Assumption of risk

  All stayed away from the brownstone except for one man.

  The agents smiled as they first heard his voice. They had taken to calling him the Screamer, and believed him to be utterly mad. Like clockwork the Screamer would walk down the street in front of Duke Ryan's home. The man, obviously a schizophrenic with paranoid tendencies, tended to rant and rave at himself, alternating between two voices. His arguments were incomprehensible and remarkable only in that both sides seemed to be losing.

  The agents remembered him because one of the tech boys had asked who were the two men arguing in the street. That had made all the field agents burst out with laughter, indelibly burning the Screamer's dirty, hunched silhouette into their minds. The incident was one of the few times when the tech boys had made a mistake within earshot of the field agents and the field agents were determined not to let them forget it. As a result they secretly rejoiced when the Screamer made his sojourn during their collection runs.

  Their unofficial mascot would betray them on this night. Locked in a battle with his inner demons, the Screamer picked up a stone from the street and flung it with all his might at the lair of the individual he knew to be the anti-Christ. He did not know Duke Ryan Steiner lived there, but had he, the Screamer would gladly have awarded him the tide of anti-Christ. All he did realize was that the building seemed out of place in the neighborhood and, in a moment of lucidity, he realized that breaking a window would bring it down into the gutter with the rest of the buildings on the street.

  The rock shattered the window being used for collection. The agents doing the run remained shocked for a second or two, then one of them had the presence of mind to blow the whistle that stopped the output. The sound pickup in the room did register the whistle and stop the recording, but the whole incident had trimmed a full ten minutes from the data in the device.

  The loss of ten seconds of compressed data was not deemed important. And it would be another week and a half before anyone could have even guessed what the ten-minute gap had contained, and then another day would pass after that before anyone would link the gap to Galen Cox's assassination. By then, however, the information that could have stopped the plot before it began was as effective as closing a barn door after the horses had all fled.

  Sven Newmark's caution provided a second chance to save Galen's life. Newmark assumed that Davion intelligence had spies within the Steiner household and taps on the communications links. To contact the broker needed to target Galen for assassination, he left the house where glaziers were replacing all the windows with bulletproof glass and walked to a nearby transit station. He checked numerous times to see if he was being followed. Detecting no surveillance, he proceeded to a bank of visiphones and placed a call.

  Newmark placed his hand over the visiphone lens to prevent the person answering the phone from seeing who he was. "Good morning, I am looking for the florist."

  The Asian man in the window nodded his head. "He is out. May I take a message?"

  "We require a bouquet delivered to il Capo after the title defense." Newmark kept his voice level, never betraying the fact he was ordering a man's death. His reference to il Capo came from the nickname Ryan had decided to use for Galen Cox. Cox's rank, Kommandant, could have been rendered as il Comandante in Italian, but il Capo served just as well and Ryan liked the way it made Cox sound like a criminal. Sergei Chou, whose people had already been engaged to provide covert surveillance of Katrina and Galen, understood the reference and had used it in various reports on their activities.

  "Understood. Five thousand C-bills."

  "Done. Charge the Moonbeam account," Newmark instructed him. Moonbeam was one of a dozen different shadow corporations Ryan maintained for making payoffs. Chou would have his computer people break into the account and loot it, which would permit Ryan to deny complicity in the crime if the account were ever traced back to him.

  Newmark broke the connection and returned to the house. A recording of his conversation, made by the Solaris City Constabulary through its taps on Chou's lines, were downloaded into the Constabulary computers. The machines made a transcript of the conversation, then read it over for key words. The florist reference went right by it, but it picked up on the term "il Capo" precisely for the petty criminal overtones that Ryan Steiner liked so much.

  The machine shunted the recording and report to the Organized Crime division of the Constabulary. The voices on it were immediately checked against known organized crime figures. The computers identified Chou instantly, but came up blank on Newmark. The computers queued the recording to be checked against Known Criminal, Media, Celebrity and, finally, Political voiceprints. The first three checks, each of which took a full day, came up blank because Sven Newmark had never made a public statement that had been recorded on Solaris.

