TEXT: BATTLECORPS
  A DISTANT 
  THUNDER
  Beware The Ides of November
  Part Two
  By Phaedra M. Weldon
  
  BATTLECORPS
  A Distant Thunder • Page 2
  Riyadh, Capital City 
  Cordoba, Nueva Castile 
  Deep Periphery 
  15 November 3067
  “You will find my daughter and bring me back my schwarzer 
  Kasten, or I will have your ship and your ‘Mechs, and you and your 
  crew will spend the rest of your lives in the tithing mines, paying 
  tribute to the false gods of the Nueva Castile.”
  Thunder from the storm raging outside the protective and tech-
  nologically advanced palace gave a dramatic crescendo to the 
  Caliph’s last words as four members of the Langford Wraiths rose 
  to their feet.
  “Over my dead body,” Major Honor said. He lowered his hands 
  to his sides, realizing a beat later he no longer had his gun. The 
  dimples along his arms and thighs revealed the chill he felt.
  Ria moved her staff, placing it between her hands, fight ready.
  Aaron spoke up as he raised his hands in a placating gesture. 
  “Let’s not do anything too hasty.” 
  “Can—can you go back to the part about gods who shower worlds 
  in flames?” Ben said, looking at each of them. “‘Cause you know—
  that just seems a bit more scary than mining, don’t you think?”
  Dags looked at each of his warriors, and then rested his gaze on 
  the set jaw of the Caliph. She was angry, but he suspected she 
  wasn’t angry with them per se, but at the situation she had been 
  forced into. Her daughter was missing as well as a vital piece of 
  her intelligence core. She has a treaty with these Castilians, and 
  any show of force against them could cause a major tussle. So 
  she’s forced to hire Mercenaries. But this begged an even bigger 
  question for Dags. Why us?
  He held up his hand and gave each member of his lance a look 
  of caution before turning his attention back to the Caliph. “Ma’am, 
  let’s start over, without any threats or hidden agendas, okay?” He 
  looked around. “So, everyone—sit down.”
  His men did as they were told, except for Ria, who remained 
  standing by Dags’ side. But then, Dags wasn’t going to argue with 
  a Clanner. He was too tired and hungry.
  
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  When the Caliph had returned to the chair behind her desk, Dags 
  sat down on the edge of his seat. He was damned cold and desper-
  ately wanted to find a decent pair of pants. But he wasn’t going to 
  let that deter him from getting to heart of the situation. No matter 
  what her internal problems, she’s offering us payment in supplies, 
  and that’s what we need most right now.
  As if on cue, the door opened and Dulcé stepped inside, a small, 
  round disk in her hand. The small woman looked even more stern 
  than she had before being dismissed earlier. She handed it to the 
  Caliph and then stood to the side.
  “Caliph Burrill, maybe you’d care to explain a little bit more? Like, 
  for starters, why us? You suspect your daughter was kidnapped, 
  and you think the Castilians stole your little box. Have you tried 
  reasoning with them?” Dags lifted his shoulders. “Say—maybe 
  asking them?”
  He was surprised when a small smile pulled at the right side 
  of her mouth, dispelling all traces of anger. “Communication be-
  tween worlds in the Castile isn’t as quick or as easy as it is in the 
  Inner Sphere, Major. We have no HPG technology. Messages are 
  at a premium, which is why we rely so heavily on our Kastens.”
  Dags pursed his lips and glanced down at the date on his chro-
  nometer. “So I’m guessing the Castilian group that was here is 
  maybe just now getting home?”
  The Caliph nodded.
  “Given that their JumpShip had a full five days to recharge, as I 
  don’t think the star for this system is quite bright enough for a—”
  “Aaron,” Dags interjected. “Not now.”
  “Sorry.”
  With a sigh, Dags looked back to the Caliph. “You don’t have 
  any HPGs in the Castile? I mean, with all this technology…” Dags 
  glanced about the room.
  “I have no use for anything relating to Blakists—large or small.”
  Uh oh. Dags kept his gaze from moving to Aaron, but caught the 
  sharp look his tech person gave the Caliph in his peripheral vision. 
  “You don’t like the Word of Blake?”
  She sneered and sat back in her chair. “Most of my people are 
  aware it was the Blakists who meddled in the affairs between 
  
