Opalescent Reflections
House of Cards
Chapter 12
Huntsvil, Camlann
Benjamin District, Draconis Combine
4 August 3051It had amazed Tyra to be allowed out of bed so soon. However, the doctor assured her that she had mostly recovered and that it was more important for her to engage in moderate physical activity, even if her neck would need to remain braced for a week or two.
Silly her, she had assumed that this would be some kind of in-patient rehab.
“Bondswoman Tyra,” the clerk observed boredly, checking a status sheet. “Suited for light duties… bond-holder…” He shook his head. “General labor pool then.”
Tyra stood at something like parade rest. “And if I refuse to work for Clan Smoke Jaguar?”
The woman didn’t even look up. “Do you think you are the first to ask that? Your bond-holder could do anything they wanted but since they died in the fighting it defaults to caste discipline.” She looked up at Tyra. “No work, no food. Of course, in your medical condition that might have long term consequences. Do you really want to follow that route, quineg?”
“How many have?”
The woman looked down at her paperwork. “I could not tell you. Perhaps here in the luxury of the Inner Sphere you are used to layabouts being supported but that is not the case among the Clans.” She pointed over at a bench built into the wall. “Sit over there. If you are still unwilling to work by dinner time, you will be taken to somewhere you can starve quietly.”
“Why keep me if that’s all your Clan expects. You don’t have enough people to sweep floors?”
“Bondswoman, you are Clan Smoke Jaguar’s now. In what universe does anyone give up what is theirs? Much less to an enemy?” The clerk looked up, irritated now. “Records say that you are a pilot. With modest retraining you could serve as a technician maintaining or operating cargo aircraft or something similar. It is less expense to spend time making you trustworthy than to train someone from the beginning.”
Tyra would have laughed at that if it wasn’t so ridiculous. “I’m a fighter pilot, better than some of you Jaguars.”
“You were.” The woman stood. “Now you are a bondsman and Clan Smoke Jaguar does not trust freeborn with weapons. Now sit down or accept your assignment.” She slapped her desk and the papers there. “You are not the only person I must deal with today.”
Reflecting that right now she probably couldn’t overpower even this woman, much less back-up that could no doubt be called up, Tyra turned and walked to the bench. She sat on the hard surface, leant her head against the wall and considered her options, watching as a succession of men and women walked in, turning in assignments and being given new ones.
It all seemed innocuous, nothing really that she hadn’t seen being done at a dozen bases. The difference was mainly that rather than uniformed soldiers carrying out the work these were civilians - civilians and bondsmen wearing cords that marked them out. Were they Kungsarme? ComGuards? Few of them even looked at her, and save for the cords there seemed little between them.
Wasn’t it their duty to fight back? Wasn’t it hers? How could the daughter of the Iron Jarl bow to a conqueror, a tyrant?
Except, her father had.
All reports made it clear that Gunzburg had surrendered without a shot fired. To Clan Wolf, not Clan Smoke Jaguar, but all the same…
Draconis Ronin hadn’t beaten Tor Miraborg. Nor had Lyran mercenaries. But the Clans had… somehow.
How much did she even know about them? Tyra clenched her fists. They had burned Reykjavik. But the doctor had also seemed glad that the one who ordered it was dead. Aside from second-hand briefings based on information from the Wolf Dragoons almost all her contact with the Clans was through the crosshairs of her Shilone.
Not that she had a Shilone anymore. Or much of anything.
Everything Tyra had access to now was from her captors - her flightsuit and gear had been taken and it didn’t seem likely she’d get it back. What keepsakes she had left were back at the airbase and had probably been given to General Mansdottir by now. They might even believe she was dead.
What was left to her?
Tyra hung her head as far as she could with her neck trapped in the brace. Could she escape? She knew she had been moved from the Smoke Jaguar’s original landing zone to Huntsvil, one of the targets of Clan Wolf. She knew that that Clan had succeeded but that there had been enough failures that Camlann was safe and the Clans would eventually withdraw back to Orestes, Gunzburg and the scores of other worlds - hundreds of other worlds - that they had conquered.
