The men in the VTOL shielded their eyes from the fireball's intense flare. Dark, deadly smoke billowed up in death's umbrella over the site. Theodore was appalled. No one could survive that crash.

His father had been aboard that DropShip.

Governor Sjovold struggled across the compartment and slid the hatch closed. The noise level dropped instantly as the sealed cabin's sound buffers muffled the engine sounds. Sjovold dropped into the seat next to Theodore.

"You could have died in the crash, your Highness."

With a start, Theodore realized that Sjovold was right. If he had remained in the control center, now an inferno, he would have died at the same time as his father.

"I risked my own life," Sjovold continued, "to get you out of there. I tried to get a message through to you all morning and arrived at your barracks to find you had left for the port."

Theodore held up a hand to stop Sjovold. "Chu-iTourneville, perhaps you had better go up to the cockpit and use the radio to ensure that the emergency facilities are mobilized. Get the fire under control before it jeopardizes the rest of the compound."

Tourneville looked on the verge of refusing the suggestion, clearly wanting to remain. Theodore raised his chin slightly in a way he had seen his father do many times when wishing to reinforce his orders. Chastened, the Chu-igave a sketchy bow and vanished up the companionway to the cockpit.

Theodore turned to face the puzzled Governor. "Tourneville screened my calls this morning," he explained.

Sjovold nodded his understanding, and a slight smile crept onto his face. "I see you begin to understand what has happened. You will appreciate that I have your best interests in mind."

"I appreciate that you saved the life of the man who is to marry your daughter. A man who would become ... no, hasbecome Coordinator. I do not think that you have only myinterests in mind."

Sjovold rocked back into his seat and stroked his beard, a sudden, new respect coming into his eyes. "I would be a fool and a liar if I denied that. Our paths take us in the same direction, and we can be of great help to each other.

"For years, I have studied your career. The more I came to know of you, the more I was impressed. I have worked to see you replace your father. My people and I have worked alongside the Warlord, planning to rid ourselves of the tyrant, a man who has oppressed you as much as he has this District. Though we worked with Marcus, assuring him that we would support him as Coordinator, we worked for you. Marcus has betrayed us all by trying to kill you today, too.

As soon as I learned of his message to you, I tried to stop you."

"You did not try to stop me,Jarl," Ricol drawled.

Sjovold, his concentration on Theodore broken, looked blankly at the Duke.

There was something between the two men that Theodore did not understand. It was unimportant compared to what the Governor had said. "You say that you were involved with my cousin Marcus in a plot to kill my father."

"It was necessary. But Marcus double-crossed us. He wishes to be Coordinator. It was always my intention to see you on the Coordinator's throne. We did this for you."

"And now you expect me to work with you."

"You will be Coordinator. We will all benefit. As your Warlord here, I can assure you of a peaceful, loyal district."

Theodore stood and paced across the compartment. Sjovold's ambitions had been revealed, naked and ugly. He was now double-crossing Marcus even as he said the Warlord had double-crossed him. His back to the Governor, Theodore said, "You have an interesting opinion of the Kurita clan, Governor Sjovold. In general, and of me, specifically. If you know me so well, you should realize that I will not be a party to regicide."

A sudden, meaty smack and yelp caused him to turn. Ricol and Sjovold were wrestling, rolling back and forth across the deck.

Theodore stared at the struggling men, disturbed that he had felt no warning, no sense of danger to himself. His early training with Tetsuhara -senseiand later sessions with Director Indrahar had taught him to trust that sense. He did not believe it would betray him here. This was between the two of them. He held himself aloof from the struggling men on the floor of the compartment.

The combatants bashed up against the aft bulkhead, Sjovold on top. The Governor's hands were locked around the Duke's throat. Ricol's arm snaked out to one side, slamming a fist into Sjovold's left elbow. Having weakened the grip, Ricol broke it completely in a convulsive heave. He drove a stiffened arm forward, catching Sjoyold's chin with his palm. The Governor's head snapped back with a brittle crack and he collapsed onto the Duke. Ricol untangled himself and slowly rose from the motionless body of his opponent. Stepping back, the Duke clearing Theodore's line of sight and pointed to a slim blade lying next to the Governor's outstretched hand. "He meant that for you, your Highness."

"And you threw yourself in his way to save me," Theodore stated flatly.

"As you say," Ricol said, inclining his head, "Coordinator."

Theodore was taken aback at being addressed by his father's title. It did not sound right. He wondered about Ricol's motives, about the fight he had witnessed. "Did you wish to cover your own connections to him, or did you act only out of loyalty to the Dragon?"

"Coordinator, I shall face any allegations of disloyalty in the circle of honor," Ricol replied, nonplussed by Theodore's bluntness.

"And triumph, no doubt. I have heard of your skill with blades. Of all kinds."

Ricol's face betrayed nothing.

Theodore shrugged. "Tell the pilot to take us to the Hotel Kiruna. My mother must be informed of today's events." Ricol bowed, as befitted a loyal servant of the Dragon.

12

West of Reykjavik, Rasalhague

Rasalhague Military District, Draconis Combine

22 September 3019

 

Sorenson had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but he knew it must have been only briefly. When he came to, the Startreaderwas still plummeting toward the surface of Rasalhague.

Ignoring the warning buzzes and flashing system failure lights, he forced the Grasshopperfrom its bed of smashed machinery. The BattleMech wobbled as it reached its feet, sending a feedback of dizzying vertigo through the neurocircuits to increase the ache that filled his skull. The 'Mech staggered forward toward the rent his missiles had torn in the bay door. He reached out with the machine's arms and grasped the ragged edges. Metal tore like paper as he applied the herculean strength of the seventy-ton machine's myomer muscles.

A high-pitched whine warned him of an actuator failure. He stabbed a hand forward even as his eyes registered the lights signaling a myomer failure, but was too late. Before he could hit the cut-off, the Grasshopper'sleft arm twitched, then went rigid as the motivating myomere, already stressed by the cold start, locked in spasm. Sorenson snapped the switch, cutting the power and unlocking the tension on the main myomer bundles. The smoking arm flopped uselessly to the side of the 'Mech, but the irregular motion of the failing arm twisted the 'Mech off-balance. Before the dazed Sorenson could compensate, the 'Mech crashed into the edge of the bay door, its upper torso jutting through the opening. The screaming wind of the DropShip's passage smashed the Grasshopperfirmly against the frame of the ship, doubling it over like a ragdoll.