Mechwarrior: Dark Age #27

Janos would not be so nervous. Elis certainly would not be so nervous. But when she’d received the summons to an audience with Duke Ari Humphreys, she’d expected to appear before him in an audience chamber of some sort, not in a ubiquitous office building located on the outskirts of the botanical gardens.

At least I don’t have to be around Cunin anymore. She managed to stifle the immediate revulsion that made her gorge rise whenever she remembered the beastly man’s affront to her dignity in that hovel of a hunting lodge he kept on the Zahle continent for his safari business. Trying to summon her anger in order to push that memory further away, she whipped her parasol from the crook of her right arm and banged the point on the floor. The resulting muted thump gave her no satisfaction. That memory would never be shared—never.

She took a moment to straighten her dress, pulling the sleeves until they covered her wrists completely and smoothing away imaginary wrinkles, at the same time attempting to identify objects in the shadowy depths of the room. She could just make out a desk at one end of the room, with what appeared to be a mammoth chair behind it. Though she’d yet to meet the man in person, from holofootage she knew the duke’s diminutive stature would be dwarfed by that chair. Making up for your inadequacies, Duke? She looked at the window, wondering why so little light entered at full noon, before her skin bloomed a pleasant shade of rose as she realized her inadvertent innuendo. Julietta fanned her face with her hand as she desperately searched the room for something, anything, to distract her from her own thoughts. She even considered announcing her arrival, but then thought, If you are going to show such discourtesy, Duke Humphreys, then I will return it in kind.

She instantly recognized the squat figure with his avaricious eyes and small nose and immediately straightened, ignoring the heat of her face, which was almost making her sweat despite the air-conditioning. ‘‘I am fine, Duke Humphreys. I was simply startled.’’ She summoned her courage and raised her chin, looking down her nose at the little man as she’d seen her mother do to others on countless occasions. ‘‘I am not accustomed to being kept waiting, much less being sent to an empty, darkened room.’’

‘‘You could not even find the time to order your servants to inform your guest?’’ While she was mildly shocked at the tone in her own voice, it managed to smother the flames under her skin, bringing her breathing back to normal. I know you play at a game here, but I will not be caught. She shivered as the memory of whiskey-laden breath and a rough hand nearly eclipsed her senses, but she managed to regain control. I will not be caught . . . again.

The duke swept another bow, this one more perfunctory, and then slapped the wall, flooding the room with brightness from a bank of overhead lights, and the window, which obviously had some sort of electronically controlled opacity. The sudden illumination almost brought tears to her eyes.

She slowly turned as he walked, taking in the entire office and somewhat surprised to find it not nearly as overbearing as her mind’s eye had imagined in the gloom. While the chair was certainly oversized, it was not the mammoth construct the dimness and her imagination made it out to be. In fact, the only thing in the office that could truly be called grand was the window that literally took up the entire wall facing the botanical gardens. Even Janos would not mind such an extravagance when the view is so splendid.

She glanced at the cup and examined the duke’s apparently sincere smile. Poison? She couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Too many people knew she was here, and there was no possible way the duke could explain away her death. She gratefully took the drink, then nodded as though it were her due and took a careful sip. The heavy cinnamon flavor exploded on her tongue with other subtle spices, but then slipped away, leaving only the memory of its wonder, without an aftertaste that would leave one looking for something to cleanse the palate. On the verge of exclaiming at the unique and delicious beverage, she kept her reaction to a half smile and a nod of appreciation.

Duke Ari smiled in return as he drank a huge mouthful, then moved toward matching couches that faced the view. Standing before one, he swept his arm at the other, inviting her to sit. She moved slowly and gracefully—knowing her dress did not allow for quick walking—careful to keep her poise intact, and sat; half on, so that her skirt would settle properly without showing unseemly amounts of ankle.

She nodded as she took another small sip of her drink and composed her thoughts. As with the marriage proposal, the words she needed to say were a sham. But if she could make them appear sincere— regardless of her mother’s doubts that the duke would ever even entertain the idea—then Jessica would be required to publicly thank her daughter for exemplary service to the state, and Julietta would be able to flush away forever thoughts of Cunin and the travesty of the marriage proposal. Vile man!

