Warrior: Riposte (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Two): BattleTech Legends, #58 Read online

  Peering down the table from beyond Shang and Romano, Maximilian Liao growled in a deep voice. “Let us hope no one from Sakhara advises Prince Davion about having many children. The last thing the Successor States need is a plague of Davions hungry for conquest.”

  Justin narrowed his eyes. Max is already planning a war against the next generation of Davions! “Would that truly be so bad, Celestial Wisdom? Many Davion daughters could mean many women to marry off in strong alliances to your grandchildren.”

  “Perhaps, Citizen Xiang, but I have no grandchildren.”

  Justin nodded. “The point is well taken, though the situation is not yet utterly lost. Consider this, though. Many sons could mean a division of the Federated Suns. You have seen it before. The destruction that comes when brother pits himself against brother can shred an empire that no outside force has ever been able to dent.” Justin glanced over at Janos Marik.

  Maximilian Liao stroked the long wisps of his mustache. “Your insights, Citizen Xiang, bear further consideration. Perhaps, with this wedding, we enter into a new peace in which the conflicts will be more political than military.”

  The Chancellor’s wife laid her hand on his forearm. “Soul of my soul, let us not ruin this celebration with talk of politics and war.”

  As the Chancellor nodded agreement with his wife, Justin sank back in his chair. Candace handed him a card printed in gold script. “Does this say what I believe it does, Justin?”

  Justin read quickly. “Hmm. Most interesting. It says that the crystal, cutlery, and china being used at this reception banquet were specially created for the celebration. Each piece will be washed and packed up after use so that each guest may take away his place setting as a reminder of this celebration.”

  Candace smiled as she held up her crystal water glass and slowly turned it to study the four crests etched on it. “I recognize the Steiner Fist and the Federated Suns Sword and Sunburst symbols, but what are the other two?”

  Justin shrugged. “I think the dirk is from the Campbell family crest, which would represent Hanse’s mother. And I would suppose that the lyre is for Arthur Luvon, Melissa’s father.” Glancing at the long, slender champagne glass, Justin narrowed his eyes. “Oh, this is a switch.”

  Candace frowned. “What’s wrong? Isn’t it the Hasek Lion crest?”

  “Yes and no. In one paw, the lion bears the Davion Sword and Sunburst. That’s how the crest used to appear when George Hasek was Duke of New Syrtis. After Michael’s battle with Hanse for the throne, he deleted the Davion symbol from the Hasek crest.”

  Candace shook her head. “Why the return to the old symbol? Is it a slap at Michael?”

  “Worse.” Justin nodded toward where Morgan Hasek-Davion stood speaking with some guests while awaiting the arrival of the royal couple. “The best man offers the first toast to the couple, hence the crest on the glass is his. Adding the Sword and Sunburst back into the Hasek crest must have been Morgan’s choice. Duke Michael has a son, but he has no heir.”

  The arrival of Hanse and Melissa cut off further discussion as spontaneous applause arose from the guests. Hanse led his bride to the dais, then gently lifted her up over the steps. Melissa took the centermost seat at the head table and the Prince took the seat to her left. Morgan Hasek-Davion sat on the Prince’s left and Misha Auburn on Melissa’s right, with the rest of the wedding party filling out both wings of the table.

  ComStar acolytes passed throughout the room, filling the champagne glasses from heavy bottles of champagne or with a sparkling paffel cider from the Lyran Commonwealth for those who wished no alcohol. Watching them intently, Justin noticed how automatically each acolyte matched the name at the place setting with the choice of beverage before pouring. Incredible that ComStar could have compiled enough information to know who drinks and who does not, but apparently they’ve done it. In a universe where knowledge is power, ComStar’s peaceful façade seems to hide a very strong body.

  Once all the glasses had been filled and the ComStar acolytes had left the floor, Morgan Hasek-Davion stood and raised his glass. “I would like you to join me in a toast to the Prince and princess.” He beamed as he turned to face the newlyweds. “May your love be greater each day than the last, yet not as great as in the days to come, and may anyone who hopes to cause you trouble fail as miserably as did those who attempted to interfere with Melissa’s passage aboard the Silver Eagle.”

  Justin’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth as the significance of Morgan’s phrase hit home like a missile. Melissa was on the Silver Eagle and we didn’t know it! He shot a fearful glance at Tsen Shang. “Tsen, why didn’t we know?”

