BattleTech: Nothing Ventured

The Proliferation Cycle, Part III

Christoffer Trossen

I

NEW AVALON

FEDERATED SUNS

17 OCTOBER 2455

“Highness, we’ve made great progress in just the last few weeks. This latest acquisition has given us an incredible jump—”

“Where are you with stability and integration?”

Simon Davion cut right to the heart of it. Having grown up within the fratricidal Davion household, and after almost four decades as First Prince, breaking up conspiracies and destroying his every political enemy, spotting a scientist trying to cover up the truth was child’s play.

“We…we’re still working on that.” The man’s face grew ashen. “We believe that the combination of Bravo-Three and Lieutenant Terell will allow us to—”

“So you’re no closer to a solution than you were a month ago?”

Beads of sweat formed on the scientist’s forehead. “No, Highness.”

The Prince, from his vantage point in the quiet, climate-controlled conference room overlooking the sprawling work center, surveyed the activity below. Dozens of white-clad figures scurried between tables covered with unidentifiable electronic and mechanical parts, along with what must have been kilometers of polymer rope bundles. He could almost taste the metallic tang of the air below, ozone combined with spilled coolant and hydraulic fluid.

One quarter of the room was devoted to two fusion power plants and half a dozen large-scale weapons—two autocannons and four beam weapons of some sort, the kind you’d see in a tank armory or fighter-maintenance ship. Numerous oddly shaped metal and ceramic armor plates, as well as a massive armored leg easily four meters tall, lined the white EMP-resistant walls.

The center of activity, however, was a vaguely humanoid-looking, bulbous machine in the middle of the hangar-cum-laboratory. Standing twelve meters tall, it dwarfed the engineers climbing all over it. Thick weapons barrels made up its arms, while two laser tubes jutted out from its lower torso—the source of a dozen different off-color nicknames for the beast. A cockpit screen dominated the contraption’s head like a massive eye, while a sensor bundle hung off the head’s right side like an ear. It was a study in dichotomy; were it painted red and white, one could easily think of it as a Cyclopean death clown.

The Prince motioned to the machine, code-named Bravo-Three. “Do you have any idea how much it cost us to acquire that machine?” The scientist opened his mouth to answer, but just as quickly closed it as Prince Simon Davion continued. “How many lives we wasted just to get that machine and its pilot away from the Hegemony?” The Prince was building to a crescendo, moving around the conference table and toward the scientist as he did so. “How much political capital we spent transporting it all the way here? And how much effort it was to keep the whole operation secret?”

A drop of sweat rolled down the scientist’s face. His legs quivered, and he unconsciously wiped the palms of his hands on his lab coat.

The Prince turned back to face the scientist. “And just how much divisiveness it is causing within my High Command?” He moved closer to the scientist. “Half of my advisors are telling me that we should be training soldiers how to pilot this thing and the other half are telling me that we should be conducting live-fire trials on it so we can figure out how to destroy them better. But no, I listened to you, Dr. Carino.”

To his credit, Carino stood fast under the verbal assault, though the shake in his legs worsened.

“I listened to your advisory committee, Doctor. And I have nothing to show for it. Less than nothing! I’ve wasted hundreds of millions and the efforts of both the Ministry of Intelligence and the Foreign Ministry in getting you three of these BattleMechs!”

The Prince moved to the window, turning his attention back to the bustle in the laboratory and giving the scientist a brief respite from his rage. “Tell me, Doctor, why should I give you any more time and funding?”

Simon Davion half expected the doctor to stammer out an incoherent answer or not even answer at all. Instead, the Prince watched Carino’s reflection in the window wipe his hands on his lab coat again and pull himself up straight.

“Highn…” His voice faltered, caught in his dry throat. He swallowed and tried again. “Highness. You’ve read our reports and you’ve heard our briefings. It took the Terran Hegemony years to design and integrate all of the Mackie’s subsystems. Decades. We’ve had little more than a year since receiving Bravo-One, and that was just pieces salvaged from the battlefield. Bravo-Two at least was mostly intact, but we’ve still only had that for six months. Reverse-engineering something as complex as this takes time. A lot of time. Perhaps years.”

The Prince turned back around and gave Carino his iciest of stares, draining what little color had returned to the scientist’s face. “Understand this, Doctor. We’re not talking about just any research project, here. We’re talking about the survival of the Federated Suns. And time is a commodity in very short supply.”

Carino stood there, weathering the same fury that had broken generals and heads of state. Shaken but still standing fast, he replied, “Understood, Highness.”

Flanked by two security guards, and with his personal aide a pace behind and to his left, Simon Davion marched briskly down the warmly lit corridor. This was his favorite place in the whole palace. The floor was Avalonian granite shot through with fiery veins of yellow and orange, buffed to a high sheen. Columns of pure white marble held up a lofting frescoed ceiling. Within alcoves created by the columns were statues and paintings of the leaders of the great House Davion, and by extension the entire Federated Suns.

Occupying a pie-slice of the Inner Sphere and surrounded by dangers unlike any mankind had ever faced in its millennia of recorded history, the Federated Suns was a nation constantly poised on the brink of war, its Prince forced to balance the weight of the world on his shoulders like Atlas as he juggled the day-to-day problems of his nation. The Terran Hegemony, situated to the “north” of the FedSuns on most maps and occupying the middle of the Inner Sphere, was currently the greatest threat to the Davion state. Centered on the birthplace of humanity, it was the richest, strongest, and most advanced of the major powers.

Worse still, it alone possessed the most destructive piece of battlefield machinery ever developed—the BattleMech.

Yet that wasn’t the worst-case scenario. No, that would be the Draconis Combine, which occupied the pie slice on the “right” of the Federated Suns, and the Capellan Confederation on the “left,” both getting their hands on that technology. If that happened, no number of soldiers and tanks and fighters could stop those other nations from gutting the Federated Suns before fighting each for what was left. And the Prince wasn’t about to let that happen.

That’s why he loved this corridor so much. Yes, he found comfort in the memories of his progenitors. But more importantly, it reminded him of his responsibility. Responsibility to his family, to his nation and to his vassals. The frescoes on the ceiling depicted the history of the Davion family and its Federated Suns, including their victories and their defeats.

Simon Davion still wore the calf-high black boots of a military officer, which he personally polished each evening. Despite his seventy-seven years of age, he kept a standard quick-time pace. The footfalls of the four pairs of boots, all in step, echoed down the corridor, announcing his arrival to the guards lining the hallway, who crisply snapped to attention as he passed.

Ahead, the prime minister emerged from his own office, falling into step with the group. “How did the meeting with Dr. Carino go?”

That brought the Prince out of the past and back to the present. “Better than I expected. He got the message, though I think he was a little distracted. I thought I sensed a little fear in there.”

“It must have been your unique charm.”

The Prince responded with a mock look of astonishment. “Why, Duke Garth, what are you trying to say?”

“Well, sir.” A wide smile played across the man’s face. “You did shoot your cousin, the President of the Federated Suns, dead. In front of the entire High Council.”

Garth was one of a very few people in the universe Simon Davion could joke with about such serious subjects. “Yes, but in fairness, I did have myself appointed First Prince before getting rid of all of my enemies. Besides, he needed it.” The Prince’s mirth darkened. “And I think I’ve got a piece of paper around here somewhere that says I’m ‘not guilty.’”

Despite the outwardly light attitude, Duke William Garth knew that, even four decades later, his old friend still felt some guilt over the incidents that had left him the very first Prince of the Federated Suns. He mentally berated himself for bringing it up especially before this meeting, and quickly changed the subject. “Is Carino’s team getting anywhere?”

“It’ll take time, yet. They’ll be burning the midnight oil for the next few months, if the look on his face is any indication,” the Prince said.

“Well, I think I might have some news that will help us along.”

Simon Davion’s curiosity was piqued as Duke Garth led him to the Security and Intelligence Committee room. The occupants stood as one as the doors opened and the Prince’s aide announced his entrance.

The Prince took his seat at the head of the massive conference holotable. Garth sat beside the Prince. He motioned for the ministers, generals, and advisors to take their seats as well. A handful of aides and computer techs took positions behind their own consoles. Displays lined the walls of the darkened room, providing a wealth of information about the Federated Suns and the rest of the Inner Sphere.

A pall of smoke hung over the room. The committee had apparently been there for hours—otherwise the air purifiers would already have removed the mixed smells of pipe and cigar tobacco.

The doors closed behind the Prince, a red light above indicating the room was locked and secured against electronic observation.

The Prince’s question was simple. “What do we have?”

Duke Delton Felsner, deputy foreign minister, stood up and moved to the podium at the end of the table. “Highness,” he said, “we have independent confirmation from three sources that the Lyran Commonwealth has acquired the technical data necessary to successfully construct their own BattleMechs.”

That got the Prince’s attention. He instinctively looked at the map of the Inner Sphere. The Lyran Commonwealth occupied a pie-slice directly on the opposite side of the Terran Hegemony from the Federated Suns. The two nations also shared borders with the Draconis Combine, a fact that had long ago made them allies of convenience, if nothing more.

“Our reports from agents within the Commonwealth’s government and military industry indicate the Lyrans pulled off a commando assault on the Hegemony’s Hesperus II BattleMech production facility,” Felsner continued. “They stole the plans for the Mackie as well as detailed information on its subsystems, and have returned to Tharkad with them. Reports indicate minor damage to the Hesperus factory.”

“Do the Terrans know?” Davion asked.

“We’re not sure yet, Highness,” continued Felsner, “though they have heightened security along the borders, and especially at facilities involved in producing BattleMech components. They may not know the Lyrans got their hands on the information, but at the very least, they suspect the Lyrans were behind the incident.”

“Bureaucracy at its worst. The Hegemony awarded a Mackie contract to a factory on a Lyran-controlled world.” That was one of the generals.

“To be fair,” the Prince responded, “Hesperus is a world jointly held by the Hegemony and Commonwealth. But still, it did take our Steiner friends ten years to break in and steal the jewels.”

Prince Davion’s tone was less than complimentary, which brought a few chuckles from the group.

“I don’t think there’s any question,” said Duchess Willemina Groth. “If we know they pulled it off, then the Terrans know. And their incompetence cost us more than we can afford!” Her anger was well justified. In the wake of the Lyran raid, her Ministry of Intelligence had lost two clandestine ops teams and more than a score of other agents both inside the Terran Hegemony and out.

“Easy, Willemina.” Prime Minister Garth wasn’t about to let the meeting turn into an anti-Lyran bitch-fest. “The Lyran raid closed some doors for us, but it also closed those same doors for the Combine and the Confederation. Do you really want to think about what would happen if they got their hands on the Mackie’s plans before we did?”

“So where does that leave us?” The Prince’s direct question ended any further digression. “A raid on the Lyrans? Or are you proposing that we play defense to prevent proliferation to anyone else?”

Duke Garth responded. “No, sir. We were thinking about something a little less drastic.”

“Such as?”

Garth continued. “It’s been a while since we sent a special envoy to the Steiners, and there’s a few new economic issues that need to be discussed. Maybe we can kill two birds with one diplomat.”

“Do you really think they’ll even acknowledge they have the BattleMech, let alone put it on the table?”

“I think if we send the right ambassador, we might be surprised with the results. Especially if we give him the right tools for the job.”

Garth’s mischievous grin intrigued the Prince, who never ceased to be amazed by his old friend’s capacity for cloak and dagger. “I take it you’ve had a discussion or two about this before I got here?” Greeted by nods and thin smiles from around the table, the Prince could only say, “Tell me about it.”

“Lord Felsner will be our chief negotiator. Delton, why don’t you tell the Prince about Operation Venture.”

Felsner, still at the podium, slid into his presentation, displaying the confidence of someone who had spent his entire life within the royal court, an attribute that belied his true origins.

“Thank you, Duke Garth. Highness, Operation Venture will secure the information and technology the Federated Suns requires to construct its own BattleMechs. It will be executed as follows…”

II

THARKAD

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

22 MARCH 2456

Ambassadorial perks were often anything but. As the Federated Suns’ ambassador and special envoy to the Lyran Commonwealth—not to mention deputy foreign minister—Lord Delton Felsner occupied spacious quarters on the DropShip Donovan in comparison to the other berthing compartments on the ship. He was also assigned two bodyguards and two personal aides to assist him as he prepared for his mission during the five-month journey from New Avalon to Tharkad. Befitting his station, Felsner and his small team were the first allowed to debark the DropShip.

