Dan laughed heartily. "Highness, you know the Colonel refused any more contracts because we were in the process of rebuilding. We got hammered on Luthien, and though the Combine permitted us verygenerous salvage rights, putting the unit back together has been a long process. This is yet another reason for sponsoring the smaller units because they have given us some excellent pilots and MechWarriors. If war were a sport, these units would be our farm teams. Perhaps we are ready to accept your contract, but we will only do so when we feel comfortable."

Chris heard the hesitation in Dan's voice that Victor seemed to have missed. How can we make Victor understand that by refusing his sponsorship we get more cooperation from the people of what was once the Lyran Commonwealth? Having Morgan Hasek-Davion as the Marshal of all the armies and Victor's using the Tenth Lyran Guards to free Hohiro Kurita from a deathtrap has created a negative impression here in this part of the Federated Commonwealth. If his mother, the Archon, were not so adept at appeasing Ryan Steiner and not so well-loved among her people—despite the fact that it was her marriage to Hanse Davion that sealed the unification of the two nations—Victor would have serious political troubles here.

Victor seemed to accept Dan's explanation. "You know, of course, that I believe you will respond valorously to any attempts the Clans make to advance. I also know you would never accept a contract that would put you in conflict with the Federated Commonwealth."

Chris arched an eyebrow. "But?"

"But I would like to be able to reward such loyalty with the sort of contract a unit like the Kell Hounds deserves. You and the Dragoons helped win the battle that otherwise would have ended the Inner Sphere's chances for survival. Since then both units have dealt with internal problems and I suppose I just don't like to think of the Federated Commonwealth facing an enemy without its strongest allies alongside."

Dan winked at the Prince. "We're here, Highness. This is our home and all the money in the universe couldn't make us fight any harder to defend it."

3

Pasig Pirate Point

 Federated Commonwealth

15 April 3055

 

Nelson Geist felt thankful to be out of the hellhole of a hold in which he had been confined, but, unlike other members of the work detail, he avoided making himself conspicuous. It wasn't that he didn't understand what the others were trying to do. By showing that they were cooperative workers and not troublemakers, his comrades obviously hoped that the bandits would not send them back to the crowded, stinking confinement bay once they'd finished the job of offloading the DropShip Tigress.

Nelson wrapped his half-hand around the edge of the noteputer and tucked it tightly into his left elbow. Holding the stylus in his right hand he hit the appropriate icons as the crew pulled crates from the DropShip's hold. Despite the very light gravity aboard the nearly motionless JumpShip, the bandits had decided that Nelson's injury made him useless for hauling boxes. And after noticing that a couple of captured reservists treated him with deference, a bandit had made him supervisor of the work party.

Nelson kept to himself, answering questions and acknowledging comments with only a grunt or a nod so that the rest of the loading crew would not think he was basking in the glory of doing no work. Soon, though, he became absorbed in the job he'd been given as the disturbing nature of the loot attracted all his attention.

The steel manacle on his right wrist clicked against the plastic case of the noteputer as he continuously punched in the icons. His mutilated hand had almost gotten him shot when the squad of bandit infantry pulled Nelson from the cockpit of his 'Mech because they assumed it would make him useless. But then an order quickly came through that he was to be taken alive, no matter what his condition. The bandits had shoved him and a number of other survivors into a DropShip, which then delivered them to the JumpShip, where they were stripped, deloused, dressed in sleeveless olive jumpsuits, and manacled at the wrists.

Nelson knew, from the first, that the manacle served no practical purpose, for it had no link for attaching it to a chain. When another of the prisoners suggested that the seamless band of steel might conceal listening and tracking devices, the prisoners began to limit most communication in the holding pen to crude sign language. Nelson half-smiled as he recalled Spider whispering that "the Kommandant has a bit of an accent," because of his mutilated hand.

Nelson glanced up and saw that the offloading was proceeding very well. Because the JumpShip was moving very slowly, acceleration gave it only a hint of mock-gravity. It was no problem for even the leanest prisoner to move huge boxes of loot, each with a code stenciled in black on the wooden slats. As each box left the DropShip hold, Nelson punched the icon with the appropriate code. Though his screen gave him no totals, he knew very well what they were.

Munitions, though they were not identified as such, were stored in one area of the DropShip bay. He'd seen enough similar arrangements throughout his career as a MechWarrior. A fair amount of explosives and ammunition had come aboard, but Nelson noted that most seemed suitable for small arms or demolitions. The distinctive and mammoth crates for BattleMech missiles and autocannon ammunition were definitely not part of the boxes being unloaded from this ship.

By far the most numerous items were foodstuffs. The stenciled codes on those boxes were equally uninformative, but the cardboard cartons were emblazoned with the manufacturer and product names.. The food he had been served while a prisoner was easily recognizable as stuff taken from Kooken's Pleasure Pit.

It had been easy to figure out the stencil code for miscellaneous items. As rarely as he hit the Miscellaneous icon, Nelson noticed that none of those crates appeared to be the same size or shape or weight. The bandits had apparently struck swiftly and scattered the battalion of Twelfth Deneb Light Cavalry defending an industrial complex. They'd had time to loot the complex before reinforcements arrived, but the high-tech machine tools, computers, lostech, industrial grade gems, and other traditional spoils of such a raid were nowhere to be seen. Instead they'd taken only a smattering of jewelry and art objects, which now dotted the ship's hold. Nothing of value compared to the expense of conducting such an operation.

With what I'm thinking, I'mpraying more treasure or something of real worth comes up.

Out the corner of his eye Nelson caught the motion of the bandit guards straightening up, but it wasn't until the work party suddenly fell silent that he turned to look. When he did, Nelson was as transfixed as the rest of the prisoners by the sight of the woman standing to his right on the catwalk overlooking the DropShip bay.

There was no question that she was beautiful. Red hair fell to her shoulders and down her back. With her long limbs and lithe figure, even the bulky cooling vest could not make her look dowdy. Her sharp features made him mindful of a fox, and her violet eyes shone with animal cunning.

Yet it was more than her physical attributes that drew his attention. It was true that the skintight shorts revealed her legs and the shape of her buttocks to good advantage, but her stance cut off any glimmering of sexual fantasies that might arise. She stood with one elbow cupped in the hand of the other arm, pulling softly on her lower lip with the thumb and index finger of her free hand. Her eyes flicked from man to man in the work crew, evaluating and dismissing each one in an instant. As her gaze wandered from one prisoner to the next down below, each seemed to shrink away, his dreams and hopes dying with her judgment of them.