Masters of War Page 15

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “You are a mercenary. You have no desire to compel people to work with you.” Alaric ventured a weak smile. “And you would not trust me to fight for you.”

  “You are right on the second count, but not the first.” Anastasia smiled. “If I could trust you, I would use you. A bondsman is someone I would not have to pay. As for the trust issue, I can foresee you deciding you know a better way to do just about anything, which means you would overrule me, and that would be wrong.”

  He almost protested, but she would see through it. He might have misread her, but she had him pegged correctly. Believing he knew the right way had gotten him trapped and landed him in his current predicament. He had always known, in the abstract, that he could be wrong, but even when he had made mistakes, the consequences never amounted to much. Even in losing his command to her, his people had not been killed.

  “What will you do with me?”

  “There are many choices. The Yedders want you, of course, but are not prepared to offer nearly what you are worth. I suspect some council or court will form itself up in the prefecture to steal their thunder and try you for crimes against humanity. They will not want to pay for you at all, but the case could be good publicity for our unit. I could even sell you to a circus and have you exhibited all over the Inner Sphere as the Wolf who thought he was a sewer rat. Countless media outlets would pay serious money to interview you.”

  “These are all things you will not do.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you have not yet done any of them.” Alaric’s eyes tightened, less out of defiance than fear. “And none of them would have required you to do to me what you have done.”

  “An interesting insight.”

  “Why did you do what you did?”

  She glanced at her chronometer. “Twenty minutes. My doctor predicted a half hour before you got to that question.”

  Alaric snorted listlessly.

  Anastasia watched him for a moment, then nodded. “I shall answer your question. I saw what you had done on Yed Posterior. Your use of power, your planning, all made the best of a bad situation. You anticipated your enemies and were successful against them. Most importantly, however, you recognized that actual control of the planet was less important than control of its resources. No matter how well men study war, too many of them worry about the faces on currency. The possession of a world does not matter provided you have the resources you need to continue to wage war. Seen in the proper context, no world is worth anything.”

  Alaric involuntarily shook his head. “Except Terra.”

  “Even Terra is worthless.” She spread her arms. “It may have been the cradle of mankind, but we have found bigger, richer worlds. We have tamed better worlds. We are now born under hundreds of suns and can live our whole lives quite happily without ever seeing Terra or touching anything that has ever been in the same solar system as Terra. You see it as a talisman—if you take Terra, somehow you will control mankind.

  “That is an illusion. You can only control mankind if you have the resources to control mankind.”

  “Or,” Alaric offered, “if control of Terra makes others cede control to you.”

  Anastasia nodded slowly. “If the Clans would unite under you, you would have some of mankind, but far from the whole of it. Devlin Stone came as close as anyone ever will to uniting mankind, and look at his dream now. Shattered.”

  “Why did you do what you did to me?”

  “Because the thing that made you weak was your belief in yourself. Self-confidence is good, save when it blinds you to your own weakness. You know you are smart, but you are stupid to think no one might be smarter, and even more stupid to forget someone might be luckier.”

  “Luck favors the prepared.”

  “And the stupid or blind are seldom prepared.”

  Alaric nodded. She has seen through to my heart and my soul. “What will you do with me?”

  She smiled, and he did sense uncharacteristic kindness there. “I think I shall take you as an apprentice. I will teach you. I will ask your opinions. I will use your mind as I will, and you will benefit. If you cheat me, betray me, withhold anything from me, I will have you sent off. There are no second chances.”

  “Do I give you my parole?”

  “No. Under no circumstances would I ever want you to vow that you will not fight against me.” Her eyes narrowed. “In fact, I am counting on your wanting to face me in combat one day and to kill me.”

  “Why would you count on that?”

  “Because, Alaric, it means that while you are in my service,” Anastasia Kerensky said, “you will make certain no one else kills me. A finer guarantee of your fidelity I cannot imagine.”

  19

  DropShip Baron’s Pride, Incoming La Blon

  Former Prefecture IX, Republic of the Sphere

  5 February 3137

  Even if Verena had been warned, she doubted she could have covered her surprise.

  For the last two, nearly three weeks, her life had been completely insane. General Bingham had been treating her as a respected colleague—not quite an equal, but with sufficient deference that she very much felt she was an imposter. The baron had his aides doing all they could for her. She conducted interviews for immediate distribution, was recorded answering preset questions from dozens of local newspeople. In addition, she made a generic set of answers to the same questions, so yet other newscasters could cut themselves in and make it look as if they had shared a direct link with her.

  That was quite enough to turn her head, and then she had Kennerly crawling inside it to twist everything even further. He had taken to whispering, “All glory is fleeting,” whenever she began to believe her own press. Then their journey came to an end, and the JumpShip arrived in the La Blon system.

  Though Kennerly remained as annoying as ever, without him she doubted she would have survived the building of her legend. So many people who knew her only through the news reports approached her with glowing faces and shining eyes, seeing in her something she certainly did not feel. When they praised her for bravely facing down a Mad Cat in her little Koshi, and she countered that it was foolishness for her to have done so, they praised her for being modest. The early comparisons to Victor Davion had become speculation that she was the new Morgan Hasek-Davion or even Devlin Stone.

