Phelan waited a moment to be certain Kuusik had finished speaking his threat, then he shook his head. "You are not dealing with the same commander who led the forces on Memmingen. As formidable as your force is, we have the equipment and personnel to destroy it. We know, for example, that half the fighters from the Third Drak0ns may have made it to Gunzburg, but less than forty percent of them are operational. We also know that air strikes at Danzig, Felskinka, and Kosparris will destroy your ability to resup-ply and maintain your aircraft. Perhaps you will have air superiority for an hour or two, but destroying those three bases will cost us nothing because we can accomplish it through planetary bombardment."
"You are bluffing!"
Phelan ignored Kuusik and looked at Miraborg. "You are a warrior with a long and glorious history. You have fought against great odds in your time, but none have ever been so stacked against you. What I say about your forces should tell you how much more other information I have. If you choose to fight, many, many people will die."
The Iron Jarl frowned. "I can acknowledge the truth of your information, but that still does not answer the Kapten's charge that you are bluffing."
"Yes," Kuusik chimed in. "We hurt you at Memmingen. You do not have the resources necessary to fight us. We won't roll over and die for you."
"Remember, Kapten, war is not all glory and afterglow." Phelan's menacing tone took some of the sneer from Kuusik's face. "You may be prepared to die for your world, but is your family? Are your friends?"
He fixed Miraborg with a harsh stare. "You know I am not bluffing."
"Do I?"
The Clansman nodded slowly. "You do. What we ask is simple, and in return, we will leave you and your people in power. ComStar will act as liaison to keep us informed of what your government is doing. They will also advise us on your transportation needs for import and export trade with your usual trading partners. Your troops will be disarmed, of course, but they will not be Dispossessed."
"What good is it to have a neutered 'Mech?" Kuusik snarled bitterly.
"Is dying in the husk of an armed 'Mech somehow preferable?" Phelan brought his gloved hands out from beneath the cloak, forcing it behind his shoulders. "I offer you your lives and to spare your world the certain destruction that war would bring. It is your choice, Varldherre. The people will follow your lead. We do not ask that you embrace us as allies or friends, but only that you acknowledge us as master. Is not some loss of pride worth all the suffering it will buy?"
Kuusik dropped to his knees and took hold of Miraborg's right hand where it rested on the arm of his wheelchair. "Send this animal packing. You are the Iron Jarl. You are the champion of Rasalhague's freedom. If you give in to his demands, everything will have been wasted. Your daughter's death will have meant nothing!"
"What!" Phelan's surprise exploded through his mask. 'Tyra is dead?"
He and Tyra had shared three months of passion, then been torn apart when the Kell Hounds left for the Periphery. Though they had said their goodbyes and made a formal end to their relationship, all that had happened to Phelan since his capture by the Clans had not left him the space to put his feelings to rest. No matter how much he loved Ranna, he had hoped to see Tyra again if only to learn how she had fared since their last meeting.
Tor Miraborg yanked his hand free of Kuusik's grip. "Do not tell me what to do, Kapten." A tear trickled down the scarred side of his face. He looked up at Phelan, his eyes lifeless. "Yes, my daughter is dead. It was she who drove her fighter into your flagship. Jaime Wolf said her action killed your warlord and bought us a year's respite from your attacks. Even if that were true, it was not worth my daughter's life."
Kuusik sank back on his haunches, his face utterly drained of color. "What are you saying?"
"I am saying that I have finally learned the lesson that might have saved my daughter. A jeader must be more than simply a focus for his people's ambitions and desires. I am a military man, but my responsibilities extend far beyond soldiery on this world. Before, I could assure our people that their safety was inviolate because the Eagles could and would destroy all our foes. I cannot give them that assurance now.
"The time has come to truly act as a leader. Perhaps Tyra would not have left and joined the Rasalhague Drak0ns had I done so before. I blame myself for her death."
The Kapten sprang to his feet. "You were not to blame for her defection! That mercenary seduced her. He wormed his way into her heart and confused her with stories of glory to be won on distant worlds." Kuusik drove his right fist into his left palm with a loud smack. "I only wish I had killed him when we fought."
"It was enough that you bested him in single combat..."
"Ha!" Phelan's hands clenched in anger. "Single combat? Perhaps you were the only one left standing, but that's because your confederates had been scattered."
Puzzlement knitted Miraborg's dark brows while fear flashed through Kuusik's eyes. Even as Kuusik started toward him, Phelan realized that the Kapten had never told the Varldherre he had jumped Phelan with a gang of men that night so long ago. Of course, the Varldherre would have considered that an act of cowardice!Kuusik had been able to hide the truth because everyone believed that Phelan's protests about the number of attackers was a lie intended to hide his shame at defeat.
The Kapten's lunge came fast, but that mattered little. After Phelan's months of training with Evantha, Kuusik seemed clumsy and sluggish. Like a drunken brawler, the Kapten threw himself off balance as he punched, his fist looping through the air where Phelan's ducking head had been. The man stumbled forward.
Swinging with everything he had, Phelan hammered his right fist into Kuusik's chest. A hollow thump sounded as the blow landed directly below the Kapten's sternum, knocking the wind out of him. Hands clutched to his chest, Kuusik pitched forward and desperately tried to suck in air. Phelan's left hand clipped him behind the ear and accelerated his descent.
A sudden fire ignited in Miraborg's eyes. "Who the hell are you?"
Phelan wanted nothing so much as to tear off his mask so he could gloat over the Iron Jarl. His hands started up toward the mask, but a cold detachment replaced the urge and instead he readjusted the cloak that enshrouded him. Revenge was something Phelan Kell would have demanded, but I am no longer Phelan Kell.
It was Phelan Wolf who spoke. "You do not know me. We captured Phelan Kell in the Periphery. I know something of his last days on Gunzburg from his debriefing. He spoke fondly of your daughter, and I know he would have grieved her passing."
"He is dead?"
"He was on the flagship that Tyra rammed. Shortly thereafter, he was no more."
The Iron Jarl looked up slowly. "I see."
"Perhaps you do." Phelan looked beyond him, watching as the city's lights began to glow in the dusk. "You have a beautiful world and are responsible for safeguarding it. I must have your decision."
Miraborg sat so still and silent that Phelan wondered if the man had slipped into a state of catatonia. The office dimmed and Kuusik's moans ceased as he drifted into unconsciousness. Hardly daring to breathe, Phelan, too, remained motionless, waiting for the Varldherre's decision.
Finally, Miraborg's head came up. "I accept your terms for the surrender of Gunzburg. I will inform ComStar of my choice as successor, then I will retire from public life."
Phelan shook his head. "Do not retire."
"What?" Miraborg looked like a man at the breaking point. "All I have done is poison my life and the people around me. Kuusik there is only one of thousands more misguided men and women on this world, thousands whom I have led astray. I cannot continue in this position."