I made one call after that, then got on the shuttle and made my way to the resort. Eluding security was relatively simple since most of the guards were underpaid locals entranced by the ongoing construction. I took a hovercab to the site, walked in with a small case and said I'd been sent to see the construction supervisor. Once I'd signed in, the rental guard started to escort me, but I told him I knew the way and he let me go.
I entered the resort and made my way to the restaurant. To get there I had to open the lift's control panel and cross two wires, but that did no permanent damage, so my passage went unnoticed.
During the subsequent evac search of the building-which followed a fire drill-a guard did appear and ask if anyone was up there. I remained silent and the closest he got to finding me was filching a bottle of Castel Del Lestrade '28 Cabernet/Merlot.
Now, if he'd gone for the Chardonnay, I'd have been found out.
Sipping some of the '24 Chardonnay, I watched as a storm rolled its clouds in above, mirroring the gathering forces below. From that vantage point I could easily imagine myself to be Ares, ancient god of War, delighting as Humanity sought to slay one another. Humanity was far removed from the days of infantry armed with sword and spear, and the type of slaughter that would ensue might not only delight Ares, but would please Hades no end also.
There is nothing natural about modern combat. I watched the BSU forces come in from the east. They brought two 'Mechs, one armored lance of Scimitars, another of Fox Armored Hovercars and a pair of Demon Medium Tanks. The platoon of troopers they brought in rode on the Foxes, but hopped off and formed up into four squads once the vehicles entered the resort property via the construction road through the jungle. Everything had been painted or uniformed in dark browns and greens to make them tougher to see. While I had a set of nightvision goggles with me, I didn't put them on because the jagged flashes of lightning strobed brightly enough for me to watch their approach.
The centerpiece of their force was aFirestarter . While the 'Mech was not a big threat in combat, against the building in which I stood, it could do a lot of damage. While I was fairly certain Bernard would have preferred having the Palace pounded into rubble, having it go up as a votive offering to the gods would be spectacularand in keeping with the pyromaniacal leanings the BSU had already claimed.
Their other 'Mech was aPanther , which could move quickly and sported an extended-range Particle Projector Cannon. That weapon and the pair of short-range-missile launchers in the 'Mech's torso made it formidable in combat, while its jump jets and armor gave it maneuverability and longevity in combat-at least while matched by a comparable 'Mech.
I do have to give Catford credit. While I thought he was an egotistical giant and an intellectual dwarf, he was very good at setting up an ambush and executing it. He'd done a great job anticipating what Germayne would throw at him, and matched their forces almost exactly. He'd culled Gypsy's resources for the best pilots and equipment. That, coupled with the advantage of surprise, gave him a gross advantage. His choice of 'Mechs heightened that advantage. His first shot, targeted and timed perfectly, doomed the BSU effort from the start.
A pair of Condor Multi-Purpose Tanks-hulking tracked vehicles with lots of armor and an LRM launcher in the turret-joined a Catapult in launching their full missile payloads at the Firestarter .
They'd been fed targeting coordinates from one of the construction shacks because they were waiting in the foundation pit for Tower Three. The launches rivaled the lightning, and sixty missiles arced out at their target. Explosions wreathed the humanoid 'Mech, blossoming red and gold. Armor shattered and rained down in semi-molten fragments. Its left arm whirled away in a twisted mass of metal while theFirestarter staggered. It sank to its knees, then flopped back, lashed by sheets of rain.
Everything on both sides opened up at that point, with red, green and jagged blue beams slicing through the storm. Some pilots, as always happens, shot at phantoms. The artificial lightning of the Particle Projector Cannons looked anemic compared to nature's wrath, but they carved steaming furrows in armor. The BSU Panther coordinated its attack with the Scimitars, choosing one enemy to beset. Their pilots fired fast and accurately, trying to take out Catford's lance of Joust Medium Tanks before they could mow down the infantry with their machine guns.
