DropShip Grand Sire

Huáng-yù Province, Liao

17 July 3134

The Du-jin Mountains were one of perhaps five places where the Overlord–class Grand Sire could hide itself. One hundred thirty meters high and nearly ten thousand tons, it seemed to Evan as if someone had dropped a thirty-five-story skyscraper into one of the most remote regions on Liao’s northern continent. A gray-painted, egg-shaped military skyscraper, proudly bearing the gauntlet-and-sword crest of the Capellan Confederation.

Standing in the pelting sleet, Evan and Mai Uhn Wa had watched the leviathan make planetfall that afternoon. Dropping in tandem with a Mule cargo ship to hide in its sensor shadow, the Overlord simply split away several dozen kilometers over Huáng-yù Province for its new mountain nesting grounds. It landed on a bright pillar of fusion-driven flame, painful to stare at, burning acres of forest into ash and instantly jumping the local humidity as rain-soaked ground baked under the driveflame kiln.

“This is what you have been waiting for?” Evan had asked then.

Tugging at his wispy beard, Mai Wa nodded slowly. “One of the things I was promised. Perhaps we are favored after all.” He would explain no more than that.

Remembering the last time Evan had relied on the elder freedom fighter for much-needed supplies, he accepted the arrival of the Dynasty Guard at face value. They were here, not delayed in some other system, never to arrive. It was a good sign.

Such optimism lasted only until the two men met with the Guard’s commander.

Five hours later, the scent of wood smoke and charred greensward still lingered in the humid air. It competed with choking exhaust from diesel-powered vehicles and aviation fuel from the constant VTOL runs to haul supplies and equipment quickly out of the valley. Evan lumbered along in a LoaderMech, a modified construction machine that used viselike grips to move cargo in special cradles affixed with steel flanges. Sang-shao Carson Rieves had ordered Evan to work, and one didn’t argue with a man who had an elite combined-arms battalion to back him up. Evan relieved one of the Loader drivers and spent two hours walking cargo from DropShip bay to VTOL, staring out through water-beaded ferroglass, biting down on the inside of his cheeks until blood teased his tongue.

He didn’t notice Mai Uhn Wa. Not until the man bounced a rock off the yellow-tinted canopy, startling Evan on his return trip to the Grand Sire.

“Evan!” Mai called and waved to him, barely able to compete with the LoaderMech’s throaty engine noise. He stood next to an enlisted man, gesturing for Evan to cut the motor. To dismount.

Evan set his machine into a wide-legged stance, then throttled down to a coughing idle. Jacking the latch and swinging the door up into the still steady rainfall, he formed a small overhang that allowed him to climb down and stand in relative dryness. The Confederation recruit—a san-ben-bing–shoved forward, grabbed hold of the steel rungs, and climbed up into the Loader’s cab.

Evan stumbled out from under the large machine before being crushed underfoot. “I guess that means I’m relieved?” he asked Mai.

Mai Uhn Wa’s leathery face was wrinkled in distaste. He gestured back to the DropShip, started the damp walk toward the ramp that had been extended down from the Overlord’s main cargo bay. “It means we are dismissed. Sang-shao Rieves has tired of my constant arguments.”

They waited as a new BattleMech—a Targe this time—filled the ramp’s entrance and then stomped its way down. Painted a deep maroon, the Dynasty Guard ’Mech was trimmed in greenish gold and black. It also bore the Confederation crest proudly on its right breast. A muddied path chewed up by the heavily shod feet of seven ’Mechs before it made an easy course to follow. It throttled into an easy walk, eating five meters in a stride.

“No swaying him?” Evan asked.

He had to repeat himself, louder, as a pair of Garrot Super-Heavy Transports thundered over a nearby rise. A Garrot wasn’t much more than a flying cradle with pairs of crablike arms extending down from three points along its body. Mai and Evan watched as the VTOLs each picked out a parked vehicle and then hunkered down over it, getting a thumbs-up from ground crew and clamping down with the cradle arms to secure the tank. A great roar of raw power and the sky-cranes lifted off with their burdens, ferrying the armored vehicles in the same direction taken by the Targe.

“Not yet,” Mai finally answered when they could hear themselves think again. “He seems to be holding us responsible for the damage his unit took on Gan Singh. He will release nothing until his unit is up to full operational strength, with on-planet resources confirmed.”

“Then why not just let us leave?” Evan glanced back at their Lamprey transport, grounded just beyond the active loading zone, looking very weak and small compared to the Garrot VTOLs.

“Operational security, perhaps. Didn’t want to let us fly out of the mountains too soon, in case we were spotted and backtracked.” Mai glanced around. “Also I believe he was waiting for someone to arrive on that Sprint that came in. I missed their meeting, but not the enlisted men’s free talk. Someone who was on the Mule they followed down. Helping to coordinate.”

Evan rubbed his hands against his damp fatigues, letting his interest in the landing maneuver overshadow his desire to simply be away. Far away. “Anything more on the Mule?” Whoever it was in the civilian cargo vessel, they were certainly more than closet supporters of the Confederation. Both Evan and Mai Uhn Wa evidenced interest in finding out who, and whether or not they were an asset that could benefit the local pro-Capellan struggle.

“No. Sang-shao Rieves is being most obstinate.” Mai glanced over at his former student, now his partner in the unsteady alliance between rebels and cadets, and McCarron’s Second. “I am sorry for this, Evan. I know how badly the Conservatory needed these supplies.”

Evan could not justly refuse the elder man something. “Not as badly as we would need them if you had not struck a deal with the Armored Cavalry,” he offered. As bridges went, it wasn’t the most steady, but it was a start. He had known even before his conversation with Ritter Michaelson that his destiny and Mai’s were inexorably tied together. The major, without meaning to, had merely pushed Evan into accepting it a little faster.

Until Mai Uhn Wa and the Ijori Dè Guāng, he had never truly felt at home.

They set foot on the ramp’s nonskid, leaning into the five-story climb to its top. Sang-shao Carson Rieves waited at the head of the ramp. He still cut quite the figure. In his Confederation uniform, blue gray trousers and a mandarin-collared tunic trimmed in Capellan green, a dao sword slung down by his left hip, he stood arrogantly with one foot up on the ramp’s lower rail. His Han-influenced helmet shed the rain onto his shoulders. Beneath the brim, his eyes were two black pits, supervising all in his domain. Evan felt the back of his neck warm with a guilty flush, and dried his palms again.

Mai Uhn Wa bowed politely. “We salute the Dynasty Guard’s strength, Sang-shao Rieves. If you are determined to refuse us the Chancellor’s promise, then we must soon depart. We will have a great deal more work to accomplish.”