Could she escape? Capture a vehicle - she would need one to reach friendly lines. The Midland Sea region being almost entirely uninhabited meant that she would have no real chance of local help.
And as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, the neckbrace wasn’t the only reminder of her injury. Tyra wasn’t sure she had the stamina for days or weeks hiking. Particularly if she needed to carry supplies for that.
No, she would need time to recover. And by that point, she suspected she would not be on Camlann any more.
Which… might not be the worst thing. On another occupied world, chances are that she could find someone willing to help her get away from the Smoke Jaguars. There had to be resistance groups and her military training would be of some use.
But she couldn’t do that if she was starving, which meant…
Tyra went over the problem several times. Survival and escape, versus pride.
When the clerk took a break and began eating her lunch, hunger tipped the balance. Tyra waited for the woman to finish before pushing herself upright and walking to the desk.
The clerk looked up at her, not even slightly excited? “Well?”
“What do you want me to do?”
Checking her desk, the woman rifled through a stack of documents before finding the one she wanted. “This should be within your capabilities. Go to medical bay four and report to Star Captain Trent. He’s confined to bed so he will need someone to fetch and carry. The medical staff may also have requests for you, but the Star Captain takes priority.”
Tyra cursed inwardly. “Alright.” She was pretty sure she could find her way.
“And Bondswoman?” The clerk stamped the document and started scribbling on it. “Watch your language. We speak proper English and your superiors need not stop at verbally correcting whatever slurring comes out of your mouth.”
The pilot’s shoulders tightened at the reminder - not so much of the language issue but at her vulnerability. She wasn’t an officer, much less the daughter of a Valdherre. She was just property in their eyes. Little more than an animal.
The chill did not desert Tyra as she returned to the medical bays. Bay four was signposted clearly and it didn’t take her long to find it - one of a line of private recovery rooms. The door was slightly ajar and she heard a woman laugh. “Apparently, the battle damaged your memory as well as your body, Trent. If you ever get access to my reports of the incident, you will see that it was I who saved you.”
Tyra froze and then pressed herself against the wall. Whatever was going on in there, she doubted either side would appreciate a bondsman as a witness.
A second voice - the Star Captain she had been assigned to? - answered: “Benjamin Howell warned me that politics was another form of war. It strikes me that someone who falsifies battle reports is better at politics than they are at combat.”
“If you want something else to strike you, you can call for a trial of grievance,” the woman told him. “And we will see who is the better warrior there. Both of our ‘mechs are gone so there are no BattleROMs. Your word versus mine and we both know you are in no condition to challenge me.”
So much for the honor of Clan warriors, Tyra thought.
“I will not always be confined to this bed,” the man warned ominously. “I have known you since our days in the sibko. I know the truth and we were both taught that knowledge is a powerful weapon.”
“We were also taught that the victor receives the spoils. I have a list of victories over Rasalhague mechwarriors to offset our defeat here on Camlann, you have a catalog of wounds that mark you as one of those whose weakness led to our failure,” the woman crowed. “There is a bloodright open in the Howell bloodline and I have received nomination for it. By the time you are fit to pilot a ‘mech again, you will be challenging a bloodnamed warrior.”
Tyra almost burst in at the mention of her dead comrades, hating the woman for the boast. But that would just end her life. If she wanted justice for them, she would need to wait.
“Either that or you will be dead,” the man snapped. “Victory in a trial of bloodright is never assured, and no one will let you alter the records to claim a victory you have not earned.”
The door slammed open and Tyra had a brief impression of a tall, dusky woman before she was shoved off her feet and crashed against the other wall, slipping down it to sit facing the wall.
Apparently caring nothing for Tyra now that she had been pushed away, the warrior stormed out, leaving Tyra to pull herself upright. Her elbows and the back of her head hurt but it seemed not to be so bad. Nonetheless, she took a moment to check carefully for any bleeding. The last thing she needed was another concussion.
