Mechwarrior: Dark Age #27

Rikkard glanced wearily at the monitor, trying to make sense of the deluge of images that washed the screen. The sounds of explosions tickled the back of his mind, but he swam through a malaise of fatigue and frustration and the weight of his dream fading day after day.

A warning Klaxon snapped him out of one of his all-too-frequent spells as a brace of missiles rained down metal hell across the lower extremities of his Shadow Hawk IIC. Moving too quick for him to identify it, the vehicle vanished down a side street five hundred meters farther down the street. Rikkard shook his head to dislodge the cobwebs and jerked his targeting reticule to the right as another warning Klaxon signaled incoming enemy fire. Two short-range missiles from a battlearmor caught him just below the chin of his machine. The concussive blast did very little damage against the tough center-torso armor, but the feedback from the near hit to the head spiked his adrenaline, burning away the last remnants of fog in his brain.

He lined up a shot as he watched a battlearmored infantry expertly make contact some twenty stories up the side of a nearby building and ram its huge battle claw into the ferrocrete, anchoring itself in position. It reoriented to him, drawing a bead with the laser mounted in its right arm to fire off a series of short, coherent ruby beams that nipped at his flanks like a pup intent on pulling down a beast ten times its size.

Rikkard manipulated his joysticks, brought both arms to bear and let fly with a flurry of emerald darts that pulverized the battlearmor and even detonated part of the wall as moisture just below the surface vaporized under the hellish energies; as the wind cleared away the dust he could see that only the clawed arm, severed at the elbow, remained attached to the wall.

A battered Nova Cat hove into view from an adjacent street five hundred meters away, battlearmor swarming it like gnats. Rikkard automatically moved his targeting reticule over the armored troopers; under normal circumstances, he would attempt the difficult shot required to pick off the offending enemy without damaging the ’Mech. In this situation, however, he knew such aid would be violently rejected.

If you are the nova cat spirit incarnate, as you preach since your resurrection from deep beneath the collapsed building, then you cannot be killed and I will not help you, Janis. Bile threatened to rise into his throat as he contemplated how her death in battle would make his situation less complicated.

He methodically worked the pedals to swing his ’Mech around to its original course and throttled it to a walk, arms automatically sweeping for enemies he knew would appear at any moment. Knowing that despite the daily losses he must continue to launch attacks around the heart of the city or lose the initiative completely. Recognizing that his command was slowly slipping away as Janis undermined his authority. Bitterly accepting his own growing doubt of the truth of his vision.

Commander Casson concluded the presentation of his plan for the invasion of Marik. He clicked off the holoprojector and the lights in the secure room automatically came up, lighting the faces of Lady Jessica Marik and her youngest daughter, Lady Nikol Marik. He stood at attention, respectfully averting his eyes from their nearly identical expressions. Peas in a pod, those two.

As the minutes passed he subtly clenched and relaxed his leg muscles so that he could remain strictly at attention until they were ready to comment. He was not nervous; he respected the intelligence of both women and knew they thoroughly understood his plan. Now they were attempting to poke holes in it.

‘‘Nikol?’’ Jessica finally prompted, drawing Casson’s eyes first to the mother and then to the younger copy cast from the same physical mold.

He nodded in agreement, gratified by Nikol’s intelligent analysis. You’ve grown up overnight, my lady. Happy to finally see the lady Jessica and one of her heirs. ‘‘My lady,’’ he began, nodding toward Jessica, ‘‘this proposal is based on two premises. One. That we need to capture Marik, and that goal is our highest priority. Two. That our border with the Anduriens is secure as a result of the agreement reached with House Liao. A security, by default, that extends to our border with Liao.’’

‘‘Never trust a Liao farther than you can throw a branth, Commander,’’ Nikol advised him. He fought to conceal a smile at the acerbity in her voice.

‘‘I live by that principle, Lady Nikol. However, I was provided with two basic premises and have formulated a plan accordingly. I have not repositioned everything from those two borders, but I’m well aware that I’ve significantly weakened our defenses there.’’

Nikol’s forehead creased even more; then it smoothed as she slowly turned to look at her mother; even Casson’s long association with the family provided insufficient insight for him to read the conversation taking place behind the inscrutable look both women now wore. With the skill of any military man who dealt extensively with the nobility, he once more found something interesting on the back wall to occupy his time, surreptitiously scratching an itch on the back of his hand against his pant leg.

‘‘Spit it out, Mother.’’ Nikol finally broke the tableau. ‘‘I’ve already figured out the Spirit Cat angle. It’s where you sent Julietta, after all. If we can ally with the Spirit Cats, we’ll significantly lower our resource requirements for the invasion. But that still leaves several worlds we need to capture in the interim to cut off Marik and keep Anson from reclaiming the world. What else have you got up your sleeve?’’