Yet instead of walking down into even a special arrivals waiting area, he and his team left by an emergency exit. They quickly moved down the stairs to the tarmac, the biting Tharkan wind whipping at their jackets and sending a shiver through his entire body. Seeking asylum from the frigid assault, his team darted into a maintenance door that led down another stairwell, this time into the bowels of the spaceport terminal.

Five individuals awaited them in the maintenance corridor at the foot of the stairs, where the study in contrasts couldn’t have been greater. Amidst the hothouse labyrinth of leaking pipes that reeked of stale water and lubricants stood this group, all clad in well-tailored suits. Four were, despite their civilian suits, obviously bodyguards. The fifth, wearing a small sun-and-sword pin on his lapel, was too dapper, too rakish to be anything but a political appointee.

The weakling approached Felsner, who stood at the center of a diamond formation of his own travel team. “Ambassador Felsner,” he started, shouting over the rumble of a departing DropShip as he presented his own credentials to the aide who stood ahead of Felsner. “Hadrian Voork, deputy protocol officer. Ambassador Deir instructed me to meet you and escort you to the embassy.”

Felsner’s gaze darted around, surveying the scene as his aide confirmed Voork’s identity. His own guards were tensed, ready to pull their weapons and throw themselves in front of their ambassador. Eyes were constantly moving, looking for any sign of danger.

For his part, Voork stood still, betraying neither emotion nor intent as he looked directly at Felsner. He was well trained, at the very least. By whomever he worked for.

The aide turned back toward Felsner and nodded. The credentials were either legitimate, or such good forgeries that they fooled a diplomatic corps intelligence expert. And if a forgery, Felsner and his people would probably be dead no matter what they did. The inherent danger in interstellar diplomacy.

Felsner’s aide handed the identification back to Voork, who slid the case into an interior pocket of his suit jacket before continuing. “Gilreth and Nomi here will assist you with your luggage and cargo.” He motioned to two of his own guards. “Ambassador, if you’d like to follow me to the vehicles?”

Felsner’s other aide followed Gilreth and Nomi back up the stairs, and Felsner motioned for Voork to lead. Voork’s two guards took point while Felsner’s two trailed the group, which wound its way through a long series of service tunnels before emerging onto an underground loading dock. The humidity of the tunnels at once gave way to the cool, fresh air from outside and the whine of almost a dozen running hovervehicles.

Four hover limousines, six hover sedans, and a hovertruck sat there, adding to the cacophony of the already noisy spaceport. Two dozen more security guards stood post around the area, scanning the empty underground garage for potential threats. But Felsner’s eyes were immediately drawn to a group of four individuals with noteputers in hand. Secretaries.

Specifically, to a blond with a conservative hairdo and even more conservative, almost frumpy, and ill-fitting outfit.

What’s she doing here?

That wasn’t her hair and those clothes certainly weren’t her. Nor were the eyes; even twenty meters away, he could see the color was wrong. In fact, the whole look—the demure hang of her head, the slumped shoulders, the frizzy bun of dark blonde hair… When she put on an act, she put on an act.

Though embroiled in a conversation, she glanced up, locking eyes with him briefly before returning to her discussion.

That sent a brief spasm up his neck as he fought the impulse for a double take. He quickly refocused on the rest of the scene, mentally chiding himself for that lack of control. She must be here for a reason, and likely deep undercover.

One thing was certain, though: he wasn’t walking into a trap. At least, not one set by Voork.

Voork led the group to one of the hover limousines, waving the secretaries over. “A communiqué to Ambassador Deir requested a schedule and security briefing on the way to the embassy. Miss Dempsey here—” he motioned to her “—can cover that with you. Though if I may, I would rather brief you on some important Lyran matters that have come up in the past few days and will impact your schedule.”

If someone had arranged this, she must have something important to say, and chances were it had nothing to do with the schedule. Or protocol. And he wasn’t about to wait.

“No, I will take the schedule briefing first.”

That surprised Voork. “Are…are you sure, Ambassador? The schedule will most likely change—”

“Voork, I’m not about to argue with you or explain my methods. If the schedule changes, then so be it. And if something has happened that will impact our trade negotiations, I’m sure Ambassador Deir will brief me personally.”

This guy is about as clueless as his boss.

His tone of voice gave Voork no wiggle room. Knowing he had no other possible response, the other man bowed slightly. “Of course, Ambassador.”

The aide opened the hover limousine door as one of Felsner’s bodyguards took the limo’s front passenger seat and the other took position in a nearby hover sedan. Felsner motioned the blond woman in first and climbed in after. His aide entered last, closing the door behind them, which deadened the whine of the hover vehicles and the rumble of the spaceport to almost nothing.

Felsner and the woman both took the rear seats while the aide took the forward seat, facing the two of them. “Miss Dempsey” removed an electronic device from her briefcase, but waited for Felsner’s nod before activating it and placing it in a cup holder. A white-noise generator, it would ensure that no one would be able to monitor or record their conversation.

Felsner tapped a button, signaling the driver that they were ready to depart. A few moments later, the hover limo rose off the ground and sped away.

He couldn’t contain himself any longer. “What the hell are you doing here, Tess? Last I heard you were off in the Hegemony somewhere. You weren’t on the embassy personnel list.”

Teresa Premit, undercover agent of the Federated Suns Ministry of Intelligence, let a wide smile play across her face. “Good to see you too, Lord Felsner.”

Her emphasis of the word “lord” made Felsner’s aide obviously uncomfortable, but he held his tongue when the Deputy Foreign Minister laughed aloud at her retort.

“Sorry, Tess. It’s just been so long, and to see you here of all places.” He glanced at his aide, who was looking back and forth between the woman and Lord Felsner, obviously still trying to comprehend what was going on. Though the younger man had been a part of Felsner’s staff for several years, he’d never seen anyone speak to the deputy minister that way, much less a mere secretary.

Felsner decided to end any further confusion, at least for the short term. “Tess, this is my senior ambassadorial aide, Meldrach Suisso. Meldrach, this is Miss, uh, Dempsey. She’s an old colleague.” He’d briefly considered telling Suisso her real name, but thought better of it; the less people who knew her true identity, the better. And by using her assumed name, Felsner told the man not to dig, lest he accidentally blow her cover. “She works for the Ministry of Intelligence, though what she’s doing here on Tharkad, I’m not quite sure yet.”

“I heard you were coming here, and just figured you’d naturally need some backup.” Her tone was simultaneously sweet and sarcastic, causing Suisso to squirm just a little more in his seat. Or perhaps it was the hoverlimo accelerating out of the underground structure.

Tess’s tone turned serious. “The embassy had some personnel turnover. Two ops agents were compromised, and shortly thereafter the chief of station accepted a better offer. With the Lyrans.”

Felsner nearly exploded with that revelation. “What?! Is the entire embassy compromised?”

“Don’t know yet. I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, but I don’t think so. The new chief of station came over from New Earth. You know him, I think. Harlan Vnuck.” Felsner nodded. “Director Groth moved him here as soon as she heard, but we’re still playing catch-up. We have eight of us in Intel at the embassy, and right now only Vnuck knows who we are. We have some background information on the Lyran negotiators, but nothing we can use against them. And our other intel assets on-world have gone underground for the time being.”

Around anyone else, Felsner would have guarded his thoughts and emotions. In the privacy of the hoverlimo, however, with two trusted associates, he could let his temper rage. “Is Deir running an embassy here or a goddamn circus? Dammit! Why haven’t I…” He threw a glass—the first thing he could grab—across the compartment, shattering it on the far bulkhead. “Is there any good news in there?”

Both of the cabin’s other passengers remained silent, Suisso carefully plucking bits of shattered glass from his suit jacket. Tess continued a few moments later, once Felsner regained his cool. “It’s not quite as bad as it sounds. Ambassador Deir still doesn’t know the precise nature of the negotiations you will be conducting, and the details of the operation hadn’t reached Tharkad by the time the embassy fell apart. Based on everything we’ve learned, including from a few strenuous interrogations, we still have operational security.”

Sitting in silence for a minute, he considered the potential risks and weighed them against what needed to be done. Of course, it wasn’t much of a decision—the Prince was depending on him. “Okay, for now we go. How much time do we have to prepare?”

Premit didn’t miss a beat. “You have at least two weeks before presenting your credentials to the Archon, and at a minimum another two before negotiations can begin. We’ve got time to at least develop briefing packets on the principal negotiators.”

“Okay, then let’s get to it. And Meldrach, remind me when this is all over and done with that it’s time for the good Ambassador Deir to retire.”

III

THARKAD

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

7 MAY 2456

“Ambassador Bernstorff, on behalf of the Federated Suns, I would again like to express our gratitude to the Lyran Commonwealth for agreeing to these talks and for generously providing these extraordinary facilities.”

Felsner hated this part of the negotiations the most. Nevertheless, it was part of the job. “I hope that our progress thus far will lead to a mutually beneficial treaty that will not only further our two great nations, but also prove to the entire Inner Sphere that there can truly be peace and friendship between two Great Houses.”

The real negotiations were where a true master of speech and debate could shine. But this…this was nothing but verbal excrement. A self-congratulatory exercise where the winner was the one who’d made himself out to be better than his counterpart on the other side of the table without making it actually sound like he’d done so.

It was the Lyran ambassador’s turn to prattle on, but Felsner wasn’t listening. He was going over the strategy for the day’s negotiations, something he’d—unfortunately—have plenty of time to do.

These platitudes would go on for fifteen minutes at least, followed by a recap of negotiations to date—likely to take another half hour. They’d break for light refreshments, then conduct an hour of actual negotiations before they took lunch (all two-and-a-half hours of it—if they were lucky!). Afterward, they might get in one more hour of negotiations before a half hour summary and the closing “ceremonies,” where the two ambassadors would once more pat each other as well as themselves on the back.

It wouldn’t be so bad if this hadn’t been the fourth time they’d met for discussions, twice the week before and twice this week, including today. By the end of the day, they probably wouldn’t have even clocked a total of eight hours of actual negotiating.

Worst of all, he’d had to actually negotiate with the Lyrans to get two days per week instead of one.

Felsner laughed to himself. And people wonder why nothing ever gets done in government!

Well, it could have been worse. He was in the palace of the Lyran Archon, sitting on centuries-old furniture in a room decorated with murals depicting the history of Archon Alistair Steiner’s ruling family. He had eaten the best fare the decadent Steiners could prepare served on fine china rumored to have once served Terran leaders in the twentieth century. He could have been eating bugs in a cold, wet ditch with a rucksack and rifle on his back instead…

Lyran Ambassador Karl Bernstorff had prattled on for several minutes—long enough that Felsner needed to wet his throat with a few sips of water—and was only now showing any signs of ending. He really does like the sound of his own voice. Once done, he and Felsner both leaned across the table for a handshake and a look to the holo-photographers who’d already taken dozens of similar pictures in the past three meetings.

A person’s handshake can reveal a great deal about him. In the case of the Lyran ambassador, Felsner had guessed quite a bit long before their first handshake, which only confirmed his suppositions.

Bernstorff’s well-manicured fingers were long and supple, and his skin was smooth and soft, with just the hint of calluses. He’d obviously never done a hard day’s work in his life, though he probably played some sport like golf, tennis, or koba. He’d squeezed a little harder than was comfortable for him, probably in an attempt to seem stronger than he really was. Only today, his handshake wasn’t quite that hardy.

Out late last night, hmm?

The slight redness in Bernstorff’s eyes confirmed that observation. As did the daily intel briefing he’d gotten an hour earlier. Good. A tired negotiator, especially one that had a tendency to drink a little too much at lunch, was a sloppy negotiator.

The two ambassadors, along with their negotiation teams, sat down, but they were far from ready to begin talking. Fine. That would give Felsner the time to appraise the opposition before brass tacks time.

