The Ruins Of Power

“The DropShip launch,” Sergio said, his colorless, fathomless eyes fixed on his son. “You were out there, weren’t you? You and Marta Kinsolving?”

Austin hardly trusted himself to speak. But he finally got out, “Manfred was my friend. There weren’t enough pieces left by Tortorelli’s sabotage to give a decent burial.”

“An eye for an eye? Is that the only way to prevail? I don’t think so,” Sergio said.

Austin held back his angry retort as a thought struck him.

“Why haven’t they deposed you by now?” Austin began pacing like a caged animal in the Central Zoo as he rolled the notion over and over in his mind. “What do you still control that they can’t take from you?”

“Moral authority, my position as Governor of Mirach,” Sergio said. “And one other thing.”

He beckoned Austin closer and held out a Span-net phone. Sergio punched up a news report that had not gone through the Ministry of Information. Austin’s eyes widened when he heard the news.

“Jerome Parsons has returned,” Sergio confirmed.

“The Lord Governor’s Envoy?” Austin was not sure if this was a help or hindrance.

“He’ll land in sixty hours. Elora and Tortorelli dare not seize power because of his cargo.”

“What’s he have?” asked Austin, curious now.

“Envoy Parsons is bringing a BattleMech.”

29

Museum of Modern Mirach

Mirach

4 May 3133

Austin Ortega hunkered down as a squad of green-clad infantry double-timed it through the museum rotunda as they hunted for him. He had left his father’s office almost an hour ago, Sergio following. When a dozen soldiers had approached from down the Great Hall, his father had created a diversion, keeping the guards away and giving Austin the chance to escape. Austin had been reluctant to leave his father behind but thought he was safe enough for the time being in light of Jerome Parsons’ unexpected return. Austin knew that tenuous safety could vanish at a whim. He had to work out a plan to rescue Sergio from Tortorelli’s soldiers.

The only place he could think of to hide until such a plan came to him was the museum on the Governor’s Park grounds. And once in the museum, he had gone directly to the walkway looking down on the BattleMech.

He let out his pent-up breath when the squad leader finally herded the soldiers away from the Centurion and into another wing of the museum. The echoes from their boots faded down distant hallways, then grew louder again as they returned.

Austin waited as the officer down on the rotunda floor snapped orders.

“Close the museum. Lock it down. No visitors. Do you understand your orders?” The officer pushed his face close to his sergeant’s.

“Yes, sir,” the noncom said. “The museum’s empty. We’ll lock it up right away.”

“See to it; then return with your squad to the east wing of the Palace. We won’t stop hunting until we find the fugitive.”

The sergeant stood at attention until the officer stalked off, then hustled his squad outside. Austin heard the large outer doors lock. He was alone in the vast museum, thanks to a sloppy search by the soldiers.

He stepped back into the bright lights, went to the railing, and looked at his father’s old BattleMech.

Austin still felt a quiver of excitement seeing Sergeant Death.

“A ’Mech,” he said aloud.

He stared at it and knew he was daydreaming if he thought he could turn the Centurion into a true weapon against Tortorelli’s forces. Sergeant Death had been mothballed and on display for years—for longer than Austin had been alive.

Why not? he asked himself, scrambling over the railing and going to the rear of the fifty-ton BattleMech. He had nothing to lose. With it, he had a chance to chase off Tortorelli’s troops and rescue his father. If the BattleMech couldn’t be resurrected, he was no worse off for the attempt than he was now.

Austin remembered how he and Dale had sneaked down here when they were youngsters and climbed into the cockpit, pretending they were mighty warriors like their father.

He also remembered how their father had ordered the cockpit sealed to keep them and other would-be MechWarriors like them out. In spite of this, the fusion power plant had been kept hot at the museum curator’s request. The curator had wanted to keep the Centurion in a condition as close as possible to its original state: a metal dreadnought that had fought for Devlin Stone and The Republic. For this tribute Austin was now very glad.

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 autoca

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 ru

Luck’s still with me, he decided. He didn’t have to waste time disco

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.