Marta pushed aside a tech and commandeered a comm-link. Within a few seconds familiar faces appeared on the screen. Austin recognized Dr. Chin in the top half of the screen and a sleepy Benton Nagursky in the lower section.
“Pseudosecure link,” Marta explained hurriedly, as much for Austin’s benefit as to inform the other MBA directors. “We have reason to believe that the Legate sabotaged a DropShip. We’re starting an investigation now.” She swallowed hard and then added, “Manfred Leclerc was aboard.”
“Do you want us to authorize use of the ’Mechs?” asked Dr. Chin.
“Yes,” was all Marta said. The other two touched controls out of range of their cameras and the screen went blank.
“You can’t attack Tortorelli,” Austin said in exasperation. “I explained why that’s foolish. This might be the very opening Elora is looking for!”
“I know, but Manfred was on that ship.” Tears flowed unashamedly now. “I don’t know if he could have rallied the military as you hoped,” Marta said, “but he would have done the best he could.”
“He was as strong a supporter of The Republic as anyone I know,” Austin said. “And he was my friend.”
“I’ll get full telemetry records,” Marta said, her shoulders squaring. “It doesn’t matter what destroyed the DropShip, but we can get evidence of who ordered it and let everyone who’ll listen know.”
“We already know that,” Austin said.
“Elora’s moving sooner than we feared,” Marta said in a low voice. “If we aren’t to continue paying the price for underestimating her, we have to act. Now!”
26
Ministry of Information, Cingulum
Mirach
3 May 3133
“Yes,” Lady Elora gloated, grinning ear to ear. She laughed and then leaned back in her comfortable desk chair, relaxed for the first time in days. Looking past Legate Tortorelli, she took in the fake view of Cingulum. With a careless pass of her hand over an IR controller, she changed the window so that it became sunrise. Then she activated another control, one that set into motion a new series of attacks on the MBA. The time was finally right for power to be transferred on Mirach.
The sudden light from the faux window brought Calvilena Tortorelli upright. He stared at the magnificent scene.
“It’s not supposed to be dawn,” he said, frowning as he worked on the solution to this conundrum. “That’s not the same direction it was a few minutes ago. That looks eastward now.” He brightened. “Ah, you sly fox. You’re changing the projection just to please me.”
“I can’t put anything over on you, Calvy,” Elora said. She spoke mechanically as her mind raced along a dozen different paths, all leading to power. With a major AWC shipment to Kuton destroyed, Marta Kinsolving’s plan to oust her monopoly was, if not ended, then at least delayed. But now it didn’t matter. Fate had put Manfred Leclerc on that transport, and with his death, the MBA lacked an effective pilot-commander for their refitted IndustrialMech fighting force. More than this, Leclerc’s death meant the dissolution of the FCL. The last unit loyal to Governor Ortega had lost its leader and rallying point.
“Everything is looking up, Calvy,” she said. “The dawn of a new day.”
“But it is still so late.”
She glanced at the video feed from the lone camera recording the furious salvage operation at the DropShip launch facility. Another screen showed a coded message confirming, rather redundantly, that the package had been delivered. Finding someone to execute the sabotage had been easy; getting the military-grade explosives for this particular job had been even easier. Elora knew that Tortorelli’s forces were factionalized. Finding someone loyal to him, against Baron Ortega, and stupid enough to believe the lies of an attractive and powerful woman had been an entertaining project, and quite successful. Of course, her need for such people was at its end. Now matters could be taken to a larger stage, where events were decided not by one well-placed pawn, but rather by a savvy and dangerous queen.
“An impressive package. I didn’t think this man had it in him, quite frankly,” Tortorelli said softly. Elora jumped. She had not realized he had drifted around the room on his nervous quest to touch every knickknack and had stopped behind her chair. He laid a hand on her bony shoulder. “If you are going to order troops from my command in my name, tell me. I can ensure a successful mission. Neither of us has any love of Sergio Ortega.”
“You’re right, Calvy,” she said, tossing back her mane of red hair and looking up at him appraisingly. Perhaps he wasn’t such a fool, after all.
27
AWC DropShip launch pad
Mirach
4 May 3133
“There’s no hope,” Marta Kinsolving said. She bit her lower lip until Austin saw beads of blood well around her sharp white teeth, but the woman remained ramrod straight as she studied the photos of what remained of the DropShip. “Any radiation leakage?”
“Some but not as much as I feared,” Dr. Penrose said. “Initial reports say that the fusion plant has a very manageable breach, and that’s being taken care of now. The size of the explosion was more a result of heat touching off combustible chemicals on the DropShip, and they worry me more. Those fires on the field will burn for several days. Contamination of the area is significant.” Penrose hesitated a moment, looked from Austin back to Marta, then said, “Ma’am, what did you mean, ‘There’s no hope’? Hope for what? You knew the instant of the explosion that we couldn’t salvage anything from the ’Ship.”
“I counted on the equipment being sent to Kuton,” Marta said, not lying very effectively, or so thought Austin. “Now more than ever we need the relay station.”
“Of course, for Span-net,” Penrose said. The woman stood only 155 centimeters tall, but Austin felt the power wrapped tightly within her. She was no one’s fool and did not believe Marta’s explanation. A new DropShip could be prepared in just days. The financial burden was huge, but a megacorporation like AllWorldComm would bear it, since the return on establishing the world-bridging Span-net was greater.
Marta turned toward him, her brown eyes pools of sadness.
“Is there anyone to notify? Manfred never mentioned family.”
“The FCL was as close to family as I ever heard him mention.” The desperation of the hours following the DropShip crash were now replaced with quiet frustration—for them. He and Marta had Manfred’s loss to bear in silence.
“Ms. Kinsolving, you might want to see this,” called a technician working at a bank of monitors. The screens flickered endlessly from one scene to the next. How anyone could decipher the visual morass was beyond Austin, but the man in the center of the screens homed in on one specific view. A few seconds of fiddling brought the same newscast up on all the monitors.
“…our sources report that the Mirach Business Association has denounced The Republic and is currently negotiating an alliance with Jacob Bannson.”
“That’s a lie!” raged Marta.
“The other ’cast, the one on-air now, that’s what I wanted you to see, Ms. Kinsolving,” said the tech. “This was a recorded ’cast from a couple hours ago.” The screens flowed like oil on water and firmed on Lady Elora’s angular face. She looked as grim as Austin felt.
“Citizens of Mirach,” Elora said solemnly, “what should have been a day for celebration has become one of peril. Less than an hour ago, the Ministry of Information received its first transmission from Prefect Kal Radick concerning the reestablishment of the HPG network.”