Fortress of Lies

11

Military Situation Room, Capitol Building

Whitehorse, Shensi

Prefecture V, The Republic

21 November 3134

It was almost comical. Fifteen people in the Situation Room, twelve of them holding guns. Erik’s was pointed at the Legate of Shensi. The others were pointed at Erik.

The three people without weapons in their hands were the soldier Erik had disarmed, Kinston—who cowered behind Erik, envelope clutched to his chest as though it might stop bullets—and Legate Tarr himself, who stood in front of his overturned chair, fists on hips, looking at Erik as though he were an especially unpleasant bug. The man didn’t so much as blink.

Neither did Erik. “Can we put all these guns down now? The Duke is offering his forces to fight alongside you, not against you.”

The Legate stared at him for a moment, then cracked a smile. He held up his hand, and the guns began to lower. “I’ll give you this: You’ve got nerve, Sandoval. If your soldiers all have your kind of guts, you’ll make excellent allies.”

Erik pointed the rifle at the ceiling, then handed it to the private.

Kinston looked desperately at the Legate. “I didn’t know, Legate, I swear I didn’t know there would be guns. I just brought this for you to sign.”

Erik snatched the envelope, and was careful to extract his original document, not the adulterated version. He spotted a document shredder at a nearby communications console. He tossed the envelope in and watched it turn into confetti, then handed the original to the Legate. “I assume you have a pen here somewhere?”

The Legate looked at the shredder. “What was that?”

Erik gri

The Legate looked at the document. “I can’t sign this without reading it.”

“You’ve already read it. It’s the one you rejected previously. I assume you have no problem with that.” A distant explosion made the room shudder, and the lights flickered momentarily. “Those are your ‘friends’ blasting your capital into rubble. Your Prefecture is in shambles and you count on them for help. Do you wish to face House Liao all by yourselves?”

The Legate looked at him and blinked. “The Governor still has to sign.”

“The Governor will sign. You have always been the problem.” He glanced up at the ceiling as another distant explosion made the light fixtures sway. “This is on your head.”

The Legate grunted. He bent over the table, flipped to the last page and signed.

“Where’s the Governor?”

“A secure room, one level down. I’ll have someone escort you. Someone with a pass.”

Erik shook his head. He handed the document to Kinston. “It’s a milk run, Ozark. Go be important, and then bring it back here to me.”

Kinston nodded, and followed a staffer out of the room.

“One of the first things we should do for you as an ally is teach you how to set up an emergency perimeter. I only had to get past five guard posts: one unma

The Legate sighed. “We’re a bit rusty.”

“I predict many opportunities to practice, very soon. What’s your situation?”

The Legate turned to a holotable, which currently showed a world situation map. Red triangles seemed to indicate attacks on all three continents. “We had six ships come in undetected. They must have used a pirate point, so we didn’t spot them. We’ve had sporadic hit-and-run attacks all over the planet. All aerospace fighters; no ground forces that we’ve been able to detect.”

“What kinds of targets?”

“The Capitol, of course. Power plants, some major bridges, important monuments.”

That last caught Erik’s attention. “I don’t think there’s an invasion force behind this—at least not immediately. You’d be seeing ground forces, scouts, and probes at the minimum. And the choice of attacks implies that they’re going for psychological, not tactical advantage. No military targets. It’s a warning shot.”

The Legate nodded. “I agree—and one we can’t afford to ignore. We either turn over our world to them, or we prepare to fight. I’ve already made my decision. I assure you, Commander, historic ties or not, the people of Shensi value our independence. It may seem that we’ve forgotten how to fight, but we are eager to relearn the old ways, and we are not without weapons.”

Erik gri

“Legate, this just came in.” A pretty blond officer handed over several fax pages.

The Legate flipped through them, then handed one—a photograph—to Erik. “One of our Militia-Mechs on Klondike managed to bring down a fighter.”

Erik looked at the photo. It showed a burned scar amid frozen tundra, scattered with blackened wreckage. A nearly intact wing jutted up out of a snowbank, emblazoned with the shield of the St. Cyr Armored Grenadiers. “This confirms it, then. The Grenadiers have been Liao’s hired muscle on this campaign from the begi

The Legate ducked away and conferred with a technician working a tactical console. He returned a moment later. “There’s a Sandoval-flagged courier ship in orbit right now. We’ll give them priority landing clearance to the Capital Spaceport, and I’ll have an armored car waiting to take you there when they arrive. We can have you off the planet in less than two hours.”

He smiled and extended his hand to the Legate, who shook it firmly. “Thank you, Legate. You’re doing the right thing.”

Kinston returned, looking calmer now. He handed the document, now emblazoned with the Governor’s seal, back to Erik.

Erik took the agreement triumphantly. This would show Aaron! “Thank you, Ozark. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. You’ll send us a bill?”

“Oh,” said Kinston, wiping his brow, “you can bet on it.”

Erik had to hand it to the Shensi. Though they’d reacted poorly to the surprise attack, they were pulling their forces, and their security, together. Not only was he taken to the spaceport in an armored perso

He felt better having some kind of ’Mech cover, but according to the latest reports from the Legate, their telescopes showed multiple plasma burns on a trajectory away from Shensi, probably heading back to the pirate point from which they’d arrived.

Erik had advised against sending ships after them. It could only be a ruse to lead the planetary defenses away while a main assault force came in from another direction.

In any case, he didn’t want the military forces of Shensi getting themselves in over their heads in a solo effort, when his real objective was to tap their forces as part of a coordinated counteroffensive.

At the spaceport, the motorcade drove directly out to the end of one of the huge runways, where a delta-winged Buccaneer–class cargo-hauler waited. It was comforting to see the symbol of the Sandoval family painted on its T-shaped vertical tail. As they approached, a vehicle ramp lowered from the belly of the big craft, and the APC drove directly inside for unloading.

The captain, a muscular woman with silver-blond hair, was waiting next to the base of a bridge-type cargo crane. She walked up as the APC door opened. “Commander, welcome to the Mercury. I’m Captain Yung, at your disposal. I’m glad we were in the neighborhood for you. We’ve got a full load of rare metals and mail bound for Tikonov, but we’ll get you back to the Duke first. Latest word we have is that he’s on his way to Ningpo.”