First, the senior deputies offered their own self-congratulatory platitudes. Then came the forty-three minutes of recap: after three meetings, the two sides had agreed to a continuation of their free-trade policies, had agreed in principle to a free exchange of certain technologies (even though both sides already had access to those very technologies, it would at least open up the potential for more critical tech concessions later on in the negotiation process), and had agreed that their two nations were close allies with a long history of friendly relations. It took a whole day to come to the final agreement, one that meant absolutely nothing.

The summary was followed by another thirty-eight minutes of diplomatic small talk over coffee and pastries in the adjoining antechamber. Felsner and his Lyran counterpart both sat in facing overstuffed chairs that smelled of cigar smoke, politely talking about nothing while their respective staffs worked the room. The cacophony was almost melodic as it echoed in the high-ceilinged chamber.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Ambassador Bernstorff’s question came out of the blue.

Felsner was momentarily confused. His own conversation had taken a sharp turn from something about the coat of arms and crossed swords on the wall next to them to…this. He wondered for an instant if he’d missed something while he watched the activity around him.

“The interplay. The sycophantic ballet. They think they’re so important.” If Felsner hadn’t known otherwise, he would have thought the Lyran ambassador was drunk. But he was stone cold sober. “You and I, we know the truth. The conclusion is not in question. We know how this will all end. And the process is nothing but a prolonged ceremony. It isn’t even the game it used to be.”

Felsner looked at his counterpart curiously. He’d never expected such honesty from the man. Bernstorff was a career diplomat with a taste for hedonism, as his file indicated, probably bored with his professional life. But here…either he was being absolutely honest, or he was a far better actor than the Federated Suns ambassador had thought.

In any case, Felsner was willing to play along. “Interesting thought. But not entirely true.”

“Oh, yes, we’ll surprise each other a couple of times in the coming weeks, and we’ll come to an agreement on a few things that will make our lives slightly better. They may think otherwise, but we know that we will never really change anything. Pity.”

Now that was interesting. It almost sounded like…regret? Maybe it’s time to ratchet this up a notch? Felsner replied in the most noncommittal manner he could. “Well, far be it from us to stand in the way of tradition. Shall we continue this inside?”

The rest of the day proved equally enlightening and even a bit productive. By the beginning of the afternoon session, Felsner was sure that his impression of Bernstorff was accurate. So he made his first attempt at the prize. Besides, he was deathly tired of talking about agriculture.

“So, in the spirit of cooperation and friendship we have built today, perhaps we might change topics slightly?”

That got a reaction from the Lyran negotiation team. The deputies and assistants had studied their agriculture and agro-tech briefings and still wanted to show off their knowledge. On the other hand, Bernstorff, who’d been having trouble concealing his boredom especially after what must have been a six-drink lunch, perked up immediately.

“We would be pleased to redirect the discussions to any topic our close friends from the Federated Suns would like.” A few in Bernstorff’s negotiation team looked as if they were about to say something to their ambassador, but swallowed their words. They knew their place.

“I cannot help but think that, after talking so much about the exchange of information relating to agriculture, perhaps we can talk about a broader topic.” He had to be careful, here. Touch on the important subject, just to get it out there. “Our two nations have long been the closest of allies. We share a love for personal freedom, and our peoples consequently enjoy a prosperity greater than any other.”

He was carting out the greatest hits and getting just the response he expected. Some of the Lyran negotiation team members smiled or nodded while most guarded their responses, unsure where the Federated Suns ambassador was going.

“At the same time, we share common enemies in the form of the Terran Hegemony and the Draconis Combine, the two greatest threats to peace and prosperity in the Inner Sphere.”

That prompted a response from the Lyran side of the table. Bernstorff’s military advisor hung on Felsner’s every word while the rest of the Lyran team scrambled to pull up the appropriate information on their noteputers.

“Perhaps, then, we can share the information and technologies that will not only help us feed and clothe our people, but also help us both to contain these opponents, and ensure our continued prosperity and advancement?”

That was a mouthful! But Bernstorff now sat up straight and leaned a bit forward in his chair. He might just take the bait. The other man’s military advisor, on the other hand, was tensing up. Felsner noted a bit of a flush in his cheeks, an ever-so-slight twitch in his right eye. He sees where I’m going with this.

“What I’m talking about is the free exchange of information. Troop deployments, force assessments, leadership profiles, and the like. Or, if we’d like to be so bold, even information regarding the identity and location of known foreign operatives.

“But that’s not all I’m talking about. I’m also talking about the exchange of technologies that we will need to contain our opponents. Who knows? Perhaps we could even work together to jointly better our military capabilities.”

The hook was baited. Now all you need to do is nibble.

The surprise on Bernstorff’s face shone bright. With luck, he was just as excited by the prospects of where such exchanges might lead. Or at least with the possibility to play the diplomatic game he seemingly loved so much.

“Ambassador Felsner, what you propose is bold. Certainly more audacious than many of us expected.” Several on Bernstorff’s team were visibly agitated. “But it is intriguing. And absolutely worthy of discussion.”

Stop playing hard to get. Take the bait, dammit! At least the Lyran ambassador was holding the door open, even if his own staff looked ready to stand up from the table and rush out.

“I am pleased that you see the value in these discussions.” The only problem with diplomacy was you could never get right to the point. But as frustrating as the process was and as much as he often hated it, Felsner not only accepted it, he excelled at it. “The sharing of intelligence information has long been a delicate matter, as it would be for any government. But I think we can overcome centuries of obstinacy—” there was a good word, “—and learn to share what we know. It will certainly take some time and discussion, but as a show of good faith, by our next meeting I can present you with a sample of what we can provide.”

Didn’t take the first bite? Well, just have to cast again.

That definitely piqued the Lyran ambassador’s interest. And surprised the hell out of the Lyran delegation. “My dear friend, what you propose is as unanticipated and extraordinary as it is audacious. And it surely will set the tone for those negotiations.”

He’s getting close…

“And in that same spirit, in an effort to aid our own soldiers and citizens in understanding who our closest allies are, perhaps we can also discuss joint military training, or even the joint development of weapon systems?”

Come on, it’s dangling here for you….

Most of the Lyran delegation was sitting silently, either dumbfounded or frantically glancing through talking points on their noteputers. Except for Bernstorff. And his military advisor. The Lyran’s military advisor saw exactly what Felsner was up to. Fortunately he was sitting two chairs away from his own ambassador (they weren’t scheduled to talk specifically about military topics for weeks yet!), and wasn’t in position to immediately get his ambassador’s attention, at least not without breaking protocol.

Bernstorff was interested and engaged. He was obviously willing to go along for the ride. This must have been the most diplomatic excitement he’d had in decades. “Ambassador Felsner, I would be pleased to discuss any such military matters with you.”

Here it comes!

“Then perhaps we can even be so bold as to discuss a technological alliance that can only benefit our two great nations while at the same time preventing the Terrans from gaining hegemony over the entire Inner Sphere.”

“You pick a most delicate subject, as I’m sure you know well…” The Lyran was stalling, looking for the right words. Perhaps he just needed a nudge.

“I do. But these are trying times, and perhaps bluntness is what the process needs.” Felsner was talking serious and straightforward. “I believe our two nations’ recent successes can benefit us both.”

“We certainly have heard rumors.”

“As have we.” Felsner needed to keep him talking.

“These rumors.”

“Your Archon’s plan was bold and audacious! As I hope our agreements here can be.”

Bernstorff nodded. “Our acquisition of the BattleMech will herald…”

Gotcha!

“That is…”

The Lyran ambassador realized he shouldn’t have said that, as did his military advisor who quickly jumped in. “Of course, any ongoing research efforts we might have related to those technologies would be strictly classified and certainly out of our direct knowledge.” He looked at Bernstorff. “Ambassador, perhaps any further discussions on these subjects should be continued after consulting with the appropriate offices?”

Spin it however you want. It’s on the table. That’s all I need right now.

“Yes, yes, of course.” The Lyran ambassador was a little deflated, but quickly recovered. “You obviously have an ambitious platform in mind. I believe this would be an opportune time to take a break from negotiations so that we can revisit the schedule.”

Felsner smiled. “That would be just fine.”

IV

THARKAD

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

3 JULY 2456

“Let me get something straight.”

Lord Delton Felsner sat across the table from Teresa Premit, cheerfully answering the many questions she had about the entire diplomatic process. As a covert agent, the nature of diplomacy and negotiation had to be anathema to her.

“The goal of these negotiations is to secure the—” She stopped herself abruptly. While they were in a private room and had a white-noise generator operating, they were nevertheless in a public restaurant, one frequented by many high-ranking Lyran bureaucrats and government officials. In fact, a Lyran minister was there dining with his family and their dozen bodyguards. “To come to an agreement on this one topic.”

“Yes.” Felsner smiled as he took another bite of his schnitzel. Moist and tender, battered and perfectly pan-fried in butter, it was the best he’d had in a long time. The aromas of meat and savory spices emanating from the entire restaurant had made his stomach rumble in anticipation.

“Then why the hell aren’t you talking about it?” Tess seemed hopelessly confused. Or, more appropriately, hopelessly frustrated. She undoubtedly understood the principles of diplomacy—in some respects, it closely resembled the process of interrogation. It was probably the execution that made no sense to her.

Meldrach Suisso held in a laugh. He was sitting at table with the two, along with Dana Nikitos, Diplomatic Corps Security agent, having a casual dinner. To anyone who saw them enter the restaurant, the foursome, along with the quartet of obvious bodyguards that stood sentry in front of the private dining room, appeared to be celebrating some minor diplomatic accomplishment.

In actuality, Felsner needed to get away from the embassy and the sycophants who inhabited it. And, well, he loved a good schnitzel.

The ambassador raised his flagon of beer. “That’s just not how it’s done,” he said before tipping it back for a swig of the heady and somewhat bitter dark liquid.

“Okay!” Tess dropped her fork onto her plate in frustration. “I’m not unintelligent. I have a degree in criminal justice. I made it through the academy. I was an honor candidate at field-training school. Do you know how many fail that course? Eighty-six percent of the applicants! That’s almost nine hundred per class. And it’s not like any slouches make it that far.”

Felsner wore a wide grin. “What are you trying to say, Tess?”

“It doesn’t make any goddamned sense!” She nearly screamed it.

“Yes.”

“And you like this shit?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. The benefits are good, and I don’t get shot at on a regular basis.”

Tess popped a piece of roast pork into her mouth and chewed it in silence before answering. “You’re crazy.”

“Yes.”

That brought a smile even to Agent Nikitos’s face. Meldrach, who had lightened up considerably since first meeting Tess more than three months earlier, shook his head and laughed.

Felsner wasn’t the typical ambassador.

He took another bite of his schnitzel and washed it down with a gulp from the flagon of weiss beer in front of him. “Well, if you’re going to have any future as an ambassadorial scheduling secretary, then perhaps we need to give you a lesson in interstellar diplomacy.”

Tess choked back what would certainly have been a rude comment. Instead she batted her eyes and said sweetly, “Please, Mr. Ambassador, give me the benefit of your very many years of experience.”

“Okay, but I’m going to finish my food before it gets cold. Mr. Suisso, why don’t you start?”

Meldrach placed a steaming forkful of stew into his mouth.

“I suppose we should start with the basics,” he said after swallowing the spicy mixture of potato and venison. He kept the fork in his hand, using it like a teacher wielding a pointer. “What are we trying to do? We want to get the other side to agree to give us what we want while giving them as little as possible.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Now they want the same thing. They want to get more than they give. So that’s where the negotiations come in. Probably the best way to think of it is as a card game.”

“Only in this card game,” the ambassador interjected, “everyone has a few aces up their sleeves, and no one really has as much money as they have chips in front of them.”

Tess paused for a second. “So basically it’s all about bluffing.”

Suisso answered, “Mostly. The ante starts out small, but gets bigger and bigger the further we get in the negotiations.”

She shook her head. “Okay, I get that you gotta beat around the bush on the little stuff. But what was the deal with…” She stopped herself short again. “With getting them to admit to having it?”

