Decision at Thunder Rift

Grayson felt discouraged, but rallied with an effort of will. It was too early yet to know what might work and what would not. "But you'll help us? When you get up and around? I'll make you my advisor, put you on my'staff."

Tor sighed. "There's no stopping you, I see." Then he gri

It was not so easy to convince Claydon, however. He had been among the 180-odd civilians and soldiers freed during the spaceport raid. Grayson saw him as the group disembarked at the Militia HQ, and had run up to him with a shout and a grin. But his greeting was rebuffed.' "I should be glad to see you?" The Trell asked bitterly. "After what happened to my home... to Father?"

"I — I'm sorry, Claydon." What could Grayson possibly say to bridge that rift? "Look... it wasn't my fault!"

"Not your fault?" Claydon's pale face flushed. "Listen, young Lord, you have a marvelous faculty for using people, for riding them like 'Mechs until they break down or you get where you're going. I'll have no more of it"

"Claydon, we need you!" With another Tech of Claydon's qualifications, the technical platoon would have half a chance to get the captured 'Mechs in fighting order. But, gods of the old League, the anger that was in him!

"But I don't need you! Leave me alone." Claydon had turned on his heel, leaving Grayson standing by the massive wheel of the transporter.

He mused about Claydon as he made his way north through Sarghad's streets toward Mara's apartment. He'd decided to walk despite the cold because he needed the time to do some thinking. Anyway, his cold-weather gear kept him warm enough. The streets were filled with the usual merchants, civilians, and soldiers going about their business, though there were no crowds this far from the merchants' quarter.

Grayson had not seen Mara in more periods than he could count, and schedule or no schedule, he'd promised her that during his next rest period they would get, in her words, reacquainted. Somehow he could not keep his mind on Mara, though, because something Claydon had said continued to echo in his mind. Use people? Of course he used people! As Lance Commander he had to use them daily to get anything done, trading favors for favors, bolstering egos to get work done, pulling strings on juniors and superiors alike. And the job HAD to be done.

But Grayson was becoming uncomfortable, certain that Claydon had been referring not to what he was doing, but why. In his heart, Grayson knew he was working to create an antiMech infantry unit, not merely to guard Trellwan, but as a tool for bringing down the black and gray Marauder.But revenge or not, if what he did also benefited Trellwan's people, what was the wrong?

A four-wheeled transport squeaked to a stop on the road beside him.

"Grayson! Wait!" Lori climbed out of the transport's cab. "It's all right," she said to the driver. "I'll be with him."

Grayson caught the green-coated driver's answer. "My orders, Sergeant. I'm to stay with you."

Lori's expression was one of frustration as she approached Grayson. A soldier, usually a Royal Guard, watched her whenever she went beyond the Lance HQ or the apartment that had been assigned to her.

"Hello, Lori. What can I do for you?"

"I need to... talk." She glanced over her shoulder at the driver, who had parked the vehicle and stood beside it now, just out of hearing.

Oh, hell, not now, he thought, but he managed a half-smile. "Sure. Walk with me?"

She nodded and fell into step. Her guard followed at a discreet distance.

"What's the problem?"

"What isn't? Grayson, this just isn't going to work!”

“Ah. Cultural problems again?" That was their private code for the difficulties Lori faced working with men from a culture that did not accept women in leadership or military positions.

"And then some! I've been trying to requisition ammo reloads, and those red tape-stuffed bureaucrats won't even talk to me. Insist they want to talk to a quote responsible officer or NCO unquote."

"You show them your warrant?" It had taken a special pass with Jeverid's seal and signature on it to let Lori accomplish much of what she'd had to do.

"Of course. And now there's the problem with Garik."

Garik Enzelman was Lori's former comrade, captured with his Waspat the battle for the spaceport. After talking with Lori, he had agreed to join Grayson's command, but staff officers and even other members of the unit had ferociously resisted the idea.

"Did you get him sprung?"

She nodded. "Finally. They have watchdogs following him around, too."

"I can't really help that, Lori. You have to admit you two could do a lot of damage if you set your minds to it,"

"But they don't seem to understand that we owe Harimandir Singh and his bandits nothing! Nothing! He practically kidnapped us, killed one of our people on the way here..."

Grayson knew this really wasn't the right moment for the discussion. "Look, I'll talk to someone next work period..."

"Gray, I can't take this any more! Either they let me do my job, or I'm..."

He put his hand out. "Wait.

A noise, a low-pitched hum from behind, had alerted him. He turned just in time to see a small, dark-haired man stepping up behind him. For a frozen instant, Grayson tried to place where he'd seen the man before. But there was no time to pursue the thought. The vibroblade in the man's hand was white hot.

20

Grayson stepped back, and the blade swept up past his face leaving a trail of heat and the odor of scorched metal. The blade swung again, Grayson dodged again, and felt a stone wall press into his back. Lori shouted a warning and stepped between Grayson and the attacker.

The attacker stiff-armed Lori to the side. "Out of the way, lady!" But Lori's hands had closed on the man's wrist and elbow, her booted foot smashing into his knee.

The blade hummed through the air toward this new target, but Grayson took the man's right arm in an elbow lock as Lori spun him headfirst into the wall with a sound like eggs cracking. The vibroblade danced on the pavement, gouging out a chunk of ferrocrete as it fell. Then Grayson had pulled the power pack lead and the glowing menace died. His attacker slumped to the ground.

Grayson crouched and probed the man's throat, feeling for a pulse. "He's dead. Neck's broken."

"Damn," Lori said.

"What is it?"

"I didn't mean to kill him. Now we can't find out who he is."

"No matter. I know him."

"Oh?" One eyebrow arched. "Friend of yours?"

He shook his head. "His name is Stefan. He was an astech with the Commandos. The spy who let the bandits into the Castle. He must be working for... who'd you say their leader was?"

"Harimandir Singh. You must be getting on his nerves, if he's singled you out for this kind of special attention."

"Yes," Grayson said softly. "Singh." The name settled cold and hard in his heart. He'd vowed to kill the traitor who had opened the Castle's gates to the enemy. Though it had been Lori who had delivered the killing blow, what mattered was that the man was dead. Yet, Grayson did not feel the satisfaction he'd expected. Instead, the need for revenge was rising again, a blood-burning lust Stefan had been merely Singh's tool, and so Singh was the man he really wanted. But how?