That lake was very deep and quite long. Several kilometers farther into the mountain, it fell by cascades and steaming waterfalls through the northern opening of the Rift, flowed by deep and winding channels farther north, then catapaulted a final 50 meters in spray and spume into the murky yellow and sulfur-stinking waters of the mountain-locked Grimheld Sea. The southern shore of the lake, sheltered on either side by the Rift walls, opened to a boulder-sprinkled ravine leading to the arid badlands south of the mountain. The irrigation pipeline was only barely visible from this altitude.
Surrounded by sound, Grayson sat down on a mist-slick boulder. From this vantage point, he could see people on the roof of the Castle, though it was impossible to tell what they were doing or to make out details. As the spaceport lay behind and below the Castle, not much of it was visible from here. Grayson did manage to distinguish part of the control tower, a ground station communication dish, and what might have been the blunt prow of the Invidious'DropShip. He wished he had his electronic binoculars so that he could spy on workers moving among the gantry scaffolding near the ship.
Grayson studied the Castle roof. There were several helicopters there, light scouting machines that he recognized from the Commandos' vehicle depot. As he watched, one of the machines lifted into the air and swung like a huge, gleaming insect toward the port. With their acquisition of the Castle and all the equipment the Lance had not had time to move or destroy, the pirates had made out quite well.
Grayson's thoughts slipped back to his need, his burning desire for revenge. Right now, it seemed like a hopeless quest. Scarcely tried in battle, unarmed, what chance did he have against a Marauder?For vengeance, he would need a heavy 'Mech at least, one that could stand up against that 75-ton machine. He'd also need a 'Mech Lance to go with it — or a small army trained and equipped to fight 'Mechs. After all, that Marauderwas not alone. There were other pirate 'Mechs on Trellwan, and how many hundreds of pirate troopers?
Grayson thought about this for a moment. The attack on the Castle had been so methodical, so carefully timed and planned. It didn't fit the typical slash-and-run tactics of bandit raiders. The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed. The pirates had had to plan and execute the capture of Tor's ship by intercepting it at one of thirty possible navigation and power bank charging points between Oberon IV and Trellwan. They had to transfer the men and material for the attack to the Invidiousonce they captured her — never an easy task in deep space — and then equip the DropShip with the extra weapons that had surprised and devastated his father's Phoenix Hawk.All of that had been timed and coordinated with what was happening on Trellwan. The pirates must have convinced or bought the astech Stefan's help (and probably others) in bypassing the Castle's security system so that a commando force could get in.
There'd been dozens of them, a company at least, and probably more. It seemed they'd been divided into numerous small units, each assigned a different target within the Castle. Grayson remembered the sight of them entering the Control Center, and knew with cold certainty that those were not native troops. They must have been brought in from elsewhere, probably on another freighter DropShip that had grounded at the port some hours before. That part of the operation had demanded careful preparation and precise timing to allow it to be carried out just as the Carlyle's Phoenix Hawkapproached the Individous'DropShip. The entire scheme suggested a major military operation — and an expensive one. Grayson was sure there was more to it than a mutiny against Oberon by a handful of his own pirate warlords.
Unbidden, the memory of his attacker's face returned to Grayson. That lean, dark face with the trim mustache and beard. The too-bright eyes, the eyes of a fanatic. Grayson believed he had seen that face before, but where?
An important part of any apprentice MechWarrior's training required him to become familiar with other MechWarriors. Not all of them, of course, but the important ones, the brilliant ones, the successful mercenaries and warleaders who had carved names for themselves across the battlefields of a thousand war-torn worlds. Was it in the computer files of known warriors he'd studied in Trellwan that Grayson had seem that dark face? Was it that of a MechWarrior? A ground forces officer? He covered his eyes with one hand. Think... think!
He opened his eyes, blinked into the light, stood and breathed deeply, but the man's identity did not come to him. Grayson knew, though, that if he had seen that face while studying the computer files, the information he needed would still be there in the central computer in the Castle. Somehow, he thought, somehow he was going to have to get back inside the Castle.
11
Grayson had lost track of time since he'd left Berenir's house with the thought of contacting Mara. Not wanting to attract unwanted attention to his offworlder origins, he'd left his wristcomp with Claydon.. And, on a world where it took the sun fifteen standard days to crawl from one horizon to the other, it was impossible to guess the time.
Whatever the hour, he was hungry and dead tired. Resting on the ledge had restored him somewhat, but he was certainly in no shape to attack anybody — certainly not a 75-ton armored giant. At the moment, the need for money overshadowed his need for vengeance, indeed, overshadowed every other need. It would get him a place to sleep, something to eat, and perhaps a bottle of dye for his tell-tale hair.
Grayson wasn't entirely sure how he was going to go about getting his hands on some local currency. Mara was his only friend, and she seemed out of reach. His only possession was a stolen hovercraft that would get him arrested the moment he tried to sell it. The local Militia frowned on attempts to procure and sell military hardware.
Emerging from the cavern near where he'd hidden the hovercraft, Grayson began rummaging through the open-topped cockpit and cargo area, looking for something he might turn to his advantage.
Three candy bars stashed in an underseat compartment were put to immediate service. There seemed to be little else of value, except for a metal toolbox crowded with ratchets, spanners, drivers, and various other tools for mechanical repairs and maintenance. They did not seem to be marked. If he could find a pawn shop or even a mechanical tech's supply house in Sarghad, he might be able to sell the tools for enough money to buy him a meal and a room for at least one sleep period.
His only other alternative was robbery, which seemed even less promising. Unless he was able to threaten his victim with a large wrench, Grayson wouldn't be taken seriously as an armed robber, and he had no stomach for striking innocent people down from behind.
He decided to try to sell the tools, then perhaps make his way to the spaceport and find Captain Tor. Failing that, he might be able to get a job as a hand in one of Sarghad's agrodomes. He didn't care what the job was. All he needed was to keep alive on a hostile planet while he planned his revenge on the Marauderpilot That desire was rapidly becoming the central driving force of his existence.
Leaving the skimmer behind a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, Grayson walked toward the hub, carrying the toolbox. He wasn't certain how to find what he wanted, and feared asking directions. His mud-smeared, scarecrow appearance wouldn't help his chances of getting a straight answer, and he didn't know enough about Trell culture to guess where a pawn shop or tool supply house might be located. After some thought, he decided that his best chance was to try the Streets of the Merchants. With feet aching in his too-light boots, he stumbled in the general direction of Sarghad's business quarter.