  While she knew this was all nonsense, it was seductive. That was the problem with hero worship. Those who praised her did it so sincerely that it was easy to believe what they said was true. But sincerity does not equal truth; and if she forgot it, if she began to believe about her what they said, it would destroy her.

  She didn’t need Kennerly to remind her “Pride goeth before a fall,” or that hubris is a sin the price for which is complete destruction. She recalled from somewhere the saying “Those whom the gods would destroy, first they make proud,” and she repeated it to herself with even more regularity than Kennerly managed. She applied the brakes to her ego as much as she could, which took her from the elation of praise to the depression of self-doubt in a heartbeat—all of which was exhausting.

  In her discussions with General Bingham she really did try to do her best. She was not without insight, since she had been raised among the Exile Wolves. She had made a particular study of warfare down through the ages, and was very good at recalling odd situations and tactics that might well be adapted to modern battle. Tactics that had won the day four and five thousand years ago and had proved to be sound military doctrine could succeed using modern capabilities.

  No matter how hard she worked, however, there never was an aha moment. She never offered something so brilliant that the general or his aides decided she had unlocked the mystery that would end the Clan threat forever. On one level, she knew there was no single key to the Clans—there wasn’t even a single lock. That fact notwithstanding, she had hoped to make a greater contribution to the solution.

  Then they started t
he run in from La Blon, and the baron’s people began to prep her. La Blon was a world largely covered by water. The few landmasses had pristine tropical forests that the early explorers had declared off-limits to development—beyond a spaceport or two. Using the technology of the day, the people colonizing La Blon created floating farms and raised algae, which they manufactured into all manner of foods. They used aquaculture to farm fish, and much of La Blon’s native florae and faunae took well to domestication.

  As the years passed, they encased their floating cities in domes and lowered them to the seabed. The farms still floated, and beneath them vast metropolises spread out and prospered. Light industry explored and conquered everything from recovering gold from seawater to manufacturing items under high pressure. La Blon also had a thriving tourist economy, with people traveling vast distances to spend a month or more exploring on land and below the waves.

  Their arrival at a dry spaceport would be holovised worldwide. Representatives from La Blon and an adoring public would greet the heroes of the war against the Clans; then Verena and the others would travel to a resort for strategic talks. La Blon was proud to be hosting the event, and industries competed to sponsor various aspects of it.

  When the aide ran down the agenda with Verena, she assumed that the “heroes of the war” referred to Kennerly and herself. Because of that assumption, she was taken completely off guard when two men with holocams entered the lounge where she waited with Kennerly, followed closely by Anastasia Kerensky. One cameraman concentrated on her, while the other focused on Verena.

  Verena shot to her feet and saluted.

  Anastasia smiled and waved off the salute. “You need not salute, Colonel. We need no formalities between us, you and I.” The red-haired woman smiled and Verena caught perhaps a hint of pleasure in it. “You have done well since I last saw you.”

  Since you sent me away as unworthy. Verena’s cheeks burned. “Yes, Colonel, I have achieved some good results. My second, Lieutenant Kennerly.”

  “Pleased, Lieutenant. I have reviewed the footage of the battle on Baxter. You deployed the Demons well.”

  Kennerly nodded. “I merely followed the captain’s plan.”

  Anastasia’s eyes glittered coldly. “It is well you give her credit, but there were tactical considerations that doubtless required adjustments. You made good choices.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.”

  One of the cameramen held up a hand. “Okay, now we need the two of you shaking hands or hugging or something. You know, make the home folks feel good that you two are such good friends.”

  Verena offered her hand and Anastasia took it, then drew her into a hug. They held each other tightly, tried a few backslaps and awkward chuckles, then broke the embrace. Verena tried to read Anastasia’s face, but it was an emotionless mask.

  “Was that good enough, gentlemen, or would you like another take?”

  “It’s fine, Colonel Kerensky. We’ll let you talk. If we need more, we’ll be back.”

  Kennerly nodded. “I’ll head out with them.”

  Anastasia smiled. “No need on my account.”

  Verena nodded. “You can stay.” She regretted the words the moment she uttered them, but the die had been cast.

  Kennerly retreated to a corner of the room and sat where Verena would have to crank her head around to see him. Prick.

  Anastasia selected a seat on the other side of the lounge. “I would have warned you that we were coming in a shuttle from the Jaeger, but Baron Saville’s people wanted to see the surprise on your face as you were reunited with your former commanding officer.”

  Verena glanced at the closed hatch. “I am sure they got a reaction.”

  “It was not devoid of happiness, Verena. Were you happy to see me?”

  “Of course. Why would I not be?”

  Anastasia chuckled lightly. “I could think of dozens of reasons. You have to have wondered why I sent you away. I have no idea what answers you have come up with, but once you had them, you must have wondered how I would treat you when we met again.”

  Verena shook her head. “No to both questions.”

  “You have not wondered?”

  “I have, but I have come up with no answers.” She frowned, annoyed at Anastasia’s tone and attitude. “As for my treatment at your hands, I had not thought on it at all.”