Turf rooster-tailed high into the air as the Jousts raced forward. Their turrets traversed to cover targets and the large laser each vehicle sported spat out thick beams of green light. The Panther 's chest armor boiled away, leaving angry smoking scars, but the pilot kept his 'Mech upright. It shot back with its PPC, and the Scimitars joined in by launching a dozen SRMs at just one of the Jousts.
The BSU strikes savaged the left side of the Joust, peeling the armor back as if it were made of roofing tin. The PPC raked across it and then down. The azure beam sliced through the track, which whipped off like a snake in agony. The Joust spun around to the left, presenting its front armor to its attackers as the three other tanks in the lance raced on.
Another exchange would have likely killed the Joust, but before the Panther could attack, the Catapult and Condors rained fire down upon it. One moment it was standing there, looking strong and terrible. In the next, fire and smoke surrounded it like a magician about to disappear. As the light evaporated, a transformation had occurred, for in the place of a proud war machine there remained a battered hulk. One arm had been torn completely off, the other snapped at the elbow, and the 'Mech had dropped to one knee. Torso armor had vanished and structural members glowed in a twisted body.
The stricken 'Mech's head nodded forward, then the body slowly sagged in on itself. It looked as if the Panther 's corpse might remain frozen in that position, and I had visions of it resting in the Boneyard on Terra. Then fire lit the cockpit; the faceplate blew out as the pilot ejected. He rode his command couch's jet out, but started from a bad angle, so he hit the turf hard and tumbled. The couch came apart and so did he while, behind him, the force of the ejection toppled thePanther 's body.
The BSU troops must have known from the first they were in trouble, but they were game. The Scimitars made runs at the Emblyn tanks, unloading their short-range missiles, lighting things up with their lasers, then scurrying like roaches exposed by lightning flashes. By luck or skill, they combined with the Demons to take two more of the tanks out, even though the last Joust's machine guns scythed fire through the BSU infantry, killing all but a handful.
Catford clearly found the Scimitars and their valiant effort a personal affront because he moved hisJupiter into the battle when it really wasn't needed. The hundred-ton BattleMech strode into the firefight much as its namesake might have three millennia before. Watching it, I could not help but feel a thrill, for the forces before it would be all but powerless to stop it, and he could kill them at his will.
And killing was what he wanted to do.
TheJupiter is a humanoid 'Mech with autocannons in each arm, ER PPCs, and LRM launchers in the torso. When it walks, the ground trembles. It is both wonderful and terrible, the reason Stone wanted 'Mechs restricted, and yet the means he used to destroy the enemies who defied the restriction.
TheJupiter turned almost casually toward one of the Scimitars. The PPCs fired, thrusting blue energy spears into the tank's right flank. Armor disintegrated and the chassis glowed white before it melted into molten metal puddles. The turret sagged and collapsed, before the SRM magazine touched off. A gout of fire flipped the turret into the air, where it was lost in the darkness.
The BSU troops began to withdraw, but their effort was too little, too late. Missile barrages struck at fleeing targets. One of the Fox Armored Hovercars simply ceased to exist when the Condors andCatapult deigned to notice it. The explosions left a crater where it had been, with its armor and shell reduced to shrapnel.
Of the BSU force, only two of the Foxes got away. Catford would have gone after the escapees, save for the intervention of other forces. The forces that came in were the Garnet Coast distric
t Public Safety Department troopers. They arrived in helicopter and infantry carriers disgorging officers in battle armor. Before I'd left Manville I'd phoned an anonymous tip into Niemeyer's division that something would be going down that night at the Resort. Their intervention meant that surviving BSU troops were rounded up for questioning, which was bound to cause the Germaynes some trouble.
It would also frustrate Catford, since I was fairly certain he'd have wanted to treat them as prisoners of war. I didn't know what his thoughts were on proper interrogation techniques, but I'd heard rumors about Siwek that meant I wanted to keep people out of her hands. I doubted the fighters would have anything useful to offer and I certainly didn't need them giving me up on the off chance they'd seen me at the Egg.
