Assumption of risk Read online

  "Taman Malthus is a good man. I would and did entrust my life to him there, and he didn't let me down." Kai looked from Phelan to the elder Kell. "But my actions on Alyina or in the rest of the Clan war were really nothing compared to the miracles my father accomplished twenty-five years ago. I think, though, that he would have been pleased."

  "Fathers take pride in all manner of things their sons do, Kai. I know I do." Morgan patted Phelan on the shoulder. "I think your father would have smiled at your adventures on Alyina, and I think he would have been equally proud of your successes on Solaris. You've managed to eclipse his old mark there, and I understand his stable, under your leadership, has chalked up an impressive number of victories."

  Kai nodded respectfully to the older man. My father would have been pleased with what I've done, but would he have been proud of my using Solaris as a hiding place? "The war against the Clans made for many changes. I'd like to think the changes in me were for the best, but it's hard to know."

  Phelan's expression eased, but Kai felt him withdrawing. "War brings change and brings regrets. Because of the war I am cut off from my family. Just coming here to attend my mother's funeral required that Prince Victor Davion send a request for my presence as a representative of Clan Wolf to the Precentor Martial of ComStar, who approved it and then relayed it back to the ilKhan for his consideration. I would wish it different, but I acknowledge that it cannot be so. I am certain you have similar regrets."

  "Comrades dead and friends lost, yes." Kai hesitated for a moment as, unbidden, the image of the dark-haired Deirdre Lear came into focus in his mind's eye. "There are times when learning the lessons that war teaches us about ourselves drives us apart from those we love. Deny the truth of the lesson and we can live in a kind of peace, but the truth will lurk in us and fester, erupting to destroy our lives without warning."

  A curious look passed over Phelan's face for a heartbeat, then he nodded. "As much as we would like it, Kai, we can never again be the people we were before the war, nor should we want to. War stripped us down to our cores. It revealed to us what we are, what we were born to be. We cannot turn from it, because if we do, someone else will find a way to use it against us."

  Returning Phelan's steady gaze, Kai felt the unspoken bond of similarity between them, yet knew how different was the way of life each one must follow in order to be who he must. Phelan, living within a culture that prized martial skill and daring above all else, could indulge and profit from his warrior's soul. My world is not like yours, Phelan. I can only play at being a warrior.

  "It has been a long time since I have heard grim young warriors philosophizing." Morgan glanced at the grave into which his wife had been laid, then shrugged wearily. "I have seen too much of war in my lifetime, but what I have seen reminds me that life continues after it. In adversity we find facets of ourselves that we never suspected. We form new relationships and draw new insights from the time in the crucible."

  He nodded toward his son. "I thought Phelan lost to me, but he returns a Clan Khan and with a wonderful woman at his side. In the midst of death and destruction he found a key reason for living."

  Again Deirdre's face flashed through Kai's mind. "Your son is most fortunate." Kai looked up, past both father and son, to where a small knot of people waited quietly at the edge of the valley of tombstones. All four people were dressed for mourning, three in black and one in white. "If the holovision broadcasts I saw as I came into Arc-Royal are even half true, it looks as though Galen Cox and Victor's sister Katrina have become an item. That's surely a meeting that be blamed on the war."

  The Kells glanced back at the group behind them and nodded slowly, leaving Kai no doubt that their thoughts paralleled his own. The woman in white, Omi Kurita, had been sent by the Draconis Combine to represent her realm at the funeral. She and Victor Steiner-Davion had fallen in love when the war had forced their two nations—bitter enemies with a long history of grievances against each other—to work together to defeat the Clan threat.

  Phelan shook his head slightly, his black forelock becoming pasted against his forehead by the mist. "I understand why Victor loves her, but I pity them. They can never be together, never."