“And now the master’s course.” Felsner, having just finished the spätzle in the dish beside his plate, took another swig of beer before continuing the lesson. The buttery aftertaste of the noodles reacted with the beer in a way he’d long ago learned to love. “This is where it gets interesting.”

“Somehow I doubt it,” she said under her breath. The dig must have been too much to resist. “Sorry. Go on.”

The ambassador didn’t miss a beat. “Okay, so before we get to the table, both sides have to agree on each day’s agenda: what the guys in the room have to talk about. But sometimes the talking leads to strange and unexpected places. And when it goes there, you have to play it by ear.”

“You’re still nowhere near a point, are you?” She looked frustrated again.

“Patience, Miss Dempsey, patience.” Felsner had given up his condescending tone, and was actually trying to impart some wisdom now. “I know they taught you that back at the academy. Just bear with me.”

“Okay. I’m sitting here, silent, awaiting a point to be reached.”

Tess could be simultaneously charming and sarcastic, but as impatient as she might act, Felsner knew she was also a professional. Her eyes were always on the move, reacting to the sound of someone walking past the door to their dining room or to a tray of glasses being dropped off in the kitchen. Just like the five other security agents in the room.

And, for that matter, himself as well.

“We’ll just pretend that was an apology and move on.” Felsner, upending the flagon, finished his beer and continued. “What you have to understand is that negotiations can’t stray from the topics on the agenda unless both sides agree to it. Then we’re only limited by ourselves.”

“You know, this is really making my head hurt. So what was the point of tricking him into saying what he said? I mean, if he doesn’t want it to come up, then it can’t come up, right?”

“Ahh, but that’s the thing. He screwed up. He let it slip that they had something they didn’t want anyone else to know about. And now it’s out there. It’s on the table.”

“So you can talk about it because he slipped up?”

“Correct!” Felsner beamed like a proud father. “So now the Lyran leadership will start discussing the pros and cons of giving that to us. Which will get them into the right frame of mind when we convince their ambassador to agree to it.” He paused for a second to give more weight to what he would say next. “And that’s where the Ministry of Intelligence comes in.”

“Well, we’ll see what we can—”

She broke off as Agent Nikitos sat up stiffly, whispering excitedly into the microphone concealed in her cuff that kept her in touch with the outside security detail.

Something was wrong.

Meldrach noticed it last, but not by much. Felsner had trained him how to intuitively read body language, after all. He grasped at the sudden tension, looking for the threat.

Dana Nikitos leapt up, grabbing Felsner by the arm. “Bomb! We’ve got to move!”

She pushed him ahead of her as they bolted toward the private room’s rear exit. Tess likewise grabbed Suisso by the scruff of the neck and bolted for the door. The four other bodyguards closed in around their ambassador and, guns drawn, burst through the door to the kitchen.

Throwing cooks and busboys out of the way, they made their way at top speed through the kitchen’s heat to the restaurant’s service entrance. Looking back, Felsner saw that Tess and Meldrach followed close behind. Though she didn’t have a weapon exposed, Felsner knew Tess had her free hand on one, ready to pull it and kill whoever stood in their path.

Another guard, this one a Lyran, stood post inside the back door. He freed his weapon at the sounds of the approaching commotion, leveling it at the oncoming wall of bodies. Nikitos screamed “Bomb!” at the man, whose eyes went wide.

It took him a fraction of a second to process what he was seeing and what he’d heard. He sprinted past the group, heading forward toward the dining rooms, likewise yelling “Bomb!” into his sleeve.

The group burst into the alleyway as the sounds of panic erupted in the restaurant behind them. Felsner yelled at the top of his lungs, “Vehicles!”

Nikitos shook his head. “Too far away! We gotta find cover now!”

They were running down the alleyway when the shockwave from the blast picked all eight of them up and slammed them into the ground.

V

UNKNOWN LOCATION AND DATE

“Ambassador! Sir, can you tell me your name?”

He barely heard the words through the ringing in his ears. He opened his eyes, but saw only a blur. A dark blur.

He was scarcely aware of the motion around him. The cacophony of alarms and panicked voices. The smell of smoke. But his head hurt. It was like his skull had been split in two by an axe.

He couldn’t move. Anything.

He tried to speak, but no recognizable words came out. And he tasted blood on his tongue. Then the dark blur turned just dark. He knew he needed to stay awake…but maybe after a short nap…

“He’s crashing!”

He was moving. Only he wasn’t the one doing the moving. It was a rhythmic movement, like he was swaying in a hammock. He loved lying in his hammock, letting the warm sun play over him while the children ran around the yard, screaming and having a jolly old time. But he gave that life up, didn’t he? Twice, in fact.

Maybe he’d finally come to his senses. He had been getting sick of the tedium of government service, and now perhaps he could be the grandfather that he’d always wanted to be but for some reason wasn’t already.

…Something…

He wasn’t swaying side to side. It was more like he was floating on air. And he felt so warm. So content. He was among others—he could hear them talking off in the distance. And there were electronic sounds.

Floating in the pool on an air mattress. Yes. That was it. And the grandchildren were playing their games around the pool.

…something wrong…

He was thirsty. His mouth was dry. His throat scratched when he tried to swallow. He reached over for the cold drink— the one that had to be there. But he couldn’t move.

What’s going on?

It was also dark. Oh, but that’s because his eyes were closed. He opened his eyes. This time he saw nothing but a bright white blur. The sun was really bright today, and he wondered why he wasn’t wearing sunglasses. He closed his eyes again to float back off to another peaceful nap.

The sounds of the children’s games increased in tempo, as did their banter. That was comforting as he slid once again off into the warm embrace of sleep.

He sensed someone. Or something. A presence. Comforting, in some way. There was no danger, no worries here. He was safe and secure, warm and comfortable, wanting for nothing. His sleep was over, so now it was time to open his eyes and get on with the day.

It was bright, brighter than any place he’d seen. Pure white. It took him a few moments to adjust to the light, but everything was a bit fuzzy. Just out of focus. Not that there was much to see. All white. Normally, that would have caused him no end of consternation; after all, he was a man of action, someone who wasn’t satisfied until he had control of everything around him. But not here and now. He was happy, and he had that presence to keep him safe. He knew he was in capable hands.

Then she came into view. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. No matter he couldn’t quite focus on her. Dressed head to toe in resplendent white, except for her hair, which fell from her head in long locks of heavenly gold. This must be her: his guardian angel. He hadn’t thought about such things for…for a long, long time.

He didn’t consider himself a religious man; he hadn’t prayed for many years and only attended church services when politically expedient. In fact, he and his God had what he considered a falling out after his wife and children were killed in a freak accident. But somewhere deep down, he still held on to something of his beliefs. He must have, for there she was, his guardian angel. Proof positive of the Almighty.

But he was suddenly frightened. If he was seeing her now then…then something had happened. Something terrible. He tried to think back, to recall that awful thing that caused his…

He barely managed to croak out a question. “Where am I?”

The pure white form took his hand. Her touch soothed his fears. “Someplace safe.” The sound of her voice was like that of an angelic choir.

“Wha…what happens now?” Never once in his adult life had he been in an unknown situation. He always had at least an idea of where he was going. But not here. And though her touch comforted his fears, he was nevertheless curious about what lay ahead.

She placed her hand on his forehead and moved it down over his face, closing his eyes. “Rest now. You will have all the answers you need soon enough.”

As he faded away, she leaned in close and whispered, “Don’t worry. I will be here with you.”

Once more, he allowed himself to fall into the blackness of sleep.

“Ambassador? Ambassador Felsner?”

This time, instead of warmth and comfort, he felt spears of pain shooting up and down his body. And instead of the melodic tones of a heavenly figure, the words were the nasal tones of a man he despised.

He opened one eye tentatively, closing it quickly against the bright glare. He squinted, blinking a few times to get used to the light. That only brought spears of pain to his head. The pain subsided after a few moments, and he opened his eyes to see a number of figures surrounding his bed.

I must be in Hell.

“Ambassador, we couldn’t be happier that you are better!” The nasal voice again, belonging to Ignatius Deir, the Federated Suns ambassador to the Lyran Commonwealth.

Felsner groaned, which, while more than he really wanted to say to the man, he hoped would prompt Deir to leave and take all these other people with him.

Deir didn’t take the hint. “We were quite worried about you. But I just knew you would pull through. After all, it takes more than a mere bomb to put down an envoy from the Prince.”

A bomb! Yes! Still groggy, his faculties were beginning to come back to him. His entire body hurt and…his brain tingled. As did every other part of him. He just hadn’t sensed it immediately behind the pain. Some sort of medication. That would limit him.

Then again, so would the pain.

The group assembled around his bed stood silently. Some shifted uncomfortably. Others stood firm. Felsner recognized a number of faces, but wasn’t yet sure from where. A couple of figures in lab coats—those must be doctors and nurses. He noticed the multitude of humming and beeping electronic devices surrounding him, including one that let out a loud and annoying BING! every few seconds. A hospital room.

But most of the people in the room wore tailored business suits of some sort. Expensive. And there were a few different styles. Some very New Avalonish and a couple very Lyran in cut. And a few very plain, with strange bulges in odd places on hips or under arms.

Bodyguards.

Ambassador Deir was uncomfortable with the silence. In the long moments that Felsner lay there, still getting his bearings, Deir twice opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it again. Felsner wondered if it was because the man couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say, or because he realized there wasn’t anything appropriate to say.

“How are you feeling?” Stupid question. Definitely the first reason.

“Wa…thir…thirsty.” That was all Felsner could say, and even then he barely whispered it.

A nurse leaned over and placed a straw in his mouth. He took a couple of tentative sips before taking a longer draft. It wasn’t water, but it was cool and seemed to hit the spot. He couldn’t quite place the flavor. Likely some sort of electrolyte drink. It reminded him of something he liked back in his younger days.

The first gulp went down hard, his raw esophagus stinging from the liquid. But the next few were easier, and he felt his throat soften. Much better.

“Thank you,” he said to the nurse. His voice was recovering, though he still didn’t have much strength behind it. “Can I sit up?”

The nurse put a small control in his hand and pushed one of the buttons with his thumb. That raised the head of the bed so he could see the whole room. He thanked her again before turning back to the assembled group.

“What happened?” He really wanted to know. He didn’t remember.

Ambassador Deir stepped forward beside his bed. The man probably thought that a familiar face would comfort Felsner. “The restaurant you were eating at was bombed. Your security detail saw a known Kuritan operative leave a suspicious package behind and got you out in time, but you all were still very close when the bomb went off, and it was a very powerful explosion. You were hit by falling debris. You’ve been unconscious for eleven days. The doctors say it was touch and go for a while there, but you should recover fully. Your doctor was particularly impressed with your strong constitution.”

Just shut up and give me the facts! Felsner didn’t think much of his ambassador to the Lyran Commonwealth. Deir was weak and prissy, which was probably why the Lyrans liked him so much. And had a voice that made you want to rip his throat out.

“What about the others?”

Deir looked down at that question. That wasn’t good. “The bomb and the resulting collapse of the structure killed ninety-seven, including the Lyran Minister of Education.”

A few of the individuals in the room reflexively looked downward. All were wearing suits of a Lyran cut.

“But…that’s not all. Mr. Suisso died at the scene. He lost a lot of blood.”

Felsner’s gut dropped.

“And Miss Dempsey succumbed to her wounds as well. Apparently Mr. Suisso was trying to protect her from the falling debris, but…I’m sorry. I know Suisso was a close associate of yours.”

The universe fell out beneath him. Tess? Dead?

“This tragedy has struck us both, and shall not soon be forgotten or forgiven.”

That was a new voice. Stronger, more guttural than Deir’s. Felsner looked up at the figure that moved forward. He’d looked familiar, but it was the voice that placed the man as Ambassador Karl Bernstorff.

“Thanks to information provided by your embassy security detail, we were able to find not only the perpetrator of this tragedy, but also those who aided him in this terrorist attack.”

Felsner looked up at the man, whose words he’d barely heard. Still trying to come to terms with Tess’s death. She was untouchable, unflappable, and absolutely unkillable. She’d served in the Ministry of Intelligence for more than a decade, traveled to dozens of worlds, and survived covert wars that had killed those supposedly better and brighter. And to die because of a damn terrorist bomb?