I watched the PSD officers round people up, and saw Catford descend from theJupiter 's cockpit. Some of the PSD emergency medtechs came over to help him, but from his gesticulating I could tell he didn't want them touching him, and he didn't want the PSD on Emblyn property.
Someone encased in metal-I would have guessed Niemeyer, but they all looked huge in that power armor-pinned him back against the 'Mech's leg and Catford seemed to settle down.
In the distance a PSD helicopter chased the escaping vehicles for a while, but peeled off when lasers and machine-gun fire threatened it.
I watched a little while longer, then turned away. I'd have given my eyeteeth to see the live feed of Bernard's face when this news flash ran over the Tri-Vid, but I refrained from finding a set and turning it on. After all, I knew I'd see the replay endlessly and, with that thought in my head, I found a bed and slept very happily indeed.
31
I will make thee a terror to thyself,
and to all they friends.
- Jeremiah 20:4
Manville, Capital District
Basalt
Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere
16 February 3133
Despite the resort not being open, it did have all manner of amenities available to the casual guest. Before I left in the morning, I was able to download all of the news reports on items of interest.
The two lead items in almost every journal involved the raid at the Palace and Bernard's performance on live Tri-Vid.
Bernard actually handled himself better than I would have expected. While the host had poked fun at him, and Bernard had shot back with a few jokes that someone had scripted, the talk turned to recent events, and that brought up the whole BSU thing. Bernard had some remarks prepared that were wholly self-serving as far as the government was concerned, and constituted a nationalistic appeal to the citizens' pride. It pretty much amounted to a call for folks to rally around the Germayne government.
"Our world has been a very peaceful one, where we have shaped a harmonic society." Bernard composed his face into a mask of sincerity, which, for the most part, remained in place. "The Federated Suns always found us stalwart and a positive model. The Republic did, at the start, and made us part of their grand experiment because they needed our example. But now, as this experiment is weakening and failing, we need to look to ourselves, for no one from the outside is going to come rescue us. In fact, forces from the outside are here to destroy us.
"Our future is in our hands, and we must grasp it as tightly as we can, defending it mightily.
The people committing these acts of terror, we know who they are. You wonder, but you will see among them those you thought were friends. You know who you can trust, you can see it in their open, honest eyes, in the clear voices with which they speak, and in their welcoming openness, not self- segregation. We must all band together to keep our home safe from outside influences that will tear us apart."
His appeal soft-soaped the racist underpinnings of his philosophy, but the clues in his comments could not be missed. He directed his fellow citizens to keep their eyes on foreigners, and from what I'd seen, that meant anyone who didn't have round eyes or who happened to be fluent in the tongue of their ancestors as well as English. His message was as subtle as he was capable of, which told me it had been scripted, and made me wonder, just for a moment, who put those words in his mouth.
If the host noticed Bernard's restraint or slick delivery, he made no comment and went to a station break. In keeping with the show's format, Bernard moved onto a couch as the next guest came out, and the next. Right after some local teen sensation had sung her heart out, the host provided Bernard a chance to comment on the news flash that the BSU had tried to destroy the Emblyn Palace. I could see a vein start twitching in the middle of Bernard's forehead, but he refrained from exploding.
In a moment of insight, he channeled his anger into his voice and denounced the BSU and its efforts.
"I was just at that facility and I know why they wanted to destroy it. They are bitter people who cannot stand seeing others succeed. Basalt, which has been a peaceful place under my father's guidance, and shall be again, welcomes success. We all work for the common good here, and just as we pulled together for the good of the people of Manville during the recent upsets, so we must unite against the BSU. We cannot letthem win, and we will not.I will not. This is my vow to the true citizens of Basalt."
