Lethal Heritage

Myndo's expression eased as she realized a portion of the Precentor's argument. "You're saying that while they are likely to be bigger, faster, and stronger than us, they will be socially immature?"

Focht winced. "That's too broad a generalization, I think. Coming from a society of warriors, they are likely to be aggressive and militaristic, which is reason enough to respect and fear them. Though discipline bordering on the Draconis Combine's code of bushido is very likely, I would also guess that braggadocio, carousing, and gambling will also be seen as nearly sacred. Honor will be everything, which means they will be unprepared for guile and subterfuge."

Myndo exhaled slowly, trying in vain to release the tension in her body. "We must determine what they want and assess their ability to attain it."

Focht looked up. "I am prepared to head out any time, Primus."

"No. You are too valuable to ComStar."

"I beg to differ, Primus." The Precentor Martial smiled warily. "My junior officers are more than capable of handling the training and drilling of our forces. I would also suggest, if this wildest of explanations is correct, that sending ComStar's highest military official as your representative to them would be seen as an overwhelming sign of respect. It could open them up to allow us to influence them. If the truth is more plain, I would assume a liaison with ComStar still would not be unwelcome."

Myndo hesitated, then nodded. "Very well. You will leave for the Periphery immediately." The Precentor Martial turned to depart, but Myndo stopped him. "Precentor, you said there were two possible reasons why the aliens would be coming to the Successor States, but you only stated one. What is the second?"

She saw the ripple of revulsion shoot through Focht's body as he faced around again. "It's the same reason the Kell Hounds never found the bodies of Phelan Kell or the Ryan pirates." He swallowed hard. 'To maximize their potential, the aliens need more raw material. They are coming here to harvest mankind."

10

DropShip Devil's Island

Location unknown

Date unknown

Phelan Kell struggled impotently against the two men forcing him down into the chair. Where the hell did they get these guys?Though he'd never considered himself especially large or strong, he'd not been manhandled so easily since his childhood. Try as he might to twist his wrists free of his captors' grasp, he could not. They almost seem happy that I'm struggling. I'm giving them something against which to measure themselves.

His captors shoved him roughly down into the highbacked metal chair. They snapped cuffs over his forearms to hold his hands in place, then strapped his upper arms down and bound his legs. Both men moved with the efficiency of medtechs securing a patient, then stood and withdrew behind him, shutting the door as they left.

Phelan decided against testing his bonds. These synthetic straps will give but won't break, and I can't do anything about the metal wrist-cuffs anyway. No sense in wasting the energy.

He quickly took stock of the featureless room. Roughly three meters by three meters, the room and the chair bolted to the floor had been painted in a flat gray. Recessed overhead lights glowed softly and allowed Phelan just enough light to see his reflection in the room's only true feature. He sat facing a mirrored panel that made up the middle of the wall.

Phelan chuckled to himself. Same color scheme as my cell and the hallway between here and there. The guys who run this home for wayward MechWarriors have no imagination. Still, it is nice to be free of that cell. If I have to spend another month talking to myself I'll go crazy.

He glanced down at his right wrist. A bracelet woven from synthetic white cord encircled his wrist. The soft material did not irritate his skin, nor was it tight enough to cause him any physical discomfort, but he disliked it nonetheless. An ID tag or electronic locator I could understand, but a piece of rope? There's something unusual going on here, and I definitely don't like it.

Static crackled through a speaker hidden in the ceiling. "Let the record show that this is the first interview with prisoner 150949L. The subject is male and appears to have recovered from the minor injuries sustained during his capture."

Phelan felt a shiver run down his spine as the voice described him in a detached, clinical way. Injuries? He felt a twinge of pain back between his shoulder blades, but he ignored it as old anger resurfaced. I know I must have suffered a concussion because I can't remember anything after I hit Gri