How long before Elora decides to kill Father? Austin wondered. He had no idea why Jerome Parsons brought a BattleMech to Mirach, but such a fighting juggernaut had to disturb the balance of power. If he put it into Tortorelli’s hands, everything was lost. If Parsons gave the BattleMech to Sergio, the Governor might be loath to use it properly, but it would show the people the extent to which Lord Governor Sandoval supported Sergio Ortega, no matter which government Sandoval was loyal to. That might be enough to sway both the people and the military forces Tortorelli—and Elora—counted on.
Austin couldn’t come up with any personal motivation for Parsons to use the BattleMech for his own ends. The Envoy would throw his considerable support to either Elora or the Baron. If Parsons backed Elora, Austin needed the Centurion to oppose them.
Austin gripped the supporting scaffold, more decorative than functional, and scaled it quickly, reaching the platform behind the cockpit. He sucked in a deep breath and held it when he saw the problem facing him. The 200 Nissan fusion power plant might be intact and ready to drive the Centurion out of the museum, but the cockpit hatch had been welded shut. A small spot-weld opposite the hinges held it more securely than any lock ever could.
Dropping to sit with his feet swinging over the edge of the scaffold, Austin stared at the weld. Without a cutting torch or a laser, there was no way to open the BattleMech.
“A laser,” he muttered to himself, peering down at the BattleMech’s chest. The Centurion still had one forward-mounted Photec 806c Medium Laser. For reasons of space in the display, the rear-facing laser had been removed. In the right arm rested the Luxor autocannon, and the LRMs were torso-mounted. The missiles had long since been taken to a warehouse for fear of deterioration in either their warheads or their propellant, but the forward laser on the torso was intact and the autocannon had not been tampered with. He’d need ammunition for the D-series autocannon, but that wasn’t an insurmountable problem. Behind the museum were long rows of warehouses where the museum archives were stored. He remembered seeing case after case of armor-piercing ammo stored there.
Let’s see if I’m as smart as I think. Austin slid down the BattleMech’s upper arm, caught himself, and straddled the thick wrist with the cold metal between his legs. He leaned over toward the chest, opened a small technical access panel, and checked the leads running to the laser and saw they had been disconnected for the sake of safety. The ends shone from heavy red plastic insulation. While it rarely happened, sometimes a static charge could build and randomly trigger the terrible power of the laser. Mirach’s sun was known for its sporadic and violent ion storms that caused just such static buildup. Inside the museum’s walls, an accidental laser discharge would have been catastrophic.
Luck’s still with me, he decided. He didn’t have to waste time disconnecting the leads for what he had in mind. Wrestling the power leads around, he climbed back to the cockpit.
Austin stripped off a few centimeters of the red insulation from both leads and held one thick cable in each hand. He placed one bare wire against the spot-weld, then turned his face away as he shoved the other live lead down. The power intended to fire a laser discharged through the steel ring, melted the spot-weld, and chewed a deep hole into the cockpit hatch. The sudden flare and spattering of molten metal caused Austin to jerk away.
Not perfect, but it’ll do, he thought, squinting at the glowing ring surrounding the cockpit hatch. The crude cutting torch had melted away almost fifty centimeters of the hatch and its seal. This was a small price to pay for access. Austin kicked the hatch open and peered into the cockpit he knew so well. His heart beat a little faster as the musty, stale air escaped and the smell he remembered so well came back. Before, he and Dale had pretended. His brother had always chided him for picking this model Centurion for simulator training. Now his training had to pay off.
Careful of the live power leads, he shinnied back to the BattleMech’s arm and the access panel. Austin had some training in weapons preparation, and it stood him in good stead now. He still wished he had some of the expert weapons technicians in the FCL to aid him, but reconnecting the bare leads proved easier than he had anticipated. Less than twenty minutes later, he had reattached the leads to the laser.
With the fusion plant hot, he had laser capability.
Austin returned to the cockpit, entered the hatchway, and slid around to sit in the command chair. It was smaller and tighter than he remembered, but he had been eight the last time he had been here. Only a single indicator light burned a baleful red, showing the power plant was on standby. Not bothering to strap himself down, Austin began working across the control panel, waiting for lights to flicker on to green and meters to indicate power levels.
Laser at full charge!
Power flowed into the systems and myomer muscles hidden under tons of armor began contracting, bringing the Centurion to arthritic life after so many years. He was feeling good about his progress when he was thrown back into the padded chair as Sergeant Death lurched slightly. He knew the problem and its cure. He reached around and drew out the neurohelmet, carefully putting it on, securing it with a chin strap. The usual tingle on his scalp and deep inside his brain did not come.
The neurohelmet had lost its programming over the years.
Austin reached down, turned on the proper systems, juggled power levels, and then leaned back, letting the BattleMech’s automatic systems align themselves with his brain waves. Programming the neurohelmet required for maintaining balance and aiding movement would take hours, perhaps days, especially without a trained technician to help.
Austin stretched out and made himself as comfortable as possible. He wasn’t going anywhere as long as the Legate’s soldiers hunted for him. What better way to pass the time than to program a BattleMech to respond to his commands?
30
Ministry of Information, Cingulum
Mirach
7 May 3133
“Those fools have looked everywhere,” Calvilena Tortorelli said with some irritation. He stood with his back to Lady Elora, staring at the clever deception of the projected city skyline.
She shook her head in amazement. Although he knew he stared at only an image of Cingulum, that didn’t sap his enthusiasm for all that went on above in the sky or down in the streets. Elora had chosen recordings from the fall more than thirteen years earlier when she had finally moved into this office as Minister.
“Calvy, darling, you need to assign more troops to finding him.”
“More?” The Legate flared uncharacteristically. He spun, fire in his eyes. “Austin Ortega danced into the Palace past my personal guard—supposedly the best I have, my bodyguards!—and spoke to the Governor for more than ten minutes before disappearing again. Just like that!” He snapped his pudgy fingers. “He vanished under the nose of my best unit.”
“He’s lived in the Palace all his life. He knows all the hiding places, Calvy. He’s hiding like a cockroach in the walls. The Baronet isn’t our biggest problem.” On the list of impediments to claiming the world for the glory of Kal Radick, Austin Ortega was only third or fourth. She had mistakenly thought the Governor was passively obeying. More than the quick rendezvous with his son, he also maintained secure communications from the Palace. Try as she might, she had been unable to stop him. At first she had tried to find his agents by trying to tap his lines. That hadn’t worked and now the damnable Jerome Parsons was returning. Her opportunity to put Sergio into solitary confinement was lost. How would she ever explain the situation to Parsons if Sergio wasn’t on hand to greet him again?