Bates hesitated, then nodded. "How did you know?"
The maimed MechWarrior curled his half-hand into a misshapen fist. "There are times, Mr. Bates, when God doesanswer prayers."
37
Tharkad
Federated Commonwealth
12 September 3055
Victor Davion looked up with relief from the crop reports as Galen Cox entered his office. The smile on Galen's face raised a cousin on Victor's lips despite the late hour and his fatigue. "You have heard some good news?"
Galen nodded and a laugh escaped him. "Report from Arc-Royal. The Corsair's raiding days are finished."
"Yes!" Victor slapped the top of his desk and gave Galen a thumb's-up. "That's the best news I've had in months. Did they get her? Will we have a trial?"
"No, she escaped with a half-dozen or so fighters and two other 'Mechs." Galen frowned slightly. "The rest of the bandits were killed, to a man. The Hounds are hedging their estimates of salvage. ..."
"Who cares? They can have it all." Victor allowed himself a half-smile. "The Hounds were created with money my grandfather gave Morgan and Patrick Kell, and doubled in size with a bequest from my grandmother's will. Given their success rate and their loyalty to the Steiners, I should pay them enough to establish two more regiments."
Galen shook his head slightly. "I believe your mother would applaud that decision, but I do not think it is a good public relations move. It reinforces your image as a cold militarist."
"We wouldn't want that, now, would we?" Victor sighed and glanced at the agricultural printouts stacked on his desk. "On some worlds we have to protect the price of grains because they are so abundant and on others we have to discount the grain we import so people can afford to buy bread. And I thought the logistics of running a military unit were bad."
"I shall leave you to your work, then."
"No, not so fast. You're not getting off that easily." Victor stood up and stretched. "What did today's briefing from Curaitis say?"
Victor saw a spark of annoyance in Galen's eyes, but his aide acquiesced and sat down heavily in a wingback chair. Galen had offered to filter reports on the investigation to Victor, and the Prince had taken him up on it. It freed Victor for the important business of running the Federated Commonwealth, but sentenced Galen to informal daily briefings.
"Curaitis says that they have completed the third round of narco-interrogation of the assassin. It was, by far, the most satisfactory of the rounds because they are no longer giving him medication for the fat embolis."
"The assassin will live, then?" Initially the doctors had feared that the assassin would not survive because the fractures to his leg had released bone marrow into the bloodstream. The fat from the marrow had clogged the man's coronary arteries, resulting in a massive and very unexpected heart attack. The fat embolis had come very close to killing the assassin and had delayed his interrogation for what, to Victor, was an intolerable amount of time.
"Yes, the angioplasty cleared up the problem with his heart, and the doctors do not expect a brain embolis. His death won't become part of your conspiracy to hide your involvement in your mother's death." Galen smiled sardonically. "In this interrogation Curaitis learned about the assassin's connections and how he was given assignments. It seems fairly clear that the man was not working for House Liao or Kurita."
Victor frowned. "That leaves someone from the Free Worlds League or the Federated Commonwealth as his employer. And I know which one I'd wish to be the correct one."
"It is possible that someone did strike at your mother because of the perception that Joshua Marik is being held 'hostage' at the New Avalon Institute of Science, but Thomas Marik cannot deny that the leukemia treatments are keeping the boy's disease in check. Chances are, however, that any strike from that quarter would have been carried out by an agent of the ComStar splinter group now based in the Free Worlds League."
"And this guy had no ComStar or Word of Blake ties," Victor said. "That means it's someone here, someone from the Federated Commonwealth. But who?"
Galen shook his head. "If I knew that, you would have his head on a platter desk."
"What about that list of people who purchased tickets to the banquet? Have they all checked out?"
"The list is still being compiled. The assassin's capture shifted some of our assets in that direction." Galen frowned. "I'll make sure it gets finished."
"Good. When it's done, I want to see it." Victor leaned forward in the red chair opposite the one where Galen sat. "Any improvement in public opinion?"
The slender blond man nodded. "You're no longer the demon they were painting you three months ago. The interviews you've given have been drawing bigger audiences as they move from world to world. Your approval rating has climbed a bit—and the end of the Red Corsair should help that even more."
Victor nodded. "I was thinking I might attend Salome Kell's funeral on Arc-Royal."
Galen hissed. "I don't know. How would it look if you went to her funeral after not attending your own mother's?"
"But won't it look worse if I don't acknowledge the service the Hounds have performed for the Federated Commonwealth?" Victor frowned. "I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't."
"Such are the rewards of your office."
"I suppose." Victor suppressed a yawn. "I think I'll send Katherine to the funeral and have her carry a message to Morgan and the Kell Hounds from me. The same day that Salome is buried, I will lay a wreath at my mother's grave and make a large contribution to the orphanage fund she supported." He sighed. "It all seems like a game of hollow gestures. I would rather be there. I hope Morgan will understand."
"I am sure he will, Highness."
Victor nodded slowly. "Good. At least that's one who will."
38
Kell Hound Headquarters
Old Connaught, Arc-Royal
Federated Commonwealth
18 September 3055
Seated alone and in the dark, Phelan Ward stared at the image frozen on the computer screen on his desk. Isolated from Carew's gun-camera battle ROM, the digitized image showed what looked to Phelan like a green raptor bearing a katana in its talons. Phelan had constructed the composite picture by layering on the frames as the logo was revealed and then consumed by fire.
There was no mistaking it. The fighters belonged to the Jade Falcons.
Phelan felt a chill run to the marrow his bones. It was the conclusion that satisfied Occam's razor—the simplest answer was most often the correct one. Assigning past ownership of the aerospace fighters or of thataerospace fighter to the Jade Falcons limited the enormity of the problem he might have uncovered.
That simple answer brought dozens of questions with it. It was possible that the Red Corsair, with her one DropShip, had staged a raid on a Jade Falcon world from which she got fighters, another DropShip, more 'Mechs, and a new JumpShip, but it was inconceivable that he would not have heard about it. The Jade Falcons would have screamed about such losses to the ilKhan, using the failure of the Thirty-first Wolf Solahma and the Kell Hounds against Ulric like a club. The ilKhan would have told him about the attack, both to stress the urgency of stopping the Red Corsair and to warn him that she had new assets.