16

Allabad, Alkalurops

Prefecture IX, The Republic of the Sphere

2 September 3134; local late summer

Grace was hot, filthy and tightly chained. Not her idea of a good time, but Santorini had sent very specific instructions on how he wanted his prisoners decked out for his victory parade. Hanson had obeyed. Hanson had obeyed every order Santorini had issued since the collapse of the opposition.

That included pictures of Kilkenny’s lampposts strung with corpses. Fortunately, Fetterman had old photos he had not sent Santorini, so the demand had been met without too much trouble.

Grace staggered in chains down Landers Row in Allabad, toward the Guild Hall, renamed the Leader’s Chancellery. In the brick-paved plaza in front of the clock tower, Santorini waited in full uniform, more shining silver than black serge. Imperious, he sat atop his Ryoken II, cockpit open to the slight breeze. Some poor lackey had been hooked to the outside of the BattleMech, sixteen meters up, to hold a parasol lest the morning sun that had now cleared the canyon wall above Allabad beat down uncomfortably upon the Leader. The scene was like some ancient vid of rajahs and elephants and slaves.

Grace struggled to keep such thoughts from her face.

“Take a good look at what happens to anyone stupid enough to cross your Leader.” Santorini’s voice boomed from an oversized speaker mounted on the chest of the Ryoken II. Up and down Landers Row, other speakers blared the same. Not surprisingly, the Net was back up and carrying this spectacle. Grace was counting on that. “Look at what everyone can expect who gets in the way of the future of my worlds.”

Worlds, now, Grace thought. This guy really is on a trip.

“You sure this was part of your dream?” Ben whispered from beside Grace. Jobe and Chato struggled along on her other side. Behind them, Victoria and Danny shuffled in step, heads defiantly high. It was probably the first time in their lives that those two Highlanders had been together on anything. Sven worried Grace. Pale as new snow, he stumbled along, helped by Betsy and George Stillwell. Grace had been willing to let Sven skip the prisoners’ walk, but he’d insisted. It was Syn Bakai who refused to risk breaking a nail, so Hanson had reported her killed while attempting to escape. Her lovely body was lashed to one of the following tanks, per Santorini’s orders. Grace hoped Syn had forgotten her sunblock and burned tomato red.

Then again, they might all soon be red—red with their own blood. Not all calculated risks paid off as calculated.

Hanson led the Roughriders from his Koshi twenty meters ahead of Grace. Mallary’s and Art’s Arbalests stalked along, two steps behind him with Eddie at their elbow, keeping Ben’s Atlas close. The crowds lining the sidewalks were deathly silent. Children stood close to their parents. Grace had remarked at all the Black and Reds standing guard along the side of the road. Ben whispered that they weren’t there to keep the crowd from the victory parade, but rather to make sure that people didn’t slip away. Santorini wanted everyone to see his triumph.

So did Grace, but for a different reason.

Grace kept her eyes down, a properly dejected and defeated foe, but from under her eyelashes she studied the force arrayed around Santorini. His most dangerous BattleMechs were the Legionnaire to his left and Jupiter to his right. There were a smattering of Centurions and Catapults in the next rank around the big three. But over half of that dozen were ’Mech MODs formed in a square with an open front to the road. Behind them, in none too straight a line, were two dozen Mech MODs with nothing like the conversion package Sven and Mick had put together. Grace figured Santorini must have every Black and Red ’Mech on the planet here. Behind that, machine gun–armed jeeps and civilian trucks formed a line. I wanted all the bad apples in one place, Grace reminded herself. Well, I’ve got them. Now all I have to do is survive them.

As Hanson strode by his client’s viewing point, Santorini treated them to the horrible thing that passed for his smile.

That brought Grace even with the Leader. She shot him a look of pure hate. The loudspeakers caught his cackle of a laugh as he pointed her out to his two subordinates. One of them—Grace thought it was the Jupiter driver on the right—said, “I’d shoot her where she stands for that look.”

