House Liao intelligence operatives had long ago pinpointed the most important concentrations of Davion 'Mechs on the planet. The invasion fleet had concentrated on the four most important of those, overwhelming them in a firestorm of missiles and beams before the others could come to their aid.
Only twenty-four 'Mechs had been stationed at Steindown itself, and of those, only fifteen had been operational when the first space-dropped Liao 'Mechs and Death Commando infiltrators had descended around the port. One of the defenders still stood behind the villa, a fifty-ton Enforcer,intact except for its head. Trickles of flame and roiling smoke rose from the jagged crater between the 'Mech's shoulders. Its leg actuators had locked, leaving it standing erect like some monstrous ten-meter-tall piece of junkyard sculpture.
The defenders had not had a chance. Sprawled in the shadow of the Enforcerwere two sodden forms lying like ragdolls in pools of still-liquid blood—the fat colonel who had commanded this garrison and a young lieutenant from his staff, both cut down by fire from Liao Death Commandos dropped ahead of the main assault
A captain approached Ridzik, making the fist-to-breast salute of House Liao. His brown uniform was fire-smudged and muddy, the green trim nearly indistinguishable from the rest. Instead of the customary ceremonial katana, a 12 mm Hawking automatic pistol hung in a holster at his side. The man's helmet was missing, too, and his head was encircled by a bandage shockingly white against his dirty blond hair.
"Captain Dyubichev." Ridzik stopped and turned, returning the salute with a nod. "Situation report?"
"Yessir. Both the port and Steindown itself are secure, with light casualties. Forces at Lollan and Grebuchin report continued heavy combat, but all other DZs are secure as well. The entire peninsula is ours. A number of 'Mechs escaped into the swamps and hills north of the peninsula, and there are some isolated outposts still holding out, but..." The young face struggled a moment, then broke into a smile. "We beat ‘em, Colonel!"
"That we did, Captain, that we did. How many 'Mechs did we take here?"
"Nine in the repair bay. Eight more were crippled and abandoned in the fighting, but well have them repaired and in the field in a few days. Three were destroyed, and four escaped into the swamp to the north. We also captured a large number of Techs and Tech assistants, and quite a few civilians who were living on the base." He jerked a thumb back across his shoulder. "They're under guard at the hangar."
"Treat them well, Dimitri," Ridzik said. "Reunite them with their families, get them food, medical attention, whatever they need. We’ll want them to join us. Can't go wasting prime Techs now, can we?"
"No, sir."
"As for the rest, take them outside the base, question them, and..."
"Of course, Colonel. No survivors." The captain saluted again and turned back toward the base.
Colonel Ridzik returned to his temporary headquarters, composing the report to his lord, Maximilian Liao. He scarcely noticed the two bodies as he stepped across them and mounted the steps to the villa.
3
Ardan Sortek paced the terrace like a caged cat, his steps clicking sharply against the artificial stone. At the moment, he hated the terrace, the palace, and its surrounding gardens filled with alien plants brought from a dozen worlds. He hated the artificiality of the place, of his friend Hanse. And even of himself.
He paused beside the low wall bordering the terrace. His friend Hanse, Prince of Davion...he sighed unconsciously. The two had been companions ever since Ardan's boyhood, when he had tagged almost worshipfully at his older Mend's heels.
Later, when he was old enough to take the MechWarrior training that would eventually fit him for the Royal Brigade, Ardan believed that his life had reached a peak, that never again could he feel quite so happy. Especially joyful were those times when Hanse had overseen his training personally. After their grueling workouts in their 'Mechs, the two would relax together, drinking cold ale beside the lake bordering the drillfield.
They had both been so young and idealistic. Though Hanse was ten years older, he had not yet been burdened with the weight of rulership, and felt free to concoct wide-ranging plans for the improvement of the worlds administered by House Davion.
The two had taken thought for the good of everyone from MechWarrior to serving wench, with the agrarian population and the merchant class properly cared for in between. Ardan, because of his origins in a house of lower nobility, could make suggestions that would never have occurred to the younger son of the Davion dynasty.
He remembered all this as his steps echoed across the terrace. Would Hanse never come?
He felt sick, now. Betrayed. When Ian Davion had died in battle and Hanse become Prince of Davion, Ardan had believed that his friend would manage to put into effect some of the reforms that were so badly needed among the Federated Suns. But it hadn't worked out that way. At every turn, he had watched Hanse make decisions that showed him far more influenced by politics and power than by concern for those he ruled.
Footsteps behind him brought Ardan around. He stopped, stiffened...then moved deliberately toward the ruddy-haired man approaching.
"Ardan! My friend! I am so glad we have time to talk. I was distressed at your request for transfer. Is there no way to persuade you to remain here with the Brigade?"
Sortek took the offered hand. Grasping its hard, broad strength, he felt a surge of the old affection. Whatever Hanse might have become, he was still the big almost-brother Ardan had known for so long.
Then he remembered...and loosed his grip. Stepped back. Shook his head slightly.
"No. Things haven't gone...as I expected them to, Highness. I find myself dissatisfied with everything. The Court. Myself. Even...even those I work with."
Hanse grinned. "The lovely Candent Septarian has been rubbing you the wrong way?" he asked, his tone suspiciously innocent
"Sep? Who said anything about…No, it's just that these days, just about everything and everyone seems to irritate me. Things I thought were true have turned out not to be. People I trusted seem different. Unlike themselves. I thought it would pass with the years, but it hasn't."
The older man's grin evaporated, and his brow furrowed.
"Listen, Dan," he began, "I know what we used to say when we were younger. Before my brother was killed and I was still ignorant of the realities of rulership and power. We said a lot of things, you and I. And you have to admit that I haveput many of our dreams into effect"
"Things that make the Federated Suns stronger, the troops better fed, the people less likely to be restless!" Ardan said, interrupting.
"Those are also what make everyone happier and more comfortable." Hanse sounded relaxed, but the furrow was still between his brows.
"But you are working with people we can't trust...doing things that I can't approve!" Ardan insisted.
"There is a grimy underside to politics," Hanse admitted. "That's how the thing works, though I didn't realize it until I had to deal with it firsthand. You've never stood in my shoes, Dan. You just can't know how hard it is to keep everything working together. It's like being a juggler trying to keep fifteen balls in the air...but using only one hand!"
Ardan shrugged and turned to look out over the garden. Hanse came up beside him and set a hand on his shoulder.