  Tsen frowned as he looked toward those seated at House Kurita’s table. “Draconian idiots saved face by covering up their failure!”

  Just like Hanse to have Morgan put that little tidbit into the toast, Justin reflected. I wonder what other surprises he has in store for us?

  ComStar acolytes served the wedding meal with no further incidents of political importance. As Justin worked his way through the salad, he, along with all the others at the meal, discovered that the gold-rimmed, bone china dish was indeed special. Inscribed in gold script around the rim was the date as well as the names of the bride and groom. When Justin had cleared the bowl of its salad of lettuce and thin purple riniosh slivers, he discovered the crest of a world in the Lyran Commonwealth.

  Candace smiled at him. “I got Izar in my bowl? What did you get?”

  Justin narrowed his eyes, looking down at the stylized lightning bolt and the legend beneath it. “I got Pacifica, better known as Chara III. My brother served with the Kell Hounds on that world.”

  Candace winked at him. “Do you think it’s a message?”

  Justin shrugged, shaking off his uneasiness. “The spirit of Blake alone knows.”

  The main dish came in two different selections, and Justin noticed again that the acolytes showed no hesitation in serving the guests. He received a plate of beef in wine sauce, with pomtera and another vegetable he utterly failed to recognize on the side. Candace, on the other hand, was served fish steamed in rice wine, with neara sprouts and water chestnuts on a bed of rice.

  She smiled at him. “ComStar apparently chooses not to recognize your change in allegiance, Citizen.”

  Justin nodded reluctantly. “Is it treason if I enjoy the meal? It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten the foods I grew up with.”

  The Duchess of St. Ives pretended to reflect for a moment. “I think, Citizen Xiang, that with the proper presentation of your argument, I might be convinced to grant you pardon for such an unforgivable crime.”

  Justin smiled. “I look forward to our legal discussion.”

  The dinner plate bore gold decorations similar to those Justin had found on his bowl. Though the Federated Suns world image he found on his plate did not surprise him, he began to lose his appetite as he uncovered more of it. He continued to eat mechanically, but his thoughts were on more than food.

  Kestrel. The world owned by the Allard family. Justin looked up from the image of a falcon clutching a Davion sword in its talons. So, Hanse, did you command ComStar to deliver me this plate, or was it merely my bad luck to get it?

  As if in answer to his unvoiced question, the Prince smiled enigmatically at Justin just then. Justin nodded curtly, then looked over at Candace’s plate. “I see you have uncovered Axton, Duchess.”

  Candace nodded. “Do you know it?”

  Justin forced a smile. “When traveling to my first assignment, my duty on Spica, I spent two weeks on the beaches there. The ocean is a deep blue and the beaches are blacker than night on a moonless world. Volcanic activity warms the oceans, making the coastal areas livable. The rest of the world is a polar wasteland, though many people praise the skiing found there.”

  Justin smiled to himself. It’s also one of the worlds where I believe Hanse Davion has hidden his secret NAIS ’Mech research facility. How curious it is that Candace ended up with that wo
rld. An omen, perhaps?

  While some ComStar acolytes cleared the plates, two others carefully wheeled a four-tiered wedding cake to a spot directly before the head table. Hanse assisted Melissa down from the dais, then stood with her beside the cake. Huthrin Vandel, Precentor New Avalon, handed the Prince one of the swords used earlier in the wedding ceremony.

  Grasping the sword together, Hanse and Melissa cut the first two slices from the cake. Hanse returned the sword to the precentor, then he and Melissa returned to their places at the head table. An acolyte delivered the first two pieces to them, but the newlyweds waited until other acolytes had sliced up the remaining cake.

  When they saw all their guests served with pieces of cake, Hanse and Melissa stood. Justin glanced at his plate to see what world this one represented, but the paper doily beneath the cake totally obscured the world’s identity.

  Melissa lifted a small piece of the cake toward Hanse. “Husband, in honor of our marriage, in addition to this cake, I give to you a regiment of BattleMechs and the means to support them in perpetuity.” Though her eyes glinted mischievously, Melissa fed the piece of cake to Hanse gently.