In seeing the little clip on my noteputer screen as I rode the shuttle south again, I thought he'd done a good job-terrifying though it was. The Contressa and Manville media shared my assessment, but as I read other stories about it, from cities further flung and on other continents, the reviews were scathing. Some pundits suggested that he didn't want the Palace destroyed because that was the only
resort he'd not yet been tossed from. The further from Manville the source, the harsher the criticism, and his divisive comments did not go unnoticed. One editorial even suggested that Basaltines might want to look at what BSU was saying, to see if their world had not become stagnant and, in fact, needed a quickening of blood and spirit from outside.
It's always that way in any society were power is centralized. The further one is from the locus of power, the weaker the grip. While the people in the outlying regions might not be disgusted enough to start a revolution, they could be induced to support one. Gypsy had already talked about salting journals and opinion shows in such outlying areas with shills who would accentuate the negative about the Germaynes. A lot of the material Elle had gathered could be leaked out there and would further weaken the Germayne regime.
The stories about the raid were curious. Initially the raiders were identified as BSU, and that identification was tracked down to a nameless official in the government. I don't think it was anyone connected to Bernard, but just some bureaucrat who made a lucky guess, leaked it, and waited for the PSD to confirm it. Journalists in the outlying regions had not picked up the later revisions coming out of Contressa, so the hicks in the sticks spent the early part of the day figuring that the BSU was done for.
Contressa's PSD did provide a box score for the raid. Both 'Mechs down, both pilots slain. The quartet of Scimitars was destroyed and their crews killed, likewise two Fox Armored Hovercars were destroyed and both Demon medium tanks went down. Most of the infantry had been killed, though three had been hospitalized, one in critical condition. Three other soldiers had been captured and were being interrogated, but it sounded as if they were keeping their mouths shut. I knew Alba was bright enough that they'd not know for whom they were working, so had little to sing about. If they could keep silent for twenty-four hours or so, that would provide enough time for Alba and her people to erase all traces of themselves in Manville.
That actually worked in favor of the plan to turn the tables and supplant the BSU with FfW.
The government identification then silence could be built into an embarrassed conspiracy to hide governmental wrongdoing. It would drive Bernard even more nuts, which means he'd be looking at lashing out hard at Emblyn.
Reading fully occupied my time on the return trip. Quam had a great review of a restaurant on the east side, so I made a note to go there. From the terminal in Manville I took a h
overcab to the Grand Germayne, went to my room, washed and changed. Just as I was going to leave, there was a knock at the door.
I opened it and found two officers from the PSD, Capital District standing there. "Yes?" "Mr. Donelly, you're to come with us."
"Colonel Niemeyer too busy to deal with me?" "We need you to come now, sir." Both of them wore mirrored sunglasses. Their faces and their voices remained expressionless. Young and well muscled, they loomed up and pretty much let me know that saying "No" was not an option.
I went with them. They took me to the lift, then down to the garage, and directed me to a dark, nondescript hovercar. "You'll have to sit in the back. Regulations."
I nodded, ducked my head and started to climb in.
That's when one of them dropped a fist into my left kidney. Pain shot through my body and I couldn't breathe. My legs just went all rubber, then he hit me again. One more shot to the right kidney and I knew I'd be voiding blood for the next couple of days.If I live that long.
They grabbed my hands, forced them behind my back and clapped restraints on me. Folding my legs up, they stuffed me into the rear seat foot wells, then slammed the door. Moments later they were in, the engine purred and we were moving.
I would have tried to time how long it was taking us between turns so I could reverse the route, but holding your breath until your lungs burns is tough when you can't breathe. As painful as it was to do, I arched my back and drew a little cool air in. Crunching forward I exhaled and then arched to inhale. Not pretty, not efficient, but effective for the moment.
Oddly enough, despite being able to identify my kidnappers, I didn't fear for my life. If the PSD was going to kill me, it would be Niemeyer himself, and I'd done nothing to give him leave to
want me dead. I could see him wanting me roughed up so I'd leave, but murdered when no innocent blood had been shed? It didn't track right for him.
Eventually the vehicle stopped and I was dragged through a loading dock door into a small office complex. The trash strewn around and the scent of sour urine suggested it had been abandoned.