Santorini put his hand over the mike in front of him, but Grace still heard. “But that would take away the impact of a trial and formal execution,” said the other one.

“What more can we get?” the Jupiter driver shot back. “We’ve got the biggest crowd this hick town’s gonna give us. We’ve got cameras taking this live around the whole planet.”

“Good point,” Santorini said, taking his hand off the mike. “Hanson, stop the parade a moment.”

The mercs came to a halt in perfect one-two cadence. At Hanson’s order, all faced left. Grace shrugged. She hadn’t really expected a nice formal court hearing. So much for Plan A. Unlike some people, she did have a Plan B. She turned to face Santorini as the rest of her command group shuffled themselves into a line beside her.

“You have committed high treason against your Leader. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

Grace stepped forward. “We made a mistake,” she shouted up at the Ryoken II.

“I can’t hear you,” Santorini said. Obviously delighted, he waved her forward with one hand as he jacked up the gain on his mike with the other. Grace took another five steps forward, the others trailing behind her by a step or two.

“We made a mistake,” she repeated as Santorini pointed the mike in her direction. Her voice reverberated around the plaza. Behind her, the crowd shuffled unhappily.

“Of course it was a mistake to betray your Leader,” he boomed, the mike back in his face. “I promise unlimited prosperity to the people who support me. I will make Alkalurops a mighty capital that will stand side by side with Terra, New Avalon, Atreus, Luthien and Tharkad. Why would you oppose me?”

This was where it got tricky. Grace took a few more steps toward the Ryoken II and raised her hands—not exactly pleading, but if Santorini took it that way, let him. “I mistook your generous offer for a landgrab.”

The guy in the Jupiter scowled at “landgrab” and turned to Santorini, but the Leader had been titillated by the raised hands and “generous offer.” “So now you realize your Leader is a generous man, and that following me will make the citizens of Alkalurops into a powerful people.”

“You have certainly shown us what fear is, O Leader,” Grace said, hoping the last tag would mislead Santorini. Behind her, the crowd was now murmuring. Beside her, Ben covered one hand while the other worked the key into the lock of his handcuffs. Grace edged forward, holding Santorini’s attention.

“Just look at the power I brought you,” Santorini said with a wave to the BattleMechs and ’Mech MODs around him. The guy in the Jupiter eyed the crowd and adjusted his neurohelmet. The man in the Legionnaire lolled at ease in his black-and-silver uniform. He made a thumbs-up sign to Santorini, and the Leader preened. “Those who considered Alkalurops a backwater will learn to fear us. I have the BattleMechs. I will lead you. We will rule the stars.” Grace took tiny steps forward. Like snails, she and hers moved closer to Santorini. The right fist of the Jupiter edged up, its two autocannons not yet aimed at anyone, but clearly that one did not like the way things were developing and was taking preventive measures of his own.

“We should have recognized you for what you were,” Grace shouted. “But you came to us as a minor businessman just looking for a place for someone greater to put a headquarters. We couldn’t see your ruthlessness, your drive for power and your determination to trample in the dust anyone who opposed you.”

A long spiel, but Santorini was lapping it up, even rewarding Grace with that sham he used for a smile. Hatred roared from every fiber of her being. She swallowed it, told him what he wanted to hear, and edged forward.

“I’m glad you’ve finally realized the error of your ways. Fighting me is hopeless. I knew you’d see that,” Santorini said, his confidence unshaken. “It was only a matter of time. What surprises me is that you folded so easily. I thought you had more backbone. Or is it you, Hanson? Is there a ruthless streak in you that you’ve kept well hidden? You and your men must dine with me tonight. The conversation will be very interesting.”

“Thank you, sir,” L. J.’s voice came across thin but undistorted. The Net was fully up—even the Roughriders’ radios were on it.

Santorini leaned forward, but his Ryoken’s gyros made no complaint. He’s locked it down, Grace realized. That BattleMech is little more than a statue. She noted the extra options that gave her as she listened carefully.