  Hanse smiled when he was done, every bit of him exuding the wily confidence that had earned him the nickname of “the Fox.” His clear voice filled the hall with happy sounds, but filled Justin with uneasy terror. Something is wrong. Hanse, what are you doing?

  “I thank you for the gift, beloved,” began the Prince of the Federated Suns. He lifted a piece of cake in his right hand. “Wife, in honor of our marriage, in addition to this morsel, I give you a vast prize.” He slipped the doily from his dessert plate and held the dish aloft in his one hand for all to see. “Here, my love,” he said, looking at Melissa with laughing eyes and a triumphant expression. “I give you the Capellan Confederation!”

  PART FOUR: REMISE

  Chapter 41

  ST. ANDRE

  SARNA COMMONALITY

  CAPELLAN CONFEDERATION

  20 AUGUST 3028

  A missile exploding against the DropShip’s hull shot static through the auxiliary monitor’s picture of the Dropmaster. The woman turned from the camera, then looked back at Andrew Redburn. “No sweat, Redburn. They just flamed that bird.” She glanced at the time at the bottom of the screen. “Mark, one minute until drop. We’re hot, so your children better have their brakes on.”

  Redburn nodded. “Roger.” He reached out and switched his radio over to the tactical frequency. “Fifty seconds to drop, campers. This is the real thing. Archer and Demon Lances will harass the targets. Bull’s-eye, Cat, and Fox Lances, go in. Hit your jets when clear of the egg. Remember, we’ll be facing ’Mechs lots bigger than we are, but the others in First Battalion have them occupied. We’re the sting. Make it good.”

  Redburn gave his couch harness an extra tug to pull it tight over his cooling vest. Sending an assault lance of light ’Mechs against assault ’Mechs? The intelligence on these Goliaths better be right or this Firestarter they’ve got me in will be my coffin. Stinging sweat dripped down into his eyes as he waited for the seconds to tick off the digital display on his monitor.

  Redburn felt two more explosions rock the Overlord-class DropShip Firewalker. I hope like hell this baby makes it to the drop zone. Above him, he heard the deep roar of the ship’s autocannons as they spat clouds of metal back out at the Liao fighters swarming around the ship. He switched his radio back to speak with the Dropmaster and caught the piece of a transmission heading for her.

  “Roger, Firewalker. We copy. Intercept in fifteen seconds. You sow the dragon’s teeth and my aerowing will keep the gnats off your hide.”

  The Dropmaster smiled. “Glad to have you with us, Falcon Leader. Torch One, drop in ten seconds, nine…”

  Punching two buttons on his command console, Andrew patched the countdown through to his command, First Battalion’s Delta Company. “Because you and your people appear on no official rosters, Captain Redburn, you’ll be our little surprise,” Colonel Stone had remarked as the Firewalker hurled in-system from the sun’s nadir jump point. “First and Second battalions will draw out Cochraine’s Goliaths, and you’ll goose them.”

  A series of sharp metallic rasps and clanks thundered through the Firestarter’s cockpit as the drop hatches irised open. Redburn’s stomach lurched as the thirty-five-ton Firestarter fell from the DropShip. The familiar thrum of engines and other comforting DropShip sounds suddenly vanished into the windy quiet of a drop.

  Sensory input from a thousand sources flooded into Redburn’s cockpit. Sorting through it, he ignored the fear that had built up while waiting for the drop. His brown eyes flashed on the altimeter, then growled, “Low drop, Delta. Burn hard! Now!” Following his own command, Redburn pushed hard on his foot pedals, igniting the jump jets on the Firestarter’s back. He eased up on the left pedal for half a second, letting the right jet twist him toward the battlefield.

  My God, it’s a hellground, thought Redburn as he surveyed the landscape of frozen red desert. The wide, virtually featureless plain stretched out as far as the eye could see in all directions, except where the thick, black smoke of burning ’Mechs cut off his view. This place is a desert because it gets so little rainfall during the year, but this high up means it stays cold. He glanced at his external thermometer. Zero degrees Celsius. Damned cold!

  Opposite where his command had jetted to the ground, the Davion Light Guards’ First Battalion was arrayed in a staggered formation to engage the Liao battalion at a distance. Long-range missile exchanges had pockmarked the landscape with cratered reminders of poor marksmanship. Burning ’Mechs of various sizes and allegiances, or scraps thereof, decorated the battlefield as reminders of war machine efficacy.