Finding no blood and reasonably confident she wasn’t showing any of the other symptoms of such, Tyra forced herself to enter the open door. At least the warrior in there was unlikely to be able to assault her.
There was, unsurprisingly, only one occupant now. The man who lay on the medical bed was covered as much by bandages as he was by skin or a thin hospital gown. Like every Clan Warrior that Tyra had met so far, he had an athletic build, but his lower face was a thing of horror. Flesh had been seared away from his jaw and throat, what remained covered with synth-skin that was far from a full reconstruction.
Despite herself, Tyra could only compare this to the scar that decorated her father’s face. This was far worse. On the other hand, she reminded herself, this Star Captain would be able to walk again.
“Who are you?” the man asked curiously.
“K…” She remembered her rank no longer mattered. “A bondswoman. I am told you need someone to fetch and carry.”
“Ah.” He raised his arm - a mechanical one - and moved the fingers slowly and deliberately. “Well, I have few needs at the moment, but it is… considerate for someone to be assigned. Close the door, please.”
Tyra obeyed, noting the last word. She hadn’t expected the courtesy.
“Manners cost me nothing,” he told her, apparently noticing her surprise. “And those who mistake it for weakness have paid the price. Thus far, at least. I am Star Captain Trent. Do you have a name, bondswoman?”
“Aff,” she said shortly.
He waited a moment and then what was left of his lips curled into a scowl. “Like that then. Tell me your name.”
“Tyra.”
That got her a nod from Trent. “You were with the Kungsarme?”
“Aff.”
“What was your duty there?”
“Pilot.”
“You are tall for the role. How much did you hear earlier?”
“Most of -” She cut off, realizing it was a trap.
Trent nodded quietly. “I thought as much. Jez’s carelessness already almost killed her. I will not save her when it endangers her again. I have little ability to protect you if she notices that you learn, and if you cause me problems then I will have no motive to do so. Am I clear?”
“Aff.”
The Star Captain shrugged. “Turn on the holovid,” he said. “And then you may as well sit down. Perhaps there will be something to take both our minds off the sorry state of our lives.”
Confused, Tyra found the controls and a little projector lit up, displaying a list of options in the air not far from the bottom of Trent’s bed.
He frowned. “Trial of Absorption?! What has been happening while I was unconscious?”
Tyra had no idea what that even was, but took the hint to select the designated option and the display shifted to split-screens showing three ‘mechs standing at the ready, two side by side and the third clearly some distance from the pair.
Huntsvil, Camlann
Benjamin District, Draconis Combine
4 August 3051The cockpit of the Huntsman sat higher off the ground than Ace was accustomed to. The ‘mech was also brand new, whereas the omnimechs he’d used before had always been older than he was. He’d only had a day to get used to it, but at least he hadn’t had to wait for it to be configured.
The senior member of the Diamond Shark’s merchant caste present on Camlann had made a little ceremony of presenting the Huntsman to Ace. The first production shipment had arrived just in time to be assigned to warriors on Camlann, but this one had been held back specifically to be shipped to him on Luthien. Since he was now here, the merchant saw no reason to wait.
“Clan Diamond Shark recognises the valor of the warriors who fought to protect our right to the Huntsman,” Ace had been told. “Every mechwarrior who fought in that trial will be offered a Huntsman for their use in recognition of that victory.”
It reminded Ace of the Nova he’d used earlier in his career. The upright stature took some getting used to, but it had the same level of agility and protection. Not quite as much as he’d been able to enjoy with a Stormcrow, but not bad. There was also a little more payload, and the ‘mech was loaded with additional electronics and a small pulse laser, as well as his usual paired PPCs and the anti-missile system. The laser would be useful against infantry and Ace appreciated the gesture, even if it wouldn’t be much use to him in this particular Trial.