  "Never is a word that often turns out otherwise, Phelan." Morgan Kell smiled slyly. "It would once have been said that the Draconis Combine would never acknowledge its expatriate fighters on Solaris, but that too seems to be changing." He looked over at Kai. "I understand the DropShip Taizai will be taking Omi-san to Solaris itself as a gesture of rapprochement with the Combine community there."

  Kai's jaw dropped open. "Is that possible? I mean, it's not that I doubt your word, Colonel Kell, but the Coordinator is sending his only daughter to Solaris? That's unprecedented."

  "As will be your seventh defense of the Champion title in just over a year. I was asked to speed clearance of her DropShip so it could continue on its way. I've also arranged for the Taizai to run the same route and through the same connections taking you back to Solaris."

  Kai recovered himself and nodded. "It will be quicker than any commercial route and saves the difficulty of having Combine JumpShips passing anywhere near the Isle of Skye. Ryan Steiner's propaganda factory has already spread a lot of dirty lies about Victor abandoning me on Alyina and stories about him having a rift with Galen Cox over Katrina. All he needs is another rumor about Combine ships operating in the Commonwealth."

  "Precisely my thoughts, hence my caution. Luckily, Ryan's pathological hatred of the Clans has him preoccupied with Phelan's visit. He seems not to have noticed Omi's presence here, and I wish to maintain that illusion." As Morgan spoke, Kai saw fire return to his eyes and knew that despite his crippling injuries, Morgan Kell would always be a staunch defender of the Steiner bloodline and the Federated Commonwealth.

  Morgan cast a weather eye at the descending clouds, then turned and started the long walk up the slope toward where Katrina, Galen, Omi, and his daughter Caitlin waited patiently. "Come with me, gentlemen. We have buried our dead and talked of wars and of enemies old and enemies still living. Let us set all that aside for a moment. Let us go and make a toast to the living and celebrate the memories of those we love and those we have let go before us."

  Kai paused for one last instant at the grave and bowed his head. "When you see my father," he murmured, "tell him his son still loves him." He crossed himself again, then trailed after Morgan and his son, never looking back as the thickening mist fell over the graveyard like a shroud.

  2

  Tharkad

  District of Donegal, Federated Commonwealth

  19 December 3055.

  Standing there alone, before his mother's grave, Prince Victor Ian Steiner-Davion felt ensnared by the layers of interpretation people gave to his every action. Many would see the fact that he had come alone, banning press and aides alike, as a devoted son's desire to grieve for his mother in private. Countless multitudes of people living in his empire, which spanned more than a thousand light years, would accept that judgment. He also knew that most of those multitudes lived within the borders of his father's old realm, the Federated Suns.

  The diminutive prince dropped to one knee, ignoring the icy wind that bit at his skin and whipped across the snow-blanketed cemetery. He unfastened the lower buttons of his gray woolen longcoat, then doffed his cap. The wind tore at his sandy blond hair, and the sting of icy snowflakes made him squint.

  The eternal flame burning at the base of his mother's memorial hissed and snapped, instantly melting any snowflake that passed too near. The water on the stone surrounding it became solid or liquid depending upon which element—air or fire—held sway over it at the moment.

  Victor dug with gloved hands at the snow near the base of the memorial. It came away in uneven clumps as if the crust were a puzzle he had sprung apart. The wind carried away the lighter snow-crumbs, leaving heavy kernels of ice still to be dug out by hand. He did so, carefully piling the snow on the other side of the long box he had carried with
him from the waiting hovercar.

  Victor knew that somewhere, well out of his sight, some journalist would be capturing his image, digitizing and even editing it so the universe could have a record of what Victor Steiner-Davion, Prince of the Federated Commonwealth, was doing. He knew that the scandal vids might label his actions as a desperate attempt to disinter his mother or to cover up telltale clues that would prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his mother had not been killed in a bomb blast, six months to the day of his visit. He knew he could do nothing about what anyone would make of his visit and he tried to find comfort in his sister Katherine's admonition, "There is no such thing as bad publicity, Victor."

