The Ruins Of Power

“Master Sergeant Borodin,” Sergio said, “prepare to evacuate the Palace.”

“Evacuate, sir? No! We’re here to protect it—and you.”

“Unless you want to face a tank with hardly more than a rifle, you’ll do as you are ordered. Leave. Now. Retreat.”

Borodin’s sputtering reply was cut off as a shell from the leading Behemoth slammed into the outer façade of the southern entrance. The resulting concussive blast shook the huge Palace and destroyed most of its communications equipment.

Sergio Ortega leaned back in his chair, watching an external camera’s view of the tanks advancing, firing as they came. They would get the range soon enough and the end would come.

So be it. He would die before surrendering the government of Mirach to Elora.

33

Ministry of Information, Cingulum

Mirach

9 May 3133

Lady Elora felt flushed, her translucent skin ruddy now with the rush of excitement. She sat on the edge of her chair, leaning forward intently as if she played some gigantic musical instrument. Her desk had come alive with lights, indicators flashing warnings and OKs, a dozen views of the city and the skirmishes being fought.

Is this what it feels like to have power, real power? she wondered. Her fingers flew like jeweled birds across the array as she guided one unit after another into battle and supplied tactical intelligence to Tortorelli’s forces.

She positioned a Behemoth II Tank and ordered it to fire on an APC carrying former FCL troopers to the Palace. The heavy laser lashed directly into the side of the armored perso

The enemy, she gloated.

“I say, how’s it going? You are deploying according to the battle plan I gave you?” Calvilena Tortorelli turned from his position in front of her office window. Elora had left the tranquil city view on the screen and this pleased the Legate, although it had no bearing on the death and destruction actually stalking Cingulum. The thought flashed through her mind that the citizens were much like him. Give them pretty pictures and they would sit for hours, content and willing to be guided in whatever direction she chose.

It was time for The Republic to lose Mirach. Kal Radick would provide far better rule. And he would receive it because of her.

“Everything is going well, Calvy,” she said. “Do you want to see?” With almost savage glee, she transformed the cityscape into the transmission from a camera mounted at the corner of a building in downtown Cingulum. Tortorelli rocked back as a dozen missiles burst in front of his face with hellacious force.

Elora had to switch to another camera because the one she had activated had been destroyed. From farther down the street she focused on the advancing Atlas.

“The BattleMech,” Tortorelli said with a hint of fear. “Parsons should have placed that in my command. But such a slight doesn’t matter, not really. My soldiers have been trained to bring it down, and it’s not giving a bit of trouble to them. Why, it’s not even fighting back!”

“Its pilot doesn’t want to destroy any more of the city and its people than necessary.”

She didn’t add that it was too late for the BattleMech to save itself. With careful movement she had ringed it with heavy artillery and tanks. A few Condor tanks made swift attacks, only to dart back before the BattleMech’s heavy lasers could take them out. But the Atlas was doubly limited. It couldn’t use the incredible power of its Gauss rifle, nor did it have jump jet capability. Stuck to plodding along at ground level, it was hindered by the closeness of urban buildings its pilot had been ordered not to destroy.

Elora had practically ignored Tortorelli’s strategic plans in favor of her own. She was no fool. The ebb and flow of battle was laid out in front of her as clearly as could be. What was needed and what was impossible were obvious in a flash, thanks to her constant flow of intelligence about the battle, the enemy, and the position of the Legate’s forces.

“I’m keeping up the propaganda barrage. Kinsolving’s techs aren’t able to jam my transmission. If she had succeeded in activating the relay stations on the four moons, it might have been a different story. But on the ground, the Ministry of Information has the technological muscle to make the people believe anything we want them to!”

Tortorelli looked at her strangely. Elora realized her voice had risen to a screech, and she was acting erratically.

“We are so close, Calvy. You are such a brilliant tactician.”

“Strategist,” he said absently. “The overall battle plan is strategy. How it’s accomplished is tactics.”

Lady Elora ignored him. Her mind raced ahead to the eventual success over the BattleMech. Should she try Parsons as a traitor and execute him, or would it be better to send him packing back to Aaron Sandoval? Definitely the latter. The message would be clearer that way. Mirach, under the guidance of Kal Radick, had destroyed a BattleMech. The planet was off-limits from now on to Republic forces if they didn’t want to face the same punishment.

Possibly the battle itself would make the decision for her. Jerome Parsons might be killed, either in combat or by Marta Kinsolving’s sycophants.

A new river of intrigue flowed around Elora as she considered the benefits of a

Authority, power, and wealth!

“You don’t want to do that,” said Tortorelli.

“Why not?” Elora’s fierce green eyes fixed on him.

How did he know what I was thinking?

“You’ll box in the tanks. They’d either have to waste ammunition blowing their way through Havoc or swing far around and fritter away valuable time doing an end run. If they did that, the BattleMech could get free and establish a defensive position at the Palace.”

“The Atlas could fight there without fear of destroying any of the populace,” she said slowly, considering the merits of what the Legate said. Elora relaxed when she realized Tortorelli had been commenting on the skirmish raging in the city and not on her political engineering.

“It could certainly defend the Governor until battle armor could be brought in, should that be Parsons’ intent.” Tortorelli paused, then continued. “Ask him to surrender.”

“Parsons?”

“No, no, my dear. Ask Sergio to surrender. He would do it to prevent more bloodshed. You know how squeamish he gets. I do think he really believes all that pacifistic nonsense he spouts. Tell him to hand over the government immediately or there will be even more bloodshed.”

“Only he can stop it,” Elora said, keying in exactly to what Tortorelli meant. This was the Governor’s Achilles’ heel. He might have been a fierce fighter in the days of Devlin Stone, but he had lost the will to fight and he believed anything could be negotiated.

She would show him how politics really worked. Words were fine, but a barrage of missiles or a laser blast produced more dependable results.

“No, wait—he won’t surrender,” Tortorelli said, as if this was a major revelation for him. “He will see his own martyrdom as a stronger statement that will unite the people against us. The Baron might be right; yes, he just might be right. But I don’t think so.”