Decision at Thunder Rift

"I'll be delighted to help in any way I can, Majesty."

"Good, good. Go enjoy yourself now. They'll find you later."

15

The audience was ended, and the agony of the formal reception began. Grayson endured more matronly women, junior officers venturing their opinions on anti-Mech tactics, and the inevitable social hangers-on who wanted to talk with the Court's newest light. It was almost a relief when the ball began. The art of the formal dance had not been one of the social graces instilled in him by his apprenticeship training with the Commandos, but Grayson had acquired enough basic skill to blend in with the colorful crowd. Formal dancing on this world, at least, was little more than graceful movement to slow music, with a girl held in a comfortably close embrace.

And then it was Mara in his arms, a sweet-smelling armful wearing that magical translucence that left so little to the imagination.

"I told you once before you wouldn't be leaving me yet," she whispered in his ear as they glided across the mirrored floor, their movements matched by the movements of their own inverted reflections.

The comment stung unexpectedly. His staying on Trellwan was the result of so many tragedies — Griffith, Riviera, Ari... Dad...

"I wish it could be under happier circumstances."

"Pooh, don't be so gloomy!" she pouted. "I'm just glad you're here, and that you're here to stay! You belong here,... with me."

"Oh?"

"You do your new uniform quite proud, Gray," she whispered, then leaned closer to whisper how they might spend the rest of the evening after the reception.

He forced a smile and drew her eloper, but there was a strange emptiness where his feelings for Mara had formerly been. What was wrong with him? The passionate fire of his last meeting with her had been wiped away by all that had happened since the first attack on the Castle. Grayson recognized that he had changed, starting with the dulling of his desire for Mara. The girl had been a pleasant diversion before the Pact with Oberon, but he had been willing enough to break off their relationship when he had learned the Lance was leaving this sand-miserable world for Tharkad. There could never have been any thought of her coming with him to share the life of a warrior. He'd known her well enough to realize she would never leave the comfort and privilege of Trellwan's Royal household. When he'd awakened to find himself marooned on the planet, Grayson wanted to see Mara because it was possible her influence could rescue him. Though such a mercenary attitude had brought on some nagging guilt, it had been his only ray of hope.

A tap on the shoulder and a murmured invitation from a Guard Colonel interrupted Grayson's darkening thoughts. Mara was reluctant to let him go, but she whispered another steamy proposal and scaled it with a lingering kiss.

Then Grayson followed the guard out of the Reception Hall, down a carpeted passageway to a richly furnished study. The room was dim, lit mainly by the greenish glow of native chaggawood logs burning in the fireplace.

Three men awaited him there. General Varney he knew, white-haired and immaculate in his plain brown uniform with the red tabs of the Militia at throat and shoulders. General Adel he had met briefly earlier. He was younger, with a black mustache that contrasted the silver at his temples. Senior Commandant of the Palace Guards, as well as Chief of Staff for His Majesty's Military Council, Adel's full-dress greens showed more gold than green.

The third man in the room remained seated by the fireplace. Grayson recognized the hawk profile of King Jeverid.

"Thank you for coming, son," said Varney. "We have a proposal to make to you.”

“Yes, sir?"

Adel lowered the drink he'd been sipping. "Carlyle, we'll get right to the point. We want you to organize a 'Mech Lance to be incorporated into the Palace Guard. We want a combat company of ground troops trained in anti-Mech warfare. Can you do it?"

Varney looked sharply at his Guard counterpart. "I believe the idea is for the Lance to be under joint command, in a department of its own, General."

Adel nodded, his expression pained. "Yes, Varney, yes." Then, he turned to Grayson. "Well, Carlyle? What do you say?"

Grayson said nothing at first. With the eyes of all three men on him, he felt he wanted to hide. "Sirs... Majesty... I don't really know what to say. I'm not sure I have the experience to..."

"Ha!" The King's exclamation startled him. "You've got a damn sight more experience than anyone else on this planet... except for those bastards sitting up there in the Castle."

"We need your help, son," Varney added. "We're helpless without trained soldiers and the mobile firepower and armor to back them up."

Jerevid turned to Grayson full face, and his eyes flashed as he spoke. Grayson realized with some surprise that there was more to this king than a dull mind in a frail body. The King spoke with animation. "Varney here tells me you outfought those 'Mechs practically bare-handed, because you knew how they worked, how their drivers would think. That's what we need here."

"But Majesty, what about 'Mechs?"

"What about 'em? We have two, thanks to you. There's the one you captured and another we can repair. And anything more you capture is yours!"

Grayson considered the potential of a 'Mech Lance consisting of two 20-ton 'Mechs. Typical Lances contained a mix of 'Mech weights and types, ranging from 20-to

"Just what is it this 'Mech Lance is supposed to do?"

Adel took another sip from his glass. "The withdrawal of Carlyle's men has left us wide open to bandits like Hendrik." He pursed his lips judiciously. "I'm not going to comment on just what it was your people were trying to pull with that Pact we've heard so much about."

"Then don't," said Jeverid.

"Yes, Majesty. Be that as it may, the Commonwealth garrison is gone, and our enemies are here. We expect them to continue raiding us for supplies and perhaps to send out a call for reinforcements

"You dealt them a terrible blow, Grayson. Our scouts report they only have two serviceable 'Mechs left now, with another damaged and another being refitted in the Castle. Why, with your skill and a pair of 'Mechs of our own, the Guard could cripple those bastards, make it so they'd never send another expedition to Trellwan again. We need a 'Mech unit of our own if we're going to protect ourselves and our sovereignty. Without it..." He shrugged expressively. "We might as well sign ourselvesover to Hendrik. We're helpless."

A Locustand a Waspagainst a Marauderand a Stinger,plus a Shadow Hawk,once the enemy repaired the machine that had been crippled before the attack. That meant a combined combat to