“I could make a number of excuses for us,” Jonah replied. “After all, we’ve had plenty of things happening across the Sphere to keep us occupied. The same instability that’s fueling this conspiracy might have kept us from seeing it sooner. But leaving all excuses aside, we should have known about it earlier. That’s our job. And I’m extremely proud that Paladin Steiner-Davion’s final activities involved bringing this conspiracy to light. He was older than all of us, but he still saw clearly enough to notice a few patterns that told him what was going on.
“I wish I could say that maybe the conspiracy’s not as big as I’m making it out to be, that the fact that the rest of us missed it means it’s relatively small. But I’ve seen the names on Victor’s list. This is a cancer. There was already a long list of problems for the new Exarch to deal with, but this might have to move to the top of the list. They’re trying to rot us from our core.”
He sat down.
The silence lasted for nearly a full minute. Then fourteen sets of hands—everyone but Jonah and Drummond—attacked their keyboards with a vengeance.
Drummond stood. “Thank you, Paladin Levin, for that information. Your reputation for integrity assures us that your investigation was conducted with all due diligence…”
Drummond’s formal drone provided cover for the messages flying from screen to screen.
Good work.—Jorgensson
We’re grateful for your efforts. However, what I’m curious about is how this affects your vote. Clearly we need strength to fight this menace, and I hope you’ll keep in mind which Paladins might be best suited to a battle of this nature.—Kessel
Thanks, Jonah.—Sinclair
Jonah responded to the last one.
For what?—Levin
You didn’t mention that my name appeared on Victor’s list.—Sinclair
I thought about it.
Jonah’s hands hovered briefly above his keyboard.
Didn’t think it was relevant. You seem like one of Mallowes’ early, unsuccessful experiments. That’s why he had to get more assertive as he went on. I didn’t want the others to associate you with what happened.—Levin
That’s why I’m thanking you. I owe you one.—Sinclair
Jonah almost laughed aloud when he read that. He hadn’t meant to get it, and he had no idea what to do with it now that he had it, but Jonah seemed to be in possession of his very own little voting bloc. And he hadn’t even mentioned the Kittery Renaissance connection. He’d leave that for Heather, when she made it back.
58
Warehouse District, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
20 December 3134
The fifth warehouse cache showed up in the heads-up display in Heather GioAvanti’s Spider BattleMech, as well as on audio for weapons-correlated sounds.
“Looks like we’re going in hot,” Heather said to Santangelo over the ’Mech’s command circuit.
“Roger that,” the senior Knight replied. “They’ve got scouts and skirmishers out, and it looks like they’re bringing into position more of that inventory we’ve been blowing up all morning.”
“Figuring that if they’re going to lose it anyway, they might as well expend it? Probably a good choice.”
“We don’t have time for a siege,” Santangelo said, “not if we’re going to hit the other places too. I say we stand back and blow it up from a distance.”
“Long-range weapons aren’t going to mesh with the no-casualties objective in the rules of engagement.”
“So? Frontal assault’s too messy,” Santangelo said.
They had drawn closer to the target building by now, and Heather had it on visual from her ’Mech’s cockpit: a two-story warehouse made of poured concrete.
“Frontal assault’s what we’ve got,” she said. “Hit ’em hard; hit ’em fast.”
“We’ll need someone to go in first, to draw fire and break the situation.”
“That’s what I’m built for,” Heather said. She increased the loping stride of the Spider, taking it up past 100 kilometers per hour.
The first of the machine-gun bullets took her by surprise from behind, as she sprinted past a barbershop on the road leading up to the warehouse. No problem for her Kallon armor; she left the machine-gun nest for her troops to deal with and kept on going.
The key to dealing with ambushes is knowing they have narrow kill zones. Once you’re through the zone, you’re safe—unless the bad guys have set up multiple kill zones.
For a hasty defense, Heather noted, the KR was doing pretty well. Their commander had taken some time to prepare, and had clearly thought through his defenses in advance. It was enough to make her suspect that he’d had some kind of military training.
“Trouble coming up behind,” Santangelo told her over the command circuit. “Medium force, mixed scout vehicles and civilian trucks carrying shoulder-launched stuff. They’re following us in.”
“Roger that,” Heather replied. “Santangelo and Koss, take the Fox and the Shandra and peel out. Try to get around behind the pursuers. Failing that, stay out of the way. I can’t afford to lose you.”
She switched to the external speakers. “Foot troops, come to me. Meet me in the building.”
Heather throttled forward, moving her ’Mech into a sprint, and slammed her feet down, launching her Spider’s jump jets. What she was planning was risky—but if it worked, and she didn’t break off one of her ’Mech’s legs in the process, she’d have a strong defensive position.
The BattleMech soared high up over the street, followed by streams of tracer bullets and the eerie glow of laser light in the smoke trails of missiles. The patter of bullets and shrapnel on the Spider’s carapace beat a counterpoint to the deep roar of the jump jets.
She sailed up, letting momentum carry her forward, until she was over the center of the warehouse. Then she cut the jets, felt the bulk around her slowed by the drag of the air, and dropped down straight-legged onto the flat roof.
It didn’t have a chance against her. She went crashing through the warehouse’s flimsy roof, through the floor of the upper story, and down into the center of the warehouse’s main open space. Open crates and barrels lay scattered all about, and a Fox armored car with its insignia painted out waited near the still-closed warehouse doors.
Kittery Renaissance street fighters filled the high-ceilinged room. Heather’s arrival, in a cloud of rubble and dust, jerked their attention away from the attack that was developing outside. She was limned with the light of energy discharges, deafened by the sound of small and medium arms being fired in an enclosed space.
She reduced the gain on the ’Mech’s external audio and concentrated on keeping moving, while producing her own light show with her paired medium pulse lasers. This much hell in this small a space meant that people were going to get hurt; she spied a couple of nasty casualties. At least she wasn’t violating her own personal rules of engagement, though she could still see having to explain it all at her trial if things turned bad. At least she’d have the battle-rom, the visual and audio recording automatically created by every ’Mech in action, to back her up.
The defenders closest to the front of the building were turning away from her ’Mech, moving outside and firing as they went. Then the doors and windows exploded inward, and her reinforced militia squad came leaping in. Like her, they were shooting to miss—but the defenders didn’t realize that yet, and made a hasty retreat from the building.