  “Very good.” Anastasia gave her a little nod of the head. “And in that, perhaps you have an answer to the first question.”

  Before Verena could ask for clarification, warning klaxons sounded in the ship. In response, all three of them settled back in their seats and fastened the restraining belts. Reentry and the trip to the surface of La Blon would take twenty minutes and was predicted to be bumpy.

  Anastasia glanced at Kennerly. “How are you enjoying your time in the limelight, Lieutenant?”

  “I very much enjoy spending someone else’s money.” His eyes sharpened. “And you, Colonel, must be enjoying your notoriety after having fallen so ignominiously from the heights of commanding the Steel Wolves.”

  Anastasia hesitated for a moment and Verena rejoiced, even though she knew she would pay for Kennerly’s attack. “Indeed, Lieutenant, I take great pleasure in my success. If one continues doing the same thing over and over again, one becomes stagnant. I like new challenges and take great satisfaction in succeeding where others so often fail.”

  A solid bump and then the beginning of a spin killed the conversation. Verena was happy to let it die, and she thought Anastasia was as well. The Wolf Hunter colonel did not appear to be enjoying the turbulence. Sweat trickled down her temples and though Anastasia wiped it away as if it were nothing, it was the first time Verena had ever seen the woman the least bit discomfited.

  She is remembering that combat drop, the one that almost killed her. Verena felt a wave of sympathy wash through her for Anastasia, but a voice inside—sounding remarkably like Kennerly—mocked her for such concern. This is the woman who cast you out, drove you from your people, forced you to assume responsibilities you have no means of handling.

  Verena shook her head. Does not matter. She is human, just like the rest of us. Verena produced a handkerchief from her pocket and silently offered it to Anastasia.

  Anastasia looked at it for a moment, then accepted it with a nod.

  The ride smoothed out; then the roar of the ship’s engines as the retrothrusters were engaged drowned out any chance of conversation. Verena just closed her eyes and let the engines’ thunder ripple through her. For a moment she imagined herself as a creature of living fire. That was who everyone else believed her to be, after all, an elemental creature who could smite BattleMechs and defend their homes. This was the only way she would ever feel exactly like that.

  Then the ship touched down. The engines went silent.

  Verena was left empty.

  Anastasia unfastened her belt with a click. “I will have the handkerchief laundered and returned to you, Verena.”

  “No, Colonel, no need.” Verena looked up at the woman as she unfastened her own harness. “I may have wondered about the answers to your questions, even feared those answers, but I never thought you hated me.”

  “Good. It was never about feelings, Verena.” Anastasia shook her head. “It was just what had to be done.”

  Verena considered that for a moment, then nodded. It didn’t satisfy her, but she could understand it. Moreover, she understood that on at least one level, there would never be an explanation that would satisfy her.

  Wordlessly, she stood. Arm in arm with her former commander, she exited the Baron’s Pride and stepped into an ocean’s worth of planetary adoration.

  20

  Storm Island Spaceport, La Blon

  Former Prefecture IX, Republic of the Sphere

  5 February 3137

  Despite having been dressed in Clan Wolf leathers with a mantle of wolf fur, Alaric felt like anything but a warrior. He held his wrists crossed before him as if they were bound. He f
ollowed Dr. Murchison from the Baron’s Pride and did not look up as the crowd cheered. This must be how barbarian captives felt on parade in Rome.

  Crowds surrounded the hastily constructed platform that had been wheeled in on gantries to the DropShip’s side. There probably were no more than two thousand well-wishers, but their enthusiasm made up for their lack. Swelling their numbers were holocam operators intent on capturing every second of the ship’s arrival. Baron Cutt Saville stood at a podium, announcing each person who disembarked, and the crowd cheered on cue.

  The spectacle disgusted Alaric, but also frightened him. The Clans were not passionless, but they put things in perspective. When they celebrated victory it was to praise the skill of warriors, not voice relief that they were somehow safer or more free because of the outcome of a battle. Because of this difference he scorned these people as hapless sheep bleating joyously, but he also recognized that this sort of enthusiasm was the emotion that turned ordinary people into partisans. He’d faced partisans on Yed Posterior, and while they had not been terribly efficient, a sniper’s bullet or a well-placed explosive device still was deadly.

  Saville turned from the podium and pointed a hand at Alaric. “And here, my friends, is your enemy at bay. This was the commander of the Clan forces on Yed Posterior. Unlike his counterpart on Baxter, he avoided death, but could not escape our justice.”

  The crowd roared appropriately and some people shouted epithets. He glanced at one man who screamed the loudest. Slender to the point of making Saville look morbidly obese, the young man had a scraggly beard and pumped his fist in the air with a complete lack of coordination. We would have let him die after birth. He is too weak to survive, to be useful.

  And yet, his hatred was infectious. Those around him picked his chant of “Die, Wolf, die!” and the baron let it sweep through the crowd. The sound pulsed up, battering Alaric, giving him pause. The Wolves might well be superior to all other humans, but greater numbers of inferiors could drag them down and ruin them. This realization surprised him.