“Those Kuritan scum will pay for their crimes with their lives,” Bernstorff went on. “Their ambassador has, of course, denounced the bombing as the act of isolated degenerates, but that won’t save them. We’ve also used the information you’ve graciously provided us to round up more than a hundred foreign operatives here on Tharkad. We will not allow them to poison our friendship. That I guarantee.”

Felsner tried to push his feelings out of the way, but couldn’t manage it. He found himself losing control, something he could not afford to have happen in front of any of these people.

“Thank you. I need some time…” He was barely spitting the words out as he choked down his own emotions. He temporarily got hold of himself, though. Enough to say, “Could you excuse me? The painkillers are wearing off, and I…I just need some time to absorb all of this.”

Bernstorff nodded his head. “Of course. And we can postpone our negotiations for however long you need to recover.”

With that, the majority of the group turned to leave. Deir hovered at Felsner’s bedside as if he had something else to say, but the nurse shooed him out of the room. “My patient needs his rest. I’ll let you know when you can come back in.”

Deir tried to stay, but the rest of the medical staff escorted him out, closing the door behind them. That left Felsner alone with his nurse.

Her patient was still trying to hold back his emotions, though, and didn’t want anyone in the room. “Listen, the painkillers are just fine. Just go away, please.”

“Well, I know when I’m not wanted.”

Huh? Felsner looked at the woman, who pulled a white-noise generator out of the pocket of her lab coat and activated it. That’s when he first looked up at her, right into the face of his guardian angel.

“Hey, babe.”

“Tess?”

VI

THARKAD

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

22 AUGUST 2456

Almost seven weeks since the restaurant bombing, and Felsner still struggled to catch up. He’d lost a month of time recuperating; the pain, and especially the pain medications, had prevented him from getting much headway.

That his hospital room was actually in the Federated Suns embassy hadn’t helped. In fact, the frequent visits from Ambassador Deir and his staff frustrated Felsner more than being bedridden.

Once his doctors released him, he jumped right back into the diplomatic process. He hoped to use the Lyrans’ denunciation of the terrorist attack and their willingness to support joint operations against the Kuritans to get them to agree to share BattleMech technology with the Federated Suns.

Unfortunately, while Ambassador Bernstorff was more than willing to give Felsner a number of concessions, he was steadfast in his unwillingness to give even a centimeter in discussions for the BattleMech.

All I need is some damn leverage!

Then again, the Lyrans did expel the entire Kurita diplomatic contingent from their homeworld, and had imprisoned several dozen known and suspected Combine operatives.

Leave it to the Kuritans to screw themselves. Then again, if one of my guys hadn’t seen the bomber by sheer coincidence, I’d be done with.

Apparently the nature of his negotiations had gotten out to the Federated Suns’ enemies. Felsner had known his job would be painfully difficult. He just hadn’t expected that to be so literally the truth.

It was the day after the fourth session since Felsner returned to the negotiation table, and he met with his negotiation team within his own embassy. With the death of Meldrach Suisso, they were short by one valuable member.

“We’re behind schedule and running out of time. Tell me we have something.”

Negotiations ended next month. He could get an extension from the Lyrans without much difficulty, but he and his team had been on Tharkad for almost five months and they were still nowhere close to an agreement.

And neither were they any closer to having enough dirt on anyone in the Lyran government to actually tip matters in their favor.

That was what frustrated him the most. He’d come to Tharkad behind an intelligence team that had been tasked to either find something they could use or to manufacture something. That team had arrived to an embassy embroiled in chaos and a broken intelligence network.

“We think we do,” said Rendar Urani, Felsner’s domestic advisor and protocol officer. The stress in his voice was palpable. In the wake of Suisso’s death, he was buried under additional workload, even with the addition of a knowledgeable and competent intelligence and military advisor to the team.

That was the other problem. Tess was a field agent and a damn good one, not a bureaucrat. But that didn’t stop the Federated Suns’ Deputy Foreign Minister from appointing her to his negotiation and advisory team.

Of course, they had to come up with a new identity for her. She had survived the bomb blast with a concussion and a few bruised ribs, along with a couple of hairline fractures. She was lucky. Meldrach had indeed protected her with his own body and paid the price for it.

She’d remained conscious long enough at the scene to see that Felsner was still alive and that his three surviving bodyguards had summoned both medical attention as well as additional security assistance. Then she’d passed out. She woke up the next day in a local safe house. Undercover Federated Suns agents had rescued her from the hospital, faking the death of Miss Dempsey lest she let some classified information slip while in a drug-induced haze.

The nurse disguise kept her in proximity to him while he was convalescing. It wouldn’t do when it came back to negotiation time, though.

So, unbeknownst to her, Felsner had a new identity created, one she would have strenuously objected to (and had almost constantly since assuming that role). As Leftenant Colonel Angela Conrad, she was rushed from a station within the Federated Suns’ Terran March to Tharkad. Or at least that’s what her orders said, as confirmed by her diplomatic passport.

In fact, Felsner was having a little fun with her, payback for all the shit she’d given him over the years. While she could finally give up the oversized clothes, mussed-up hair, and slouch of Miss Dempsey, now she had to cut her hair short and dye it bright red—a style that was all the rage within the Terran March.

Tess sat silently at the table with the rest of the negotiation team. It wasn’t as if she was uncomfortable with the people at the table. In fact, several of them had come from the Ministry of Intelligence.

No, she felt like she was in over her head, and the setting didn’t inspire her confidence. Within their own embassy’s private dining room, the group sat at a long table surrounded by finely woven tapestries and huge paintings depicting the various leaders of the Federated Suns and their exploits. In each corner of the room were busts of the greatest leaders—Robert Davion, Lucien Davion, Reynard Davion, and of course, the current First Prince, Simon Davion—watching over the proceedings as if to nod their approval or frown in displeasure.

The room was designed to put foreign visitors at a disadvantage, but it worked its magic almost as well upon natives of the Federated Suns, too.

“Okay, so what do we know?” Felsner demanded, his voice resonating in the massive room.

Urani started. “We’ll start with the background. Ambassador Karl Erwin Tomas Bernstorff Graf von Eschenberg von Wormstadt von Ludendorf. Personal aide to the Archon on foreign affairs and chairman of the Committee on Defense Appropriations.”

“Married, with four children,” continued Andrea Suel, one of the intel agents pressed into service for Felsner. “Wife is Elisabeth Ophelia, née Romer, daughter of Graf von Sevren, who is CEO of Sevren Steelworks and has further holdings in more than a dozen major corps. The two have been married for twenty-six years, but she has lived on Eschenberg for the last twelve while he’s been here on Tharkad.”

“This is information we already know. So what’s new?” Felsner’s patience was running thin.

Urani took over. “He likes younger men, much like the rest of the men in his social stratum.” That in and of itself wasn’t unusual. Extramarital affairs on Tharkad were the norm among the Lyran nobility. “According to our files, he’s got several on the side. Let’s see… Okay, he’s currently got three different boyfriends on the side, and a couple of others he’s had in the past few years. And it looks like he’s also got a girlfriend to boot.”

Felsner asked the next logical question. “What do we know about the boyfriends?”

Suel had that information ready and picked up without hesitation. “All three are early to mid-twenties. Two are junior assistants in the Lyran bureaucracy. Both are in casual relationships with several other men at the deputy minister level or higher. Neither is a security risk. Both have been approached by other governments and organizations, but nothing. It looks like they are well taken care of: good apartments, plenty of money, and nice lifestyle. Oh, and easy jobs.”

Felsner summed it up concisely. “So what we have is a couple of pampered professional boyfriends?”

She continued after a second. “Correct. Nothing there. As for boyfriend three, he’s quiet, professional, a friend of the family. Nothing there either. In the ex-boyfriend category, only one of interest. He also had a bunch of benefactors, only he liked to talk about it, and the press had some fun with it a couple of years ago. The boyfriend found himself shipped off to the Periphery, and the Lyran public affairs people spent six months spinning the story.”

“All right,” Felsner concluded. “Just another minister who needs a certain amount of…release. How about the girlfriend? What do we have there?”

“Okay, this is where it gets interesting.” Premit took a second to collect her thoughts before continuing. She felt Simon Davion’s eyes boring into the back of her head while Lucien Davion scowled in contempt at her. “Thirty-five, single, from Eschenberg. Apparently another family friend. She’s a banker right here on Tharkad, mainly personal finance. For the last decade, she’s made between two and three trips back to Eschenberg each year, in and of itself not unusual, though her trips are usually within a week or two after Bernstorff’s own trips home.

“They’ve got a regular appointment with each other. Every two weeks, they meet for dinner, then to a hotel for the rest of the evening. The restaurant rotates between about five or six of his favorites, but it’s always the same hotel: the Eidelweiss Grand. Nice place, off the beaten path.”

“What are you saying?”

Felsner’s question reminded Tess of something he’d told her a few days earlier. “You’re not in intel-gathering, you’re in intel-analysis. It’s your job to give a quick snapshot and then your assessment. Convince me one way or the other without overloading me with irrelevant facts.”

“Okay, here’s the thing. This girl is his only standing date. With few exceptions, the only time he sees her is on their standard Sunday-evening liaison. Now what’s strange is that he absolutely does not have a standing date with any of his boyfriends. When he needs a release, he calls one up, and they typically meet at the boyfriend’s apartment. They never go to a hotel.

“And here’s the other thing. The only times he and his girlfriend have met outside of their scheduled dates has been after he’s concluded a major negotiation. He doesn’t take her to parties. In fact, it looks like they actually make sure they’re not at the same place at the same time, except for their dates. He doesn’t do this with anyone else. His other relationships are an open secret. But this one: it’s different.”

Felsner asked, “So what do you think?”

She sat silently for a few seconds, running every possible scenario through her mind. “I don’t know what they’re into, but I think Ms. Eva Sorken may just be what we’ve been looking for.”

Robert Davion looked at her with a smile on his face.

VII

THARKAD

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

30 AUGUST 2456

Sometimes undercover work could be routine and mind-numbingly boring. One might have to get oneself a “regular” job and spend weeks or months trying to build a cover, looking and acting just like any other person who has to drag themself out of bed every day to go to a hated workplace with coworkers only slightly less detestable than child molesters.

And then there were times when the anticipation, nervousness, and adrenaline rush merged to create an incomparable high.

Tonight was one of the latter times. And for the first time since arriving on Tharkad, Teresa Premit was completely in her element.

Friday night, and Eva Sorken was going out for an evening of dinner, drinks, and dancing with her girlfriends. They thought she’d been cooped up in her apartment for far too long. That was just fine by Tess.

She and her team of undercover agents were going to kidnap Eva.

A bunch of rich city girls looking to unwind and maybe to get a little action to boot. Well, there’s one girl who’ll get more than she wanted!

Tess and her team followed Eva as one of her friends picked her up from the upscale—and very secure—apartment she owned in Rivvenfeldt. Meeting up at a little bistro, the six women ate and drank and laughed for an hour and a half before leaving.

By the time Eva and her five friends reached the Scorpion Pit, a trendy nightspot as popular for its massive dance floor as it was for the illicit substances dealt there, they were loud and unruly, dancing and flirting their way into the club—obviously feeling the drinks they’d had at dinner.

As soon as the women were inside, Tess signaled her team to go. She made a beeline for the front door from the Dachen coupe she’d driven to the club. In her peripheral vision, she could see her two other “inside men”—Julius and Damon—get out of their own vehicle and wander toward the club. And as they did that, she knew her two last operatives took their own positions—one to cover the front door and one to cover the rear, both on the lookout in case their target slipped out of the club, also ready to make a quick getaway.

As Tess approached the door, her heart pumped hard, almost in time with the rapid thumping beat of the music from inside. No matter how many ops she participated in, the anticipation always got to her. She was on edge, which was just the way she wanted to be.

Complacency is how you get killed. Keep alert, kiddo!

That was her mantra, and she wasn’t about to compromise her own safety or that of her teammates to get the job done. If there was a single problem, she wouldn’t hesitate to call off the op.

