The Price of Glory

Larabee looked torn, indecisive. "I tell you the truth, Colonel. I don't know if he was working alone or not. It's almost impossible to believe that such a hideous, evil plot could have been concocted by one man, but neither can I believe that the Order to which I have dedicated my life is capable of such monstrous deeds!"

"Whatever happened," Grayson said gently, "it is a failure of your Order's system.The power that ComStar wields, concealed by its mysticism ... it is enough to corrupt an army of men like Rachan."

"I swear to you that I knew nothing of it, Colonel. I swear to you, too, that your name, and the name of your regiment, will be cleared! If the plot was something concocted by men high up in the ComStar hierarchy, they will not dare to admit it, for there are too many people alive who know what really happened. They will find other scapegoats for Tiantan . . . Kleider and Garth, to begin with."

A fierce light burned in Larabee's eyes. "I will speak with my superiors on Terra. I think they will publicly support the . . . the theorythat Rachan was an isolated madman, that Tiantan was his idea alone, but carried out by the Duke of Irian in exchange for the promise of loot from the Star League cache. You, Colonel, will no longer be considered a renegade."

Grayson nodded. "That's . . . good. It doesn't much help the people who died on Sirius V, though. And it doesn't help Morley, Brodensen, Dulaney, or the others who died."

"Never forget the living, Colonel. There are alwaysthe living."

The living. Ramage was alive, barely, recovering now under the ship doctor's care. Clay had his arm in a sling, but was happily reunited with his wife and son. Janice Taylor was alive, and Lori. Grayson reached out, putting his arm around her waist, drawing her close. Lori is alive!he thought joyfully.

"Yes, there are the living," Grayson repeated. "And for that, we have to thank you, Adept Larabee. We ca

"But you can. Alard King explained to me your suspicions concerning ComStar during the ride to your ship." Larabee looked down at his hands. "Perhaps I can settle some of my own doubts on that score if I know you are carrying out your original plan . . . allowing that library data to be spread across the stars." Larabee turned his hands, examining them. "I just wish I knew."

"Knew what?"

"I wish I knew whether, by helping you, by helping to spread that data ... I will be helping to make up for the evil done by one, mad renegade of my Order ... or whether it will make of methe renegade ..."

Epilogue

Grayson never did learn whether Adept Larabee became a renegade fighter or a renegade. As the man had promised, the First Circuit, ComStar's i

During the year following the nightmare of Helm, Grayson heard isolated bits of information about the incident from various sources. It was discovered that Garth and Kleider, for example, were behind a plot to overthrow Janos Marik. Their co

Grayson and Duke Ricol had parted company at Stewart, where the Deimosand the Phoboswere reunited with Captain Tor and the JumpShip Individious.As promised, Ricol had shared the booty from Helm with Grayson. There were 'Mechs enough to fill out three full combat companies, plus spares and repair materials enough to fully refit the A Company 'Mechs damaged on Helm. Afterward, the Red Duke vanished toward the Kurita frontier.

"I imagine we will meet again as enemies, I'm afraid," he said in parting to Grayson. "It is inevitable, I suppose. And . . . who knows? Perhaps things will change. I can always use a good mercenary regiment in my employ, with a commander I can trust."

"Perhaps, Your Grace. I'll have to think about that one."

The library data was copied . . . and copied again. Captain Tor used his old merchanter's contacts to find people who would transport those copies along the trade routes, scattering the old Star League library files among the stars.

There was no way to tell whether the effort would be worth it. Though Grayson had recognized the importance of the library, as had Duke Ricol, how many of Tor's merchant friends and contacts took the memory cores in order to sell them? How many found that no one was interested enough to buy them ... or even to take them when offered free?

That was beyond Grayson's power to control. He had done his best in trying to disseminate the data as widely as possible. If mankind was to benefit from the lost Star League treasure, it would have to proveits worthiness by recognizing the value of the data. Perhaps, the rediscovered farming methods, old genetic manipulation techniques, and long-lost manufacturing processes would one day make a reappearance. Perhaps man's lot would improve, and the long, dark slide into feudalism and technological ignorance would be arrested . . . even reversed.

But it might be centuries before any such change. Man—and his ignorance—covered one hell of a lot of ground.

* * *

Grayson floated in weightlessness in a lounge aboard the Invidious.The stars shone with crystal and unwinking clarity through the chamber's transparent panels. The ship's jump sail had already been retracted, and preparations made for the first jump toward Lyran space. There was talk about a new contract in service to Katrina Steiner. The Gray Death's reputation had grown on Helm, along with its strength in 'Mechs. On Galatea and elsewhere, there would be more recruits waiting to join the Legion.

Lori stirred in Grayson's arms, and he drew her closer. There were advantages to being regimental commander, he thought. The ship's lounge, with its magnificent view of space, could be locked at his command. An hour's privacy was a treasure without price aboard ship. His lips found Lori's, and they kissed in a long and deep embrace while drifting in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

"What are you thinking?" she murmured in his ear.

He smiled, and squeezed her closer. The movement set them turning, very slowly.

He had been so certain that he was doomed to die . . . that there was no way out, for him or for his regiment. Though the conviction had not left him, it no longer held him prisoner. His . . . what was it? Call it luck ... or destiny ... it had brought him so very far from Trellwan . . . Yet were not luck and destiny his to make and shape for himself? They were not outside forces to be waited on . . . or relied upon. Not as he relied on the people around him.

He smiled, remembering the words of the old, old warrior's song:

Home is the regiment, the price of glory high.

We stand with brothers at our sides

to pay that price, and die!

The blood of comrades cries to us