“I notice you have worked your way closer to me. Good. It will give me a better view. Hadrian, you’ve been dying to use that autocannon. Blow them away,” he ordered.

The Jupiter pilot grinned. No surprise there.

“Now!” Grace shouted.

Across the Net came, “Forward, Roughriders!”

Everything happened at once. Behind Grace, the prisoners pulled glass bottles of clear liquid from under their clothes. With a short hop and skip that took them right out of their chains, Jobe, Chato, MechWarriors and mechanic lofted their bottles in high arcs to smash on Santorini’s Ryoken II.

Among the Roughriders, MechWarriors brought lasers, missiles and miniguns to bear on the Jupiter. Tank turrets rotated, and shells, missiles and lasers slashed at it.

But Hadrian was ready if Santorini was not. Neurohelmet already on, he slammed his BattleMech into reverse, hopped it into a turn even as he sealed his cockpit, and urged his Jupiter off at a run, all thought of playing his autocannon over Grace and the other prisoners forgotten.

The Jupiter left Santorini behind, pounding on his controls, trying to close his cockpit. Bottles splattered gas over the ’Mech’s front. One shattered in the cockpit, spraying shards of glass that cut Santorini’s face and interrupted his frustrated pounding. Doesn’t the eejit know any of his controls? Grace asked herself even as she took her own step forward to lob a thermite bomb. Betsy had one, too. They arced up last. One hit the ’Mech’s chest, igniting the gas with a whoosh. The other glanced off the descending cockpit hood. It spat fire even as it tumbled into the cockpit. Santorini’s scream was cut off as the cockpit sealed. A moment later the explosion inside blew the cockpit hood out. There were more screams, muted by the roar of the flames.

“Enjoy that, you bastard,” Betsy shouted at the fire. “You deserve worse. Don’t anybody shoot at him.”

Grace was more worried about people shooting her. She’d hit the ground after hurling her bomb, wanting to get as much out of the line of fire of lasers and missiles and slugs as the cobblestone pavement allowed. She made a grab for Betsy to pull her down, but the woman knocked Grace’s hand away.

Ben had a better idea. He swung a leg out, sweeping Betsy’s legs out from under her. She showed her gratitude by diving on Ben, fists swinging. Anyone but Ben would have been in for a thrashing, but the Lone Cat parried blow after blow, laughing like some kind of maniac as the roar of rockets and cannon washed over them. Somehow Betsy came to see the humor. Her blows came more slowly and fell more softly until her own laughter joined Ben’s.

“We killed the bastard!” Ben shouted.

“We killed the bastard,” Betsy finally said. Looking up, she shivered. “And he is as dead as the very deadest.”

He was dead, and the other Black and Reds were running. It was every man for himself among Alkalurops’ late masters. The big Jupiter knocked over a LoaderMech, stomped a gun truck, and ran, a hail of rockets following it. The black-and-silver-uniformed driver of the Legionnaire who had been at Santorini’s left didn’t react fast enough. Facing a Roughrider Legionnaire, its huge autocannon already rotating and leveled at the other’s open cockpit, the pilot’s hands went up. His “I surrender” came in a small voice.

There was at least one for the hangman.

“Damn, all these lovely BattleMechs just standing around for the taking,” Danny said. “But I know which one’s gonna work for me.” He bounced to his feet and headed for a gray ’Mech MOD among the Roughriders’ victory trophies. He went up the ladder fast, giving Grace an answer to what Scots wore under their kilts. The driver popped the canopy and handed Danny the MechWarrior’s own neurohelmet. Only when Danny was ready to plug in did the driver unplug his own helmet. The ’Mech MOD swayed for a second as control passed from driver to MechWarrior, then steadied. Danny settled into the control couch as the driver dropped down the ladder. Behind Grace, Ben was doing the same, replacing Eddie in the Lone Cat’s giant Atlas.

Still lying on the ground, Grace called up, “Good luck,” as the hatch on the Atlas sealed. Eddie hit the ground and trotted over to her, fixing a radio to his belt. “Here’s a radio for you,” he said. “You’re Roughrider A-8.”