She walked up to the doorman and handed over a twenty-kroner bill. The cover charge was pretty steep, but hey, it was a trendy place.

He was a big guy, wearing a tight black T-shirt that showed off his well-muscled torso and arms, and black leather pants over black leather boots. His long hair covered his ears and the back of his neck—what there was of it—and he wore the obligatory sunglasses in the dead of the night.

It’s a statement.

He looked her up and down before accepting the bill. She looked shit-hot and knew it—and so did everyone else: a short green dress that left her midriff and back bare and very little else to the imagination, complemented by green heels, a matching clutch purse, and topped off by a wild multihued hairdo. She’d left her entire team in awe when she walked out of the bedroom of their safehouse with that outfit on, but what the hell. She didn’t often get to show off.

Besides, the idea was to get people to notice everything but her face. Before “picking up” Eva at her apartment, she’d put on facial appliqués to make her look like her target. She didn’t want anyone to recognize her.

The doorman motioned her into the club, concentrating more on her other attributes than her bulging purse. She walked through and down a small corridor before turning the corner and stepping into the Scorpion Pit.

Damn!

It was like all nine rings of hell wrapped up in one. Hundreds of bodies partially obscured by an almost-permanent cloud of fog writhed in time to the deafening beat blaring out of the club’s speakers while red spotlights played over the entire scene. Then the smell hit her…a combination of sweat, bile, and the smoke from hundreds of different burning substances, some legal and some not.

God, I hate places like this!

From her position on the entry balcony she moved down to the tier right below her, a raised level filled with tables that surrounded the massive, and filled, dance floor. Its red glow only added to the club’s hellish image. The place was dark otherwise, with strobe lights and laser beams flashing on and off in synchronicity to nothing, momentarily illuminating pitch-black corners where people were doing things she didn’t want to think about.

She had but one thing on her mind: Eva.

There.

Tess picked her target out, sitting at a table with her friends.

Premit snatched a half-full champagne glass from a nearby table, its occupants too enthralled with each other to even notice. She tapped her ring against the glass twice and twice again, wirelessly transmitting clicks that told her cohorts that she’d spotted their prey.

Both inside men clicked their acknowledgment. All five of them wore earpieces that picked up the signals and could also transmit voice; not, of course, that they’d be able to understand much within the thump of the club. But at least the brief keying of the transmit button, hidden within otherwise decorative rings worn by each of them, could be heard without much difficulty.

Tess looked back toward the entry and after a few seconds spotted her two cohorts. Julius had secured a seat at one of the club’s many bars, this one on a third level overlooking the whole place, while Tess and Deven moved toward each other. They met in the middle and took over a table fifteen meters away from Eva.

Their subject and her friends sat at their table, ordering drink after drink for an hour before four of them, including Eva, stood up and went down to the dance floor. Tess and Deven watched the group work off their frenetic energy for a few more minutes before they headed down to the dance floor together. Drink in hand, like so many others, Tess began to move in time to the beat.

Their bodies shifted and contorted in unison, moving slowly from the edge of the mass of humanity toward and circling around Eva and her friends. One of them always kept their eyes locked on their target even as both scanned the crowd for potential dangers. Above them, their third comrade maintained an overwatch, likewise paying close attention for any obstacles that might present themselves.

After ten more minutes, the two closed in on their target. They came within a meter of Eva, closely studying the way she moved, the way she whipped around, and especially the way her eyes and head worked the crowd. She was on the lookout, but not for danger. Her gaze played briefly over Deven, moving to Tess with a flare of jealousy before continuing to scan the rest of the throng. That brought a smile to Tess’s lips. Just a bit of satisfaction at making another woman jealous, if only for a moment. It also told the undercover operative that Eva was indeed on the lookout for action. And that might make her job much easier. Unless, of course, she hooked up with someone before Tess and her team were ready.

No sense in waiting.

Champagne glass still in hand, raised above her as if a torch to light their way, Tess tapped the signal that let everyone know they were going to make the attempt right now. Tess and Deven moved away, melding back into the crowd briefly while they prepared.

There wasn’t much to do in preparation, really. Julius got up from his seat and, drink in hand, worked his way down toward the dance floor as Tess and Deven moved once again closer to Eva. When Julius was in place, standing on a small stair by the edge of the dance floor and right next to the corridor that led to a set of restrooms as well as a back exit, she made her move.

The plan was simple. Tess would transfer the glass from her right hand to her left, “accidentally” bumping Eva and in the process spilling the drink on the woman, profusely apologizing in the process and demanding to help her clean up.

But then Murphy and his laws made their debut for the evening.

The throbbing beat changed tempo, and the throng turned temporarily from a writhing mass to a thrashing mob. Arms that were either in the air or wrapped around partners suddenly thrashed about like a mass of tentacles. A woman close to Tess knocked the glass right from her hand without even noticing it, splashing the liquid over half a dozen individuals—none of them Eva—and sending the glass to the floor, where it smashed to bits.

Shit!

Worse still, not only did Eva not get splashed, she and her friends were leaving the dance floor. They must not have liked the change in music.

Using the metal clasp on her purse, Tess quickly tapped out on her ring the “miss” code, alerting Julius to the failed attempt. But when she noticed the group of women moving toward Julius, she just as quickly tapped the code for him to make his own attempt.

Riskier, but worth a shot.

It took the women some time to make their way out of the unruly crowd, giving Julius the time he needed. Just as they reached the edge of the dance floor, Julius swung into action, grabbing Eva by the hand and pulling her back into the mass. Julius was tall with chiseled good looks and a build that showed easily through his ruffled white shirt and snug black trousers. The women simply stood in astonishment as the stranger and their friend began moving to the beat. Their gaping mouths quickly turned to smiles, though; they turned and went to their table.

Eva was dancing with this man she’d never met before and having the time of her life. She whipped her head back and laughed as Julius led her through a series of wild moves.

Tess and Deven moved to the crowd’s periphery. Tess took up the position on the stairs where Julius had been standing while Deven disappeared down the black corridor. From her vantage point, she studied her target, mentally ticking off the seconds before the drugs from the medpatch Julius slapped on Eva’s hand took effect.

Yeah, you’re starting to feel it now. Your heart pounding, everything seeming to speed up. Oh, but you’re still looped from the drinks you had back at the restaurant. Or maybe you’re getting high from whatever’s in the air.

Now you’re spinning. No, wait, the entire world is spinning. You’re beginning to lose focus. Pretty soon the nausea will hit. And there it is. You need to get off of the dance floor, and now. If you’re lucky, all you’ll need to do is splash some water on your face.

But tonight your luck runs out.

Julius led her off the dance floor and down the darkened hallway to the restrooms, where Tess waited for them, her bulging clutch bag in hand. She followed behind by a few beats, plucking the wig from her own head and rushing forward to plop it onto Eva’s lolling head as soon as they all disappeared into the blackness of the corridor.

Tess wrapped her own arm around the woman, who was rapidly losing consciousness, as they moved past the restrooms. The stench of years of vomit, urine, and who knows what else absorbed into the walls nearly caused the veteran agent to gag.

They turned a few corners. Julius picked Eva up in his arms to climb a flight of stairs. Deven stood at the top, black mass in hand and holding open the emergency exit whose alarm he’d rushed ahead to disable. He tossed the mass to Tess and took Eva from Julius.

“Deven, hold on!” Tess commanded.

“What? We’ve got to get out of here!”

“Just wait a sec!” Tess slipped the shoes from Eva’s feet and stepped out of her own, dropping them onto the woman’s limp form. “Go!”

Deven disappeared into the alleyway with the woman. With luck, they’d be away in a minute or two.

Tess and Julius turned around and rushed to the bottom of the stairs. As they made their way back through the vile corridor, Tess ripped a brown wig from her purse and pulled it down over her own still-short red crop of hair. She entered the women’s restroom, Julius taking up position outside. Multicolored neon lights lit up the room, especially its hanging cloud of smoke. Women touched up their makeup and hair, or smoked, or injected themselves with who knows what. No one even batted an eye at Tess, who ducked into a stall.

Okay, places like this have their uses.

She didn’t have much time. She stripped off her own dress before slipping into the black dress Deven had passed to her, one that had taken a woman on the team more than two hours to find a copy of—nearly the entire time it took Eva to get from her front door and to the club.

It wasn’t a perfect match, and the heels were at least a size too small, but it could have been worse. This was the part that Tess had worried about.

She carefully stuffed her green dress into her purse and adjusted her brunette wig using a tiny makeup mirror that she likewise shoved into the purse. Tess emerged from the stall and looked herself over in the restroom’s mirror one last time. She knew she’d never pass as Eva close up to anyone that knew her, but at a distance…at a distance, especially in this club, no one would ever know the difference. Not even Eva’s friends.

She hoped.

Tess left the restroom and slipped her arm around Julius’s waist. They returned to the dance floor moving and swaying to the beat, immediately making their way to the closest bar. Tess looked over to where Eva’s friends were seated and, making eye contact, waved, letting them know she was just fine. They waved back, but didn’t move from their seats.

Yeah, that’s right, I’m just fine. Now don’t bother me…

Tess and Julius both sat at the bar and ordered drinks, leaning in close toward each other. Tess placed her hand on Julius’s forearm while he teased her thigh with his other hand. She laughed and tossed her hair back. To anyone else, they’d look like two people totally infatuated with each other.

A moment later, they both heard the two-two-two clicks that told them Eva was safely away. But Tess wasn’t satisfied. She wanted to be sure, so she brought her hand up to her mouth like she was laughing, keyed her mic and said, “Verify,” hoping she’d be heard over the music.

A second later, they both heard again the two-two-two clicks.

Okay. It’s done. Now we gotta get out of here.

Julius must have been thinking the same thing, asking, “So what’s the plan?”

Tess thought a moment before answering. “Let’s finish our drinks and have one last dance.”

“And then right out the front door?”

“Absolutely.” She looked towards Eva’s friends, who were giggling and pointing in her general direction.

That’s right. We’re going to go home together tonight. And then I’ll call in sick tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. And maybe in a few days I’ll send you a message from off-world. “We hit it off so well we decided to take a trip.…”

She turned back to her companion, whose hand continued to creep up her thigh. “By the way Julius, if you move that hand any farther, you’ll get to feel firsthand just how sharp carbon fiber–reinforced nails are.”

Her hand moving up his own thigh, he squirmed and answered, “Yes, ma’am.”

VIII

THARKAD

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

31 AUGUST 2456

Eva opened her eyes to total blackness.

She blinked a few times, but still nothing. Tried to lift her hand to rub her eyes, but she couldn’t move. Her arms, her legs, even her head. What was going on!?

Her heart pounded like a jackhammer. Beads of sweat ran down her face and under her chin. She struggled against the invisible binds that immobilized her, but she couldn’t get her breath. She couldn’t breathe! She felt the walls closing in.

“Help! Help! Get me out of here!”

Her screams echoed around what could only be a small room, but all she heard were her own staccato heartbeats.

She pulled. She struggled. She thrashed about. Nothing helped.

Her hands! Yes! Her hands worked. And so did her feet. She couldn’t move her arms or legs, but she could at least move something. Maybe she could feel what was keeping her from moving!

Nothing! She couldn’t touch anything. Feel anything.

She screamed again. “Help! Please help me!”

Nothing. But someone had to be there, right? Someone had to be able to help!

Then the room lit up brighter than a supernova.

She clamped her eyes shut. The light. It was too bright, hurt too much. But she couldn’t block it out!

Once more she screamed, fright overcoming her.

The smell hit her a few seconds later. It was a strong, pungent odor. Urine. But it took her a while longer to realize where it had suddenly come from, that she was sitting in a puddle of her own waste. Combined with the funk of her sweat, it was overpowering. Her stomach heaved. If she’d had anything in it, she’d have vomited it all over herself.

She was weak. Dizzy. Her head pounded in pain with every accelerated beat of her heart. And now was hoarse from her screams.

But at least she was beginning to adjust to the blinding lights.

Eva tentatively opened her eyes, squinting and blinking rapidly. She sat there, naked, reclined and tied down to some sort of exam bed, tubes and wires attached all over her body.

Why would anyone want to do this to her?

