Warrior: Riposte (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Two): BattleTech Legends, #58 Page 6

  Morgan straightened. “You flatter yourself. Patrick and Salome Ward were there, too.”

  Dan shook his head incredulously. “How blind you must have been then. Unless too much time here has dimmed your memory, Salome Ward was more than a staff officer to you, Morgan. Hell, you two might have thought your romance was a secret, but everyone in the regiment knew about it. When you vanished without so much as a word, it crushed her. Sure, she was strong enough to keep on doing whatever had to be done, but she did it mechanically. It took a long time for her to find herself again.”

  Dan narrowed his eyes and willed Morgan to melt beneath his fierce gaze. “Your brother—God! You’ve got no idea how much you hurt him. He believed that you had dissolved the regiment because you wouldn’t trust him with so many men’s lives…”

  “That’s not it…” Morgan interrupted harshly.

  “I don’t care what your reasons were, Morgan, that’s what your brother felt. It ate away at him, and for the first three years after you left, he was always second-guessing himself. Then he just made up his mind to become the best damned battalion commander possible. He did that, Morgan, and I know he hoped you’d be proud of him.”

  “I was. I was always proud of him.”

  Dan snorted. “It’s too late for that now, Morgan. Did you know how proud Patrick was of you? He never took the rank of colonel. He remained a lieutenant colonel because, he said, you were the Kell Hound colonel. All our contracts have a clause that allows you to break them whenever you decide to return to the unit. Hell, Patrick even refused offers from several other mercenary battalions that wanted to bring us back up to regimental strength by joining up, because he said that was your decision.”

  Dan shook his head. “Do you know what we called it, Morgan, when you left? We called it ‘the Defection.’ Everyone who came into the Kell Hounds soon learned not to ask about the Defection. Your defection, Morgan, haunted Patrick even to his deathbed.”

  Dan hesitated as a lump rose in his throat and tears filled his eyes. “You know what he said to me as he died? He said, ‘Dan, tell him, tell Morgan I understand. Tell him I finally understand.’ To the last, Morgan, to his very last moment, the Defection rode him and drove him.”

  Morgan sagged forward, but held himself up on his two arms. Dan saw tears splash onto the red rock, but the dark stains evaporated almost as quickly as they appeared. He could sense the tension easing in Morgan’s body, but felt no similar release of his long pent up anger.

  Morgan straightened up and stared into Dan’s cold blue eyes. “I accept your judgment of the evil I did to my brother and Salome. I await an accounting of the pain I have caused you, Daniel Allard.”

  Morgan’s words unlocked the anguish Dan had shut away during the Defection. “What pain you caused me…” He hung his head. “I thought you’d accepted me into the Kell Hounds because you believed I had value. You’d praised my performance in exercises and battles. I always kept my lance one step ahead of the enemy and did all the things I was supposed to do. I kept my people alive, and I thought you saw great potential in me.”

  Dan laughed harshly and shook his head. “As people started to leave us, I began to notice that you’d selected the best and the brightest to be sent away. I believed you had a plan of some sort, that you had trusted only the elite with that plan. I waited and waited for you to come to me with a mission. When you left, and I found myself suddenly having to hold a mercenary battalion together, I hated you. I felt betrayed, and I felt unworthy. You made me doubt myself—that was the pain you caused me, Morgan, but it’s nothing compared to what you did to Salome and Patrick. I recovered soon enough and held the Kell Hounds together just to spite you.”

  Morgan rocked back onto his heels, hesitated, then stood in one slow, smooth motion. “I have much to atone for. I know that words alone cannot absolve me, but perhaps, in your case, they can help ease the pain.” Morgan swallowed hard. “You were correct, in part, that I sent good and competent men and women away from the Kell Hounds during what you call the Defection. And I did, indeed, consider you very strongly for a most important part of that plan…”

  Dan frowned. “But?”

