Текст книги " The Price of Glory"

Epilogue

Grayson never did learn whether Adept Larabee became a renegade fighter or a renegade. As the man had promised, the First Circuit, ComStar's inner council, did declare Precentor Rachan an outlaw and disavowed his actions. They claimed that the tragedy on Sirius V was the result of a madman's megalomania and the corruption of a small clique of Marik nobles and officers.

During the year following the nightmare of Helm, Grayson heard isolated bits of information about the incident from various sources. It was discovered that Garth and Kleider, for example, were behind a plot to overthrow Janos Marik. Their connivance at Sirius V, it seemed, had been part of a plan to discredit Janos Marik by discrediting the mercenaries he had hired against their wishes. The rift within Marik's staff would have resulted in civil war and a chance for Garth, Kleider, and several of Kleider's brother officers to seize the Captain-General's power. The plot failed when unknown sources—widely suspected, but never proven to have been ComStar agents—alerted Marik to the plot, which allowed him to react with loyal elements of his army. In the clash that followed, Garth was captured, tried, and executed. Kleider escaped with a handful of 'Mechs and men and was not seen again.

Grayson and Duke Ricol had parted company at Stewart, where the Deimosand the Phoboswere reunited with Captain Tor and the JumpShip Individious.As promised, Ricol had shared the booty from Helm with Grayson. There were 'Mechs enough to fill out three full combat companies, plus spares and repair materials enough to fully refit the A Company 'Mechs damaged on Helm. Afterward, the Red Duke vanished toward the Kurita frontier.

"I imagine we will meet again as enemies, I'm afraid," he said in parting to Grayson. "It is inevitable, I suppose. And . . . who knows? Perhaps things will change. I can always use a good mercenary regiment in my employ, with a commander I can trust."

"Perhaps, Your Grace. I'll have to think about that one."

The library data was copied . . . and copied again. Captain Tor used his old merchanter's contacts to find people who would transport those copies along the trade routes, scattering the old Star League library files among the stars.

There was no way to tell whether the effort would be worth it. Though Grayson had recognized the importance of the library, as had Duke Ricol, how many of Tor's merchant friends and contacts took the memory cores in order to sell them? How many found that no one was interested enough to buy them ... or even to take them when offered free?

That was beyond Grayson's power to control. He had done his best in trying to disseminate the data as widely as possible. If mankind was to benefit from the lost Star League treasure, it would have to proveits worthiness by recognizing the value of the data. Perhaps, the rediscovered farming methods, old genetic manipulation techniques, and long-lost manufacturing processes would one day make a reappearance. Perhaps man's lot would improve, and the long, dark slide into feudalism and technological ignorance would be arrested . . . even reversed.

But it might be centuries before any such change. Man—and his ignorance—covered one hell of a lot of ground.

* * *

Grayson floated in weightlessness in a lounge aboard the Invidious.The stars shone with crystal and unwinking clarity through the chamber's transparent panels. The ship's jump sail had already been retracted, and preparations made for the first jump toward Lyran space. There was talk about a new contract in service to Katrina Steiner. The Gray Death's reputation had grown on Helm, along with its strength in 'Mechs. On Galatea and elsewhere, there would be more recruits waiting to join the Legion.

Lori stirred in Grayson's arms, and he drew her closer. There were advantages to being regimental commander, he thought. The ship's lounge, with its magnificent view of space, could be locked at his command. An hour's privacy was a treasure without price aboard ship. His lips found Lori's, and they kissed in a long and deep embrace while drifting in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

"What are you thinking?" she murmured in his ear.

He smiled, and squeezed her closer. The movement set them turning, very slowly.

He had been so certain that he was doomed to die . . . that there was no way out, for him or for his regiment. Though the conviction had not left him, it no longer held him prisoner. His . . . what was it? Call it luck ... or destiny ... it had brought him so very far from Trellwan . . . Yet were not luck and destiny his to make and shape for himself? They were not outside forces to be waited on . . . or relied upon. Not as he relied on the people around him.

He smiled, remembering the words of the old, old warrior's song:

Home is the regiment, the price of glory high.

We stand with brothers at our sides

to pay that price, and die!

The blood of comrades cries to us

long after glory's passed:

“Home is the Regiment, our family and our own!"

 He clung to Lori. "I was just thinking," he told her, "how good it is to be home."

The End