"Very well, Tai-sho"Takashi Kurita said as he stood. "I have found our little talk about the Rasalhague situation quite interesting. Your perspective on my cousin Marcus's performance as Warlord is most enlightening."
As the two men left the tiny captain's lounge and entered the bridge of the DropShip, a pasty-faced crewman burst through the hatch.
"Body . . . dead . . . purple splotches," the man stammered.
Sorenson was on him in an instant, his two-meter height looming over the crewman.
"Stop babbling, crewman!" he growled. "I want a clear report."
The man made a visible effort to control himself. "Senior Tech Karlborgen. I found him in Engineering. He's dead, sir. It's awful. He's all covered in purple spots."
Sorenson wasted no time. As he turned to exit the bridge, he shouted, "Pull us back to a holding orbit, Dai-iN'kuma. I don't want us down till we find out what happened."
As he pounded the length of the ship, Sorenson considered the possibilities. He knew of no disease that would cause purple spots, making it likely that Beorn Karlborgen was the victim of foul play, be it some hideous poison or a tailored bioweapon. Whatever the cause, there was a murderer aboard. That meant trouble—and trouble was the last thing he wanted with the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine on board his DropShip. He had considered it a bit of good fortune when Marcus Kurita had suggested that the Tai-shopersonally meet the Coordinator at the jump point. Now that fortunate assignment was on the verge of becoming a curse. My honor becomes nil,he told himself, if anything threatens the Coordinator while he is in my care.
Sorenson reviewed his enemies, searching for a possible author for the day's trouble. When he could think of no one who had the opportunity, he started on possible enemies of the Coordinator. His thoughts shuddered to a halt when he confronted the backs of the crewmembers gathered around the body.
Sorenson shouldered his way through and looked at the body. The calm, composed face of the corpse struck him at once. Not murder, then. What have you done, Beorn?
Sorenson bent to examine the body. After a quick search, he was even more sure that the Senior Tech had killed himself.
"The ship controls are frozen," said someone at his shoulder.
Sorenson started at the voice, which was as cool and detached as though coming from beyond the grave. He turned, half-expecting to confront Beorn's ghost, and found himself looking at Takashi Kurita. The Coordinator had followed him.
"It seems that your Senior Tech wished to be an assassin and had not the courage to face the death he would give us."
Recovering his composure, Sorenson asked, "What do you mean?"
"The Dai-isays that the command of the ship is locked into autopilot. We are committed to a course that will crash us into the control center of the military portion of the spaceport at Reykjavik."
Takashi's words sparked a panic in the crew around them. Men and women scrambled in all directions, shouting and fighting among themselves. Several headed straight for an escape pod. The leader of that trio slapped the access control, screaming for the door to hurry up. All three wailed their dismay when the pod launched without ever opening its door.
"Very thorough," Takashi commented. "All outbound communications are blocked, replaced by computer simulations of routine messages. The control center is unaware of our plight."
"He was a superior Tech," Sorenson agreed, infected by the calm of the Coordinator. "Does the Dai-ithink the override could be broken?"
"Not in time."
"Then we are trapped."
"Unless you can grow wings or walk on air like the fabled tenshin."
Sorenson started to shake his head. The Coordinator's comment sparked a desperate plan.
"There may be a chance," he said. "Come, Tono."
Sorenson led the Coordinator to the BattleMech bay.
The Coordinator must have divined Sorenson's plan as soon as they reached their destination.
"The 'Mechs are not equipped for orbital drop."
"No, Tono.We have the shells and maneuver units on board, but there is no time to rig them up. My Grasshopperhas jump jets, though, and we have already entered atmosphere. If we can get a 'Mech outside the ship, it may be possible to ride it down. It won't be a pleasant trip and the landing will be rough, but it's a chance."
"The Dragon approves audacity, Tai-sho."
Sorenson suspected that Takashi was a superior 'Mech pilot. Hoping that the Coordinator would understand, he said, "There's no time to clear the safety locks and to wipe the neurocircuits clean for you, so I'll have to pilot it."
The Coordinator nodded.
They rode the lift to cockpit level in silence, rising high above the deck where crewmembers scurried in panic.
"Better let me in first, Tono.I'll never get my bulk past you otherwise."
Sorenson squeezed through the narrow entry hatch. As he passed, he tugged the lever that unfolded the jumpseat and locked it in place. Most 'Mechs had such accommodations for passengers, but they were cramped, uncomfortable. The rider was locked in, able to see nothing more than brief glimpses of the controls and screens, unable to affect his fate. Briefly, Sorenson wondered how Takashi would take such helplessness. He himself would have been frantic.
As he settled into the command couch and keyed in his computer identification code, he heard the Coordinator strapping in. Sorenson slapped on the biomonitor patches and jammed the plugs into their neurohelmet sockets before rocking the massive helmet free of its cradle. He settled the helmet over his head, feeling the weight pressing down onto his unprotected shoulders. Damn! That will bruise,he thought, but there was no time to don the cooling vest whose padded shoulders normally protected a Mech Warrior from the oppressive mass of the neurohelmet.
The lack of the cooling vest was a problem. No MechWarrior ever wanted to operate his machine without one. As heat built up in the cockpit, a man could be cooked. He and the Coordinator would have to take their chances.
"All belted in, Coordinator?"
"Hai,"came the answer, still cool and sounding far more ready than Sorenson felt. "The reactor is cold."
The Coordinator hit upon another flaw in Sorenson's plan. It normally took several minutes to safely bring a Battle-Mech's fusion reactor to operating temperatures. Minutes they didn't have. Starting the 'Mech cold was another risk that only a desperate man would take.
"We're going to have to chance a cold start, Tono.I'm trying to set up a power feed through the DropShip's monitor cables."
Sorenson completed the circuit just as an explosion rocked the ship. Damn, Beorn. Nothing left to chance. You set explosives as well.
The BattleMech jerked as power flooded into it. Limbs spasmed as random surges activated the myomer pseudomuscles that moved the massive alloy bones of the machine's skeleton. In the midst of the jerky dance, Sorenson sent the signal to open the bay doors.
There was no response.
He tapped the unlock code again. And again. The titanium alloy doors remained immobile, as unmoved by his repeated signals as by his curses. The damned traitor, had been too thorough.
There was only one chance left.
Sorenson triggered the 'Mech's head-mounted missile launcher.
Crashing detonations filled the bay as its door shattered under the explosive power of the warheads. Strips of steel ripped free of the ship, scattering free into the sky like chaff. The Grasshopperwas knocked free of its mooring as a tremendous blast spun the ship. A tumbling whirl of clouds was the last thing Sorenson saw as the BattleMech toppled backward, jarring its pilot, and sending him straight into darkness.