  Morgan exhaled slowly. “I saw you as too valuable to the Kell Hounds. No, I did not expect or envision or desire the effect that you say my leaving had on the Kell Hounds—especially for Salome and my brother. Had I suspected then what you tell me now, I would have found another way. I may have utterly underestimated the level of chaos, but I did know it would be a difficult time for the Hounds. With your youthful enthusiasm and fire and intelligence, I believed that you would be the kind of person who could hold the Kell Hounds together. With Patrick, Salome, and you as leaders, I knew the unit would attract the best possible MechWarriors and that the Kell Hounds would one day be powerful again.”

  Dan stared at the half-naked, unkempt man across from him and knew that he was speaking the truth, however improbable his words might seem. Dan looked quizzically at Morgan. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  Morgan opened his hands and shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t. For the very same reasons that Patrick, Salome, and you were perfect to lead the Kell Hounds, I could not tell you why I was fleeing or why I’d sent the others away. None of you are stupid, but you all tend to see action as the solution to most problems. In the situation that I saw, to act would have been to die.”

  Dan shook his head. “I still don’t understand why you couldn’t have told us. We would have followed your lead.”

  Morgan smiled. “Would you? If I had told you I must go away because of one man, would you have refrained from seeking him out and destroying him? I don’t think so.” Morgan sighed heavily. “Worse yet, Dan, I myself came only gradually to realize what I’ve just told you. When I first left the unit, my emotions, my hopes, dreams, and fears were a jumble. Intellectually, I could sort things out enough to act on some of them, but emotionally, I felt as though I were drowning. I felt—I knew—that I would be condemning you all to death if I spoke my thoughts.”

  Dan nodded slowly. “And all this has something to do with Yorinaga Kurita and the battle on Mallory’s World?”

  “Yes.” Morgan turned and stared out across the desert. “As long as he remained in exile, there was no danger. Now, despite the pain I caused, it appears that my precautions were worth the effort.” Morgan fell silent for a moment, then shivered despite the heat and turned back to Dan.

  “You recall what I asked you to tell the abbot?”

  Dan nodded. “To give me the messages for ComStar and to carry them to Starboro so they can be sent.”

  Morgan smiled. “Yes. Add one thing more. Where are the Kell Hounds now?”

  “Northwind, Federated Suns. Our contract’s with the Lyran Commonwealth, but we’ve been on Northwind since June because the Archon loaned us to Hanse Davion at his request. Salome is acting commander.”

  Morgan nodded. “Good. Send her a message. Ask her to take the Kell Hounds to Thorin. She’ll get further instructions there. Then wait for me in Starboro. We’ll be shipping out in two days.”

  “Bound for Thorin?”

  Morgan shook his head. “Tharkad. I must speak with the Archon.” Morgan’s face had changed, his expression became remote. “Now, if you will excuse me, I wish some time alone.”

  Dan nodded. “Morgan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Though I deeply regret the circumstances,” Dan said in a low voice, “it feels so right to have you back.”

  Chapter 7

  NEW AVALON

  CRUCIS MARCH

  FEDERATED SUNS

  22 OCTOBER 3027

  The Davion Heavy Guards troopers who had gathered at the Fox Den Tavern cheered as Morgan Hasek-Davion’s image again appeared on the video screen. Morgan, as he had done in the ten previous replays of the news segment, shook hands with Hanse Davion on a balcony overlooking a cheering throng. “It is a great honor to be asked to serve as best man at your wedding ceremony, Prince Hanse,
and I gladly accept the duty and responsibility that goes along with it.”

  Seated deep in the tavern’s darkest corner, Morgan Hasek-Davion watched his own image on the screen. Part of him recognized that he was the tall MechWarrior with flowing red hair and the broad, strong build that many called his Davion traits. It was true, he thought, that he and Hanse Davion looked more like brothers than uncle and nephew. Morgan shuddered as the image froze on the screen, then blurred away as the helpless tavern keeper rewound the tape once more in response to the Heavy Guards’ demands to see the segment again.

  Morgan shook his head and looked down at the half-drunk beer in his hands. I know that was me on the screen, but at the same time, it’s not. Looking up at the screen again, he sighed. That Morgan Hasek-Davion harbors none of the doubts and concerns I have. Morgan pushed his chair back from the table and slowly waded through the crowd toward the door.

  One of his lancemates, Leftenant Ben Colson, spotted him and called out to him. “Hey, Major, where are you going? We’re not done toasting you yet.”

