stingerhad been hiding on the other side of the column, waiting for its chance. It advanced now. With it came half a dozen hovercraft, lightly armored affairs mounting lasers and autocannons. A score of shells slewed from one chattering gun into the back of Phillips' Wasp,and the light BattleMech staggered and went down, arms flailing.

Pallonby switched back to his combat frequency. Whether or not Regis had heard him, he couldn't know. He had more immediate concerns at the moment.

"Hochstater! Watch behind you! Phillips is down!"

Hochstater's Stingerspun, firing wildly, hitting nothing. Pallonby glanced back toward the prisoner column. Where it should have been he saw nothing but tall weeds. The women must have thrown themselves flat as soon as the firing started Pallonby realized now that the appearance of the Shadow Hawkhad drawn his own ‘Mechs far enough away from the column that the prisoners had not been in the line of fire.

When laser bolts seared the air close by his ‘Mech's head, he rolled to one side and then came up firing. The hovercraft were closer now, their weapons concentrating on his Phoenix Hawkand on Hochstater's Stinger.He could see rebel soldiers, too, advancing on foot to lead away small groups of his former prisoners. As he watched, several Kurita foot soldiers broke and ran from the line of advancing rebels. Machine gun fire from the rebel Stingerand the swift-moving hovercraft cut them down.

On the hillside, Denik's Phoenix Hawkhad been crushed by its heavier opponent. With one large laser and a pair of Harmon medium lasers, a Phoenix Hawkshould have outgunned the heavier Shadow Hawkat close-ranged because the Shadow Hawk'sautocannons and LRM launchers were only effective at relatively long range. As close-up weapons, it had only a single medium laser and a pair of SRM tubes. This particular Shadow Hawkhad managed to overcome its disadvantage by grappling with the Phoenix Hawkso closely that it couldn't use its arm-mounted lasers. After it had bashed in the ‘Mech's head with one steel fist, that same Shadow Hawknow turned its autocannon and LRM tubes on Pallonby's own Phoenix Hawk.