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  the Hansa and the Castile—made us aware of the Hansa’s double 
  dipping. They’ve been overly friendly through the years, but they 
  are still an outside agent. I do not trust them. Freaks who wor-
  ship machines.” She smiled to Aaron. “I hope I haven’t offended 
  you.”
  Dags glanced at Aaron, who nodded. “None taken, Caliph. My 
  ties to the Shunners didn’t involve branching out onto other 
  worlds.”
  Dulcé’s gaze went from the Caliph to Aaron. She narrowed her 
  eyes. Dags noticed this and his stomach turned. What had Aaron 
  said?
  “But if you don’t trust them, why do you have their technology 
  everywhere?”
  Thunder rang in the distance as the rain lessened outside, au-
  dible against the skylight in the domed ceiling. Caliph Burrill 
  frowned at Aaron. “There is no Blakist technology here,” she ges-
  tured with open arms. “What you see around you—especially my 
  holograms—are trades from the Hanseatic League in return for 
  our tithing mines.” She smiled at him in the same manner one 
  would smile at an idiot. “This is Hansa technology.”
  “So,” Dags interjected before Aaron could open his mouth again. 
  “Since the thieves would just be getting home about now from 
  their little breaking and entering mission here,” he leaned his head 
  toward his right shoulder. “You think it best we suit up, infiltrate 
  them, and get everything back. And you want a mercenary unit to 
  do this so it keeps your name out of things.”
  “Very well put, Major,” the Caliph pulled her frowning gaze from 
  Aaron and nodded to Dags. “As of today, there are six other mer-
  cenary units on Cordoba and Grenada, including yours. But the 
  Wraiths are a small unit, numbering maybe fifteen? And you’re 
  specialized in intel and retrieval. I believe I’ve chosen wisely.”
  Dags smiled. “Yes ma’am, you have.” Easy money.
  “Okay,” Ben said. “Now can we go back to the part about gods 
  who shower worlds in flames?”
  Dags nodded. “I think that’s something we need to know a little 
  bit more about.”
  Ben nodded. “Well yeah.”
  
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  The Caliph took a deep breath before answering. Dags noticed 
  the change in her expression, from confidence to anger—and 
  something else. Fear? “Years ago my people, the Umayyads, in-
  vaded these worlds occupied by the Castilians, and took them by 
  force, but the Castilians fought back, learned the science and uses 
  of BattleMechs, and retook nearly all of their worlds except for 
  Grenada and half of Cordoba. And as I’ve mentioned, the Word of 
  Blake hinted that the Hanseatic League dwelled at the very heart 
  of our conflict, and had been profiting.”
  Dags nodded. “Let me guess—they were supplying both sides?” 
  It seemed a natural conclusion, a third party getting rich off the 
  misery of two opposing sides. Old story. But what worried him a 
  little more was the involvement of the Wobbies. Why? Especially 
  out here in the Periphery?
  The Caliph nodded. “They sold weapons and supplies to both 
  sides, and at times, added kindling to the fire when hostilities 
  stalled. They made new hostilities.”
  “To keep the conflict alive,” Aaron said. 
  “So we and the Castilian people called a truce and turned our at-
  tention on the Hanseatic League. We were a united Castile—for a 
  while.”
  “But,” Dags said. “Like all nice truces, it started to unravel, 
  right?”
  “Yes. Even before the Riesiege Götter came. Border spats, trad-
  ing disagreements, JumpShip scheduling—all petty stuff—but 
  there was enough of it to foul any possibility of an aligned Castile. 
  When the Riesiege Götter attacked the Hanseatic League, several 
  of King Noye’s Principe urged him to contact me via our Kastens. 
  They were the first to hear the reports of the Götter’s might.”
  Ben made a spiraling down motion with the index finger of his 
  right hand. “You mean the whole fire thing on worlds?” 
  She pursed her lips in consideration before speaking. “Worse. 
  There is no way my words will convince you of the Götter’s dan-
  ger. Early tales of their power did nothing to convince me to fear 
  them as the Hansa declared. Instead, I will show you what fright-
  ened me.”
  Caliph Burrill depressed two buttons on the disk brought to her 
  by Dulcé, and the air a centimeter above the disk shimmered to life 
  with holographic images.
  