  The last check, Political, would correctly identify his voice, but it would take an additional four days to be completed because the technicians were so preoccupied with trying to figure out how to reconstruct the data sent out at the instant the Screamer's stone hit the window of Duke Ryan Steiner's office.

  25

  Solaris City, Solaris VII

  Tamarind March, Federated Commonwealth

  16 April 3056

  Peter Steiner-Davion had difficulty deciding what amazed him more: having traveled from Tharkad to Solaris in three days or Victor's highhandedness. He had towered over Victor even when they were children, and it had always irked Victor that people took him for the younger brother because of it. Peter thought Victor should long since have grown out of his jealousy, but he realized that Victor's insecurities must run deep to the bone.

  Peter never had and never would avoid a fight that must be fought. He could take care of himself, and because of his sheer size, had never been forced to learn to be as sneaky as Victor. As far as Peter was concerned, they could settle their differences in an honorable way, on the field of battle. Victor, however, would know that he couldn't win, so his only choice was to humiliate his younger brother.

  Peter felt betrayed by Victor, yet vowed he would not be broken by his bother's actions. Assigning me a role as Tormano's handler is a slap in the face, but it was also a big mistake for Victor. He missed it, and I shall profit from it. The mistake, as Peter saw it, was to have given his younger brother a public platform on which to perform, a platform that was too far away for Victor to easily exert any control.

  Peter laid out the conflict and attacked it in his mind like a long campaign. His first step would be to identify and isolate himself from Victor's agents on Solaris. Security men he could do nothing about, but they would follow his orders regardless. They were not a problem. It was people like Kai Allard-Liao and Galen Cox who would be.

  Second, he had to perform all his duties with Tormano perfectly, giving Victor no cause for reproach. By exerting a subtle influence over Tormano, Peter knew he could push the man to do things Peter wanted done. Then, in his role as Tormano's keeper, he could claim glory or punish failure as he saw fit. People would see him in a leadership role, which is what he wanted when he next confronted Victor.

  "Peter!"

  A smile involuntarily spread across Peter's face as his sister Katrina ran toward him in the spaceport's VIP lounge. He dropped his shoulder bag and swept her up in a hug that lifted her off her feet. She gave out a most undignified yelp, which dissolved quickly into laughter that he shared with her. "Hello, Kath ... Katrina. I'll get used to it yet."

  He set her back down on her feet and she danced back a step or two. "You look wonderful, Peter. I'm so happy you're here."

  Peter's smile began to disintegrate at the corners of his mouth. "Your presence takes the sting out of my exile."

  Katrina looked at him with surprise in her eyes. "Only the sting? I must be losing my touch. Aren't you glad to see me?"

  "Yes, of course I am. As always ..." Peter frowned as he tried to decide how much he would tell her, then realized he could never keep secrets from Katherine—Katrina. "I'm not pl
eased about losing my command."

  "Of course not." Katrina turned and pulled a man in a uniform forward. "Peter, you and Kommandant Cox have met, haven't you?"

  Peter shook the man's hand, then noticed how easily his sister took Cox's arm. "Yes, good to see you again, Kommandant. I congratulate you on your victory in the arena. I saw a replay on my way in."

  "Not the sort of example an officer of the AFFC should be setting, I'm afraid." Cox smiled self-consciously.

  Katrina gave Galen a peck on the cheek. "Be a dear and get Peter's bag there." She released Galen's arm and took Peter's hand in hers. "Do come with me, Peter, because it's truly wonderful that you're here. This is definitely a step up from the Skye Militia."

  "It is?" Peter frowned. You're not a MechWarrior, Katrina. You can't know how it feels to be dispossessed of that which you were born to have. "I would prefer any position that permitted me to pilot a 'Mech."