Grace settled the headset in place as she snapped the radio to her waistband. “This is Grace O’Malley,” she said. Damned if she’d use a Roughrider call sign. “Loren, you available?” She turned to take in the scene around her.

Heavy weapons were silent now. Merc infantry trotted from their carriers to take control of the town and stalled BattleMechs and MODs that didn’t make it out in the first crush. For a second, Grace watched the Ryoken II burn. When the flaming lump of what had once been a ruthless madman collapsed below the lid of the cockpit, she turned to see Ben and Danny trotting off in their ’Mechs. Hanson’s Koshi stood in place with his two other command staff BattleMechs, towering over her, while providing cover and protection to her little sacrifice team.

Then it hit Grace, like fresh air when she popped Pirate’s cockpit after a long, hot day—I’m not going to die today. She’d walked into Allabad, fully prepared to die if that could start the battle that would free her people. I’m not dead. Santorini is—horribly. She craned her neck to look up at Hanson’s Koshi and keyed her mike on the Roughriders’ command channel, a mere mortal standing before giants. “Why is everyone running?”

“Because there’s an under-protected DropShip parked at the spaceport,” Hanson said dryly. “Listen, Grace, this contract has been a big enough disaster without me having to tell the Colonel that I let a bunch of bozos run off with our armored DropShip.”

“Leave me some of my MODs and your infantry,” Grace said. “I’ll police this mess and send patrols after the runners.”

“And I’ll secure the port,” Hanson said.

“Danny and I will lend Grace a hand,” Ben said over the command channel, “chasing ’Mechs running amok in Allabad.”

With few orders and no debate, they organized themselves. Hanson led his mercs across the Alhambra River and out of town. Ben led Danny into town. Betsy led the infantry as they assaulted BattleMechs and MODs, and disarmed gun trucks that had smashed into buildings, ’Mechs or each other. Everyone had a task.

 

Benjork Lone Cat stalked the Jupiter. The one who fought in that BattleMech had power and the will to use it. That one had to die before he slaughtered innocents in his flight. Already, Ben had seen evidence of his prey’s desperation. In its haste to escape, the Jupiter had salvoed both fifteen-LRM pods to punch a gaping hole in a three-story building across the street from the Guild Hall. People were pulling crumpled bodies from the wreckage as he and Danny raced past.

Benjork followed the Jupiter by the gashes taken out of buildings as it swung around tight corners, but the panicked flight ended after just a few blocks. Then he caught glimpses of the Jupiter by the two or three meters it towered over the two-story buildings of Allabad. But central Allabad was mainly three- and four-story buildings, and that was where Hadrian quickly headed.

That took him away from the spaceport. What dream paths does this one follow?

“I found the Jupiter,” came over the emergency guard channel in a thick brogue.

“Where, Danny?”

“Two blocks ahead of you, three closer to the canyon wall. Ben, he has hostages.”

That did not slow down the Lone Cat, though it did drive his thoughts like a cold wind across a barren tundra. Hadrian had not fled to the spaceport. No, he went looking for his own ticket off-planet. Cold. Very cold.

“Freeze. Both of you,” came in a tense voice on the guard channel as Benjork turned a last corner and found himself a long three blocks from the Jupiter. It towered over a pickup with a man at the wheel, a woman on the seat closest to the Jupiter and two small children between them.

A block closer, Danny’s gray ’Mech masked the Atlas’ line of fire. “Back up,” Benjork ordered. “Give the Jupiter space.”

“Yeah, give the madman the space he wants. You do that, and while you do, think about why you were dumb enough to chase me.”

“We protect these people,” Danny said as he backed away.

“Protect them? These people were fine,” Hadrian shouted, jostling the truck with the Jupiter’s huge fist. “Just fine before you made me take them for my ticket out. Now, don’t you do nothing that will make me hurt them. See how you’ve scared that cute little girl? Woman, make her shut up.”