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  Except for Ria, the rest of the Wraiths leaned forward and 
  watched in morbid fascination as the camera angle brought them 
  planet-side from orbit, hit burn, and then drifted into the atmo-
  sphere. Dags assumed the camera was mounted on the side of a 
  DropShip.
  But as they drew closer, dropping below the cloud cover, the sur-
  face became more distinct. The Wraiths saw a world riddled with 
  holes, immense craters, visible even from hundreds of kilometers 
  up. There was barely a smooth area of surface left.
  “Damn…those holes are the size of JumpShips,” Ben said softly. 
  His tone of disbelief reflected what Dags saw in the faces of his 
  warriors.
  A voice came through, strained, and with a thick Germanic ac-
  cent. “This was one of our advance colonies. Five million people, 
  settling a promising new trading outpost, not far from Valencia. 
  When they failed to respond to our missives, we sent a ship—and 
  this is what we found…”
  The DropShip continued forward as the thrusters slowed its mo-
  tion and moved into a slow hover. Dags assumed the dropper was 
  spheroid, as they were best at this sort of survey. As far as the 
  eye could see, the planet’s surface looked more like a large moon, 
  pockmarked and barren, than a planet capable of supporting bil-
  lions of lives.
  The Caliph spoke. “They said the transmission was the last they 
  heard from their scouts before something destroyed them. They 
  suspected pirates, but the scouts would have seen them coming 
  at least and sent a report back, or left word of an attack in pro-
  cess.” She looked at Dags. “They claim they heard nothing, except 
  the voice of the Riesiege Götter warning them away.”
  The video continued a few more kilometers, showing exposed 
  earth, wasted lakes, and small oceans before the camera angle 
  shook, and the devastating image was replaced by black.
  Dags and his people looked at the Caliph. “What happened?”
  She reached out and touched the disk’s side. The blank air above 
  it evaporated. “The DropShip Einsparunganmut was destroyed 
  while feeding this to its JumpShip. The JumpShip was allowed to 
  leave with this message.” She looked back to Dags. “We believe 
  they wanted the Hansa to see it, and they wanted us to see it as 
  well.”
  
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  “By the Blessed Blake,” Aaron whispered as he combed his fin-
  gers through his dusty hair. 
  This brought Dulcé’s attention up quickly. Dags hadn’t particu-
  larly cared for her since their arrival, and he found himself liking 
  even less her being back in the room with his people. Especially 
  Aaron and the look she gave him. If she could shoot lasers with her 
  eyes, Aaron’d be a toasted marshmallow by now.
  He and his crew were accustomed to Aaron’s occasional Blake-
  related outbursts. Ben had a worse habit of using the name of 
  Blake in any varied and unkind fashion he could in order to get 
  under Aaron’s skin. Usually no one noticed.
  Except Dulcé. And it was best to steer clear once again from un-
  wanted questions. “Caliph,” Dags said as he stood and watched 
  the spinning world. “Was this confirmed?” He pointed to the dev-
  astation. “Is this real?”
  “At first we didn’t believe the Hansa; after all, they’ve lied to 
  us before. But then we lost contact with a trading expedition 
  near Rumor V. When our scouts investigated, we also received 
  a message from these Götter, warning us to avoid the Altruis 
  system.”
  Dags frowned. “Where is that?”
  Dulcé answered for the Caliph. “It’s a waypoint, a blue giant the 
  Umayyad once used for quick recharges on the way to Hansa trad-
  ing posts.”
  The Caliph turned the holo-vid off. “We’ve not moved our 
  JumpShips back into the dark. We’ve kept our economy working 
  with mining, mostly for germanium for the Hansa. It was a little 
  over two months ago when we were contacted by messenger—
  the Castilian Kasten was missing. They, of course, accused us of 
  taking it and we denied it.” She shrugged. “What would be the 
  point? Without them, we are deaf and blind against the Hansa.”
  “Were they both stolen?” Aaron asked. “The one here, and its 
  sister.”
  The Caliph arched her eyebrow at him. Dulcé’s stare hadn’t de-
  creased and now she added a frown to it. Dags turned and shot 
  him a look of Will you shut up?
  He didn’t.
  