“Help me. Oh please, oh please, oh please…” Her whimpers barely made it past her lips.

A noise. A door opening? Someone walking toward her! She still couldn’t see anything past the overpowering lights, but she heard and felt the movement nearby. Her heart continued to race.

A female leaned over the frightened woman and spoke. “Hello, Eva.”

Eva looked up into a face she recognized, a voice hauntingly familiar.

“You…you’re me… Who are you?”

The other woman smiled.

“Eva Sorken.”

In the next room, Delton Felsner observed the interrogation through the wall of medical monitors, computer displays, and tri-vid images. The three other individuals in the room with him monitored Eva’s medical and psychological condition, and could adjust the flow of drugs and other intravenous fluids to make her more susceptible to the questions asked. Or to strengthen her so she could remain conscious.

One of the agents, of course, was a trained medical specialist who could step in if Eva’s vitals went south. Deven and Julius were the other two, and concentrated on their own monitors.

“You…you’re me… Who are you?”

“Eva Sorken.”

Tess had been practicing Eva’s voice for the last twelve hours, and while Felsner knew she wouldn’t be able to fool Eva’s friends or family with her impression, he figured it would be good enough for someone as confused, frightened, and incoherent—and drugged—as Eva was.

Eva continued to whimper, “No, no, no, no…”

Then she began to cry.

Good. That’ll blur her vision even more. Tess’s makeup isn’t perfect, but it’ll work.

“Why am I here?”

Amidst Eva’s sobs, Felsner could barely make out the words. A technician worked the controls, amplifying the woman’s frightened whispers. Of course, they expected that question sooner or later, it just wasn’t the one they wanted to hear yet. Eva was vulnerable, to be sure, but there was no telling if she had dissociated yet. Well, only one way to find out.

He nodded, and had another man pass word to Tess to begin.

Moving behind the bed and out of the woman’s sight, Tess signaled the tri-vid camera in front of them that the agents should increase the flow of drugs into Eva’s system. Reappearing on the woman’s other side and leaning in close, she answered Eva’s question, whispering into her ear.

“We’re here because of our crimes. We’re criminals, and we deserve to be punished.”

“No…no, that’s not…”

Tess slapped the bed next to the woman’s head, nearly screaming her reply.

“Yes it is! And we know it!”

Eva would be having trouble concentrating. Her gaze roamed wildly around the room, unable to focus on even Tess, whose face was less than a meter away. “No…we didn’t do…nothing wrong.”

Tess signaled the other room again, this time to decrease the drug flow. She waited a few moments before continuing, walking back around to the woman’s left side.

She leaned in close again, her voice low and seemingly full of regret.

“Yes, I’m afraid we did. We’re criminals… We lied. To our friends and to our family.”

She leaned in even farther, barely whispering her final statement into Eva’s ear.

“And all because of him.”

Good, Felsner thought. Tess is getting her thinking about Bernstorff. Shouldn’t be long now.

The problem was that they didn’t know precisely what Bernstorff and Eva were up to. All they had was supposition and circumstantial evidence. They needed something harder. But that didn’t stop them from using what little they did have to start the flow of information.

“I… Who? It’s…it’s not…”

Tess remained close, giving voice to Eva’s conscience with a whisper.

“Yes, we do. He talked us into it, but we’re just as guilty as he is.”

Tess watched Eva carefully, and Felsner did the same as he hovered over the monitor. She was back to whimpering, but anyone could see that there was something there, that maybe Eva was just about ready to spill everything. He watched as Tess went out on a limb, making an educated guess.

“Why do you think we sit in that apartment all alone? Because we like it?”

She came around the bed again, almost mouthing this into Eva’s right ear.

“It’s time to confess.”

Felsner watched the medical monitors closely. Heart rate and blood pressure had dropped considerably from the sky-high readings of just a few minutes ago. The drugs had helped that, but mostly it was Tess, psychologically moving Eva from fear to guilt. Now all the Federated Suns operative had to do was keep nudging Eva closer and closer to that mental precipice and let her fall over herself. Then everything would come pouring out.

These were unusual methods of diplomacy, to be sure, but they were necessary. What he did in the negotiation room wasn’t all that dissimilar, only there he didn’t have the opportunity to pump his opponent full of drugs. And if this interrogation were to uncover information that could be used to get the Steiners to sell the BattleMech to the Federated Suns, and without any further loss of life, then so much the better.

Deven looked back at his ambassador, pointing to the neural readouts in front of him. “She’s thinking about something and not liking it too much. Right-side activity is down, and left is up. She’s not rationalizing anymore.”

“Good,” Felsner responded. “Then maybe we won’t have to be here all night. Tell her.”

Deven leaned forward and repeated what he’d said into the microphone in front of him. Looking up at the tri-vid image, both men watched Tess drop her head as she listened to Deven through her earpiece and then nod.

Felsner knew what those readings meant. Eva wasn’t trying to cover herself with lies. Logic was commingling with exhaustion. She was feeling guilt.

But Eva wasn’t quite there yet. She was still crying softly, the weight of her emotions colliding with mental exhaustion. She needed just another small nudge.

Tess leaned directly over Eva, their faces mere centimeters apart, and looked right into the woman’s eyes. She spoke softly and with as much compassion as she could muster.

“It’s time we gave up the guilt. It’s killing us.”

“Oh…okay.”

Tess smiled down at Eva, hoping it wasn’t the look of smug satisfaction she felt in her gut.

IX

THARKAD

LYRAN COMMONWEALTH

5 SEPTEMBER 2456

“I believe this would be an opportune time for a break, if I might suggest. With your approval, of course, Ambassador?”

Lord Delton Felsner looked back at Ambassador Karl Bernstorff and smiled. “I believe that is an excellent suggestion.”

They’d been talking for the past several hours, and everyone needed to stretch their legs. “Then shall we reconvene in, say, fifteen minutes?”

With a nod Felsner stood up, as did Bernstorff. Both leaned over the table and shook hands.

Felsner didn’t let Bernstorff get too far away from the table before getting his attention. “Ambassador, perhaps I could have a moment with you in camera?”

The request was a little odd, but then again, the entire negotiation process had broken or seriously fractured almost every convention and unwritten rule in the book—much to the enjoyment of the Lyran minister, who seemed like he hadn’t had this much fun in his three decades of service to his nation.

“I trust you will not use this opportunity to bring up subjects that have been tabled?” Bernstorff was obviously getting tired of the issue of the BattleMech, something he simply wasn’t budging on.

“No, Ambassador, on my honor I will not bring up that subject.” Though you might. “No, this is something I think you will agree is best discussed in private.”

The Lyran nodded and, arm held out to direct Felsner toward the door to a private sitting room, replied, “Then how can I refuse you?”

The two walked toward the room with Tess, in her guise as Leftenant Colonel Angela Conrad, falling in behind them, noteputer in hand. Bernstorff gave Felsner a quizzical look, obviously wondering why this aide was following them.

Felsner addressed the ambassador’s unspoken question, speaking low so no one else in the rapidly clearing negotiation room could hear. “We’ve come across some more, uh, sensitive information. And it involves someone in your delegation. The colonel here is most familiar with it, if that isn’t a problem?”

Bernstorff stopped for a moment to think about what he’d just heard. “Nein. Of course not.”

The implication that someone on his staff was involved in something untoward was enough for him to quickly wave off the two aides that were moving across the room to join them. “We will be just a few moments.” That stopped them in their tracks.

Felsner and Tess both continued into the room while Bernstorff followed them, closing the door behind them.

This was the kind of nice, cozy room that Felsner loved. Darkly stained wood paneling and floor, fireplace, a couple of windows looking out over the perpetually snow-covered landscape, and a few paintings of some obscure historical figures. Two overstuffed chairs were placed at an angle so they half faced each other and half faced the fireplace, with a small table on which sat a pitcher of water and two glasses between them. Two small couches faced each other with a rug between, the chairs on one side and the fireplace on the other.

Best of all was the smell, the warm aroma of a good hardwood burning in the fireplace. Not gas, not a hologram, a real honest-to-goodness fire. They probably had someone come in to keep it stoked just for instances like this.

It was an intimate room designed to make its occupants feel comfortable, a welcome change from the massive and off-putting negotiation chamber.

Normally this would be the kind of room the home team could use to put their opponents off-balance, to woo them into letting their guard down before launching another diplomatic attack. Sure, everyone knew the tricks, but they still worked.

Only this time it would be the opponent that had the advantage.

Felsner took position in front of one of the overstuffed chairs, while Tess stood next to him in front of one sofa. Both sat as soon as Bernstorff moved in front of his own chair and motioned for them to sit.

The Lyran minister started. “So, what information do you have that is so sensitive that we need privacy?”

“Ambassador, if I may?” Usually an aide did not speak before her superior in this sort of environment, and Tess played the part with all the deference and humility she could muster. She pulled a white-noise generator from her pocket and held it up for the men to see.

Felsner continued on Tess’s behalf. “You may, of course, do what you will with this information, but I think you’ll agree that we should take no chances with it before then.”

This piqued Bernstorff’s interest. They had broken off in private only once before, when Felsner and the poor, departed Meldrach Suisso had presented Bernstorff with detailed information concerning foreign agents operating on Tharkad, but even then they hadn’t requested such security precautions.

“If you feel it is necessary, then by all means.”

Tess activated the device and handed it to Felsner, who placed it on the table between him and the Lyran.

“So, what is it that you have there?” Bernstorff’s curiosity was getting the best of him.

Felsner began. “First, let me say that we are providing this information in the spirit of our agreement to share critical intelligence.” This was an official meeting, whether on the record or not, and there were some protocols that had to be followed. Even if it would take a radical turn momentarily.

Bernstorff nodded in agreement, adding, “Thank you. The information you previously provided was very valuable.”

“What we have here is even more critical,” Felsner continued. “We only just came into possession of this. The identity of a high-ranking member of your government is engaged in treason.”

That got a start.

“Well. That is unheard of!” He was acting indignant, but it wasn’t very convincing. “Every minister, deputy, and advisor is required to swear an oath of loyalty to the Archon and to the Commonwealth. No one has ever broken that oath!”

Of course not. Just like you didn’t steal the BattleMech from the Terrans.

“Greed is a powerful motivator, Mr. Ambassador. What we have here is proof that a minister in your government has been using his influence and power to line his own pockets.”

Bernstorff blanched.

Hitting a little too close to home?

“We…well, that sounds like corruption, not treason. Surely not treason!” The Lyran minister faltered briefly, but quickly recovered. “Allow me to let you in on a little secret. Bribery and kickbacks are a way of life to a nation of merchants. As wasteful and detestable as it is, it is an unfortunate fact.”

Hmm…trying a little distraction, are you? Not going to work!

The air was a little dry in the room, and Felsner took a drink of water before continuing. “This is more than just pedestrian corruption we’re talking about.” He shook his head in reinforcement. “No, this is far worse. Hundreds of millions of kroner diverted each year to line the pockets of the minister and his friends. Millions that, I’m sure you’ll agree, could have been better put to use. And these friends? Captains of industry who have become only richer by defrauding the Lyran people of this money by foisting overpriced boondoggles on them.”

Bernstorff was trying hard to keep control, gripping the chair’s arm tightly lest he give anything away with his arm or hand movements. But he didn’t quite succeed. His face was still drained of color, and he was blinking rapidly with every accusation, licking his lips every few seconds with a tongue likely dry and rough as sandpaper.

“Colonel Conrad has the rest.” Felsner pointed to Tess, who tapped her noteputer to bring up the salient file.

“Through various sources, we were led to this woman, Eva Sorken.” Tess turned her noteputer so the Lyran ambassador could see the picture of Eva she had displayed on the screen.

Bernstorff lost even more color from his face. Any composure he was trying to maintain melted away, his mouth agape.

Tess didn’t even stop for effect. “As it turns out, she handles all the money for this minister. An old family friend, we’re told. So what happens is the minister uses his influence to get major military contracts awarded to corporations owned and run by his friends, many of them members of his wife’s family. They’re never the low bidder, but they spread around enough bribe money to make that not a factor. And then, you know what happens? They jack up the costs and get their minister friend to authorize it, calling it normal cost overruns. Then they split the money and laugh all the way to the bank!”

