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Strength and Honor
DropShip Lupus
Achernar
19 March 3133
Achernar’s sun had barely cleared the spaceport’s administration buildings when Star Captain Nikola Demos arrived at the head of the Lupus’s main ramp, dressed down in a field uniform and a Needle pistol strapped against the side of her leg.
Shielding her eyes with one hand, the Steel Wolves’ ranking officer surveyed the distant edge of spaceport grounds where her salvage crews continued to work over the site of yesterday’s battle. Early-morning winds had dispersed a great deal of the battle’s dark pallor, but a gray haze still hung over the city and spaceport, and a breeze brought to her the acrid stench of scorched metal. Nikola Demos swiped at her nose, peered into the distance to watch her technicians stripping useful parts from the wreckage of so many vehicles and ’Mechs, hauling back entire bodies when useful.
Good enough, she decided. It was a new day, and time for a new leader.
She wouldn’t know until later just how prophetic that thought had been.
The Republic party waited near the ramp’s foot, their jeep parked nearby with a uniformed soldier behind the wheel and a blonde-haired medic standing next to the vehicle, repeatedly shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Their extra presence was not welcome, but Nikola let that go as she turned her attention to the waiting trio.
Three warriors, as arranged, one with his arm in a sling. No weapons on their persons that she could see, although no provision had excluded arms. Nikola checked the position of her Elemental sentries—one at each edge of the upper ramp. She didn’t expect treachery—new treachery—but like her predecessor, she had learned to plan for it.
Not everyone played by the same rules as the Steel Wolves. Not many could, she supposed, and still be able to compete against the genetically engineered warriors.
Nikola’s guests talked amongst themselves while watching her people’s activities with interest. Two of them did, at least. She was halfway down the ramp before she finally recognized the third as Star Commander Yulri. He wore a white bondcord around his wrist and hovered off the shoulder of the female MechWarrior—this Tassa Kay—like an obedient guard dog.
Rather pathetic, she thought then, seeing how low one of Torrent’s handpicked warriors had fallen. Could fall. There was another warning in that.
“If you will all follow me,” she said in clipped tones, spending courtesy with a miser’s grip, “I will take you somewhere we can sit.”
“Just the two of us will be accompanying you,” Tassa Kay said, nodding for herself and Yulri. “Captain Ortega has another obligation this morning.”
Nikola Demos nodded. “I see. You are not an officer of The Republic, MechWarrior Kay. You can batchall on their behalf?” Batchall was the formal term for a bargaining of forces for battle. Nikola wasn’t certain it would come to that, but saw no reason to waste time if it did.
“We can discuss it inside,” the other woman said.
Turning to Raul Ortega then, oblivious of the star captain’s presence, Tassa stepped half a pace closer to The Republic captain. Nikola found herself appraising him with a woman’s eye. He did not have the size or inherent presence of a man such as Star Colonel Torrent, but there was a hardness—a confidence—in his dark eyes that spoke of an i
“You’re certain?” Raul asked. Nikola’s appraisal dropped one notch with his lazy use of contractions. “I can hold this off until tomorrow.”
“To each his own.” Tassa reached into a pocket, slipped out a folded piece of verifaxed paper and handed it over. “To your Exarch, with my compliments. I will not be needing it anymore.”
Ortega caught up Tassa Kay’s hand, tensed a moment as if caught in the act of something shameful, and then plunged on ahead. He lifted her hand up and kissed its back. “With the gratitude of Achernar.”
Tassa Kay laughed. Her voice was rich and full of life. “You are Republic all right.” Grabbing up a handful of his uniform front, she pulled him in for a brief, hard kiss on the mouth. “Save the courtly love for knights and ladies. And make certain my Ryoken is brought out here at once, or the next smack you get might loosen a tooth.”
“I will miss you, too.” With a sad smile, Ortega traded casual salutes with Tassa Kay and then left without a backward glance.
“That sounded quite a bit like a good-bye.” Nikola Demos leveled a hard gaze at the other woman. “Going somewhere?”
Tassa ignored her, stepped around the star captain and preceded her up the ramp. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked, the curt question tossed over her shoulder as if she didn’t care one way or the other whether Nikola did or not.
Nikola placed a hand into the middle of Yulri’s chest, stopping him from following and thereby also preceding her. With a hard mask set over her face, she jogged up to Tassa Kay and escorted the MechWarrior into the DropShip’s main bay and then through to officer’s country and a series of ladders that took them up to Star Colonel Torrent’s former office—now hers.
Torrent had preferred dim lighting. Nikola Demos did not. With so many hours logged inside cramped and dimly lit tanks, she reveled in brightly lit open spaces. The wall panels washed the Spartan room in sterile light, emphasizing the absence of any wall decorations or personal touches. Those would come later, when and if Prefect Kal Radick confirmed Nikola as Torrent’s successor.
“Bare, but functional,” was Tassa’s opinion. She slid into a seat on the near side of the desk. Star Commander Yulri waited back at the door, standing honor guard to one side of the entry. “I will not challenge you for it, so long as you provide me with good quarters and a place inside the main BattleMech bay for my Ryoken.”
“You,” Nikola said, hovering over her own chair, disbelief certainly showing on her face, “will not… challenge?”
“Not so long as all three DropShips are off Achernar by midnight, local time. That is the deal I bargained with the militia on the Steel Wolves’ behalf. If there is no JumpShip due from Tigress soon, we will take the next available commercial transport from this system.”
Sitting down into her own chair with a stiff, military bearing, Nikola Demos stared daggers at the woman who presumed to dictate terms to her. She was no representative of The Republic—was not even an officer except for an honorary title they had awarded her for piloting a BattleMech. Her idea of a uniform, in fact, was nothing more than hip-hugging leather pants and a leather jacket with stainless steel buckles for fastening. Beneath the jacket, she wore nothing more official than a black T-shirt emblazoned with a red hourglass. Casual. Irreverent.
Familiar…?
“If The Republic believes that they can dictate terms so easily to the Steel Wolves, we can show them the error of their ways. The HPG station may indeed be out of commission, but Achernar might still be pressed to serve as a staging ground for future operations. Who do you think you are to come in here and—”
Tassa did not allow her to build further momentum, interrupting with a hand slapped down flat and loud on the desk.
“I’m the woman who put that HPG station out of commission because it would get your attention, and I knew that we did not want the Swordsworn to keep possession of it. I’m the woman who is also telling you that Achernar is off limits. First, you have no good reason to remain here. Second, if you should try, I promise you that I will split your force strength in half, or worse, and ensure your defeat.”
Nikola scoffed. “You would do that how?”