Flashpoint by Loren L. Coleman

Author:Loren L. Coleman [Coleman, Loren L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-04-12T16:58:39+00:00

15

Hall of Nobles

District City, Kathil

Capellan March, Federated Commonwealth

22 November 3062

Kommandant Evan Greene had thought before that the grand corridors in District City's Hall of Nobles could accommodate BattleMechs—that even the largest assault 'Mech would look at home patrolling the massive edifice. He'd been right.

The kommandant was hurrying down the corridor, late for the Eighth's command-level meeting. But in order to get there, he had to pass the ninety-five-ton Nightstar standing post at a junction where two of the titanic halls met. The vaulted ceilings stretched another four meters above the eleven-meter war machine, making it look as if it belonged in this oversized monument. With its wide spread arms, the Nightstar obviously required care to maneuver along the balcony-studded hallways, but standing at rest with its back to the corner, it simply stretched one arm down each corridor. Every few minutes it shifted on the turret-style waist, the electric whine of actuators reminding the passing nobles that they were still under the Eighth RCT's "protection."

But a lance of BattleMechs had not been enough for General Weintaub. The general had worried that the militia might stage some kind of raid on the Hall of Nobles ever since he had subdued Duke VanLees. Gone were the guards in their ceremonial livery, which had been little more than another decorative feature of the Hall. Now Katzbalger infantry filled the alcoves and stood post in every other balcony, armed with static-defense PPC or autocannon turrets.

Overkill, in Evan's opinion, one that grew stronger with each passing minute. Even in his uniform, the MechWarrior had been required to present identification at three different checkpoints. Arriving late at the meeting was not a good way to begin his promotion to General Fallon's personal staff. He still commanded his battalion—no one would take that away from him—but had accepted additional duty as her aide-de-camp. And he knew the unspoken rules. She would help further his career, and in return could claim credit for his successes. Fallon was not short on ambition herself.

Evan eased open the heavy door and slipped unobtrusively inside the conference room. As late as he was, the meeting had yet to start. The upper brass mingled around the long mahogany table, while the braver junior officers hung on at their fringes. Most of the staffers kept their distance unless invited. He spotted Fallon on the far side of the room, deep in a private conversation with General Weintraub.

"Damned silly waste of time," a flame-haired admiral groused as he walked past Evan. Short and wiry, he moved with a swagger that belied his physical size. He paused long enough to forcibly shut the door, all but wrenching the handle from Evan's hand. "Army has no sense of how to keep a schedule."

Evan looked around, hoping the man was speaking to someone else, and caught Fallon's amused glance at his dilemma. Unable to find a convenient scapegoat, he asked, "Are you addressing me, Admiral?"

The gamecock admiral looked him over as if sizing up a raw cadet. His lips curled down at the Federated Commonwealth emblem displayed on the breast of Evan's uniform.

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