  Katrina laughed throatily. "I'm certain you would. Kommandant Cox thought that when first ordered to escort me. But his mind has changed, has it not, Galen?"

  Cox shouldered the bag. "Of course, Duchess." He winked at Peter. "I still manage to get into a 'Mech from time to time, though."

  "And he's not above bringing chaos to a social gathering to do it, either." Katrina rolled her eyes, then squeezed Peter's hand. "Though you may not be in a 'Mech, your work as Tormano's Liaison Officer is important. It elevates you from militia officer to a player on the Inner Sphere stage.'

  "Anyone could have been assigned to do it." Peter frowned deeply. "I could record a holovid tape and have a loop set up for my visiphone to do the job. 'Yes, Mandrinn, that sounds very interesting. I will take it under advisement and report back to you, but for now, do nothing.' " Peter purposely shielded his intentions from Galen, but he knew Katrina saw through his deception.

  Katrina smiled knowingly. "What, and deprive Tormano of the wise counsel he so desperately needs? Listening and making decisions will be good training for you."

  "The only training I need is in a simulator."

  "Oh, has someone invented an Archon simulator while we've been away from Tharkad?" Katrina shivered and Peter threw an arm around her shoulders in a reflexive hug. "Victor is not without enemies and they might destroy him. In that case ..."

  Peter looked down at her. "In that case, you would become the Archon Princess."

  "I could govern, Peter, but I cannot lead." The emphasis she placed on the words did not escape him. "It may be that the responsibilities of the Federated Commonwealth are so great that we require two rulers—just as it was when our mother and father were still alive."

  And if Victor had his way, Omi Kurita would govern beside him. Peter nodded to Katrina. "Now you give me the same sort of wise advice you expect me to give Tormano."

  "It is in your nature to defend and destroy, and it is in mine to heal and help."

  "I hope, if the time comes, we will know all we need to do our jobs." Peter caught her frown and bowed his head. "Victor is keeping secrets from us."

  Katrina stopped and turned to face him in the corridor leading away from the docking bay lobby. She did it carefully, concealing her surprise, but he felt her shudder as she pulled away from him. "What kind of secrets?"

  He looked past her toward Galen. "Family secrets."

  Galen hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I feel the urge to buy a pack of mints." He headed off toward a concourse gift shop. "Anyone else need anything?"

  "No, thanks." Katrina smiled after him, then looked up at Peter. "What secrets?"

  "He knows who killed our mother."

  "What!" Katrina's hand came up to cover her mouth. "Who?"

  "I don't know. He wouldn't tell me." Peter shrugged helplessly, suddenly angry with himself for having built things up so much without being able to deliver for her. "He said he didn't have proof, so he couldn't act, but he said he would when he did."

  "I see . . ." Katrina woodenly slipped her arm back through Peter's and guided him over to where Galen stood studying a memorial plaque mounted on the spaceport wall. As they approached, Katrina's movements again became fluid and a smile returned to her face. "Interesting reading?"

  Galen nodded. "It struck me that I used to watch the fights from Solaris when I was a kid, but never expected to be here—especially not fighting here. It's incredible how things never turn out the way you expect."

  "If they did, that would be really incredible." Peter aped his sister's smile, slowly growing used to the plastic feeling it gave his face.

  "You're right. All set to go?"

  Katrina linked her other hand through Galen's. "There, I have the two most handsome men on Solaris as my escorts. I couldn't be happier."

  "Let's hope it's contagious," Peter grumbled lightly.

  "It will be, you'll see. Now, Peter, you've got just enough time to go to The Armored Fist and unpack, then we go to dinner and afterward to watch some fights at Ishiyama in the box of Thomas DeLon." Katrina pulled at him when he slowed down to protest. "And don't argue, Peter. It won't do any good. You're a Steiner and this is an order."

  Peter laughed, then shot Galen a sidelong glance. "She hasn't changed at all." He roughly sketched a salute at his sister and smiled graciously. "I hear and obey, Archon Katrina. I am a slave to your whims."