  "Ah, but there is, Katherine, there is." Victor shivered, adamant in his refusal to bestow his grandmother's name on his sister even though almost everyone else in the realm now called her Katrina. "There is such a thing as bad publicity, and Ryan Steiner orchestrates it with damnable skill."

  Victor let his anger at Ryan fuel him as he dug deeper into the snow and exposed the words carved into the memorial's granite base. "Melissa Steiner Davion, devoted wife, beloved mother, and beneficent monarch." He smiled, reading again the words he had read many times before. "You would have been happy, I know, Mother, to be remembered that way."

  The prince hesitated, wondering suddenly if he should be talking aloud to the woman buried beneath stone and ice. In his heart it seemed so natural and normal to speak this way to his mother, but it didn't take much to realize how his mumbling at his mother's grave might be used against him. At even the merest hint of it, Ryan Steiner and his toadies would manufacture a network of lies that turned Victor into a superstitious fool who consulted with ghosts before making his decisions.

  In his fury at the thought Victor almost slammed his right fist down into the stone, then smiled ever so slightly to himself when he did not give in to the impulse. The old Victor would have given vent to his anger right then and there. While the scandal vids would have played the story to the hilt, Ryan would have been turning Victor into a lunatic and ungrateful son railing against the woman who had given him life.

  Victor had felt the sting of just that sort of vicious lie when his sister Katherine decided that it would be a mockery of their mother's dignity and beauty to permit her bomb-torn remains to lie in state. Katherine, acting in accord with Victor's admonition to use her best judgment in that matter, had ordered the funeral held quickly. Of all Melissa's children, Victor had been the only one who failed to attend the funeral.

  Ryan quickly built that fact into a story suggesting that Victor hated his mother and might even have had a hand in her death. Katherine's immediate and passionate denials managed to blunt the damage done, but there were those within the Federated Commonwealth who clung to the vile myth like ivy to stone. Even though Victor had been raised and schooled on Tharkad, some considered him a traitor to the Steiner half of his heritage and would have been more than happy to support a rival who might return to traditional Steiner values.

  Just the role Ryan covets for himself. Victor took in a deep breath, letting the cold air dry his throat and make his teeth ache. Ryan played the game of politics very well, but with Katherine's help, Victor had learned a thing or two that had helped him regain lost ground. It was true that although he cherished the chance to visit his mother's grave, and did come to offer a prayer and his respects, he knew the act could and would be turned to his advantage to erode some of Ryan's influence.

  Victor forced political concerns from his mind and picked up the box he had brought with him. Tharkad's weather was so unpredictable that even in the supposedly seasonable portion of the year it could occasionally become bizarre. Some doomsayers suggested that a cold snap coming at the six-month anniversary of his mother's death proved that God was angry and that the world would end on Christmas. The prince believed nothing of the sort and felt secretly pleased that the inclement weather would make it miserable for anyone out to spy on him.

  He smiled as he opened the box. He had anticipated the chaotic twists of climate when, two months previously, he had made his plans to visit Melissa's resting place on the same day the Kell Hounds buried their dead on far Arc-Royal. As much as he loved and mourned his mother, he regretted not being able to go there personally to thank the mercenaries for performing a mission that had saved the Inner Sphere from again being locked in a brutal war with the Clans. Because image became substance in the media, he could not attend and had sent Katherine along with his aide Galen Cox to represent him on Arc-Royal.

  He opened the box and delicately withdrew a perfectly crafted crystal flower. Fashioned after the rare mycosia blossom his mother had so loved, the simulacrum had been shaped and polished until its beauty rivaled the real thing. The artisan who created it had been paid handsomely. Examining it again now, Victor resolved to reward the man still further.

  Each leaf and petal had been formed from a holograph. The leaves on the stem contained the images of such lifelong friends of Melissa as Misha Auburn or her cousins, Morgan and Patrick Kell. The broad twin leaves that protected the blossom held rainbow portraits of her parents, Katrina Steiner and Arthur Luvon. Each of the flower's five petals was devoted to a different child, while in the center sat a wedding holograph of Melissa with Hanse Davion.