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  Aaron continued. “Black box technology can’t work in a single 
  receiver/sender fashion. You need two of them to work. One sends 
  and the other receives and then they switch out priorities.” He 
  looked at each of them. “There are in essence four boxes here.”
  Dulcé took a step toward Aaron. “You know a great deal about 
  these boxes, Mr. Garrett.” 
  Aaron returned the Amir mi’a’s glare with a soft smile. “Lostech 
  is a hobby of mine.”
  “He’s my tech-guy,” Dags said and looked at Dulcé. “Aaron’s sort 
  of a nut on lostech. He likes the stuff. Helps modify my ship and 
  our ‘Mechs from time to time.”
  “I’ve been studying lostech most of my life.” Aaron made a weak 
  smile when his gaze connected with Dags’. Evidently the precari-
  ous nature of his background maybe being a problem finally struck 
  home. Nitwit. “I just really assumed there were two…”
  “Are there?” Dags said, hoping to draw her attention away from 
  Aaron. He had no real proof that Aaron’s background would be a 
  problem, only a gut feeling. The Caliph already knew Aaron was 
  Blakist because Dulcé had even tagged him as a former Wobbie. 
  Dags figured as long as the Caliph got what she paid for, every-
  thing should be fine. 
  Maybe.
  But he really didn’t want any more complications. The woman’s 
  got my ‘Mechs. 
  “There were two. Part of their coming here was an invitation I 
  made for them to openly search, and for Dulcé to visit with her 
  friend.”
  “Friend?” Dags frowned. “She’s got friends?”
  “Dulcé is my Hansa Liaison. She acts as Amir mi’a, the right hand 
  to Atabeg Trahn. King Noye has his own liaison, Francisco Wheeler. 
  It was he that performed the investigation and agreed that we did 
  not have the Castilian Kasten.”
  “When did they accuse the Götter?” Ria said. 
  “When they finished here.” The Caliph rubbed at her neck. 
  “Wheeler was quick to accuse them. In fact, he was very sure. He 
  did not speak highly of the Hansa deals the King had made, though 
  he wouldn’t elaborate on what they were, or his suspicions.”
  
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  “What about the Hansa?” Dags said. “You had considered may-
  be they took it and not the Castilians?”
  “Why?” The Caliph said. “The Hansa do not know about our 
  Kasten.”
  He pursed his lips as he watched her expression, her body lan-
  guage. Now that I’m not so sure of. He glanced at Dulcé who was 
  still staring at Aaron, though he got the distinct impression the old 
  broad wasn’t missing anything in the room. “But you don’t trust 
  them. You haven’t really dismissed the possibility.”
  “No.” She shook her head and then her expression softened. 
  “Major, I’m more concerned for the well-being of my daughter. I 
  would take her life over the Kasten if I had the choice. But we 
  cannot locate her.” She licked her lips. “Nicol didn’t trust them, 
  especially Wheeler. She said he made her—nervous.”
  “She felt like they were up to something,” Dags said.
  “Yes, and she said as much. She warned me to keep a closer eye 
  on them. It was three days later I discovered the Kasten was miss-
  ing. So was Nicol.”
  “Three days to notice your daughter was missing?”
  “My daughter and I don’t often see eye to eye, Major,” the Caliph 
  said and her tone grew harsh. “When she wouldn’t change her 
  tone around our guests, I thought it best she simply not be here. 
  I sent her away. When she didn’t return, I discovered she’d never 
  arrived in our southern home.”
  “And the box was gone,” Aaron said.
  “Replaced,” Dulcé interjected.
  He turned his gaze to the small gray woman. “The Caliph said it 
  was missing.”
  “Replaced is missing, Mr. Garrett.” Dulcé glared at him. “Don’t 
  you agree?”
  Okay. That was enough. “Caliph,” Dags said. “We’ll take you 
  on and find your daughter—but I can’t guarantee we’ll find this 
  Kasten.”
  “What did Dulcet here mean by replaced?” Ben said, and Dags 
  knew his Cyclops pilot had purposefully mispronounced her 
  name.
  
