Mechwarrior: Dark Age #27

Nikol walked to the edge of the pond, the stone in her hand a flat, smooth disk of latent fun. Stretching back her arm, she let the stone fly, counting eleven skips before it slid beneath the surface of the water. ‘‘Ha, two better than last time.’’

Nikol wrinkled her nose, then smoothed her expression before turning around. Her mother lounged on a portable divan. She was wearing a modest bathing suit, yet somehow managed to look both imperious and demure—with just a hint of sexy, despite being in her seventies . . . and all apparently without effort. Damn you, Mother. I’m a woman, but you make me feel like I’m the freckle-faced, gangly thirteen-year-old you probably still see me as. Considering everything that had happened in the last few months, she knew that thought was unfair . . . but probably not completely off base.

Nikol sniffed, chose a new rock and turned and heaved it out across the water, distracted from making a careful throw; it skipped a mere three times before vanishing with a large splash.

‘‘You know astrocartography better than I, dear. I’m sure you’ve already looked up all the information, and barring any accidents or time on Liao I’m sure you could provide me with an exact number of days.’’

Minutes if I wanted to. But she didn’t say that out loud, despite a frantic desire to do so. She kept talking to keep from making that mistake. ‘‘She left so abruptly.’’

‘‘Do you really feel she’ll be able to return with word from her brother? The chancellor . . . from our time on Terra . . .’’ She gave an involuntary shiver despite the warm weather. ‘‘Even being in the same room with him gave me the creeps.’’

‘‘I’m sorry, dear. I don’t mean to offend you. I assure you that he makes me feel the same way. I just prefer a more eloquent description than ‘he gives me the creeps.’ ’’

Nikol squatted and this time didn’t even bother to avoid getting her fingers dirty as she dug for another stone. The mud was cold and slimy yet comforting, as if it were nature’s balms to all ills. ‘‘You mean politically correct.’’

‘‘If you wish, dear. But it is my choosing. If I wished to use your phrasing I would do so. But for reasons of my own I would never use such verbiage. Can you say the same? Did you choose your words, or did they choose you?’’

Still gazing at the water, she felt a retort dying on her lips as her mother’s words sank in; despite the lecturing tone, she thought about it. Actually dug a little to find if her mother was right or wrong, and as ever, didn’t like what she found. As ever, kept talking to distract herself. ‘‘You didn’t answer the question.’’

‘‘All right. All right, dear. To be honest, I am not completely sure what is going through Danai’s mind. Nor what she hopes to accomplish with a trip back to Sian. Either she has the authority to treat with us or she does not. In our first meeting she certainly conveyed a sense that she had all the power needed to make binding agreements. Which has left me confused as to her current actions.’’

‘‘Perhaps it has to do with her orders to invade the world of Zion when you received a verbal agreement from the chancellor that House Liao would leave that ancient Marik world alone?’’

Nikol glanced down at her hand, rubbing her thumb and forefinger through the mud, smearing it into her skin. Julietta would be horrified. Nikol smiled. ‘‘But will she come back with an alliance from House Liao? Will they actually find a way to guarantee one of our borders?’’

‘‘Exactly. And even if she does return with such a miraculous gift, we must be careful of the strings attached. The chancellor will want more than it appears.’’

Christopher’s yell tore away in the torrent of icy wind as he went over the final big jump. Despite his best efforts, the line of his attack and speed— combined with the size of the drop-off on the backside—pulled him out of his crouch. Sensing his balance starting to shift, he broke his arms from their iron-hard arrowhead position and windmilled his right arm slightly before slamming back into the hard-packed snow.

Though he tried to soften the impact by bending his knees, it still jarred him to the bone, and his helmet smacked his knee hard enough to send a brief white flash of pain spiking from his leg to his brain. Managing to keep his descent under control despite the pain, Christopher pulled his arms back, by sheer force of will, into their arrowhead form. He crouched down until his gloves almost obscured his vision, hunkering down behind the windbreak of his arms and sawing through the last two turns until he hit the final stretch; then he buried his head, sacrificing sight and relying on his knowledge of the course because every thousandth of a second counted—and prayed and cursed for just one more ounce of force to bring him down off the mountain first. . . .

He shot past the finish line to the roar of the crowd. Quickly pulling out of the crouch, he put his weight onto the edge of both skis and leaned into the stop as he attempted to bleed off the excess velocity before smashing into the barricade like in last week’s training run. Dropping the poles to dangle on their straps at his wrists, he immediately pulled his goggles away to get a better look at the timing board. As he came to an abrupt halt, even the crowd appeared to hold its breath as the scoring board seemed to take extra long to update. Now starting to shiver from the aftereffects of the blow to his knee and the adrenaline rush now cresting and beginning to ebb, he tried to breathe while he waited, his lungs pulling in frigid air that didn’t seem to improve his light-headedness.

The applause exploded before his brain registered the digital scoreboard. First place by .002. ‘‘Unity!’’ he yelled, raising arms that no longer ached, his heart hammering double-time at the new surge of energy. ‘‘Hot damn. Yeah!’’ As he pumped his fists in the air and two of the good friends he’d made on this tour tackled him to the ground, a new sound rose from the crowd.

‘‘Hellion Hughes. Hellion Hughes. Hellion Hughes.’’ The thundering chant hammered at Christopher’s senses as he struggled to his feet against Joshua thumping him on the back and Kiri throwing snow in his face. A warmth sparked in his stomach and slowly flowed out to every part of his body. A curse turned to a cheer. You’ll appreciate that, Mother.

‘‘Christopher Hughes,’’ a woman began, pushing her microphone into his face as a camera crew worked their magic from behind. ‘‘I’m Aleisha Sulivan from TNN. For a moment there, it looked like you’d lost it.’’

Still strung out on the adrenaline of his win, Christopher didn’t even mind that she got his name wrong. ‘‘Just about,’’ he began, then paused to swallow and gasp another breath. ‘‘But I managed to keep it together and pull out a win.’’ He raised his arms again, pumping them to a new, enthusiastic round of chants from the gathered crowd. I’ve won them over. His smile grew even larger.

‘‘How does it feel to have what was obviously a derogatory name turned into a chant for a winner? I’ve already heard rumors that Gienah Sports has approached you about a line of ‘Hellion Hughes’ hoverboards. Is there any truth to that?’’

He kept his smile on, despite his shock. How the hell do you know that? ‘‘Seems you’ve got sources I don’t. But if Gienah wants to slap Hellion Hughes on a new line of hoverboards, I’m all ears.’’ There. Avoid the question and toss Gienah a boost in their market they can’t ignore. Can the day get any better?

The reminder of his mission dampened his elation for a moment, but he still kept his smile on. I’m learning! ‘‘I’m looking forward to meeting Duke Marik. And my mother, Jessica Marik, captain-general of the Oriente Protectorate, asked that if I had this chance I should pass along her warmest greetings.’’ Among other things. Figuring the safest approach on that challenge is going to be as tough as any mountain I’ve tackled. I just wish she hadn’t felt the need to pass her instructions through Charles, that officious prick.

He bent down and patted his knee, then stood up and slipped his arm over Kiri’s shoulder. He was looking forward to the evening with her—another few hours without spending his brain power on his mother’s task. ‘‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I better go see what my chin did to my knee if I ever want to ski again,’’ he finished with a forced laugh.

He waved into the camera and threw one last arm pump to the crowd—their thunderous response only slightly alleviating his darkening mood—then hobbled (only slightly exaggerated) toward the waiting medic van.