The mother tried to soothe her daughter as the man held his baby son closer. This would neither take long nor end well. Nothing that combined a desperate, high-strung man and children could last long.

Benjork stretched out his ’Mech’s right arm as Danny came close. The Highlander stopped as they touched. Good man.

“Mr. Hadrian, you can’t get out of here,” Danny said.

“You dumb-ass, I’m not Mr. Hadrian. I’m Mr. Hadrian Heckie to you,” the Jupiter pilot spat while the Lone Cat measured the distance between them. Here, the yellow rock of the canyon wall kept the wind away. The Jupiter was a huge target, but Benjork was interested only in the cockpit.

“Then what, Mr. Heckie, do you want us to do for you?” Danny went on with dogged kindness in his voice.

“I want out of here. You will take me to the spaceport and put me on the next DropShip out of here—and I want you to wave real nice as it takes off with me. You hear?”

The Lone Cat checked all his targeting readouts. They said he had the Jupiter’s cockpit dialed in to the last possible decimal place. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and looked at the target without the errors that machines and eyes bring. For a long moment he meditated on what he would do, then opened his eyes and made a fine adjustment with his joystick.

“You know we can’t make any agreement like that with you,” Danny said. “Only Grace O’Malley can decide that.”

“Then let me talk to her or one of these noisy brats is gonna find out what kind of a lullaby a Jupiter’s clamps sing.”

“Yes, sir,” Danny said.

The Lone Cat applied pressure, and Danny leaned his ’Mech MOD to the right, unmasking Benjork’s Dragon’s Fire Gauss rifle.

The slug made even the hundred-ton Atlas sway as it slammed down the magnetic rails. What it did to the Jupiter made even Benjork blanch. The Gauss bullet blasted into the BattleMech, ripping off the cockpit and splattering its superheated wreckage around the hole the slug drilled in the canyon wall. So fast was the destruction that the threatening fist had no time to flinch, much less mash the pickup beneath it.

For a long moment, the Jupiter just stood there.

Then the pickup driver dared to crane his head out the open window. He took in the smoldering hole that had been the cockpit above him and slammed the door open. Holding the toddler, he yanked his wife and daughter free. Hand in hand, they ran.

“You did that perfectly, my wild Highland friend,” Benjork told Danny as they paced off the distance to his target. “You kept him occupied while I took aim.”

“Didn’t see my thirty-millimeter slugs doing much good. Would’ve just sent ricochets and fragments all over the place,” Danny said.

“Right, Danny. I had the only weapon good against the Jupiter. When I was ready, you unmasked it. We are a good team—Lone Cat and Kilted warrior.” The two shared a laugh, then examined the wreckage. Most of the huge machine showed only the minor damage of its flight, but the cockpit would need complete replacement. Small fires were dying down in the space that had once held a man, controls and armor. Mick and Sven would probably have it working again in a month.

“Well, that was fun,” Danny half laughed. “Think there are any more like that around?”

“Let’s go see.”

They circled back toward the Guild Hall. The walk was informative. Here and there, a burned-out ’Mech MOD or overturned gun truck showed where Black and Reds had been cornered. Other ’Mechs were abandoned and uniforms shed. More often than not, less than a block beyond such efforts to abandon the past, a body lay pummeled and pulped. “The streets may seem empty, but the walls have eyes, and have seen much that demands vengeance.”

Danny snorted at Benjork’s wisdom. “If you ask me, those damn Black and Reds aren’t getting anything they don’t deserve.”

Benjork had seen no signs of Grace during the chase, and a glance around the Guild Hall’s plaza told him why. Except for the burned-out Ryoken II, all evidence of the occupation was gone. Now people stood in small clumps, pointing and gesturing as they rehashed the events of the day. Danny popped the cockpit and climbed down, shaking his head. “Not talk-talk stuff again.”

Benjork joined him on the ground. “Remember, my hotheaded Highlander, this is what we fought for.” Then the Lone Cat took a long look around and finished with, “You’ll have to remind me why.” They shared a laugh and went looking for Grace.

