Austin felt his way through the darkness. He and Dale had left flashlights here years before, but Austin didn’t take the time to hunt for something whose batteries were probably dead. Depending on old memories, he worked steadily beneath the Palace through the maze of tunnels once designed for servants and other service personnel.
A small, lighted rectangle above told him he was close to the exit he wanted. Austin took the stone steps three at a time until he pressed his eye against the panel and looked out into the corridor leading from the conference room to his father’s office. If there had been a secret way into the Governor’s presence, he would have taken it, but he and Dale had never found such a path when there had been all the time in the world to explore. Now Austin felt time crushing him.
A squad of Tortorelli’s soldiers marched past, perfect parade ground troopers all. Clutching the rifle, he made sure a round was chambered, then forced open the ancient latch and stepped into the corridor.
Ten quick steps brought him to the Armorer’s Chamber. He turned grim when he saw all the weapons on display had been ripped from the walls. The office staff was gone. Although it was early, a few should have been on duty.
As elegant as the Palace of Facets was, the Baron was still being held in solitary confinement. Austin worried for a moment that he’d have to break his father out of some prison cell that Tortorelli—Lady Elora—had consigned him to, but the instant he reached the inner office door, he knew Elora had held off making her final move against the Governor.
The Baron looked up as Austin came in and closed the door.
“You shouldn’t have come, Austin. I told you to stand down.”
“I’m here to get you out, Father.”
“You’re armed,” Sergio said. “Put that down. It’s not going to help.”
“You’ve got to get out of here and establish a government-in-exile. You need to appeal to as many of the Legate’s soldiers’ loyalty to The Republic as possible, split his force, regain some control.”
“Not with force!” This brought Sergio up. His eyes shot sparks as determination was reborn. “You have to learn, Austin. Violence does not accomplish anything.”
“Thinking like that’s got you bottled up and unable to do your job. How can you protect the citizens of Mirach when Elora controls the communications in and out of your office? How can you govern if Tortorelli won’t let you step into the corridor without being surrounded five-deep by his soldiers?”
“You don’t understand,” Sergio said. “I still wield considerable power. I need to be here where I can use it.”
“Use it, then!” cried Austin. “Stop the rioting. They killed Manfred, you know.”
Austin blinked when he saw that his father didn’t react as he had expected. Such news ought to have shocked him into action, into the realization that Tortorelli and Elora were playing for keeps and would destroy friends and family to seize power.
“The DropShip launch,” Sergio said, his colorless, fathomless eyes fixed on his son. “You were out there, weren’t you? You and Marta Kinsolving?”
Austin hardly trusted himself to speak. But he finally got out, “Manfred was my friend. There weren’t enough pieces left by Tortorelli’s sabotage to give a decent burial.”
“An eye for an eye? Is that the only way to prevail? I don’t think so,” Sergio said.
Austin held back his angry retort as a thought struck him.
“Why haven’t they deposed you by now?” Austin began pacing like a caged animal in the Central Zoo as he rolled the notion over and over in his mind. “What do you still control that they can’t take from you?”
“Moral authority, my position as Governor of Mirach,” Sergio said. “And one other thing.”
He beckoned Austin closer and held out a Span-net phone. Sergio punched up a news report that had not gone through the Ministry of Information. Austin’s eyes widened when he heard the news.
“Jerome Parsons has returned,” Sergio confirmed.
“The Lord Governor’s Envoy?” Austin was not sure if this was a help or hindrance.
“He’ll land in sixty hours. Elora and Tortorelli dare not seize power because of his cargo.”
“What’s he have?” asked Austin, curious now.
“Envoy Parsons is bringing a BattleMech.”
29
Museum of Modern Mirach
Mirach
4 May 3133
Austin Ortega hunkered down as a squad of green-clad infantry double-timed it through the museum rotunda as they hunted for him. He had left his father’s office almost an hour ago, Sergio following. When a dozen soldiers had approached from down the Great Hall, his father had created a diversion, keeping the guards away and giving Austin the chance to escape. Austin had been reluctant to leave his father behind but thought he was safe enough for the time being in light of Jerome Parsons’ unexpected return. Austin knew that tenuous safety could vanish at a whim. He had to work out a plan to rescue Sergio from Tortorelli’s soldiers.
The only place he could think of to hide until such a plan came to him was the museum on the Governor’s Park grounds. And once in the museum, he had gone directly to the walkway looking down on the BattleMech.
He let out his pent-up breath when the squad leader finally herded the soldiers away from the Centurion and into another wing of the museum. The echoes from their boots faded down distant hallways, then grew louder again as they returned.
Austin waited as the officer down on the rotunda floor snapped orders.
“Close the museum. Lock it down. No visitors. Do you understand your orders?” The officer pushed his face close to his sergeant’s.
“Yes, sir,” the noncom said. “The museum’s empty. We’ll lock it up right away.”
“See to it; then return with your squad to the east wing of the Palace. We won’t stop hunting until we find the fugitive.”
The sergeant stood at attention until the officer stalked off, then hustled his squad outside. Austin heard the large outer doors lock. He was alone in the vast museum, thanks to a sloppy search by the soldiers.
He stepped back into the bright lights, went to the railing, and looked at his father’s old BattleMech.
Austin still felt a quiver of excitement seeing Sergeant Death.
“A ’Mech,” he said aloud.
He stared at it and knew he was daydreaming if he thought he could turn the Centurion into a true weapon against Tortorelli’s forces. Sergeant Death had been mothballed and on display for years—for longer than Austin had been alive.
Why not? he asked himself, scrambling over the railing and going to the rear of the fifty-ton BattleMech. He had nothing to lose. With it, he had a chance to chase off Tortorelli’s troops and rescue his father. If the BattleMech couldn’t be resurrected, he was no worse off for the attempt than he was now.
Austin remembered how he and Dale had sneaked down here when they were youngsters and climbed into the cockpit, pretending they were mighty warriors like their father.
He also remembered how their father had ordered the cockpit sealed to keep them and other would-be MechWarriors like them out. In spite of this, the fusion power plant had been kept hot at the museum curator’s request. The curator had wanted to keep the Centurion in a condition as close as possible to its original state: a metal dreadnought that had fought for Devlin Stone and The Republic. For this tribute Austin was now very glad.