Felsner stared at the Lyran the whole time, watching him rub the sweat from his palms, lick his lips, seeing his chest rise and fall rapidly. Then the eye movement as Tess finished what she had to say, rapidly jumping back and forth across the room.

Looking for a way out? Maybe something you can say or do?

All three were silent for a long minute. That Bernstorff was panicked was blatantly clear; his foot tapped a rapid rhythm, and he shuddered with every crackle and pop of the burning fire. The high-pitched hum of the white-noise generator only added to the tension he must have been feeling.

Felsner sat back, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the comfort of the chair while Tess leaned forward staring intently at the Lyran, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Finally, the despondent Bernstorff looked over, regaining his composure before he spoke. “What do you want?”

Felsner’s answer was absolutely unambiguous. “You know what we want.”

Bernstorff sighed. “The BattleMech.”

See? I told you I wouldn’t bring it up.

“Yes.”

“You understand that is the one thing I was instructed not to agree to. The one thing I cannot agree to. Even if I did, the Archon would just invalidate the treaty. I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” Felsner’s voice exuded nothing but strength and confidence. “If you put your mind to it, you can convince the Archon of the logic of it.”

“What logic?”

“Well, sooner or later we will gain the technology, so why shouldn’t it be on your terms? The time to cash in is now.”

That calmed the Lyran down some. Set his mind to thinking.

Felsner continued. “Think of it this way. We’re going to give you huge sums of money so that you can build us some of these wonderful machines. Then we’re going to give you more, to buy the parts from you so we can build them ourselves. And then we’re going to give you even more so that you can give us the plans to do it all ourselves.

“And all the while, we’re going to send you our best technical minds to help you build better factories and design better BattleMechs. Oh, and by the way, as foreign minister and chairman of the Appropriations Committee,” Felsner said with a smile. “You will be the one who chooses precisely which corporations will be on the receiving end of all of this.”

“The military will object.” Bernstorff was thinking on his feet now. Wrapping his brain around the new problems. “They won’t want to give anyone the BattleMech.”

He’s coming around.

“They’ll just have to get over it. And they’ll see the benefits soon enough. The Hegemony and the Combine will have us on both sides to deal with. We’ll sign a mutual nonaggression treaty. And we’ll do some joint training, just to keep the Camerons and Kuritas guessing.” Felsner wasn’t done, though. Not by a long shot. “And how can your generals even think about speaking out against the treaty that the hero of the Lyran Commonwealth negotiated?”

“What do you mean?” Bernstorff’s frown was back. Suspicion flared in his eyes.

Good. Here it comes.

“Why, Ambassador Bernstorff, you will have brought the mighty Federated Suns to its knees, begging you for its very life, because its massive military wasn’t enough to protect it from the Hegemonists. No, they had to come to you. And in this time of danger, you drained their coffers so that your nation could pay for its own massive arming projects without costing your citizens one kroner extra.”

The Lyran dropped his head in resignation. “And what happens to those files in your hand?”

Tess handed the noteputer over to him, replying, “We believe that you are the best judge as to what agency should receive this information.”

“And Eva?”

Felsner answered that. “As it turns out, she just accepted a job offer on New Avalon. Though I think she’ll be back in a few years . Say, once the final technology transfers are complete.” The Federated Suns ambassador stood up and extended his right hand. “We have a deal?”

Bernstorff likewise stood and, mustering all the dignity he could, took the proffered hand.

“Ja. You have your deal.”

X

NEW AVALON

FEDERATED SUNS

19 JANUARY 2457

“Ambassador Bernstorff, on behalf of the people of the Federated Suns, I would like to personally thank you for your part in these historic negotiations. You have saved us from the enemies that seek to destroy us both!”

First Prince Simon Davion’s words were sincere, without even the hint of being mere bureaucratic lip service.

With a bow, Duke Karl Bernstorff replied immediately, “Highness, it has been my honor and pleasure to work with Lord Felsner to bring this treaty to fruition.”

It may not have been the truth, but there was a time and place for that. And both had long ago passed.

The two had just signed the treaty that would see the Federated Suns gain the technical know-how to build their own BattleMechs. And he had confirmed his treasonous colors—he had sold out the nation he’d sworn an oath to. No, strike that! He was a traitor and a thief. But unlike the Kuritas, he didn’t believe in the nobility of suicide. He liked life too much, enjoyed its pleasures more than he hated his own life.

So there he was, alone, on the homeworld of those that had found out his darkest secret and used it against him. Despite the presence of members of his own nation’s delegation to New Avalon, he felt like the loneliest soul in the universe.

Of course, the setting didn’t help. The Prince’s throne room was massive, large enough to fit more than a thousand nobles, dignitaries, and bureaucrats, along with two companies of elite bodyguards. There were but a handful of individuals in the room today, their voices and the sound of their footfalls on the polished marble floor echoing throughout the chamber.

At least he could take comfort in the fact that the treaty would benefit his nation. And his own personal fortunes. Not that money was the point anymore.

The Prince turned to Felsner, who stood next to the Lyran ambassador. “And Duke Felsner, your entire nation thanks you and your delegation for your service. You are a shining example of what it means to be a citizen of the Federated Suns!”

“Thank you, Highness. You are too kind.”

Felsner’s words just about made Bernstorff sick to his stomach, but the ceremony was nearly over. Because of the nature of the treaty, it was secret—after all, neither side wanted the Hegemony or any of the other Successor States knowing about it until both could construct sizeable BattleMech armies. That meant no press and no hordes of low-level functionaries with whom he’d have to spend hours more before his four-month return trip to Tharkad.

At least this time he wouldn’t have to spend it with the architect of his treason.

It only took a few more minutes for the ceremony to conclude. Two assistants took the requisite tri-vid photos, there was a toast, numerous handshakes, and then the group was dismissed. There would be a state dinner that evening to honor his visit to New Avalon “in the name of friendship.” And that would be it. He could finally get off New Avalon and forget about this whole debacle.

In fact, when he returned, he would start giving generously to charities throughout the Commonwealth. The military budget for building the Lyran ’Mech corps would force cutbacks in domestic programs, so perhaps he could ease that problem and even convince other wealthy businessmen and nobles to do the same.

It wouldn’t make up for his treason, but it would be a start.

“Herr Bernstorff, a word?”

He stopped, cringing. He’d hoped he would never have to hear Felsner’s smooth and self-confident voice again. All he wanted to do was get out of this palace and off this world.

Felsner came up alongside the Lyran, motioning him to continue walking. “Ambassador, please. I know this hasn’t been easy for you, and I’m sure you want to return home?”

“Ja. The trip has been long, and I have not seen my family for some time. I would like to get back to them.”

“I understand. All we ask is that you wait a few days before leaving.”

Bernstorff’s eyes went wide, his face rapidly losing color. “Wh…why?”

Felsner slapped him on the shoulder like an old friend as they passed out of the throne room. “Herr Ambassador, your imagination is playing havoc with you. Our intelligence agencies are preparing reports on foreign agents known to be operating in your Lyran Commonwealth for you, and I’m sure that you would like to bring at least some of the money we’ve promised your government back to your Archon?”

The Lyran sighed in relief. “Ja. Yes, that would be appreciated. Thank you.”

Ahead of them, a blond woman turned the corner from a side corridor and approached them. Bernstorff stopped again when he caught sight of her, his arms and legs noticeably shaking. Tess, wearing a conservative business suit, joined the two of them.

“Besides,” Felsner continued, “I’m sure it’ll take you a few days to arrange credentials for your new aide, here. And we still have to discuss how else the Lyran Commonwealth can aid the Federated Suns in the future.”

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NOVELS

Decision at Thunder Rift by William H. Keith Jr.

Mercenary's Star by William H. Keith Jr.

The Price of Glory by William H. Keith, Jr.

Warrior: En Garde by Michael A. Stackpole

Warrior: Riposte by Michael A. Stackpole

Warrior: Coupé by Michael A. Stackpole

Wolves on the Border by Robert N. Charrette

Heir to the Dragon by Robert N. Charrette

Lethal Heritage (The Blood of Kerensky, Volume 1) by Michael A. Stackpole

Blood Legacy (The Blood of Kerensky, Volume 2) by Michael A. Stackpole

Lost Destiny (The Blood of Kerensky, Volume 3) by Michael A. Stackpole

Way of the Clans (Legend of the Jade Phoenix, Volume 1) by Robert Thurston

Bloodname (Legend of the Jade Phoenix, Volume 2) by Robert Thurston

Falcon Guard (Legend of the Jade Phoenix, Volume 3) by Robert Thurston

Wolf Pack by Robert N. Charrette

Main Event by James D. Long

Natural Selection by Michael A. Stackpole

Assumption of Risk by Michael A. Stackpole

Blood of Heroes by Andrew Keith

Close Quarters by Victor Milán

Far Country by Peter L. Rice

D.R.T. by James D. Long

Tactics of Duty by William H. Keith

Bred for War by Michael A. Stackpole

I Am Jade Falcon by Robert Thurston

Highlander Gambit by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Hearts of Chaos by Victor Milán

Operation Excalibur by William H. Keith

Malicious Intent by Michael A. Stackpole

Black Dragon by Victor Milán

Impetus of War by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Double-Blind by Loren L. Coleman

Binding Force by Loren L. Coleman

Exodus Road (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 1) by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Grave Covenant (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 2) by Michael A. Stackpole

The Hunters (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 3) by Thomas S. Gressman

Freebirth (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 4) by Robert Thurston

Sword and Fire (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 5) by Thomas S. Gressman

Shadows of War (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 6) by Thomas S. Gressman

Prince of Havoc (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 7) by Michael A. Stackpole

Falcon Rising (Twilight of the Clans, Volume 8) by Robert Thurston

Threads of Ambition (The Capellan Solution, Book 1) by Loren L. Coleman

The Killing Fields (The Capellan Solution, Book 2) by Loren L. Coleman

Dagger Point by Thomas S. Gressman

Ghost of Winter by Stephen Kenson

Roar of Honor by Blaine Lee Pardoe

By Blood Betrayed by Blaine Lee Pardoe and Mel Odom

Illusions of Victory by Loren L. Coleman

Flashpoint by Loren L. Coleman

Measure of a Hero by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Path of Glory by Randall N. Bills

Test of Vengeance by Bryan Nystul

Patriots and Tyrants by Loren L. Coleman

Call of Duty by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Initiation to War by Robert N. Charrette

The Dying Time by Thomas S. Gressman

Storms of Fate by Loren L. Coleman

Imminent Crisis by Randall N. Bills

Operation Audacity by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Endgame by Loren L. Coleman

A Bonfire of Worlds by Steven Mohan, Jr.

Embers of War by Jason Schmetzer

Betrayal of Ideals by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Forever Faithful by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Redemption Rift by Jason Schmetzer

YOUNG ADULT NOVELS

The Nellus Academy Incident by Jennifer Brozek

Rogue Academy: Iron Dawn by Jennifer Brozek

NOVELLAS/SHORT NOVELS

A Splinter of Hope by Philip A. Lee

The Anvil by Blaine Lee Pardoe

Not the Way the Smart Money Bets (Kell Hounds Ascendant 1) by Michael A. Stackpole

A Tiny Spot of Rebellion (Kell Hounds Ascendant 2) by Michael A. Stackpole

A Clever Bit of Fiction (Kell Hounds Ascendant 3) by Michael A. Stackpole

ANTHOLOGIES

Shrapnel: Fragments from the Inner Sphere

Onslaught: Tales from the Clan Invasion

The Corps (BattleCorps Anthology, Volume 1)

First Strike (BattleCorps Anthology, Volume 2)

Weapons Free (BattleCorps Anthology, Volume 3)

Fire for Effect (BattleCorps Anthology, Volume 4)

Counterattack (BattleCorps Anthology, Volume 5)

Front Lines (BattleCorps Anthology Volume 6)

Legacy

Kill Zone (BattleCorps Anthology Volume 7)

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BATTLETECH: NOTHING VENTURED (THE PROLIFERATION CYCLE, PART III)

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