 

Grace cleaned up the plaza quickly. One fallen Black and Red ’Mech MOD driver, intent on resisting to the end but not knowing what he was doing, fired both of his shoulder-mounted SRMs into the pavement beneath him. That didn’t leave a lot of that ’Mech to clean up, or a lot of fight in the others. Hanson’s infantry, with a bit of guidance from Betsy and a few choice words from the Sergeant Major, cleaned up the bent ’Mechs and smashed trucks. Those that could be walked or driven away were. Commercial wreckers handled the rest.

Then Grace discovered the true evil of Santorini.

He had created a special atrocity just for her: All the mayors had been summoned to Allabad for his grand performance, and now they wanted to reestablish the council. They had come full circle, back to the very point she had argued so eloquently five months ago.

Grace wanted to run. Jobe suggested that ’Mechs be used to chase the mayors out of town. Chato checked inside the Guild Hall and declared it ready, though in need of redecorating. A large throne dominated the hall. Jobe and several others grabbed axes and hacked at the throne until others demanded a turn. It became great entertainment. Chato found where the tables were stored and got others to set them up in one large square. No head, no foot, just one large square table. “I would make it round if I could but—” He shrugged softly.

“So what do we do now?” Grace asked.

“Govern ourselves, I suppose,” Chato said.

People slowly filled the great room. Different people this time; younger, older, unfamiliar faces—almost none that Grace recalled from earlier meetings. Many of the mayors Grace had met with during the war were also absent, their bodies maybe still dangling from a signpost or streetlamp. The meaning of eminence, the price of leadership had changed under the pressure of blood and fire.

Just as Ben and Danny walked into the hall, the young woman from Kilkenny who’d succeeded Gordon Frazier as mayor handed Grace the gavel. “Shouldn’t we get started?” she said.

Grace hammered the meeting to order, her mind awhirl as she hunted for what to say. The room fell silent as stragglers found chairs. It was the silence that spoke to Grace.

“People have died to give us the privilege of sitting at this table. Let us pause for a minute to remember those who welcomed a gory bed rather than accept chains and slavery.”

Grace had never heard the Guild Hall so quiet. The minute stretched far beyond sixty seconds. Here and there a choked sob or softly called name broke the silence as loved ones were remembered by those who had paid in full for their right to rule themselves.

Beside her, Chato uttered an “Amen” that made its way like a wave around the room. That left Grace still searching to pluck a first order of business from a mind so full yet so empty that she could think of nothing to say.

Beside her, Chato’s eyes slowly swept the room. “Months ago I rose from among you to place in nomination the name of Grace O’Malley for Governor of Alkalurops until such time as The Republic may affirm or change that appointment. I do so again.”

Heads nodded as Jobe got to his feet. “I think I was the one who nominated her, Chato, but I will stand as second for your motion. Are there any other names to put forward?”

The hall remained silent, and it dawned on Grace that if she didn’t do something, she would end up Governor. She turned to the Navajo. “Chato, a moment ago you said it was time for us to get back to governing ourselves. Now you stand to nominate a Governor that Terra may or may not accept.”

Under her gaze, he sat. She turned to the assembled. “Look at what we have done. Look at what we did without Knights, without any help from Terra, without any help from The Republic.

“Alkalurops takes care of itself. Our grandparents said it before us, and we just showed what we can do. I thank Ben and Danny and all the MechWarriors who helped us, but in the end, it was us. Us using our brains, our hands, our guts and our blood.”

Slowly, in silence, she looked at every citizen seated at the table, taking her own poll. Heads nodded, some softly, others with pure enthusiasm. No one stood up in the silence to argue with her.

“The Republic of the Sphere didn’t help us when we needed it. I’ll be damned if I’m going to see our militia drafted into their regiments and shipped off to help this faction or that pull their nuts out of the fire. Alkalurops takes care of its own—and only its own.” Now people were on their feet, clapping, cheering, stomping, yelling. A wilder demonstration of support Grace had never seen. She let it run, even as she let the tears run down her cheeks. Chato hugged her, then Jobe joined in. Danny rushed up and gathered all of them in one huge embrace.