  Morgan smiled broadly. “Just want to get some air, Ben. I’ll be back.” He looked around the room, then pointed to the holovid screen. “Been in crowds all day…”

  Colson nodded and winked conspiratorially, then turned back to the screen. Morgan wormed through a couple of tight spots, then escaped into the cool night air. The Fox Den’s door shut behind him, and except for the hum of the sodium streetlights, silence enfolded him.

  Morgan began to walk. Though he had no conscious destination, his feet soon took him to the Davion Peace Garden. The huge trees arching overhead formed a dark, solemn tunnel. How odd to find myself here, for I feel in no way at peace.

  Morgan remembered his image on the holovid screen and the commentary of a woman from the Social Functions Administration. “Morgan Hasek-Davion is Prince Hanse’s nephew,” she had said, “the son of the Prince’s half-sister, Marie. You can see how much he resembles the Prince. He has the broad shoulders and that characteristic red hair of the Davions.” Well, she got it half-right, at least.

  A slight breeze plucked at Morgan’s long hair and blew a lock of it across his face. He pushed it away and unconsciously coiled the strand around one index finger. She never mentioned how I wear my hair long, as does my father. Nor did she point out that I have my father’s green eyes, or that my muscular build was inherited from the Haseks. In seeing so much Davion in me, she’s as blind as my father. Morgan again looked around and saw that his wandering had carried him deeper into the park—almost halfway to the NAIS. Off to the left, down in the bowl of a grassy amphitheater, he saw the dark silhouette of the park’s latest monument. Morgan stepped over the walkway railing and approached the stone-and-steel statue.

  The flickering golden light of a memorial flame flashed highlights across the trio of figures that comprised the tableau. On the left was a panther—stylized enough to reflect oriental origin—as it recoiled from the middle figure. That figure, a wolfhound already torn and bleeding from several wounds, bared its fangs and lunged at the big black cat. The dog’s defiant spirit was expressed in the suicidal assault, for its injuries were portrayed as nearly mortal. Behind the dog, crouching in horror, a child peeked at the warring animals through splayed fingers. A rope bound around the child’s waist extended enough above the sculpture to suggest the child’s imminent rescue and to validate the hound’s courageous sacrifice.

  Morgan looked down at the bronze plaque set before the burning flame, and read aloud: “In Memoriam: For those who gave their lives to save the hijacked DropShip Silver Eagle, 26 June 3027. The fruits of your sacrifice will live forever.” Morgan listened to the echoes of his words drain away into the darkness, then glanced at the list of names immortalized on the plaque. Heading the list was the name of “Lt. Col. Patrick M. Kell.”

  Morgan shook his head. I mourn your loss, Patrick, but how I envy your sense of duty. You suffered no confusion. You knew what had to be done and you did it. Morgan again looked up at the steel wolfhound. I feel as torn and battered as that dog, yet I cannot see my duty as clearly.

  But you, Patrick Kell, you had it easier than I did. Once you learned that your cousin Melissa Steiner was trapped within the Silver Eagle, your duty was clear. You only faced a superior Draconian force. You shed your blood to save your blood, but I am trapped between my two halves.

  Morgan turned from the memorial and trudged across the grassy field toward the walkway and the NAIS. I am a Davion. First and always, my duty is to my Prince and the Federated Suns. I know Hanse originally brought me to New Avalon to guarantee my father’s good behavior, but it didn’t matter to me. He brought me home! I respect him as my leader and my kin, and I cherish him as a friend.

  At the same time, though, I feel as though I am betraying my father. I know that he and Hanse fought a secret but no less nasty battle to see who would become Prince after Ian died on Mallory’s World, and my father lost. What’s worse, though I love him, I know my father was wrong. I want to bring the two of them back together again, but I fear that accepting the request to be the Prince’s best man will only drive them further apart.

  A woman’s loud squeal of fear came suddenly from the darkened grove to Morgan’s right, shocking him from his brooding. He vaulted the walkway railing and burst through the shrubs at top speed. Swerving at the sight of the woman and her three assailants, he tackled the tallest of the men. Slamming his shoulder into the man’s stomach, Morgan knocked the wind out of him. They both went down hard, but Morgan rolled to his feet instantly and whirled to face the other two muggers.

