The mercs came to a halt in perfect one-two cadence. At Hanson’s order, all faced left. Grace shrugged. She hadn’t really expected a nice formal court hearing. So much for Plan A. Unlike some people, she did have a Plan B. She turned to face Santorini as the rest of her command group shuffled themselves into a line beside her.
“You have committed high treason against your Leader. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”
Grace stepped forward. “We made a mistake,” she shouted up at the Ryoken II.
“I can’t hear you,” Santorini said. Obviously delighted, he waved her forward with one hand as he jacked up the gain on his mike with the other. Grace took another five steps forward, the others trailing behind her by a step or two.
“We made a mistake,” she repeated as Santorini pointed the mike in her direction. Her voice reverberated around the plaza. Behind her, the crowd shuffled unhappily.
“Of course it was a mistake to betray your Leader,” he boomed, the mike back in his face. “I promise unlimited prosperity to the people who support me. I will make Alkalurops a mighty capital that will stand side by side with Terra, New Avalon, Atreus, Luthien and Tharkad. Why would you oppose me?”
This was where it got tricky. Grace took a few more steps toward the Ryoken II and raised her hands—not exactly pleading, but if Santorini took it that way, let him. “I mistook your generous offer for a landgrab.”
The guy in the Jupiter scowled at “landgrab” and turned to Santorini, but the Leader had been titillated by the raised hands and “generous offer.” “So now you realize your Leader is a generous man, and that following me will make the citizens of Alkalurops into a powerful people.”
“You have certainly shown us what fear is, O Leader,” Grace said, hoping the last tag would mislead Santorini. Behind her, the crowd was now murmuring. Beside her, Ben covered one hand while the other worked the key into the lock of his handcuffs. Grace edged forward, holding Santorini’s attention.
“Just look at the power I brought you,” Santorini said with a wave to the BattleMechs and ’Mech MODs around him. The guy in the Jupiter eyed the crowd and adjusted his neurohelmet. The man in the Legionnaire lolled at ease in his black-and-silver uniform. He made a thumbs-up sign to Santorini, and the Leader preened. “Those who considered Alkalurops a backwater will learn to fear us. I have the BattleMechs. I will lead you. We will rule the stars.” Grace took tiny steps forward. Like snails, she and hers moved closer to Santorini. The right fist of the Jupiter edged up, its two autocannons not yet aimed at anyone, but clearly that one did not like the way things were developing and was taking preventive measures of his own.
“We should have recognized you for what you were,” Grace shouted. “But you came to us as a minor businessman just looking for a place for someone greater to put a headquarters. We couldn’t see your ruthlessness, your drive for power and your determination to trample in the dust anyone who opposed you.”
A long spiel, but Santorini was lapping it up, even rewarding Grace with that sham he used for a smile. Hatred roared from every fiber of her being. She swallowed it, told him what he wanted to hear, and edged forward.
“I’m glad you’ve finally realized the error of your ways. Fighting me is hopeless. I knew you’d see that,” Santorini said, his confidence unshaken. “It was only a matter of time. What surprises me is that you folded so easily. I thought you had more backbone. Or is it you, Hanson? Is there a ruthless streak in you that you’ve kept well hidden? You and your men must dine with me tonight. The conversation will be very interesting.”
“Thank you, sir,” L. J.’s voice came across thin but undistorted. The Net was fully up—even the Roughriders’ radios were on it.
Santorini leaned forward, but his Ryoken’s gyros made no complaint. He’s locked it down, Grace realized. That BattleMech is little more than a statue. She noted the extra options that gave her as she listened carefully.
“I notice you have worked your way closer to me. Good. It will give me a better view. Hadrian, you’ve been dying to use that autocannon. Blow them away,” he ordered.
The Jupiter pilot grinned. No surprise there.
“Now!” Grace shouted.
Across the Net came, “Forward, Roughriders!”
Everything happened at once. Behind Grace, the prisoners pulled glass bottles of clear liquid from under their clothes. With a short hop and skip that took them right out of their chains, Jobe, Chato, MechWarriors and mechanic lofted their bottles in high arcs to smash on Santorini’s Ryoken II.
Among the Roughriders, MechWarriors brought lasers, missiles and miniguns to bear on the Jupiter. Tank turrets rotated, and shells, missiles and lasers slashed at it.
But Hadrian was ready if Santorini was not. Neurohelmet already on, he slammed his BattleMech into reverse, hopped it into a turn even as he sealed his cockpit, and urged his Jupiter off at a run, all thought of playing his autocannon over Grace and the other prisoners forgotten.
The Jupiter left Santorini behind, pounding on his controls, trying to close his cockpit. Bottles splattered gas over the ’Mech’s front. One shattered in the cockpit, spraying shards of glass that cut Santorini’s face and interrupted his frustrated pounding. Doesn’t the eejit know any of his controls? Grace asked herself even as she took her own step forward to lob a thermite bomb. Betsy had one, too. They arced up last. One hit the ’Mech’s chest, igniting the gas with a whoosh. The other glanced off the descending cockpit hood. It spat fire even as it tumbled into the cockpit. Santorini’s scream was cut off as the cockpit sealed. A moment later the explosion inside blew the cockpit hood out. There were more screams, muted by the roar of the flames.
“Enjoy that, you bastard,” Betsy shouted at the fire. “You deserve worse. Don’t anybody shoot at him.”
Grace was more worried about people shooting her. She’d hit the ground after hurling her bomb, wanting to get as much out of the line of fire of lasers and missiles and slugs as the cobblestone pavement allowed. She made a grab for Betsy to pull her down, but the woman knocked Grace’s hand away.
Ben had a better idea. He swung a leg out, sweeping Betsy’s legs out from under her. She showed her gratitude by diving on Ben, fists swinging. Anyone but Ben would have been in for a thrashing, but the Lone Cat parried blow after blow, laughing like some kind of maniac as the roar of rockets and cannon washed over them. Somehow Betsy came to see the humor. Her blows came more slowly and fell more softly until her own laughter joined Ben’s.
“We killed the bastard!” Ben shouted.
“We killed the bastard,” Betsy finally said. Looking up, she shivered. “And he is as dead as the very deadest.”
He was dead, and the other Black and Reds were running. It was every man for himself among Alkalurops’ late masters. The big Jupiter knocked over a LoaderMech, stomped a gun truck, and ran, a hail of rockets following it. The black-and-silver-uniformed driver of the Legionnaire who had been at Santorini’s left didn’t react fast enough. Facing a Roughrider Legionnaire, its huge autocannon already rotating and leveled at the other’s open cockpit, the pilot’s hands went up. His “I surrender” came in a small voice.
There was at least one for the hangman.
“Damn, all these lovely BattleMechs just standing around for the taking,” Danny said. “But I know which one’s gonna work for me.” He bounced to his feet and headed for a gray ’Mech MOD among the Roughriders’ victory trophies. He went up the ladder fast, giving Grace an answer to what Scots wore under their kilts. The driver popped the canopy and handed Danny the MechWarrior’s own neurohelmet. Only when Danny was ready to plug in did the driver unplug his own helmet. The ’Mech MOD swayed for a second as control passed from driver to MechWarrior, then steadied. Danny settled into the control couch as the driver dropped down the ladder. Behind Grace, Ben was doing the same, replacing Eddie in the Lone Cat’s giant Atlas.