Mercenary's Star

The distance from Fox Island to Westlee was perhaps six hundred kilometers, but by way of the twisting roads and jungle paths, the distance actually travelled was more like a thousand Limited by the lurching pace of the heavier AgroMechs, the column's top speed was something less than 60 kph. There were also frequent stops to repair minor failures in overheated circuits and stress-worn actuators or to give overheated cooling systems a chance to recycle.

The flesh-and-blood elements of the column were proving to be even weaker and more vulnerable to the strain than were the machines. Four apprentice pilots had passed out when the insufficient cooling systems of their AgroMechs failed, and it had taken time to revive them. Two PickerMechshad failed to complete the journey at all, and three hover transports had to be abandoned when their overworked turbofans simply gave out, with no way to repair them in the jungle. The remaining transports had been claustrophobically crowded after that. Even then, the fourteen-hour-long Verthandian night had not been enough to complete the march in darkness. They arrived at Westlee four hours past dawn, dirty and exhausted, their morale utterly crushed.

"Well, what the hell do we do now?" Use Martinez said at the staff meeting Grayson had called upon arrival. It was the question on all their minds, of course, and Grayson was glad that someone else had spoken it aloud. They were seated in the lounge of the Phobosto discuss that very matter.

Save for Jaleg Yorulis, all his Mech pilots were there. Earlier that day, they had buried the young Lyran ‘MechWarrior in an unmarked grave up the beach. Sergeant Ramage was present as well, representing both the mercenary support troops and the rebel infantry, and Grayson had invited two of the oldest Verthandi Ranger Mech Warriors, Rolf Montido and Collin Dace, as representatives of their people.

"We go on," Grayson said in response to Martinez. "We organize what we have left...and go on."

What we have left.The only thing that kept the destruction of the Fox Island camp from being a total disaster was that the ‘Mechs and most of the rebel army had escaped. So much had beenlost, though. All their support facilities and equipment, except for what the Phoboscarried aboard. Fifteen of the Legion's Techs were lost, dead or marched off to captivity. That included both Tomlinson and Karelian, two of their best. All of the Verthandian astechs were dead or captured, as well as the rebel army's own Techs. And, of course, they had all lost friends, comrades with whom they had grown close in the past weeks.

The Revolutionary Council was gone as well, whether killed or captured. The Council was the whole reason for the Gray Death's presence on Verthandi in the first place. It was their paymaster, patron, and client.

Grayson leaned far back in his chair, with hands pressed flat over his eyes. He had changed into a uniform, but only because Yorulis' blood had so soaked the shorts and light mesh shirt he'd been wearing. Though he'd managed a fast shower before the meeting, he still felt coated with sweat, stench, and jungle mud.

"What's the condition of the ship?" he asked Use.

Clay was immaculate in his trim green and brown Roughriders uniform, but most of the others looked as dirty as Grayson still felt. Lori wore the same shorts and top that she'd made the march in, though she had taken a quick splash in the ocean surf to cool off. The rigors of the previous night showed, too, in the haggardness of their expressions and their dark-circled eyes. Each had had a meal and a couple of hours' sleep, but it would take more than that to erase the strain of the night's long march. Khaled, Martinez, and the others who had remained with Phoboslooked fresh and well-rested by comparison.

"The ship," Martinez said patiently, "is not going anywhere until she gets a refit. Her number three tube is cracked and her primary heat exchangers are shot. The fusion pile needs flushing and relining, and the magnetic superconductors in the plasma bottle charge directors need replacement But that stuff is hot...and I mean hot...and I'm not about to try any of thatthis side of a space dock! We barely made it here as a steamboat. We're not going to be a spacecraft again for a long time yet."

"You've checked the foundries of machine shops or whatever is available in Westlee." It was a statement, not a question. Grayson knew that the resourceful DropShip pilot would have tracked down all possible sources of spare parts and repair materials.

Use answered with a sour expression and a downturned thumb. "We could manage temporary repairs—enough to get us back to the jump point—with a lot of work and the facilities of the Regisport ship bays. Maybe."

"Then we're stuck here," Debrowski said. Regisport, ten kilometers north of Regis itself, was heavily garrisoned, for it was the groundside link with the Kurita forces' own space supply lines. "We won't be able to make our rendezvous with Captain Tor."

"We knew that right along," Grayson said. His mind raced. He'd been considering their options all during the trek through the jungle. If they were to run for it, simply give up their Verthandian commitment and make a run for it, there was one chance...

"The invidiousis due back in-system in another 120 hours...make it four local days," he said. "Our only hope if we wanted to leave with her would be to capture a Kurita DropShip and run the blockade."

Clay's eyes narrowed. "Could we do that?"

The silence in the conference room thickened perceptibly as Grayson considered his answer. "Yes," he said at last. "Nagumo doesn't know when our starship is due back in system. He doesn't know it isdue back. We could plan a raid, capture a DropShip at Regisport, and high-tail it to the jump point before he could get organized. Yes, I believe we could pull it off."

McCall smiled through the grease on his face. "Aye, there's tha', but we ca' nae leavit tha' indigs in tha' lurch, noo, can we?"

Grayson glanced at Montido and Dace. "Indig" was generally received as a condescending or even hostile word on most worlds, but both Verthandians seemed inclined to let it pass. Perhaps they reasoned that McCall was as tired as the rest of them and not thinking clearly. Or perhaps they hadn't been able to follow his accented speech.

"I'd like to know what our contract says about all this," Lori said. "Our agreement was with the Revolutionary Council. Looks to me like we don't have any employers now."

Montido stirred. "May I speak, Captain?"

"Of course. It's why we asked you here."

He glanced at Dace, then looked down at the table. "I think I speak for...for what's left of the Verthandi Rangers when I say that we need you. More than ever, we need you."

"God knows how we could pay you, though," Dace added.

"Right. If...if you want to go, get offplanet...we'll help you capture the ship, but that will be the end of us. There's no way we can keep fighting on our own. Not now."

Grayson shook his head slowly. "There are other things at stake besides money" he said. It was surprising how his own thoughts were falling into line as he discussed the matter with the others. How can we abandon them now?"The thought of stealing a Kurita DropShip is tempting, but I'd have to live with myself as well."

Debrowski stirred, frowning. "Sir...we can't still hope to beat them..."

"Why not?”

"Captain, look! It's still just us...well, us and the rebels, sir... against a regiment of ‘Mechs and God knows how many troops! We can't hopeto win against an army like that!"