Mercenary's Star

The ship's lounge offered the illusion of more space, but not many could fit in at once. It was also the only area aboard the Phoboslarge enough to accommodate Grayson's entire company staff. That meant Legion troops or Techs looking to stretch their legs or use the lounge microfiche reader all too often found the door closed and hung with a hand-penciled sign saying "Staff Meeting".

Held once during each of the ship's 24 standard-hour days, these meeting were Grayson's best opportunity to observe how the members of his staff worked together and with the other MechWarriors of his command. The meetings also served for discussion of alternate strategies and possibilities for the coming weeks, as well as to air worries, disagreements, and objections.

"It's what you signed on to do," Grayson was saying now. His head hurt because they had been around this point a dozen times already. As the hour of confrontation with the Kurita garrison drew closer, the Gray Death's two Chippewapilots were occupying more and more of Grayson's time in these meetings. Their experience at Sevren had made them wary of promises of assistance.

"Look, we weren't told our DropShip would be a pop-gun-mounted freighter," Sue Ellen Klein said. She stood at her place at the conference table, stabbing an accusing forefinger at Grayson. "You say you'll bail us out if we get in deep, but you're going to have trouble bailing yourself out if it really goes down!"

"You may be right," Grayson said quietly, "but you and Lieutenant Sherman are this unit's air-space fighter power, period. I have no one else I can use, and I'm going to need a fighter screen out there ten hours from now. It's a long way back to get replacements. If you didn't want the billets, why didn't you walk on Galatea, when I gave you the chance?"

"I didn't know then we were signing a damned suicide pact!"

Jeffrie Sherman spoke from the seat alongside Klein. "We assumed we were signing to provide cover for ground operations, Captain. We're good at ground support, and we'll be an asset to your unit. But a plan like this..." He tapped the portable computer screen in front of him. "Pick-up is going to be crucial."

Grayson folded his hands in front of him on the table. How he dealt with this could be critical to the mission...and to the future of the unit. The staff knew only too well that Sue Ellen Klein and Jeffrie Sherman were the sole survivors of an AeroSpace Fighter wing that had tangled with two full squadrons of Combine Slayersover Severn; that a failed pick-up had resulted in the deaths of their comrades, including Klein's brother. When their squadron had disbanded, Klein and Sherman had become mercenaries, and joined the Gray Death Legion.

Now these two wanted assurances that the Legion's DropShip would not abandon them to the Kurita pursuers.

Grayson spread his hands. "I don't have any answer for you, people. I know you're good at ground support, and I intend to employ you in ground support the moment we set down. But if Combine naval ships close on us, I'm going to need a fighter screen. Agreed...if we get caught in a ru

"Only that if you land anywhere in the polar basin, just stay with your ships. Our people will get to you sooner or later. Combine forces never enter the jungle if they can help it They tend to get...bogged down."

"How is the Gray Death supposed to move ‘Mechs through all that mud?" Sue Ellen demanded.

Erudin chuckled. "You'll be meeting a man on our council named Ericksson, and he has a place...an island...all dry land and full of surprises. As for the rest..." He shrugged. "There are swamps, of course, but lots of dry land. Logging is big business around the Azure Sea. There are logging roads and trails all through the Basin."

Grayson frowned at Erudin. The names of the rebel council's members were not good items to share with people who might one day find themselves beating their way through the bush on an enemy-held planet.

Sue Ellen sat down beside Sherman, who took her hand.

There's a weakness there,he thought. A weak link in the unit. But what am I supposed to say, 'Stop loving each other for the good of the Legion?'

"Do we have any idea yet what we're facing in the way of space defenses?" Martinez asked.

"Not yet," Grayson told her. "There'll be DropShips, certainly, on the Verthandian moon...and Citizen Erudin states that there are AeroSpace Fighters on the planet. He doesn't know how many."

"Great!" Sue Ellen muttered. "We're flying into another bloody, malfing trap..."

"That's enough!" Grayson's open palm came down on the table top, startling the room to absolute silence. He let his words hang there for a second, looking at each person in turn. His reaction had been sharper than he'd intended, but there was no going back now. "You two do have a choice.... You can fulfill your contracts with the Gray Death—and that means obeying my orders to the letter—or you can buy out right now. That means you remain aboard the Phobosfor the balance of this mission, in your cabins, relieved of all duties and rank. At our earliest convenientopportunity, we will return you to Galatea or some other planetary commerce center...and by God, you'd better not get in my way in the meantime!"

Sherman folded his arms. "You did say you needed us, Captain."

"Did I? I need your ships, Mister! They may be your property, but so help me, I'll seize them as military contraband if I have to and appropriate them as Legion property!"

Klein looked shocked. "You wouldn't! You have no pilots—"

"That's myconcern, Lieutenant. Youronly concern is to make that decision, and make it now! Are you going to work with me, or am I going to have to trample you under?"

There were further protests, but in the end, Sherman and Klein backed down as gracefully as possible. They would obey Grayson's orders, and they would fly the screening mission as the Phobosapproached her destination.

When the meeting broke up, Grayson remained seated while the others filed from the room, his hands pressed over his eyes. He was tired, so tired...

When he opened his eyes, it was to see Use Martinez still standing there. "Well, Major"she said. "You realize those two have a third option, don't you?"

He blinked at her. Her smile and tone of voice were unsettling; her use of the honorary rank of Major was a step removed from calculated insult. Aboard the DropShip, she was Captain, theCaptain, and naval tradition and protocol dating back to wet navies on old Earth would not tolerate two people called 'Captain' aboard any vessel. In such situations, officers such as Grayson were given an honorary, and temporary, promotion of one grade. He knew Martinez was using the word "Major" like a weapon, as some kind of test, but he had neither time nor patience for these, interpersonal games.

"What do you mean by that?" Grayson said curtly.

"Hell, they could sign on with the opposition. They'll have to if they can't make it back to the ship. Where else can they go?"