“I expected you to use a Stormcrow,” Orrel Polcyzk observed as the two sides moved into position on the circle of equals. They were out of direct line of sight - and ten kilometers apart - but until the trial actually began they could view each other on the public holovid channel that was broadcasting to those interested in Huntsvil. It was possible that even some of the ComGuards might be watching, gathering intelligence.
Ace settled back a little into his seat. “I am sorry to deny you the chance to find out who is the better Stormcrow pilot,” he offered graciously. “But we must take the opportunity to show off one of Clan Diamond Shark’s newest products for potential customers.” He was at least half-convinced that was why he hadn’t been given a spare Stormcrow for the occasion.
“It will be a poor advertisement when I kill you,” Polcyzk warned. “I appreciate the honor your Khan shows in giving us a chance to fight on favorable terms, but make no mistake: we intend to win.”
“I would be a fool to imagine that you intend anything else,” Ace confirmed. Two to one odds were a bit much, particularly as he wasn’t sure if the two Khans would honor zellbrigen and engage him one at a time, or if they would operate as a pair. He had to assume the latter, particularly given the stakes.
Both the Burrocks were in larger ‘mechs than he was. Polcyzk’s Stormcrow was loaded for short and medium range combat, a powerful autocannon in the left arm and a cluster of medium lasers in the other. He wouldn’t be able to use his full armament without overheating severely, but either limb had enough firepower to wreck the Huntsman in short order.
Jocelyn Siddiq had elected to use a Mad Dog instead, fitting missiles either side of the torso and lasers in the arms. The left side of her omnimech was fitted for long range battle, with LRMs and a pair of extended range large lasers, while the other mounted SRMs and a trio of pulse lasers.
I am outgunned, Ace thought. But neither of them has jump jets. On open ground, Polcyzk might be able to use his speed to keep me from staying out of range of him, but we are not fighting on open ground.
The midpoint between Huntersvil and Colliervil had the ruins of a small town, some of which fell inside the designated circle. A river cutting through the town occupied a gorge, which had been bridged in three places but no longer was, and local trees had had over a century to grow back. None were as large as a ‘mech but they would at least slow one down.
“Today we witness the Trial of Refusal called by Orrel Polcyzk against the motion to absorb Clan Burrock,” Ulric Kerensky announced. The public channel cut off, meaning that Ace could no longer see the other two ‘mechs. “Galaxy Commander Ace Enders defends the decision of the Grand Council and should he defeat the two Khans, Clan Burrock must surrender all its enclaves, warriors and other resources to Clan Diamond Shark. Should Khans Siddiq and Polcyzk prevail then Clan Burrock will stand reprieved of the Absorption. Do all participants swear to abide by this rede?”
“Seyla,” Ace confirmed. He heard both Khans say the same.
“As the oathmaster I recognise your oaths,” the Wolf Khan declared. “The trial begins, you may now exit the starting positions.”
Ace needed no further hint and started the Huntsman forward, angling to his right and into the city. He didn’t particularly want to run into either Burrock in the streets, but neither should have any experience of urban combat so there might be some advantages to him there that they wouldn’t expect.
If they could kill him, they would. The Khans wanted their Clan to survive. Wanted the option Sennet had offered - enclaves in the Inner Sphere where at least some of Clan Burrock could survive even when the other Clans turned on them (because even winning this Trial of Refusal wouldn't make their sins evaporate, so excuses would be found). That would serve Clan Diamond Shark almost as well as an absorption, but Ace was not going to settle for an outcome that would probably kill him.
The Huntsman loped forwards steadily, Ace adjusting the electronic options available to him. The electronic counter-measures wouldn’t make it possible for him to hide, as such, but they would make it harder to lock onto him with weapons. In particular, the tracking abilities of Khan Siddiq’s weapons should be greatly reduced.
More useful as he entered the town, the active probe swept the area and gave him a more detailed idea of what he was dealing with than he had expected. The sophisticated sensors and computers worked to build a picture of what might be lurking around every corner.