Julietta realized she’d been silent too long, and took another sip. ‘‘I’m sorry, Duke Humphreys. This drink has captivated my attention. So wonderful, so subtle. I do apologize for my wandering mind.’’

Does the duke suffer from a tic? She tried to put it out of her mind. ‘‘Duke Humphreys. My mother, the lady Jessica, wishes me to speak plainly to you. These are evil and dangerous times. Stone’s peace has fallen away and in its place, ambitious men rise to harm those who wish to retain as plows the arms they so long ago forged into implements of peace.’’

Julietta nodded, pleased by the duke’s response to her words. She began to imagine the possibilities that would open up with an accord between their realms. Janos would be so proud of me. ‘‘And it is to find such allies that I have come. We have an ancient enemy on both our borders that has already flexed its muscles.’’

The duke began to gently roll his empty glass between his palms. ‘‘But, my lady, the Capellan Confederation has struck at neither the Duchy nor the Protectorate, hitting The Republic instead. Some might say, simply taking back worlds it lost long ago.’’

Julietta suddenly found herself in her favorite role, teacher to a student. ‘‘But, Duke Humphreys, House Liao and their chancellors have ever been more voracious than their stomach’s capacity. Do not forget how many worlds of your own Duchy at one time belonged to House Liao. Successor lords have long memories, but a Liao’s memory is a quilt lovingly crafted to enshrine every mistaken slight and misremembered fault, handed to each heir as a sacred right of duty to atone.’’

Despite a lifetime of ingrained caution when dealing with any Andurien, she found herself warming to the duke. Slightly. ‘‘I simply convey my mother’s words, Duke Humphreys.’’ Perhaps polished as needed. Her own smile grew. ‘‘Duke Humphreys, we have centuries of history to show us that House Liao will always look on our worlds with possessive eyes. A mutually beneficial alliance against Capellan aggression would be advantageous to the Duchy as well as the Protectorate. ’’ She took a larger sip of her drink and leaned against the back of the couch, suddenly unconcerned whether she exposed her ankles. Mother will have to thank me.

The duke gazed out the window as though contemplating the importance of her words before responding. ‘‘You are most correct, my lady. We live in dangerous times, and in such times we must look to history to help guide our steps forward. We must look around us and decide who is an enemy and who is a friend.’’

Absorbed in contemplating her success, she almost missed the change in his tone; it took a moment for the warning to penetrate her pleasant musings. She looked up to discover the duke on his feet, his earlier relaxed attitude gone as though it had never existed. ‘‘I beg your pardon?’’ She felt the abrupt, horrifying sensation of a situation spiraling out of her control.

His tone slapped her like a wave of icy water. What is going on? What just happened? She defaulted to her standard defense of haughty indignation. ‘‘Sir, I would suggest you choose your words more carefully. I have come at the behest of my mother the captain-general to discuss an alliance, and your boorish behavior jeopardizes any potential relationship.’’ How could I ever have started warming to such a man?

The duke smiled harshly in reply, his beady eyes bright with some unidentifiable emotion. ‘‘HPG communications may be faulty, Julietta, but the Protectorate’s adventurism is becoming known. You accuse House Liao of aggression for taking back worlds stolen from it decades ago, and yet the Protectorate is doing the same.’’

‘‘My lady, your excuses will not work here,’’ he said, cutting her off. ‘‘You see a past where our realms fought side by side against House Liao. I see a past, a much more recent past, when your realm was instrumental in the subjugation of mine. I need allies. But I would rather the known quantity of an enemy any day than an ally with a knife poised at my back.’’

As he spoke Julietta stoked her anger, pushing herself up from the couch and looking down on her opponent with all the imperiousness at her command. ‘‘Duke Humphreys, how dare you? I cannot understand how you can ignore the dangers of House Liao, but regardless of the folly you intend to pursue, you will not speak to me in such a way. I came to Andurien in response to a marriage proposal you endorsed; a proposal I accepted in good faith and have continued to consider seriously despite the abhorrent actions of your vassal. And now, when I offer my mother’s hand in cooperation against a common enemy, this is how I am received? This audience is at an end.’’ She turned away without another word, surprised and a little excited by her own boldness. I will have nothing to show Mother . . . but I will have left this den of deception with dignity.