‘‘I never reveal everything up my sleeve, my dear. You of all people should know that by now,’’ the lady Jessica responded, voice lilting with suppressed humor.

‘‘Yes, Mother. You have. You’ve been working at this for too long to not have made such preparation. What I don’t understand is how you expect to keep the Fiefs occupied if they realize how dangerously exposed you’ve left our border.’’

Nikol tried to not bounce in her seat as Janos walked into the small sitting room. Despite her occupation with the fueled DropShips sitting on a tarmac waiting for tomorrow’s launch, her brother’s face shocked her back to the here and now. You look so old, Janos!

‘‘Mother,’’ Janos said, easing into the chair as though he really had aged ten years in the months he’d spent touring the independent border worlds. ‘‘Nikol,’’ he continued, nodding perfunctorily in her direction before returning his attention to their mother.

‘‘No. Though I was well received in every system, a common undercurrent ran through every reception. Though only one or two rulers harbored real animosity toward Oriente, even those most inclined to ally with you seemed reluctant to be too open about their feelings.’’

‘‘Not to mention,’’ Janos continued, ‘‘their actions at the end of the Jihad as they hunted The Master . . . it is impossible to forget such barbarity. The Fiefs may play at civility, but a beast lies just beneath the surface . . . a beast no one wishes to arouse.’’

Nikol stared for a moment at her mother, struck by a strange quality she suddenly heard in her voice. Are you afraid? That didn’t seem possible, but it was a strong impression.

Janos nodded and opened his mouth as though to respond, then closed it again. He sat stiff-backed, unable to relax even in this intimate family gathering.

I doubt you know the meaning of the word intimate, brother. Nikol nearly giggled at the idea of Janos being intimate, but she covered it with a slight cough and her hand over her mouth.

Janos glanced crossly in her direction before continuing. ‘‘Not a single world was willing to sign anything, though several made verbal commitments.’’

Janos’ features registered the affront of his little sister daring to interrupt the conversation of the adults at the table, but she met his eyes when he tried to stare her down. I am no longer your little sister, Janos, and you need to learn that, right now.

Janos raised his eyebrows at her boldness, then looked back to their mother, his expression equal parts confusion and irritation. Nikol made no effort to hide her smile.

Jessica cut him off with a raised hand. ‘‘I’m sure they did. And while some of them may actually mean it, Nikol is not too far off the mark. Rulers can be cattle just like any crowd, and will move with the prevailing wind. If too many of them fail to heed the call, those who spoke of oaths will find ways to rationalize taking new ones.’’

Janos’ eyes narrowed dangerously at the prospect of any of the rulers he treated with going back on their word. For just a moment, before his features smoothed back into their usual neutral expression, Nikol glimpsed the man that might have been—and caught a minute shift in her mother’s eyes, too. Is that what you see every day? An abrupt sadness filled Nikol as she empathized with her mother; shared disappointment in a son and older brother who never lived up to expectations.

‘‘Yes, I suppose they do,’’ Jessica responded, giving Nikol a speculative look that made her feel uneasy. You can’t change my orders, Mother. You’ve given me my task and I’ll depart tomorrow to do it.

But the memory of her mother’s inscrutable gaze followed her for days, and she couldn’t erase the memory of the uncomfortable weeks spent dodging an enthusiastic older man.

Janos stood in the bathroom of his own room and heaved a sigh of relief. Finally home. He undressed slowly, allowing his clothes to fall where he stood on the plush carpet; a sure sign of his fatigue.

He opened the glass door to the shower, turned on the hot water and waited for the first burst of cold water to pass before stepping into the soothing spray. He almost groaned in pleasure. Amazing how good a shower can feel, especially after months of nothing but the sponge baths ubiquitous on DropShips and JumpShips.

He lathered up the soap and tried to scrub away the grime from the trip. Tried to scrub away the image of his mother and youngest sister in apparent collaboration; after rinsing away the soap, he squirted an extravagant dollop of shampoo onto his palm and proceeded to scrub his scalp until the pain made his eyes water.

You’ve grown up, Nikol. Grown up and then some. I still see the impatience that has always been your Achilles’ heel, yet . . . Afraid he might actually scrape away his scalp, he let his hands drop and raised his face to the shower, hoping that the cleansing water might bring healing.

He flashed on the image of a proud mother overseeing a chick taking its first flight, the mother’s eyes unable to see anything except the bright young wings. His head slowly sank forward until it rested against the cool tiles, the hot rain on the back of his neck no longer soothing. More than two decades. It had been more than two decades, but tears fell this day, unseen among the spray, as Janos finally gave physical expression to a worry that felt more like a yoke with each year that passed . . .