Most of the buildings were simple residences and had fallen into disrepair. Ace ignored them and moved up into the core of the town, looking for industrial or commercial structures that were more solidly built. He kept one eye on his map - much of the settlement was outside the notional circle of equals and if he was judged to have exited then that would be an immediate victory for Clan Burrock.
Striding down long-abandoned streets, long since stripped by looters, Ace dismissed a multi-storey carpark that lay just outside the edge of the circle. Another possibility, some sort of warehouse, was dismissed when his sensors showed that it couldn’t support the weight of his Huntsman.
Finally, he found what appeared to have been a school. Half the building had collapsed long ago but the active probe reported that the remainder had solid structural supports that should still be able to support his ‘mech. Ace fired his jump jets, pleased to find that they responded just a hair faster than those of his Stormcrow - an advantage of being newer perhaps? Or just that they were part of the chassis rather than pod mounted? He suspected the former, since he’d not noticed a similar difference between the Stormcrow and the Nova, which also had integral jump jets.
Perched on top of the school, Ace crouched the Huntsman and scanned what he could see of the area. A circle ten kilometers across was a large area, but ‘mechs weren’t exactly small. Combined with his elevation, Ace hoped to at least be able to spot signs of the two Burrocks.
Of course, that same elevation also made it relatively easy to see him. Ace’s sensors pinged a ‘mech’s location to him just an instant before the computer warned him of inbound missiles.
He backpedaled the Huntsman and dropped off the back of the school, using his jump-jets to control the fall. The anti-missile system spun to life, throwing packets of flechettes into the path of the missiles as the electronic counter-missiles fought to confuse the warheads’ sensors.
In the end, the combined effect of both systems and of the building itself reduced the missiles that got through to a tiny handful. Armor was still chipped away as those missiles struck home - first blood to Clan Burrock - but Ace was more focused on an interesting detail.
The ‘mech his sensors had spotted was not Siddiq’s Mad Dog. Her missiles had come from another direction.
Looking at the map, Ace moved through the streets and tried to get inside their heads. He had to assume that they were at least communicating with each other. They would have to assume he knew roughly where the senior of the two Khans was, simply by backtracking the missiles, but did they know he’d detected Polcyzk?
If they did not, then they might expect him to move up and try to take out the Mad Dog first. He would certainly benefit by taking one of them out early on, and destroying the Mad Dog would leave Ace with a range advantage over the Stormcrow.
If that was what they expected him to do… Ace eyed the best route towards where he’d seen the missiles come from. He’d be crossing the gorge, and that might leave him open to being ambushed.
The close confines of the gorge would deprive him of what advantages he had against Polcyzk, which could only climb down into it in a few places. They didn’t expect him to have a Huntsman, but if they expected a Stormcrow then they would know he had jump-jets and…
Ace smirked. The best place to jump across the gorge and avoid entering it at all was very close to where his sensors had picked up the Stormcrow. And if Polcyzk was trying to ambush him there…
Pushing the Huntsman as fast as it would go, Ace headed for the ruins of the nearest bridge across the gorge. It would be trickier to cross there without using his jump jets, but if he could manage it then he’d be across without making himself an obvious target and perhaps be able to catch the other mechwarrior offguard.
Reaching the bridge, Ace eyed the collapsed roadway. It had broken at an angle, each side forming a ramp down into the gorge. Years of erosion had damaged them but he was fairly sure he’d be able to walk down one and then up the other. It would take a little care, but…
An alarmed bleep gave him a fraction of a second to respond before the Stormcrow emerged from the shadow of a building overlooking the bridge.
Slamming both feet down, Ace fired his jump jets, sending the little ‘mech skittering sideways just ahead of the furious beams of the six lasers in the Stormcrow’s right arm. The one that connected carved a trench into his own ‘mech’s left arm.
