“Master Sergeant, as you were,” Austin said. Borodin looked up from the tech manual he studied intently, startled.
“Lieutenant, didn’t know you were here. Most all’s out and about tonight.”
“Pulled punishment duty again, Sarge?” Austin laughed as he perched on the edge of the desk where Borodin struggled to make sense out of the material. Austin reached over and looked at the title. “Must have been a dandy. Not black-marketing again, were you?”
“It was only meant to be a prank. Didn’t mean no harm, Lieutenant. Honest. That major’s behind was only slightly singed. Hardly noticed it, ’specially after he got the hole in the pants fixed.”
Austin wished he could hear the entire story, but he was on a mission. Dale’s death, his own brush with death, Manfred’s indictment—all were more important than a passing diversion of what had to be a funny story.
“You didn’t come out here for my stories. How are you faring since the …exercise?” Borodin asked. “Damn shame about your brother. He should have been in armor…”
“I’m getting ready to transfer back,” Austin said, hoping to spark a comment from Borodin. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Reckoned that might be what happened, what with Dale dead and Captain Leclerc up to his neck in hot water. We need all the leadership we can get, not that there’s many of us left. I do up the roster, you know.” Borodin looked at him, as if expecting comment. Austin wasn’t certain what the master sergeant hoped he would say.
“I wish I could help Manfred,” Austin said. “He’s a fine soldier, no matter what they say about him.”
“You heard the rumor, too? That he’s run off to hide in Cingulum and do nothing but start riots? Pure garbage.” Borodin’s voice lowered. “I support Aaron Sandoval all the way, but as Lord Governor of a Republic Prefecture, not any other way.”
Austin said nothing. There was more making the rounds in the barracks than he had expected. Soldiers generally held themselves above political concerns.
“No, Lieutenant, I tell you, Sandoval’s a respectable fellow, brave and true as a tempered steel blade, but he’s got my loyalty only as long as he follows in Devlin Stone’s footsteps.”
“I can’t believe Manfred—Captain Leclerc—would support any opposition to the government.”
“Might not, but that’s not what some are saying.” Borodin cleared his throat. “I know you and the captain are friends and all, but I got to know where his true loyalties are.”
“Manfred supports The Republic all the way,” Austin said without hesitation. He straightened a little when he saw that wasn’t the intent of Borodin’s nascent question. “You think Manfred’s sold out to somebody else?”
“Not me, Lieutenant, not me,” the sergeant said, not wanting to condemn an FCL officer after Austin had so strongly spoken his praises. “But the others, now, they don’t know him so well. But is there any chance he might be running with the MBA?”
Austin knew he had to be careful answering this. He knew a fraction of his father’s plans, and they seemed to involve Manfred training in the MBA’s modified ’Mechs.
“The Mirach Business Association? What does a trade group have to do with Manfred?”
“Now you’re insulting my intelligence, Lieutenant.” Borodin looked as if he wanted to spit.
“Never, Master Sergeant, never. Fill me in.” Austin glanced over his shoulder to the open doorway to be sure no one eavesdropped on them.
I’m getting too paranoid, he thought. He turned his attention back to the sergeant and tried to quash the feelings of being spied on.
“Well, sir, rumor has it that the MBA is outfitting IndustrialMechs. Lots of them. Like the AgroMech that almost did you in. It had missiles, didn’t it?”
“I can’t say if there are more than a few refitted IndustrialMechs, but the one that attacked me was packing. But I refuse to believe Manfred was piloting it, no matter what Tortorelli or the Ministry of Information say.”
“Some say that he was in the cockpit, sir. Some.” Borodin fixed him with a gimlet stare. “You wouldn’t go against your own father. I know that, but the grapevine says maybe you and the head of the MBA are conspiring to overthrow him.”
“I am loyal to my father, to Mirach, and The Republic,” Austin said forcefully.
More than this, he couldn’t see Manfred doing anything but supporting The Republic. If the captain drove a ’Mech for the MBA, it had to be with the Governor’s full approval and for some reason other than overthrowing the government.
Austin felt a small shiver when he realized other schisms were possible when Lady Elora and Calvilena Tortorelli were mixed into this brew of conspiracy. Austin was sure something Hanna had told his father about Lady Elora had brought about her death. Elora had made little secret of her contempt for the Governor, but how far would she go to oppose him? Would she be willing to kill him?
How did he find the right threat to follow? Too many factions meant Mirach stood on the brink of a vicious civil war that could split it into several blocs, each fighting the other. It could take decades to pull such a politically sundered world back together.
“Yes, sir, it’s possible the captain was out there on the test range when you tried out the MiningMech. The MBA gave orders for him to kill you.”
Austin had to laugh. “Then that probably means Marta Kinsolving knew nothing about the attack. She saved me.”
“She saved you by ramming the AgroMech, didn’t she? Now that’s a poser, unless there’s argument in the MBA ranks about how to seize power.”
“That doesn’t make much sense, does it? Too many rumors and not enough facts is the real problem, Master Sergeant.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” the sergeant said, his forehead furrowing at the complicated situation. The problem with conspiracy theories was the myriad possibilities inherent in them. Anything could be proved—or disproved. Lack of evidence became proof.
“I’m glad one rumor is put to rest.”
“That doesn’t mean the MBA isn’t getting ready to field all those converted ’Mechs. Who’d be a better pilot to lead them than Manfred Leclerc, especially considering how he’s been treated?”
“One man in a ’Mech, no matter how good, cannot stand forever against trained infantry and battle armor,” Austin said. “It would be a hard fight, but sheer numbers would eventually overwhelm a BattleMech.” Many of their unit maneuvers had been designed to prove this, not only to the soldiers of the FCL but also to Tortorelli. “Has the MBA been recruiting pilots for their refitted ’Mechs?”
“Not really,” Borodin said. His tone didn’t convince Austin he was telling the truth.
“Not that I’m interested, but where might the MBA approach a soldier about strapping down in the cockpit of a ’Mech? Think of the firepower compared to what we use! Autocannon, missiles, what a weapon that would make.” He saw the dreamy expression on Borodin’s face. Such a romantic vision appealed to the sergeant.
“They wouldn’t find any recruits here,” Borodin assured him. Austin waited. Heavy silence fell until the sergeant grew uneasy. “Not that I know anything, mind you.”
“You’re a topflight tech, Master Sergeant. Getting your hands on a refitted ’Mech would be a dream come true. Almost as big a dream come true as me piloting one.”
“Might be, if you have a thirst, you might stop at the Borzoi after midnight some night.”
“Some night,” Austin said slowly. “I’m usually busy.”
“Might be a good time to go tomorrow night,” Borodin said. “For a nightcap. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more,” Austin said. “Unless I chance upon an old friend so we can reminisce.”
“You might do that, too,” Borodin said uneasily. He buried his nose back in the tech manual, then turned away so his back was to Austin. If he had written it across the wall in meter-high red letters, the sergeant couldn’t have signaled the end of their conversation any more clearly.