* * *
"Good to see you again, Duke Ricol," Theodore said, straightening from his bow and extending his hand to the man.
"The pleasure is mine, Highness." Ricol's tone was as suave as his dress. His natty red garb was a distinct contrast to the drab gray and brown that dominated Theodore's uniform. "What brings you out so early in the morning, after so long a night of celebration?"
"A message from my cousin Marcus," Theodore answered, wondering if Ricol really knew how he had spent his night. "He asked me to come to the control center."
"I would have expected him to be here to meet you," Ricol said. "His lack of grace in not meeting meis understandable. I am but the lord of a minor house, expected to wait on the whims of the mighty."
Theodore gave Ricol a sidelong glance. He couldn't be sure just what part of the man's comment was sarcasm and to what part he was supposed to respond. Theodore elected to deal only with the factual statements.
"Then you were to meet him, too."
"So his message implied, Highness."
"Curious."
"Yes, isn't it?"
The two men lapsed into thoughtful silence. Theodore looked out of the command center at the dawn rising over the starport. Condensate clouds rose from vents on the roofs of buildings across the field, as heated exhaust met the chill atmosphere. Workers moved about their business, taking care to spend most of their transit time in the light of the rising sun, avoiding the frost-cloaked shadows. Less lucky were a company of Tai-shoSorenson's Eight Rasalhague Regulars. The MechWarriors' physical fitness instructor led them on a prescribed course that took no account of personal comforts as they jogged off to begin an early morning run.
All was ordinary, another typical day. Order was serenity, something Theodore wished he had more of after the bustle of the previous day's hectic wedding preparations and the uneasy night with Tomoe.
"Ah," Ricol said, drawing his attention. The Duke pointed at a speck in the distance. "A DropShip is approaching. I believe that your father will be making planetfall soon."
11
Draconis Military Starport, Reykjavik, Rasalhague
Rasalhague Military District, Draconis Combine
22 September 3019
A commotion in the outer reception room drew the attention of those awaiting the incoming flight. Through the transparent barrier wall, Theodore could see Tourneville arguing with a new arrival. The newcomer still wore an aviation helmet concealing all his features except for the salt-and-pepper beard that bobbed up and down as he spoke and gesticulated at the main reception area.
Theodore recognized the beard as belonging to Ottar Sjovold, Governor of Rasalhague District and his future father-in-law. Excusing himself from Duke Ricol, Theodore headed for the other chamber. As he penetrated the white-noise curtain masking the observation area, his ears filled with Sjovold's urgent demands to see him.
"What is the problem, Jarl Sjovold?" Theodore inquired.
Slipping past Tourneville's outthrust arm, Sjovold hurried toward Theodore and grabbed him by the arm. "Hurry, your Highness. Your man wouldn't let me through and there is little time. We must get you out of here."
"What are you talking about, Governor?"
Sjovold swept his eyes across the chamber before stammering nervously, "Ah ... an accident. Yes. There's been an accident! You must come with me."
"Have you notified the authorities?" Theodore asked, suspicious of the sudden shift from assurance to distress.
"No. No time," Sjovold babbled as he continued to rug the resisting Theodore toward the exit. "It's . . . it's your mother."
Concern swept away Theodore's wariness. "She's been injured?"
"No," the Governor answered. "At least, nothing serious. But she wants to see you immediately. We must hurry!"
The Governor urged Theodore into a waiting VTOL craft. Theodore dropped onto the perforated metal bench seat in time to see Duke Ricol and Tourneville climbing in after them. Sjovold seemed as surprised as he was. Ricol made a remark, but his words were lost in the scream from the turbines as the craft rose from the pavement.
Theodore was forced into his seat as the craft lifted rapidly. The thunder of the rotors changed pitch when the wing tilted, bringing the whirling blades down into position for effective forward flight. The pilot had begun a sharp bank over the outskirts of the spaceport when the VTOL bucked as a shock wave hit it. The sound of thunder followed.
As the craft banked in the other direction, Ricol tugged Theodore's sleeve and pointed out through the still-open hatchway. Framed in that patch of sky was a scene of horror. The incoming DropShip was trailing smoke and flames. Explosions erupted along its length, scattering smoking debris and burning fragments. As they watched, a BattleMech toppled out through a great rent in the heavy metal bay doors on the ship's side. It fell in a loose-jointed tumble to crash and shatter on the ferrocrete. A huge fireball erupted from the descending spaceship's nose and enveloped the fuselage. Out of the flames shot another 'Mech. One arm flopped loosely, trailing fire as the 'Mech traveled in a low arc away from the the burning ship. The DropShip's nose lifted slightly, as though the pilot had somehow regained control of his plummeting craft. The illusion was shattered as the ship plunged into the control center and erupted in flames.
The men in the VTOL shielded their eyes from the fireball's intense flare. Dark, deadly smoke billowed up in death's umbrella over the site. Theodore was appalled. No one could survive that crash.
His father had been aboard that DropShip.
Governor Sjovold struggled across the compartment and slid the hatch closed. The noise level dropped instantly as the sealed cabin's sound buffers muffled the engine sounds. Sjovold dropped into the seat next to Theodore.
"You could have died in the crash, your Highness."
With a start, Theodore realized that Sjovold was right. If he had remained in the control center, now an inferno, he would have died at the same time as his father.
"I risked my own life," Sjovold continued, "to get you out of there. I tried to get a message through to you all morning and arrived at your barracks to find you had left for the port."
Theodore held up a hand to stop Sjovold. "Chu-iTourneville, perhaps you had better go up to the cockpit and use the radio to ensure that the emergency facilities are mobilized. Get the fire under control before it jeopardizes the rest of the compound."
Tourneville looked on the verge of refusing the suggestion, clearly wanting to remain. Theodore raised his chin slightly in a way he had seen his father do many times when wishing to reinforce his orders. Chastened, the Chu-igave a sketchy bow and vanished up the companionway to the cockpit.
Theodore turned to face the puzzled Governor. "Tourneville screened my calls this morning," he explained.
Sjovold nodded his understanding, and a slight smile crept onto his face. "I see you begin to understand what has happened. You will appreciate that I have your best interests in mind."
"I appreciate that you saved the life of the man who is to marry your daughter. A man who would become ... no, hasbecome Coordinator. I do not think that you have only myinterests in mind."
Sjovold rocked back into his seat and stroked his beard, a sudden, new respect coming into his eyes. "I would be a fool and a liar if I denied that. Our paths take us in the same direction, and we can be of great help to each other.
"For years, I have studied your career. The more I came to know of you, the more I was impressed. I have worked to see you replace your father. My people and I have worked alongside the Warlord, planning to rid ourselves of the tyrant, a man who has oppressed you as much as he has this District. Though we worked with Marcus, assuring him that we would support him as Coordinator, we worked for you. Marcus has betrayed us all by trying to kill you today, too.