Even Ben, the reserved former Nova Cat, came to rest a hand on Grace’s shoulder. Into her ear he whispered, “For years my dream led me away from everything I knew, but never did it show me my destination. When I first saw you, something told me I might finally know what that was. Now I see that your dream and mine are the same. I hope there is room alongside you for this dangerous Cat.”

“You’ve never been a danger to me or mine,” Grace assured him.

Grace let the roar for Alkalurops run long, then gaveled the room to silence. “All for Alkalurops standing alone, ruled by its traditional assembly, raise your hands.”

Hands shot up around the table, joined by a roar of “Aye!”

A long minute later Grace again gaveled for calm. “That looks pretty unanimous, but I’ll ask. Any nays?”

A single hand rose. Grace recognized the gray head that had first supported her in that long-ago assembly. So she had survived it all.

“I’m sorry, Grace,” the woman said into the quiet hall. “I simply can’t let you get elected unanimously. Might give you a swelled head.”

“I will remember that,” Grace said, thinking the matter settled, but the old lady stood.

“One question, Grace. Are we in rebellion against The Republic of the Sphere? If they come, do we fight them the way we should have fought Santorini?”

“Good question,” came from several places around the table.

“No,” Grace quickly answered. “St. Mary and St. Patrick know there’s enough blood being shed around human space. I am not raising a flag of rebellion. What I am raising is Alkalurops’ ancient flag. When The Republic comes, we’ll talk to them. We’ll negotiate with them. But we don’t take orders. Alkalurops takes care of itself, and The Republic had better be able to show how it can help us do a better job of that. Unless they can, thank you very much, but they can ride back out on the DropShip they rode in on.”

That got another round of cheers.

Grace only had to make a few raps with the gavel to get silence the next time. “But taking care of ourselves means we’ll need to defend ourselves. For that, we need more full-time troops than Lieutenant Hicks and the other gallant members of our Constabulary. Our militia will also need a commander. For that position, I offer you a man who has fought at my side with no questions, no qualms and never a lack of courage. I give you Benjork Lone Cat.”

Grace did not even try to gavel the room to silence for a long five minutes. Ben called all of the surviving Mech Warriors forward. Old Sven and George Stillwell accepted the crowd’s thanks with a nod and a wave. Betsy gave Ben a kiss, and Victoria even suffered Danny to put an arm around her shoulder. Syn sashayed forward. Sadly for Grace, she showed no ill effects from her ride in the victory parade draped over the hood of a truck.

But saddest of all was that Sean could not be resurrected to celebrate what he and so many others had died for.

Grace gave Ben a hug, ignoring the dampness around his eyes that some might mistake for tears. She knew that one raised in the stern discipline of the Nova Cats would never let himself be ruled by emotions.

When Ben waved the room to silence, the people around the table complied. “As a young man, I was given a dream of Clan and Sphere coming together. Not just to share space, but to break down the walls that we let separate each of us. You do not need to know the Clans very well to know that such a dream is anathema for many. I took the name Lone Cat when I finally walked away from my Clan. I am a Lone Cat no more. You are my people. Together we need fear no stranger.”

Once more the room erupted. Grace knew there was work to do. She’d examined the files Betsy had taken from Santorini’s computer—as much as time had allowed. He’d gotten help in his crime from off-planet but also from on-planet. Grace needed to have a long talk with the Industrial Trade Group. Some of their management were definitely out of step with Alkalurops taking care of Alkalurops.

When quiet finally came, Grace sighed. “There’s work to be done. I need seven mayors to volunteer to work with the militia. They’ll need to be from towns with big service and repair shops. Maybe some iron mines and carbon fabrication shops, too.”

And they got down to the business of running a planet.