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  “The thief left an identical box behind that doesn’t work. We’ve 
  kept the existence of the Kasten a secret all these years from the 
  Hansa, so if they took it, how would they know how to replicate 
  it? Or connect it for that matter. No—the thief has to have been 
  Castilian to know where to go, and what to leave behind.”
  “A dummy box,” Dags said. “And this Kasten was under lock and 
  key?”
  “The tightest security we have.”
  Dags’ stomach rumbled again, followed closely by Ben’s.
  The Caliph stood before gesturing with her arm to her left. “I’m 
  sorry—for keeping you so long. Dinner should be ready, and we 
  can discuss this more over our meal. We have to pass by the main 
  lobby to get to the dining room. Why don’t I show you where it 
  was?”
  Everyone glanced at Dags for their cue. He gave a slight nod. 
  What looked like a normal wall with pictures and a bookshelf wa-
  vered and an open door appeared.
  More holograms.
  “Praise be to Blake,” Aaron said under his breath.
  Dags moved behind his tech and leaned in close. “Stop that,” 
  he hissed and then gently moved Aaron forward with a nudge 
  against his shoulder as he looked at the new doorway.
  Oh great—I’m going to walk into a wall on the way to a bath-
  room.
  Aaron and Ben followed the Caliph through as Ria hung back to 
  walk beside Dags. “Sir—I must speak with you.”
  Dags nodded. “Yeah—I know. I’m worried Aaron’s going to get 
  us in a load of hot water if he’s not careful.”
  “No sir,” Ria said as they walked through the door. “Aaron’s wel-
  fare does not concern me. The Caliph is an intelligent woman. 
  She’s fully aware of Aaron Garrett’s former affiliation with the 
  Shunners. Amir mi’a is the only one who appears to be surprised 
  by this. It is also obvious the Hanseatic League has had contact 
  with the Word.”
  Dags glanced back at the door that had been invisible minutes 
  before. “You think? The only question here is as friend or foe?”
  
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  “I do not know sir.” Ria’s voice became more insistent. “But there 
  is something else—more pressing.”
  “What?” Dags glanced at his second.
  “I have had a vision.”
  Dags nearly stumbled as he walked, but continued to keep up 
  with the others, paying little attention to the hallways they passed 
  through. “Now? You’ve had a vision now?” 
  The Nova Cat Clan was known for their mystic visions. Dags had 
  been surprised by several of Ria’s since the two had hooked up as 
  major and second. Her visions had been pretty reliable—if not a 
  bit vague here and there in the telling.
  “No sir. I had this vision last night, as I stared into the fire in my 
  quarters. I have been thinking about it ever since.”
  Again he looked at her as their group paused in front of two 
  large steel doors decorated in old scrap and seamed together to 
  create the image of a BattleMech torso. “And you want to tell me 
  about it now?”
  “Yes.”
  “Can it wait?”
  She shook her head. “There was a great ship careening through 
  the heavens.”
  Ahead of them, Caliph Burrell raised her hand. In it she clasped 
  a small silver box. A loud, slow chink filled the hallway and the 
  doors opened outward. The group took a few steps back.
  “That’s really vaguing it there, Ria.” Which seemed to be the 
  standard for Nova Cat mystic visions. It either came all at once or 
  in tiny, fragmented nonsense. He never really knew how anyone 
  could piece a puzzle together out of them.
  “It is only the second part of the vision, sir. The first was of a 
  great betrayal. There will be destruction—and a great many lives 
  lost.”
  Dags gave her a pained expression. He really hoped the betrayal 
  wouldn’t come from this Caliph, or that the lives lost were his unit. 
  “That so? Okay…you let me know if anything else a little more co-
  hesive comes to you.”
  
