The Warhammerstopped nearly on top of them. A hatch popped open at the back of the 'Mech's upper surface. Steel rang as a chain ladder was thrown clear of the interior, to come rattling down the machine's back and hang swaying.
A lithe figure crowned with dark red hair descended the ladder. The woman was clad in little more than a cooling vest. A tempting vision, until one noticed that from her belt hung a holster containing an ivory-handled gun of eccentric design but ominous lethality.
She stepped through her 'Mech's legs, and Norris blinked as a shaft of sunlight flashed on the black crystal spider hanging in the vee neck of her cooling jacket. Two triangular bits of ruby glistened in the insect's abdomen. Berger whistled softly, leaving Norris to wonder if he was more impressed by the obvious wealth the woman wore or by her body and the feline grace of her movements. Her eyes were hidden behind mirrored goggles.
“Well, well,” she said in a husky contralto. “What has the Widow caught in her web today?”
“We are representatives of the Donegal—” Norris began.
“Can it, Skinny,” she ordered. “I've got eyes.”
She reached for Berger's camera. He resisted letting go until Norris took his arm. The reporter gestured with his chin at the Marauder,which had swung its carapace in their direction. The double barrels in each blocky forearm implied death and destruction as payment for resistance. Berger relinquished his grip on the camera.
The woman triggered the cartridge release and caught the boxy film magazine as it fell. She dropped the camera onto the pavement. She smiled at Berger's moan of pain and protest, and continued to smile as she tucked the film cartridge into her belt.
“You're gonna kill us now, aren't you?”
Norris thought that Berger's voice was steadier than it had any right to be.
The ‘MechWarrior laughed. “I may be called the First Lady of Death, but I don't waste my time with pointless effort. I have your film. Without it, no one will believe you.”
She turned her back on them, walked back to the ladder, and began to climb. The newsmen stood and watched. When she reached the hatch and had drawn up the ladder, she called down, “Killing you two would just waste my time.”
The hatch slammed shut. Within two minutes, the four black 'Mechs were headed back toward the horizon, laden with their loot.
* * *
“Malking sun!”
Norris ignored Berger's cussing. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. “Malking Widows!” Norris trudged on, ignoring him.
'They didn't have to trash every piece of transport in the town, did they?”
Norris tried to pretend he hadn't heard, but the backhanded slap Berger gave his shoulder made that impossible.
“Sure they did,” Norris said in a voice cracking from the dryness. “It makes it harder for the survivors to get the word out.”
“Yeah, well, these two survivors are gonna get the word out. They're gonna pay for what they did back there. And they're gonna pay for my camera.”
Norris had no answer for that. He, too, wanted to see the Widows pay. First, though, they had to reach a friendly haven. It would be a long walk. They had barely started up again, when Berger shouted and pointed at a hill fifty meters in front of them.
“Bloody hell! Tank up ahead!” The holotech headed for a copse of trees. “Grab some cover!”
Norris looked up. “Too late, Berger. They've spotted us.” He didn't know if that was true or not, and he didn't care. He was too weary to run.
The vehicle Berger had spotted was a Striker wheeled tank. Its late-summer camouflage scheme revealed no affiliation as it crested the ridge ahead of them and moved down the slope. Then two more tanks appeared, and the three vehicles headed toward them at speed.
The leading vehicle slewed to port, its great wheels chewing up the soft earth, stopping a scant three meters from the drooping reporter. The commander's hatch opened, and a Chu-ihauled himself out of the tank. The man climbed down off his vehicle, getting dust on his neat uniform. He stopped to brush it off before approaching Norris. Even to the tired eyes of the reporter, the tall, lanky shape seemed unusual for a tanker. One should not question salvation, Norris told himself.
“I am very glad we found you gentlemen.” The officer waved his hand, signaling Berger to join them. When the holotech came up, he and Norris exchanged puzzled looks. Neither had any idea why anyone, especially a Kurita officer, would be looking for them.
“My men and I have just come from Kempis,” the officer explained.
“Then you know about the massacre,” Norris stated.
“All too well. I want to take you two to Greggville. It's a free city. You'll be able to use the ComStar facility there to file your story and tell the Inner Sphere about this atrocity. The Draconis Combine will not tolerate such rebellion from its hired soldiers.”
The trip to Greggville was uneventful. They did not see any BattleMechs on the way, for which Norris was very grateful. When they reached town, it seemed peaceful, with its people going about their business as though no battles were raging over the horizon. Nor was there much evidence of military presence in the town other than the three Kurita tanks. Indeed, the townspeople paid the armored vehicles scant notice.
The Draconians took Norris and Berger directly to the ComStar facility, halting the vehicles just outside the northeast gate. Like many ComStar compounds, this one had six gates, one for each of the great Houses and one to serve the general public. Each of the five House gates bore the symbol of a particular Successor Lord. This arrangement was supposed to be symbolic of ComStar's neutral position in regard to their centuries of warring. Because each state had its own gate, each Successor Lord—theoretically—had his own unrestricted access to ComStar, even on a planet ruled by a hostile state. The sixth gate was supposed to embody ComStar's mission to mankind as a whole and was open to any who wished to use the services of their interstellar communications network.
The northeast gate bore the black dragon of House Kurita. Their Kuritan military escort assured the newsmen of the immediate attention of a ComStar Acolyte, and dispatched them into the building to record and transmit their tale of treachery and atrocity. When the two newsmen came out an hour later, they found the Chu-istill waiting for them. He seemed concerned that they take away a good impression of Kurita soldiery. Norris, despite Berger's venomous looks, refused several offers of transportation.
“Thanks for your help, Chu-i,”the reporter said, starting off down the street. “When this story hits the network, those Widows will get what's coming to them. Their attempt to blame it on Davion by leaving that 'Mech arm won't help them at all. We saw the Widows do it. They'll pay.”
“I certainly hope so, Mister Norris.”
The man in the uniform of a Chu-iwatched the newsmen walk down the street. When they had reached the far end, he turned to the squat, hard-faced man beside him. “I understand the traffic is heaviest near the business district. Arrange an accident.”
“Hai, Chu-sa,”the man replied and headed off.
At that slip of the tongue, the man in Chu-i'sgarb scowled deeply. Obedience could be increased with training, he decided, as his underling walked away, but it seemed that brains disappeared in proportion. The sound of hard soles slapping on the paved walk interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to see a cowled and robed figure approaching from the main building. The officer bowed as the figure reached him.
“Good day to you, my son,” the ComStar Adept said. “A very good day, Adept Sharilar,” the Kuritan replied. “I was told you would have something for me.”
“I do, indeed.”
He handed her a cartridge of holofilm. On its side was the logo of the Lyran Commonwealth's Donegal Broadcasting Company. Taped to the cartridge was a thick envelope. The Adept held the package briefly as if weighing it, then made it disappear into her robes.
“This will be held in trust until needed,” the Adept said. “As agreed.”