Mechwarrior: Dark Age #27

Elis Marik entered the seldom-used room. For several moments, especially after the long JumpShip trip and the endless months away, the room brought comfort. Almost like I’m coming home.

Memories of a lifetime washed over her. Running down the hallway, the exuberance of childhood overcoming any decorum despite endless chastisements from watchful nannies; a stolen kiss in this very room, her first, with a cousin now long dead in a border dispute with the Fiefs; fleeing here to the solarium in the middle of a grand ball, shocked by the first awakening of her body’s womanhood (no one else knew what was wrong—they only saw the young girl, dress hiked up to her shins, dashing away from a shocked young man). Her room had never been her refuge; though they had shared the space only briefly, her elder sister still cast a long shadow there. For reasons she could never quite explain, in all the palace and the surrounding woods, the solarium was the only place she’d ever felt truly comfortable.

Elis breathed in the familiar smells of the room, firmly setting aside her melancholy recollections—and the jasmine of her mother’s perfume reached her senses before Elis became fully aware of her presence. Though she longed to close her eyes at the assault to her childhood memories, long years of conditioned obedience kept her moving, around the seldom-used piano, past the gently flowing water wall in the center and the lonely tree it fed, to the back of the room where she did hesitate for just a moment as her mother, father and Janos all came into view.

Why are you here, Janos? A bitter taste abruptly sat heavy on her tongue, but after only a slight hitch in her stride she flowed smoothly on, swept a bow and bestowed a light kiss on each before moving into her place at the small table. ‘‘Mother. Janos. Father.’’

Once again Elis hesitated for a heartbeat before easing into a seat. While a cursory look at her mother showed the usual strong façade, a strange tone in her voice prompted Elis to surreptitiously take a longer look. Hidden well, but detectable to someone who knew Jessica’s mask, she saw a . . . darkness. Not the right word, but I cannot think of another way to describe it. What has happened, Mother?

‘‘Uneventful, if long.’’ She met Janos’ eyes briefly before allowing her gaze to move elsewhere. He was more uncle than brother (and not the cool uncle you want to come to your parties), and Elis had never had much use for him; they had nothing in common except their parents. Now, though, perhaps sensitized by the strangeness in her mother, she caught something in Janos’ voice as well—a melancholy at odds with his usual joyless yet stolid disposition. What has happened while I’ve been gone?

A real smile brightened her face as Elis looked at her father. ‘‘I missed you as well, Father.’’ It was nice to speak the truth now and then in her family’s presence. Especially as she could not detect any change in her father. The one person who held no extravagant expectations for her . . . and she held none in return.

Elis’ head swiveled to her mother, surprise again unsettling her at the tone of mild impatience she heard in her voice. I can’t remember the last time something affected your mood, Mother. Whatever has happened, is big. Her fingers slipped into the hidden pocket of her silk dress to retrieve a verigraphed letter, and she slid it across the table to her mother. A second letter was in a small safe, buried under the planter of the tree in this very room . . . no chance of anyone finding out the contents of that letter before it is time.

Again Elis foundered, the rehearsed lines and actions of months of thought pulverized to errant spray against the strange coastline of her mother’s irritable responses. A lifetime composed of a thousand situations and her mother showed more . . . reaction . . . in a two-minute conversation with her daughter. Something has shaken you badly. Her mind began racing, possibilities percolating, angles becoming visible.

Elis licked her lips; a hint of nervousness both real and feigned. She hoped to discuss her own angle in all of this. For now. ‘‘And he is very interested. One might say he is almost eager.’’

Elis glanced at the letter, knowing the words by heart. And you know I’ve read it, Mother. She waited a moment longer, not to draw out the situation, but to savor it. Elis was already becoming accustomed to the new currents and tide pools on this abruptly exotic coastline she called her family. I must know what has thrown you, Mother. With any luck, it will mesh with the angles I have set up. She felt deep curiosity regarding Janos’ issues, but finding out what had affected him was a far secondary goal to discovering her mother’s secret. Unwilling to actually make her mother angry, she finally answered the question.

‘‘No. Perhaps ‘earnest’ is the best choice. As though he’s been waiting for someone significant to treat with him, if not as an equal, at least as though he is a leader of worlds. Something Lester is apparently incapable of doing. Of course, I brought additional incentives to the table to foster such eagerness, if I do say so myself. ’’ She inwardly smiled.

Jessica nodded, her eyes hooded. You see the possibilities spreading before you, don’t you, Mother? Until now, it has been small worlds and insignificant leaders. But I bring you something bigger. Much bigger . . . and I see the possibilities as well.

