Mercenary's Star

"Hardly," Grayson said, shaking his head wearily.

"The way I understand it, you were brought in to help train our people, our army, in how to fight ‘Mechs. But right now, there's not much of an army left Lots of our people have scattered and headed home by now. It'll be some time before they come back."

"Let's talk straight," said Ericksson. "Some of my people are wondering if we can trust you mercs. Your money's safe offplanet. We don't have anything more to offer you, that's certain! What's to keep your people from just...buying out of their contracts with you? Buying out and then hiring on elsewhere!"

Brasednewic smiled bitterly. "The Revolutionary Council must have gambled everything they had to hire you and to buy the supplies we needed. Your people just might have a chance if you sell out to the Brownjackets."

"Maybe we would," Grayson said, pausing as though to consider the suggestion. Why did they assume that mercenaries were loyal only to the highest offer? "We might have a chance...a small one, if the Dracos were feeling merciful. But what do you think our chances would be next time we went looking for an employer?" He shook his head. "People have the idea that mercenaries just get up and switch sides for a better offer, but it doesn't work like that. If we broke our contract with you, we'd not only lose our bond on Galatea, but ComStar would see to it that we never got work again."

"Well, I knowthat but..." Ericksson stopped and looked hard at Grayson. "Maybe what we're wondering is just how much of a stake you have in our war here...besides the money."

"You have no reason to hate the Combine," Tollen added. "Not like we do."

A sensation of ice spread through Grayson's stomach. No reason? He remembered his father, dead in the ruin of his Phoenix Hawkon the spaceport tarmac on Trellwan. He remembered the sight of the Draconis Combine Warhammerthat had killed him.That memory had driven him on Trellwan, and probably drove him even more now. More than he wanted to admit.

His hand closed into a fist, which he slowly made to relax. "Even mercenaries can have reasons to fight besides... money. Believe me."

"Maybe." Brasednewic was not looking at him, but toward the jungle outside. "But you'll have to prove it."

"You give us the support we need, and you'll have your proof." He saw Ramage waiting to talk to him. "Excuse me...gentlemen? Ma'am?"

"How'd it go?" Ramage asked. He wore a worried expression and his eyes strayed continually to the rebel leaders. As they argued some point, they also cast occasional glances back at Grayson and his NCO.

"What...with them? They're worried that we'll sell out. Can't say I blame them."

"What about the battle? We didn't pick up much through the comlink, other than the fact that you'd made it in and out."

"We got to them, but only just. Have you been talking to the rebel staff? What's the butcher's bill?"

Ramage shook his head. "I was with them in the comshack listening in, but I didn't learn much. Unit commanders are still reporting in, but it might take a week to hear from all of them. Figuring that maybe half have reported in who are going to, the rebs lost forty, maybe fifty, either dead or captured. Maybe twice that wounded. What about Thorvald? I heard he bought it."

"Dead." Grayson sagged back against the foot of his Hawk,vastly weary. "He was a brave man."

"Begging the Captain's pardon," Ramage said stiffly, "the man was a fool."

Grayson looked sharply at the Sergeant, but was too tired to do more than shake his head sadly. There was no point now in discussing Thorvald's mistakes.

"You got 'em out, sir. Youdid."

"Maybe. But now we have to decide what to do with them. At this point, there's not a whole lot left of the Verthandian rebel army."

His eyes caught the movement of two young men crossing the sandy cave floor toward him, the lights overhead scattering faint, contrasting shadows as they walked. It was Felgard, the senior rebel Tech, and Sergeant Karelian, the Gray Death's senior Tech. They were in deep conversation, and Grayson knew what was troubling them without needing to be told. Every BattleMech in the little rebel group had sustained damage. To repair them, to even get them ru

"We're going to have to start over," Grayson continued, as he turned to greet the two Techs. "From the begi

* * * *

It wasn't until late that evening that he was able to assemble his command perso

Grayson stood outside the circle of firelight, hands on hips. The ten of them were a dirty and ragged-looking group. Each had been up all night during the march to Regis and then been through the battle there, and again up all day working to get the Legion's ‘Mechs fully operational. Except for catnaps snatched here and there, some had had no sleep at all for thirty hours or more. The strain was showing.

"Thank you all for coming," Grayson said, stepping closer to the firelight. The faces looking up at him were dulled by fatigue and showed little emotion. "Before anything else happens, I thought we'd better decide what we're doing, where we're going."

Lori laughed, a bitter sound. "What choice is there?"

"You still think we should keep helping these malfing pongoes?" Clay asked. He twisted a short stick nervously between his fingers. "Their general, so-called, is dead...and good riddance."

Grayson stooped beside the fire, reached down, and thrust a half-burned brand deeper into the flames. Red sparks spiralled into the night. "The way I see it," he said finally, "is that we haven't got any choice. At the very least, we're stuck here until Captain Tor jumps back in-system. And what do you think his chances are of slipping in another DropShip past the Kurita blockade?"

There were murmurs from some. As Lori stared into the flames, a tiny muscle twitched near one eye. Grayson studied her face carefully, and decided that what he saw there was defeat. It was the same sense of futility he felt in himself. To behave otherwise took a strenuous effort. "All we can do is fight," he said. "Fight, and win."

"Win?" Clay snapped the twig he'd been playing with and tossed half into the fire. "The Dracos have four ‘Mech regiments on this drekwater planet, and God knows how many troops! We have...what? Our few ‘Mechs and a handful of farm machines!"

"It's a start, Delmar." Grayson attempted a smile. He was faced with a sudden, ludicrous vision. If everyone in the Gray Death resigned, he would have to fulfill the unit's contract obligations himself, a literal one-man army. Well, he could give classes in anti- ‘Mech warfare.

No, Lori would stay with him. And Ramage, and the others who had been with him on Trellwan. Though he'd not known McCall as long, he felt fairly sure that he would stay, too, no matter what. "All we need is a start. But I didn't say it would be easy."