  The blond woman struggled and broke free of her captors. Clutching torn clothing, she cowered as the hoodlums turned with evil grins toward her rescuer. The one closest to the girl—his right eye already blackening where she’d hit him—taunted Morgan, “Ain’t got your machine, robogrunt…”

  Morgan roared defiantly and lunged forward, stabbing a stiff-fingered hand into the other man’s stomach. When the hoodlum folded around the blow, Morgan straightened him up with a knee to the face. The thug jackknifed backward and out of sight into the shrubs.

  The last man swung a roundhouse left to the side of Morgan’s face, snapping his head around. Morgan half-stumbled, then caught himself and rose grinning. “Is that the best you can do, little man?” Balling fists the size of grapefruits, Morgan towered over the mugger. “I don’t need a machine to take you apart.”

  Morgan took a single step forward, which instantly inspired the thug to turn and attempt to run off. He slipped first, giving Morgan the chance to administer a savage kick to the man’s posterior, ejecting him from the grove through a thorn bush. Screaming more from terror than pain, the man vanished into the night.

  Morgan spun, but the other two hoodlums had by now also made good their escape. Knowing that he was safe for the moment, Morgan crossed to where the woman crouched. He dropped to one knee beside her. “Are you hurt?”

  She looked up at him and stared as though not understanding his words. She hugged herself tightly and shivered. Fear shot through her blue eyes like laserfire, but then her eyes cleared. “My God, they were going to…

  Morgan settled his huge hands on her shoulders. “Take it easy. They can’t hurt you now. Are you all right?”

  She swallowed and shook her head. Her blond hair, a bit shorter than Morgan’s own red locks, brushed the backs of his hands with the movement of her head. “I, I think I’m fine—physically, I mean. They didn’t hurt me, really, just tore my chemise.”

  Morgan instantly unzipped his uniform jacket and swung it around to cover her. As the blue woolen coat settled over her shoulders, she pulled it tight. “Thank you. It’s so warm.” She looked up and saw that Morgan now wore only a sleeveless T-shirt beneath the jacket. “No, you mustn’t. You’ll be cold.”

  Morgan shook his head and pulled the neck of the shirt down so that she could see the thatch of thick red hair covering his chest. “It’s like wearing a sweater all the time.
In fact, it’s hell in an overheating ’Mech. I’ll be fine. Do you think you can walk?”

  She nodded, and Morgan helped her to her feet. Leaning heavily on him, she smoothed out her plaid woolen skirt and brushed away some leaves and twigs that clung to it. Smiling, she took one step forward, but her right ankle collapsed. “Oh!” she cried out, falling against him.

  Morgan caught her easily. “Did you twist your ankle?”

  She nodded ruefully. “Actually, I injured it two weeks ago while fencing. I must have reinjured it.”

  “Well, you’re not walking anywhere on that ankle tonight.” Morgan smiled broadly. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  She frowned but complied cautiously. Once Morgan felt her hands on his shoulders, he dipped and scooped her up into his arms.

  “Wait a minute, mister,” she began. “I don’t just let strange men carry me around…”

  Morgan laughed. “I saw that earlier, remember? Come on, I’m in Davion’s Heavy Guards. You can trust me.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “…said the spider to the fly.” She studied his face, then smiled. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You did save me…”

  Morgan nodded and walked them both from the grove. “Well, just so you won’t think of me as a strange man, permit me to introduce myself. I’m Morgan.” He half-expected her to recognize him, but somehow he was pleased when she didn’t.

  She smiled warmly. “Well then, Morgan, introductions all around. I’m Kym Sorenson, and I’m very grateful for your help.”

  “Where to, Kym?”

  Kym pointed off toward the NAIS lights. “My apartment is just this side of campus. If you want to put me down, I can probably limp along to it.”

  Morgan shook his head firmly. “None of that. We Heavy Guards are known as ‘The Strength of the Davions,’ and this is my chance to prove it.” Holding her tightly, he thought about his ruminations of only a few minutes before. “Would that all my duties were so sweet…”