  Victor wanted to say something, but his throat closed up on him. He gently laid the glass flower on the icy ground at the foot of his mother's memorial obelisk, then slowly stood. Keeping his head bowed, he offered a brief prayer, then stooped to recover his hat and the box he had used to transport the flower. Then he crunched his way back through the snow to the waiting aircar.

  As he approached, a tall man climbed out the back door of the black limousine. After sweeping the cemetery with his gaze, the man held the car door open for the prince, his long black coat unbuttoned and his right hand free to draw the submachine gun holstered under his left arm!

  Victor knew better than to smile at him or do more than grunt until he was safely ensconced in the car. Curaitis had opposed the solitaire visit to the Cemetery, only demurring after Victor agreed to having the area placed under surveillance for the previous seventy-two hours and to letting no one but Victor enter it for the past eight. That, I'm sure, won't make me popular with Curaitis' colleagues in the Intelligence Secretariat, especially the ones who had the duty of watching the place.

  Victor settled in to the wide seat in the back of the limo, discarding the box and unbuttoning his coat as Curaitis climbed in and closed the door. The big, dark-haired man tapped lightly on the bulletproof glass between the passenger compartment and the driver's seat. "Go."

  The prince sank down into the seat as the hovercar's turbine started, lifting the vehicle on a cushion of air. Snow billowed up and around as if a blizzard had suddenly arisen outside, but the car's forward momentum carried it free of the cloud. Victor glanced out at the desolate field of neat, even rows of gravestones in the Triad National Cemetery. He wondered if he, too, would someday be buried there with the other Steiners who had ruled the Lyran Commonwealth or its successor, the Federated Commonwealth.

  Curaitis, perched on the jump seat beside the door, also looked silently out the window. Victor knew the man would say nothing unless asked to speak, but he nursed no illusion that Curaitis behaved so out of deference or respect for Victor or his office. If the security agent thought Victor should know something, he would tell him. If Victor requested information, Curaitis might just tell him more.

  "Report?"

  Curaitis pressed his hand to his ear, then nodded. "Our teams found three holovideographers watching you and two other remote recording devices. We have identified two of the vidders—stringers for scandal vids. We're watching them but have not detained them. The third is someone new, but looks to be a journalism student trying to get images to complete a semester project at the University of Tharkad. We'll keep her under wraps until we can verify her identity, but the prelim check has turned up negative."

  "What about
the two remote devices?"

  "One belongs to one of the stringers, the other is still unidentified. We're watching it." Curaitis frowned slightly as the hovercar took a corner rather wide. "If no one comes to pick it up in the next two days, we'll bring it in."

  Victor nodded, pulling off his black leather gloves. "Anything in the realm of good news?"

  Curaitis shrugged somewhat indifferently. "Peter presided over the reintroduction of the Lyons gold panther into the glades of the Dordogne Wetlands Preserve. Environmentalist and sportsman-hunter groups both applauded the move, which is probably the first time in history those two groups have ever agreed."

  The prince smiled broadly. "That is good news. Is Peter settling in there?"

  "Perhaps. Your brother still hates being stationed in a backwater like Lyons, but he endures it. His 'Mech company seems to like him, and though they're quite green, Leftenant General Gardner reports your brother is an able warrior whose influence is rubbing off on his people. He also gets on well with the locals, and the way he brought both sides of the panther dispute together did a lot of good because there are some influential folks on either side of that issue."

  "Are the people calming down, or is Ryan still organizing protest marches."

  "The only protests are mild and are coming out of the Bellerive religious community."

  Victor shook his head. "Are they still claiming that I'm the anti-Christ?"

  "Yes, with Peter as your apostle." The security man shrugged. "We can find no connection between them and Ryan, but we're prepared to act if they decide to do more than pray for the both of you."