Focht's head came back up. "What news of the negotiations on Outreach? Is Wolf going to be able to unite the feuding factions of the Inner Sphere into an army?"
The petulant look that swept the Primus' features was an eloquent answer. "We have little or no news. We have not infiltrated any agents into the cadre of outsiders Wolf allows on his world. Even if we had, it would be impossible for such an agent to report until he was out of the system. As nearly as we can tell, people are going into Outreach, but no one has left. I believe this means that negotiations are not proceeding as smoothly as Wolf had hoped, for no action has been taken in direct response to orders issued from Outreach."
"On the other hand, Primus, it could also mean negotiations are going very well, and the planning precludes the issuance of orders."
The Primus shrugged. "Either way, I do not believe the armies of the Great Houses could ever pose a threat to the Clans, even if united. Was it not you who time and again has underscored the technological advantage the Clans have over any forces in the Inner Sphere? Reading your reports, it has occurred to me that cooperation between the Great Houses would result in the Clans abandoning their silly practice of bidding away strength. Only we can stop them, and we will do it from within."
"I realize, Primus, that you disdain dealing with hypothetical situations, but the current state of affairs does demand some speculation." Focht rubbed the white stubble on his chin with his left hand. "Twenty years ago, a Star League memory core fell into the hands of Hanse Davion. A covert ComStar assault on the New Avalon Institute of Science failed to recover or destroy it. Since that time, a number of technological advancements have emerged in medicine, planetology, astrophysics, and other sciences. These suggest that the computer core provided breakthroughs to the rediscovery of much knowledge lost after the First Succession War."
"Yes, but we have seen no developments in weapons or 'Mech technology."
"True, Primus, but it would not be the first time that the Successor States have withheld information from us. It could be that they are keeping a tight guard on the secret of new advancements. You will recall that twenty years ago House Davion revealed a new myomer fiber that made 'Mechs faster and stronger than ever before."
Myndo's eyes narrowed. "But that myomer fiber combusted when in contact with a gas Davion scientists had created. That was why Davion did not outfit his 'Mechs with the pseudomuscle, but was more than willing to let House Liao have the secret so he could use it against them. I remember well the raid on Sian, Precentor Martial. I also know that two decades of research by Liao scientists have not succeeded in finding a way to coat or change the muscle so that it is not combustible in the presence of that gas."
"I do not bring this to your attention to upset you, Primus." Focht held his hands open in a gesture of peace. "I do hasten to point out, however, that the triple-strength myomer has not been released for use in industrial 'Mechs where the gas is not usually present. It strikes me as likely that the myomer is the subject of continued classified researches. Even if the Davion scientists have not found a way to make the myomer immune to the gas, they could equip their 'Mechs with the more powerful muscles anyway, just as House Liao has done with recon 'Mechs like the Locustand the Raven.These 'Mechs could be used on airless worlds or ones constantly lashed by storms to present the Clans with a nasty surprise."
"We shall inform the Clans of the gas and instruct them in its use."
Focht nodded. "I have already done so, Primus. That is not the issue.. I explain all this to emphasize that we do not know the state of Davion weapons research on a secret that is twenty years old. How can we be certain Davion or Kurita or even Thomas Marik has not initiated a weapons research program that will close the technological gap with the Clans?"
The Primus recoiled with shock. "Close it? Is that possible in twenty years?"
The Precentor Martial sighed heavily. "Probably not, but they could narrow it. If the core started them on the road to restoring 'Mechs to the level and ability of their Star League precursors, the gap narrows precipitously."
Only the whisper of rustling silk broke the silence as Myndo paced. "I see your point. You must somehow determine the capabilities of such Star League-era weapons in the hands of current Mech Warriors. We must be able to alert the Clans to potential difficulties."
The Precentor Martial barely succeeded in repressing a smug grin. "By using some of our own Star League-era 'Mechs in the exercise I was running, it was just such data I was attempting to gather."
Displeasure arced through the Primus' eyes. "Do not rebuke me, Anastasius Focht. I know well who and what you truly are. Do you forget I am the one who rescued you from a life of mind-numbing boredom and made you the head of my armies? You have served me well, but you may yet push me too far."
"Apologies, Primus. I did not mean to offend." Focht bowed his head remorsefully, but part of him rejoiced at having stung her. As he brought his head up, he adjusted the patch over his right eye. "Have you yet reached a decision on the matter of the message to Morgan Kell? I promised Phelan Kell that I would communicate to Kell that his son is alive."
"Yes, I have. You are forbidden to communicate news of Phelan Kell to any of his kin." Myndo's face became an implacable mask. "If Morgan Kell or anyone on Outreach had even a hint of Phelan's survival, it would not only tip them to our involvement with the Clans, but it might also set them to thoughts of negotiating with the Clans. That must never happen."
"As you will it, Primus."
"Do not look so glum, Anastasius. You know there is no other way." Her eyes focused distantly and Focht knew she no longer saw him. "As difficult as this time is for humanity, it is only by passing through the cleansing fire of the Clan invasion that man can become worthy of what we, inheritors of the Word of Blake, will one day offer them."
9
Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters, Outreach
Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth
15 March 3051
Nestled in the 'Mech simulator's metal cocoon, Victor Davion cursed. "Dammit! Galen, can you get over here? I have a situation ..."
The computer-projected enemy Centurion—a humanoid BattleMech whose right arm ended in the muzzle of an autocannon—stepped clear of its hiding place in the narrow canyon. The right arm came up and swung into line with the breast of the Prince's Victor.Victor flicked a glance at the armor diagram on his secondary monitor and chose not to duck back to cover. I can take whatever his autocannon will dish out, and can give back as good as I get.
As Victor brought his own 'Mech's muzzle-arm up, the Centurioncut loose. The simulator cockpit whirled, blurring the vision of the computer-construct landscape. Victor jerked against the command couch's restraining straps as the cockpit stopped abruptly, then experienced a severe jolt as special reaction pads in the chair pounded into his back.
The view screens showed him sky.
"Christ Almighty, what's he packing in that thing?" The armor diagram showed that all the armor had been stripped away from the right side of the Victor'storso. The chain feed for the autocannon ammo in its right shoulder had been blasted to pieces. The sheer impact from the assault had been enough for the computer judging the contest to determine that the Victorwould have been knocked to the ground, a judgement that put the Prince at a severe disadvantage.