Just now Pad Seven accommodated a popular Union-class merchant conversion. The lower fourth of the spheroid vessel nested down into the service area, enough to gain access to its three cargo bays. Raul’s badge—double-checked against his identification—gained him unrestricted access to the secure landing facility. He drove his cart into the bay and straight up the secondary loading ramp, pulling aside once for a burdened LoaderMech and once more to edge past a crowd of spaceport technicians who had bluffed or bribed their way through security to see the same thing that had originally pulled Raul into the warrens today.
It was a BattleMech.
The bay smelled of grease and the must and dust from cargos loaded on a dozen different worlds. A cavernous space, once designed to hold two lances of BattleMechs, only two ’Mech alcoves with gantry support remained in this merchant conversion. One was webbed over with netting and charged-myomer restraints, tying down two stories worth of stacked crates. The other held a ’Mech. It squatted back on thick, reverse-canted legs. Unlike the box-jointed Legionnaire Raul had once trained on, this machine was designed with lean, purposeful lines and was rare to Prefecture IV. To Raul’s knowledge it was only found in lance strength among the Northwind Highlander Regiments.
A Ryoken II. And a modified one at that.
Raul left his cart parked safely off to one side. Tucking his service cap away into his belt, he strolled slowly over to a gathering of uniforms and spaceport suits, eyes only for the BattleMech. Part of his RTC cadet days had included training on standard BattleMech configurations and visual identification of weapons systems. Refresher courses during his twice-yearly reserves duty had kept him up to date.
The Ryoken II was based on higher-level technology, developed by the Clans during their centuries-long exile from the Inner Sphere. Having left as saviors, members of Kerensky’s Star League army, the Clans came back as conquerors and were barely held in check. Such technology had been co-opted into The Republic’s small military when Devlin Stone accepted a sampling of Clan population after the Jihad.
Normally the Ryoken II fielded four long-barreled X-class light autocannons with twin missile launchers beefing up its shoulderline. This Ryoken had traded away long-ranged missiles for beefy, short-ranged six-packs. Two small barrels tucked into the chest would be some type of medium-class lasers, but there was no mistaking the wide bore and high-energy flashing of the remaining two weapons. Particle projector cannons, the hardest hitting weapon for its range that any MechWarrior could want.
“Now who’s this?” someone asked from the center of the nearby meeting. The voice was feminine, but hardly soft. “Some new vapor-brained appointee here to tell me that he only has the best interests of all in mind?” The offhand insult wasn’t nearly so attention grabbing as the casual way with which she tossed it out.
Raul pulled his attention away from the redesigned ’Mech, mentally kicking himself for not making a more politic approach. Uniforms outnumbered suits by two-to-one in the small gathering, though now Raul noticed that there were DropShip officers present as well as the military reps he’d expected. Holding the center of the pack as if ready to take on all-comers was a strikingly beautiful woman. She had dark red hair and green, predatory eyes which sized him up in a glance. Wearing nothing more complicated than a standard utility jumpsuit, she had unbuttoned it down to the top swells of her breasts, showing off a touch of cleavage and a faceted crystal necklace charm wrapped in three golden bands. Compact and confident, everything about her screamed MechWarrior to Raul in a way he had only imagined from holovids.
“You have something to contribute?” she asked. “Or did we wait around for an hour just so you can check out my hardware?” Raul wasn’t so certain she was speaking about the BattleMech.
Still, an entire morning spent in the company of military officers and shipping clerks could set anyone on edge, and after Erik Sandoval he didn’t imagine anyone else getting as deeply under his skin. “You are?”
“I am bloody annoyed.” Her eyes flashed dangerously, and this time Raul caught a hint of Germanic accent in her voice. Lyran? “I am tired of being told where I can and can not take my ’Mech. That’s who I am.”
Her ’Mech? So possessive… was this machine in private ownership? If so, no wonder her arrival set off a confrontation. “Are you being denied visitation to Achernar?”
One of the suits stepped in a split second ahead of a shipboard officer. “As we tried to explain to Ms. Kay, we are only trying our best to decide whose jurisdiction most adequately—”
“That is restricted military technology,” a line captain piped in, trumping the suit and ship’s officer both. He shared many of Raul’s Latino features, including the swarthy skin which came in so handy on Achernar, but he was taller and much more slender. “Legate Stempres demands that it be held by secure forces.”
Raul saw the building outbursts rising to the lips of several nearby people, and cut them all off with a raised hand and a calm “Hold.” The first rule of any negotiation, especially one that you want to deal with quickly and cleanly, was to pare the argument down to its primary opponents. “Ms …Kay? You own the Ryoken? It is your property?”
“Master of the obvious.”
Raul let her blunt manner slide. “Captain Norgales,” he read the nameplate pinned over the line officer’s breast pocket, “you are here to represent Legate Stempres, correct?” And maybe even Erik Sandoval, by association. Raul barely let the other man nod and start to speak before cutting past the spaceport clerk and roping the ship’s officer into the conversation. “And your position here is, what?”
“Ship’s Second Officer Thomas. Captain Grey wants me to make certain that Tassa Kay is given full consideration, and that her… property… is not removed for any destination without her approval.”
Tassa Kay. Raul had her full name now, and a problem he could deal with quickly. “Second Officer Thomas, you can assure your captain that no one will remove the BattleMech without giving him proper notice. Until the ’Mech walks out the cargo bay door, it’s still his cargo and under his orders.” Thomas seemed obliged to wait and see that for himself, but Raul nodded curtly. “Thank you, Shipman.” He looked around. “And thank the rest of you for your time and effort here. I’ll speak with MechWarrior Kay and Captain Norgales now, please.”
The suits were the only ones to leave without muttered protests, happy to wash their hands of the issue and land it fully in the lap of Customs. Ship’s Officer Thomas pulled his supporters to one side of the bay, giving Raul some privacy. The line officer nodded his own subordinates aside.
“Divide and conquer gets you only so far,” Tassa Kay said, though a touch less harsh than the moment before. In her eyes, Raul thought he might have climbed up a notch. A flush warmed the back of his neck.
“Mr. Ortega,” Norgales began much more civilly this time. “Legate Stempres wants to make his concerns very clear. With the trouble on Ronel, and elsewhere, the arrival of a privately owned BattleMech is not a small matter.”
“He wants it under his own personal lock and key,” Tassa added. She shook her hair back over her shoulder, and Raul watched it fall back in a graceful shimmer. “Not going to happen.”
Neutral, Raul warned himself. Stay neutral. “It is standard procedure to secure such equipment in Customs lockup here at the San Marino,” he reminded Norgales. “And Customs is not under the Legate’s authority. We’re civilian law enforcement.”