“I’m not leaving Mirach, not now!” Manfred protested.
“She’s right,” Austin said. “We need a leader and that’s got to be you. If we don’t split the Legate’s forces somehow, he will seize complete control.”
“You’re talking mutiny, treason,” Manfred said. “I don’t think so, Austin. Not enough troopers in the Home Guard would go along.”
“If you don’t try, there won’t be any stopping Tortorelli and Elora,” Marta said. “Austin’s convinced me that the MBA can’t put those refitted ’Mechs into the field without them causing terrible collateral damage.”
Manfred stared at Austin for a moment, as if seeing him in a new light. Then he nodded slowly. “He’s right, if he’s been arguing that. The ’Mechs can defend your plants, but they’d be at a real disadvantage if you tried to field them offensively against soldiers in battle armor. Property damage in the city would be awful, and every soldier a ’Mech killed would be a loyal Mirach citizen following what would appear to be legitimate orders from the Legate.”
Austin sank back in the soft seat and felt every ache and pain in his body.
“That was clever leaving the message on the fountain,” he said to Manfred. His friend smiled and nodded once. Austin got the message. Shut up.
He watched Manfred and Marta pressed so close together in the spacious limo, trying to appear as if they hardly knew each other, but since he was looking, he saw the glances and the small, furtive touches. He almost asked if Marta would accompany Manfred to the moon.
“There it is,” Marta said, the window polarization changing to show the DropShip field. “Let’s hope we’ve stayed one step ahead.” She looked at Austin and pursed her lips. “You should go with him. Your life’s in as much danger as his.”
“I need to get my father out among the people where he can speak freely, without having every word censored by Lady Elora.”
The limo drove to the far side of the field where the smallest of the ships stood. Austin fancied he could see the DropShip quivering in eagerness to launch, but that was only his imagination. If anything, there was less activity around it than around its larger companions across the field.
“I’ll release the security ring,” Marta said. She leaned across Manfred, who did not mind at all, and took out a small Span-net phone from the armrest console. Marta fiddled with it a few seconds and gave the authorization codes that would allow them to approach the DropShip this close to launch.
“I feel as if I’m running away,” Manfred said. “There’s got to be a better way for me to rally support. If I’m on Kuton, it’ll make me look like a coward.” He took the phone from her and tucked it into his pocket.
“I’ll check to be sure everything’s in order,” Austin said, wanting to leave Manfred and Marta alone for a moment. He climbed out of the limo, looked around, and then walked toward the DropShip to stare up at its bulk. From a distance it had looked small; this close, he estimated that it towered more than a hundred meters. Lights from around the field caught the shining exterior and turned it silvery, with darker markings declaring that this was an AllWorldComm cargo vessel. Austin sucked in a deep breath, tasted the airborne metallic tang of reactants used as fuel.
Austin saw Marta hurrying toward him, but Manfred remained in the limo.
“Anything wrong?” he asked.
“No, he’s coming. He’s taking care of some last-minute business.”
Austin frowned when he saw Manfred using the phone. From the expression on his face, it looked as though whomever he spoke to must have given him disturbing news. Manfred looked around as if he expected to see MPs swarming over the field, then hastily broke the connection when he noticed Austin watching him.
Who’d he call? Austin wondered. He started to ask, but Manfred rushed past him.
“Hurry,” Marta said. “The less time we take, the less likely Elora is to know what’s going on.” Manfred’s arm snaked around Marta and he pulled her close to kiss her. Then he released her, slapped Austin on the back, and ran for the far side of the DropShip, where the small elevator would take him to the midships entry port.
“We’ve got to get out of here fast. The ship’s on schedule for launch in five minutes.” Marta hesitated, shot an almost shy smile in the direction of the DropShip, and climbed into the limo, Austin immediately behind her.
The limousine roared off at top speed, heading for a line of concrete control bunkers at the far side of the field.
“I’ve tapped into the field control,” Marta said, putting the feed from the bunker onto the limo intercom. “We’ll be well out of blast range.”
Austin caught his breath as the countdown neared its end. “Engines ignition,” the controller intoned. “Five, four, three, two, one, liftoff.”
Austin leaned forward anxiously, barely able to make out the DropShip through the rear window. A sudden flare illuminated it and made him squint, in spite of the polarization.
“There he goes,” Austin said.
Then words failed him. The DropShip had risen less than a hundred meters, still building speed, when it exploded.
25
AWC DropShip launch pad
Mirach
3 May 3133
The accusation of treachery came unbidden to Austin’s lips, but the instant he saw Marta’s stricken face he knew she had no part in the explosion and Manfred’s death.
“Find out what happened,” Austin said, pushing aside his shock to take command. “The control center must have telemetry.”
“I… yes, of course. The controllers.” With a shaking hand, Marta pressed in the access code that linked her directly with the DropShip launch bunkers.
Austin looked outside. Chaos reigned. Technicians ran about, shouting, gesturing, blaming one another, getting emergency equipment out to the crash site.
“We’ve never had a cargo DropShip blow up on us. Ben Nagursky had a few, but those were test vehicles. These… these were all nothing but workhorses. They’re supposed to be dependable, reliable.” Marta savagely threw down the phone. “No answer. Come on.” She piled out of the limo and led the way to a nearby bunker. Austin pushed through the technicians inside so Marta could speak to the launch director.
“Dr. Penrose, what happened to the cargo launch?” demanded Marta of a pale-faced, still shaking woman.
“I can’t say. Everything read in the green, Ms. Kinsolving,” the launch director said. “But the sudden loss of thrust and the explosive nature of the accident makes me think the DropShip was sabotaged.”
“Someone sabotaged the ship? You mean a bomb of some kind?” asked Marta. She ground her teeth as she waited for the information. Austin knew better than to say a word.
Dr. Penrose pointed to a screen with a razor-sharp glowing line across it. “Here it is. A millisecond before the ship itself exploded, there was a major concussion inside, right by the fusion reactor. We’re going to have to look for trace evidence and find out what kind of explosive was used. If we can figure out what was used, we can start building a case for who is responsible for this. Whoever it was, they were good enough to breach our security, and they know something about DropShips.”
“The Legate would have access to all kinds of explosives,” Austin said in a low voice. “Anyone with military ID could justify inspecting a ship leaving the planet.”
“Seal the area,” Marta said decisively. “Question everyone. I want the saboteur located.”
“Ms. Kinsolving, something like this takes time, planning,” Dr. Penrose said. She cleared her throat. “It’s likely that whoever did this is already long gone.”
“You don’t know that. We have to try. If we come up with nothing, then we’ll decide what to do next.”