  Redburn chewed his lip, thinking that something was very wrong here. Our lines are pushed too far back! “Eagle, how’s your vantage point?”

  Leftenant Craon’s voice crackled with nervousness. “Not so good. I don’t see Second Battalion.”

  Redburn swallowed hard. “Neither do I.” He studied the tactical display on his auxiliary monitor. It showed elements he identified as First Battalion withdrawing toward some low hill formations to the south. First Battalion’s speed will beat that of the Goliaths, but running keeps our ’Mechs at the Goliaths’ optimum range. Most of the First Battalion’s ’Mechs can’t fight at that range. Where the hell is Second Battalion?

  Archie St. Agnan’s voice cut into Redburn’s neurohelmet. “My sensors have picked up Colonel Stone’s identifier still with our troops. Wait! I have a transmission from him…”

  Andrew licked his dry lips. “Patch it through.”

  Static crackled and popped loudly, half obscuring the faint transmission. “Delta, pull out. Second Battalion aborted landing. Liao air cover is too heavy. The Goliaths will eat up your recruits…

  That’s Stone, all right. Andrew keyed his throat mike. “Did you all get that?”

  Drew Montbard replied strongly. “We copied, Captain. I vote we go in.”

  “This isn’t a democracy, Drew.” Andrew summoned a technical readout on the Goliath assault ’Mech to his primary monitor. Two LRM launchers, but those four-legged monsters should be out of missiles by now. That leaves them their particle projection cannons. If we get in close enough, those won’t be worth spit, either. We’re at double strength for a company.

  “Archie,” Andrew said. “Don’t acknowledge the transmission. We never got it. Ground ’em now, troops! Land in that wash over to the south. Hit top speed, use the wash for cover, and come in from behind. If they want to court-martial us for disobeying orders, first they’ll have to let us win this fight, won’t they?”

  The massive quadruped Goliath ’Mechs looked more like conventional tanks that had sprouted a leg at each corner of their boxy chassis. Their low, flat turrets swiveled side to side as though the muzzles of their PPCs spied out targets before blasting them into oblivion. Nearly twelve meters high, the ’Mechs stood a third again as tall as any of the light ’
Mechs opposing them. Like a solid line of mechanized war elephants, the Goliaths drove their fleeing enemies before them.

  Andrew Redburn narrowed his eyes as he settled the targeting crosshairs for his Firestarter’s twin arm-mounted medium lasers. It was just like they said at Warrior’s Hall on New Syrtis. Every ’Mech has two flaws. One is the designer, who believes he’s created an invincible machine, and the other is the pilot, who believes the designer. “Archer and Demon Lances, let fly!”

  The two Valkyrie lances released their flights of LRMs while the other three Delta lances raced in beneath the missile umbrella. As the missiles arced overhead, ten ruby shafts of medium laser fire flashed forward like arrows at two of the Goliaths. The lasers slashed long, deep gashes in the giant ’Mechs’ armor, and the incoming missiles gnawed at the holes like maggots feasting on an open wound.

  The two rearmost Goliaths shuddered. Missiles blasted chunks of aft armor from the torsos of both ’Mechs in a fiery rain of debris, then Andrew saw explosions carry farther into the Goliaths’ hearts. Subsidiary explosions wracked both machines, and a flash of white light on Andrew’s infrared display told him that the ’Mech on the right had lost some of the shielding surrounding its fusion engine.

  The pilots of both ’Mechs, reacting to the assault from the rear, tried to turn their cumbersome machines to face the threat, but Delta Company’s initial attack had damaged them more seriously than they had realized. As the ’Mechs began to come about, their legs, no longer coordinated because of destroyed gyrostabilizers, splayed out, sending each machine crashing to the ground.

  Redburn fought the earthquake-like tremor triggered by the eighty-ton monsters slamming into the earth. Hope our luck holds and Stone can rally his forces. “Move it, Delta. We’re here.”

  Staying out of range, yet moving to make themselves difficult targets, the Valkyries of Archer and Demon Lances concentrated their missile and laser fire on carefully chosen targets. Bull’s-eye, Cat, and Fox Lances, consisting of light ’Mechs designed for close-in combat, streamed into the midst of the Liao force like a pack of wolves hunting caribou. Working in close concert, each lance picked out a target, then took it apart.