Ace fired both PPCs, aiming for the left shoulder, but Polcyzk twisted aside and only one of the particle beams hit home. It tore apart the armor of the joint, but it wasn’t a crippling blow and the arm came up, tracking Ace’s mech.
He was well within the range bracket of the autocannon. Ace flung the Huntsman forward, deliberately tripping the ‘mech on the edge of the bridge. He was inverted in the cockpit as the fifty-ton mech slid face first down the fallen bridge, weaker rear armor exposed. However, the Burrock hadn’t anticipated the move and the stream of depleted uranium shells from his autocannon cut through the air above and behind the Huntsman.
Ace mis-judged the slide and the vertical fin jutting up above the Huntsman’s shoulders took the brunt of the slide coming to an end. He kicked off with one of the ‘mech’s legs and rolled it over and onto the other slope as Polcyzk tried to finish him off with his lasers - firing them in sequence to try to manage the heat burden he’d be unleashing. No doubt he would fire the autocannon as soon as the next clip of rounds loaded.
Throwing up both arms of the Huntsman, Ace fired both PPCs up and into the chin of the Stormcrow.
Twin beams of energized particles bit up into the ventral surface and dug up at an angle. Intimately familiar with the design, Ace knew that the beams were digging up and into the shielding of the fusion reactor. The blossoming heat signature showed he’d hit it at least once.
Polcyzk cut off his lasers, marking that he likely couldn’t risk the heat burden of them now. But the autocannon was tracking in and with the mess of damage to the Huntsman’s shoulders by the laser fire, it’d be more than enough.
Ace opened the jump-jets up and the Huntsman rocketed up the slope, cannoning into the Stormcrow’s underside as it stood at the top of the impromptu ramp.
The slightly heavier ‘mech was thrown backwards as the Diamond Shark was rocked against his restraints by the collision. The impact left both ‘mechs sprawled on their backs, what was left of the Huntsman’s fin between the Stormcrow’s broad feet.
Both PPCs were already up and aimed more or less at the other ‘mech, Ace triggered them one after the other.
His left shot hit the joint between the left arm and torso, tearing the shoulder apart. Autocannon rounds detonated as the ammo feed broke, safety mechanisms venting the cascade of explosions down and throwing the Stormcrow up off the ground briefly.
As it came down, Ace’s second shot speared into the damage caused by two other hits to the underside of the torso.
Reactor containment gave up, and the Stormcrow disappeared in a blaze of superheated air. The explosion slammed into Ace’s cockpit and the armorglass cracked. He blacked out briefly, vision hazy even when he opened his eyes again. He knew he had only been stunned for a moment, the heat of the ‘mech from the rapid salvos had not yet faded significantly.
On animal instinct, Ace scrabbled the Huntsman back onto the broken bridge and slid down, getting out of view in case Siddiq had arrived to finish him off. The ‘mech slid down, doing more damage to his rear armor, but landed more or less upright at the bottom of the gorge.
He opened his microphone, tried to speak and only coughed.
“Say again, Galaxy Commander?” Ulric Kerensky’s voice was faint, the channel full of static. “Do you wish to concede?”
Ace shook his head, then recalled that this was only a voice channel. “Neg. Khan Polcyzk appears to have been defeated, I did not see if he ejected?”
There was a disdainful note to Kerensky’s response: “Both Burrock Khans elected to disable their ejection seats, Galaxy Commander. You have succeeded in killing him.”
Ace closed his eyes for a moment. “Unfortunate,” he said at last and started the Huntsman down the gorge, heading back away from the town. He supposed that the pair felt obligated not to survive if defeated - taking full accountability for their predecessors’ crimes and for losing the trial.
Assuming, of course, that they failed.
Taking stock, Ace saw that armor across the top and the back of the Huntsman was in poor condition. Worse, the crushing impact against the fin had damaged his long range sensors. The active probe gave him excellent close range capability, but above what was middling range for his PPCs, he’d have to eyeball his shots.
“Perhaps so,” the Wolf Khan allowed in a more neutral tone and cut the channel.