  * * *

  The assassin knew from the holovision feeds he watched from Solaris City that Peter Steiner-Davion had arrived at the spaceport barely four hours before he did. That information impinged on him only because it added another possible target to his list. He dismissed Peter as a target almost immediately, however, because Victor could get rid of his brother without having to hire an assassin. All the prince had to do was send Peter on a covert mission to Glengarry, where he could make sure the Free Skye people captured and killed him.

  The DropShip Columbus landed with no difficulties and taxied to a military hangar. A legion of Intelligence Secretariat agents ringed the place, and a group of five escorted him to a waiting limo. The assassin caught a whiff of Solaris City's moist air and smiled. Home again, home again. I will be away from my captors soon enough.

  The IS agents hustled him to a darkened limousine and drove through the city in an aimless pattern the assassin thought was intended to limit his ability to guess at where they would finally deposit him. Even though he could see nothing through the black windows, the assassin could have told them not to bother with the little game because he knew they would house him in the Black Hills. Silesia would be too close to his target, and the Davionist sympathies of the people of the Black Hills would make it much easier to limit information about him.

  The limo drove into an underground parking area, then the agents pulled the assassin from the vehicle and took him up into the safe house. They placed him in a spartan room with minimal furnishings and a built-in mirror that he readily assumed was two-way. The assassin smiled at his own reflection, then sat down on the edge of the cot.

  A tall man with hard, icy eyes came in and dismissed the other agents with a mere nod of his head. He waited until they had left the room, then he sat on the edge of the table with his back to the mirror. "You are here in case you are needed."

  "I am always needed, sooner or later."

  "I expect that is so. You will want equipment. We will supply it when your mission is determined."

  The assassin smiled. "I believe I know what my mission is. I know Solaris, and I know what I will need."

  "Do you?"

  The assassin nodded. "It will save us time. There is a man here named Sergei Chou. He is a Capellan and you know of him because I gave you his name during my interrogation. He has access to some things I left behind here. I need a rifle."

  "We will get it." The big man watched him with raptor eyes. "You will need other things."

  "Your analysis of my computer's files will have highlighted one called 'SLAP.' I have to give the specifications to Chou."

  The IS agent shook his head. "We will get what you
need."

  The assassin shrugged. "Chou knows me. He will deal with me. He'll smell you out and will run." He forced a nonchalant yawn. "Ask your prince. He will approve my request to meet with the man."

  "You presume a great deal."

  The assassin smiled. "I know he needs me. He will not gainsay me any request."

  "Were I you, I would not be so confident."

  "No?"

  "No." The ice-eyed man paused before he opened the door. "You murdered his mother. That is something he has not forgotten. Nor is it something he is likely to forgive."

  * * *

  Standing in the living room of the penthouse suite in The Sun and Sword Hotel, Galen Cox looked out toward the northeast. The city's neon lights stole the night's tenebrosity, but gave it a sinister edge. In many ways the cityscape made him think of a fading dowager trying to cover her age with cosmetics and dim lights.

  He half-smiled, knowing his morbid thoughts about

  Solaris City only came in contrast to his mood. The evening had gone fairly well. He and Peter had taken steps toward tolerating each other, though Peter obviously thought Galen was little more than a spy in his brother's service. The fact that Katrina trusted Galen completely had won Peter's respect, and as the evening wore on, the young man began to relax.

  Katrina seemed to have used Peter's reaction to him as some sort of a litmus test. Galen and Katrina had been growing closer with each passing day, their evenings since the fight filled with emotion and heart-to-heart conversations. Galen reveled in Katrina's openness, yet his knowledge that they could never be together held him back. He felt confused, but wonderfully so, and not a little bit afraid of what would happen that evening. He felt—he knew—things would come to a head and either proceed further than was likely to be prudent, or fall apart completely. Neither of those outcomes were ideas he could abide.