‘‘Very good, my daughter. This is all very good.’’ Jessica smiled, but Elis still saw the darkness lurking at the corners of her mother’s eyes and in the cant of her lips.

‘‘It all seems so unreal,’’ Nikol whispered. She looked up to see Casson’s face awash in the glow of the holoprojection, the command berth seeming small, almost intimate, despite only the two of them as occupants.

‘‘You must never fall into that trap, my lady,’’ he responded, quick as a striking snake. ‘‘This is as real as it gets. We MechWarriors contend we are the finest, most elite warriors in the universe, and it does take courage to enter battle, even protected by a BattleMech. It takes courage of a whole other stripe to strap yourself to a fusion rocket and hurtle through the endless vacuum of space, knowing that a piece of shrapnel the size of your fingernail could breach your cockpit. And if you lose your ride . . . You’ve got two hours of oxygen if you’re lucky, floating in a void as deep and dark as the chancellor’s misbegotten soul.’’

This was the most passionate speech she’d ever heard from the man, and she stared at him for long moments before she turned her attention back to the unfolding drama. She inhaled the dry, stale air and tried to calm her stretched nerves. ‘‘Maybe it’s just because it’s silent. A battle should have sound. Even with dampeners in our cockpits, the sounds of a battle are . . . awesome. This silence . . . it’s unnerving.’’

They both turned their attention back to the aerospace battle that raged a thousand klicks from their position. They’d jumped into the Angell II system, their proximity alarms blaring before the aftereffects of the jump through hyperspace were fully washed away. A sizable fleet of JumpShips was already in-system, bearing the unmistakable symbol of the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth, their jump sails fully deployed.

Immediately sizing up the situation and without consulting his superiors, Force Captain Mason scrambled every fighter in the fleet, then went so far as to deploy their few assault-class DropShips. While tempted to protest this decision—the DropShips would be imperative in breaking any blockade the Commonwealth might have thrown up around Marik— Nikol also grasped that smashing this force could give them the victory before they even reached their ultimate goal.

After several long minutes of trying to keep the various rapidly moving shapes within the context of what little she knew of space combat, she swallowed her pride and asked, ‘‘How are we doing?’’

She nodded, a small knot loosening in the pit of her stomach. ‘‘What about the JumpShips? Will they leave their aerospace assets behind?’’ She glanced at a secondary monitor that captured a still-frame feed from an aerospace fighter, an image taken almost half an hour in the past (eternity in a space battle), showing most of the JumpShips rapidly furling their kilometer-wide solar sails. Or as rapidly as such an endeavor could be accomplished without damaging the molecule-thick material.

‘‘I can’t guess. They may have been at the end of their recharge cycle, or they could be close enough to finished to risk using their fusion drives to quick-charge their K-F drives."

‘‘Or,’’ Nikol said thoughtfully, as she adjusted her right foot’s magslip to stay adhered to the deck, ‘‘they could be bluffing. They could’ve arrived today, which would mean they have had no chance to charge their drives even using their fusion engines—not without risking damage and stranding themselves here. They could simply be bluffing, hoping we’ll push ourselves too hard, too fast, hoping to stall their jump.’’

A strand of her hair slid onto her cheek and she abruptly scratched her face as she tried without success to tuck it back into the knot at the nape of her neck. Suddenly, she nodded as she grasped the full implications. ‘‘Even if they escape, they’ve likely deployed all their own aerospace assets.’’

‘‘We throw up a blockade here as we did in the Oceana system, and any additional reinforcements we either take, or they’re so damaged fighting their way through our blockade it makes no difference.’’

The man nodded. ‘‘Of course. They could even go through unpopulated systems in this area. But that takes extra weeks, and accepting the risk of blowing a helium seal and leaving yourself stranded in a system no one may visit for years, if ever. Not even the most dedicated men are generally willing to commit themselves to such risks.’’

‘‘As best we can, yes. Another hour and the JumpShips will either jump, if they can, or capitulate. Either way, it’s time to start thinking about our ultimate prize.’’

Elis is always talking about her angles, how she hedges against the outcome she wants to prevent and improves the chances for the outcome she wants to achieve . . . Maybe this success can be my angle. Maybe winning Marik will make marriage to Frederick less important to Mother.

She wet her lips, determined to ignore the fact that her mother would do whatever she pleased, regardless of her children’s angles; at least, Nikol had yet to find an angle that worked against her mother.