‘‘Ah, Julietta. The marriage proposal. Now we’re back to the hypocrisy. How long have you been here, my lady? How vigorously have you dragged your feet at every opportunity presented by Charles to move the proposal toward a formal engagement? You never intended to accept the engagement, my lady.’’

‘‘As for poor Charles, perhaps he was pushed beyond even his limits, my lady. A gentleman can only take so much. Perhaps he only wished to discover if there was any warmth at all below that cold exterior.’’

On the verge of turning around to castigate him again, she stopped cold at the duke’s words. Humiliation burned her skin and stabbed in her stomach. He knows. He knows! She rushed toward the door.

Frantic to escape, on the verge of hysteria, her eyes filling with tears, she hiked up her skirts and ran from the room, desperate to avoid hearing the terrible words that might follow. Rushed down the hall, knowing she’d been used and manipulated from the start; ran like she knew she would be running all the way back home.

Duke Humphreys raised his hand for silence, listening to the sobbing from the end of the hall before it was cut off with the closing of the elevator doors. Turned to see Charles standing in the doorway of a hidden room at the side of the office. The man’s ashen features were particularly stark against his huge mustache, making him appear ill. ‘‘My lord, that seems . . . unwise.’’ The man swallowed so hard that even at this distance Ari could see the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

The other man swallowed again several times and then nodded. ‘‘Yes, my lord.’’ Several more swallows. ‘‘I stand by my conviction that she’s a trollop and a prude. But . . . the consequences . . .’’

Ari smiled as though he was in complete control, but a sheen of sweat slicked his brow. I may have found my allies elsewhere, but it is possible I went too far in poking the Protectorate nest to find out what’s beneath the surface.

He discovered that he was still holding his empty glass, and abruptly moved to refill it. ‘‘Too late now, Charles. The dice are cast.’’ As he poured his drink he stared for a moment at the painting that covered the false panel hiding the office’s safe, inside which lay a signed marriage proposal. He gulped down the liquor, then slammed his glass onto the table. ‘‘Let’s just hope the serpent I let into my bed will remain a serpent.’’

Force Commander Casson pulled the targeting reticule onto the target and clenched the primary trigger on his joystick. Twin coruscating beams of spitting energy leapt toward the target, both finding their mark over the Wasp’s center torso line. The attack was complete overkill: the beams obliterated armor, slashed angrily through internal structure and savaged such critical components as the engine and gyro, completely gutting the enemy ’Mech; the unspent energy ate its way out the back torso armor, but the machine was already dead.

Ignoring the stifling heat inside his cockpit, he targeted another unit; a heavy vehicle attempting to maneuver in the Vale of Holm, terrain made hellish by a multitude of terraced hedges. Years of training and experience allowed him to know the shot before the target-lock tone engaged or the reticule flashed gold; he fired another dual salvo of azure death. He coughed, his throat painfully dry, lungs searing in the oppressive waste heat. Yet a savage smile lit his face as the PPC bolts tore into the hapless machine: the first caught the already strained left-side track in its grip, tearing it completely away as it unraveled under the crew’s vain attempts to escape; the second found a weak spot already pounded by previous salvos and punched through the turret armor. The sympathetic explosion that tossed the turret high into the air was as sure a sign as the coming victory that he’d found the magazine stores.

His monitors fuzzed as the heat overloaded the computer and threatened shutdown, and his machine slowed to the speed of molasses; a quickly input key code overrode the computer and he slapped off the shrilling alarms. Panting, his sweat running like a river down his back, he immediately looked for another target, only to discover the region devoid of any moving enemies.

He closed his eyes under the strain of forty-eight hours of lightning strikes that put the world of Ibstock into his hands. Two worlds and two victories. While the warmth of that accomplishment felt good, he knew better than to think he had time to bask in his success. Low-hanging fruits. Barely trained militia. But we’re now within two jumps of the world Lady Jessica wants.