 

Two days later Grace sat at a table in the spaceport bar. Thick armored windows showed acres of concrete leading to the DropShip landing pads above the blast pits. A metal bulge showed where the Roughriders’ DropShip was making final preparations for launch. At her table sat Ben and Danny, there to see Betsy and Syn off.

The sound of military footsteps brought Grace away from the goings-on out on the field. Loren Hanson came through the bar door, saw her, gave her an informal salute, and marched for their table. “Mind if I join you?” met with no objections, and he settled comfortably in place.

“You’ve been hard to find,” Grace said.

“I’ve been busy loading out a battalion and drafting a report that is bound to be hard reading. The Colonel won’t be happy, but the files clearly show Santorini was out to kill us all. That dinner invite at the parade! I just hope his bond holds up better than his word or this entire operation is way in the red.”

“You’ll excuse me if I’m not too sympathetic,” Grace said.

“I fully understand. It’s my own fault for not wrangling a contract to help you when I had the chance.” That brought a laugh from the table. “There is one thing. We’ve gotten back our captives. Private Godfrey sends his compliments. You know: the sergeant who had that push-up contest with one of your men.”

“He’s a private now?”

“And for a significant while, I suspect. I’ve got about a hundred recruits who’d like to sign on. Does this planet have any objections to us removing recruits from here at this time?”

Grace turned to Ben. He shook his head.

“I’ll wish them well,” Grace said, “even if, after one ride with your topkick, I think them foolish.”

“To each his own poison,” Ben said.

Hanson smiled and seemed in no hurry to leave. He started to talk twice, but thought better of it, then finally opened his mouth. “There are two blanks in my report. Betsy, maybe you can help me with both of them. Who was Santorini working for?”

“Everyone and no one,” Betsy said easily. “If I were Lenzo Computing, I’d take a good hard look at my recruiting practices. They can’t afford too many bum hires like Santorini. Word is that they really are in the market for a new headquarters, and he was assigned to their search. As to how much Landgrave Jasek and the Stormhammers were using him or he was using them, I don’t think Jasek knew. House Steiner is an even vaguer question,” she said with a shrug.

“By the time we killed Santorini, I think he was freelancing something awful. What he said was probably what he thought he was going to do.” Betsy rolled eyes. “As to what he’d have done if he’d lived, I say nothing.”

“You’ll say nothing to whom?” Hanson shot across the table. “Who are you reporting to?”

Betsy laughed—a lovely sound with tinkling bells in it. “I was just your maid. And a nice guest you were—not like some. But they’re dead and I’m alive, so I’m ahead on points.”

“Let me see,” said Danny. “Jasek is in revolt against both The Republic and his pappy on Skye. He’s come out for House Steiner. Now, who wouldn’t want a Steiner base this deep in The Republic? Certainly House Davion and MI6 would be interested. Interested enough to send a Rabid Fox to sniff around?” he asked, innocently as a babe.

“If I were one of those foxy types, I’d have to kill all of you for blowing my cover, but I could also be a Ghost Knight for The Republic, concerned about this fine planet of yours. But most likely I’m a poor girl that’s pissed off too many bosses and spends too much of her life looking for her next job,” Betsy said as she stood and curtsied.

“Are you as confused I am?” Grace said.

“Nothing she said was intended to inform,” Ben agreed.

“Look at it this way,” Betsy said, signaling Syn to abandon her drink. “If you let this line of talk die a natural death, you can go about your business. I can go about mine. And someday, when you least expect it, you may find me at your elbow offering a helping hand.”

“Not an offer I’d pass up,” Hanson said, “and speaking of passing, it’s time for me to board.”

“I’ll follow you out,” Betsy said. Steel blinds clanged shut over the bar’s windows, signaling the arrival or departure of a DropShip. Syn left with L. J. and Betsy.

“So that’s that?” Grace said, standing.

“That is not to be denigrated,” Ben said. “We won our battle. This land is free. And we have an IOU from a woman of mystery. Not bad for a month’s work.”

“No,” Grace said, “not bad.”