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  “Yes sir.” And Ria turned to face forward, her own expression 
  stoic.
  Dags’ gaze lingered a few seconds more on the exotic face of 
  his second. Ria rarely interrupted him, or anything else, much. For 
  her to abruptly blurt out a vision—the quality of the vision, or the 
  emotion behind it—must’ve bothered her.
  And if it bothered Ria, it usually downright upset Dags.
  The open doors revealed another circular room. He noticed the 
  absence of rain pounding against the ceiling, and wondered if 
  they’d descended underground. His attention had been too con-
  centrated on Ria to notice. Not good. If there was one thing he’d 
  learned in the forests of Ashio, it was to always be aware of one’s 
  surroundings.
  The new room was set up much like a monitoring station, with 
  screens and holovids around the perimeter walls. Dags caught im-
  ages of different areas of the town, places he’d seen on their drive 
  in before the rain started. All of the images looked fogged, which 
  he assumed was because of the rain. Uniformed Umayyads sat or 
  stood in front of each of these stations, watching carefully.
  Watching for what?
  Opposite the double doors sat a small platform. Two more burly- 
  men swathed in flowing garments stood at attention in front of the 
  platform, their scimitars drawn and held in front of their chests. 
  Their eyes moved above the wraps of clothing covering the lower 
  half of their faces, tracking the new arrivals. At the Caliph’s en-
  trance, everyone stood and saluted with a right fist over the left 
  shoulder and a short bow.
  The Caliph returned the gesture and nodded to the men. Dulcé 
  moved to stand in front of the dais, and the men saluted her as 
  well.
  Dags pursed his lips. Interesting.
  “Is that,” Ben pointed up at the small table between the two 
  guards. “It?”
  The Caliph nodded. “This is where the Kasten is housed, con-
  nected to the larger of our networks. The received transmissions 
  are printed out at two stations and transcribed.”
  “You have your own code?” Aaron said. 
  
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  She nodded. “The Kasten isn’t capable of encryption, so we have 
  our own cipher. No one has ever cracked it.”
  Aaron took a step closer. When the two guards glowered down 
  at him, he gave a weak smile, waved, and then looked at the Caliph. 
  “May I?”
  “And me?” Dags smiled sweetly. May none of his men go if he 
  wasn’t allowed.
  Dulcé quickly moved to her Caliph’s side and whispered some-
  thing in her ear. Dags felt the muscles in his shoulders bunch. He 
  really didn’t like that old woman.
  The guards relaxed only when the Caliph nodded and Dulcé 
  stepped away from her.
  With a light step, Aaron walked up the stairs to the box, with 
  Dags right behind him. Once past the brute squad, he could see 
  that the table where the black box sat was little more than a shelf 
  extending from the wall. It looked to him as if the entire thing 
  would retract with the push of a button, and that it was out and 
  exposed for their convenience.
  So that’s it. It didn’t look like much to Dags. It was exactly as Aaron 
  had said. A metallic black box, a third of a meter long and wide. It 
  wasn’t very high, and Dags leaned to the left and right, noting only 
  a number-pad on top and a slot. Well, it wasn’t going to be hard to 
  find—not as easy to steal and hide as jewelry or C-bills.
  Dags’ gaze tracked the wires and back again before he knelt and 
  examined the stand beneath the fake box. Aaron knelt beside him. 
  “I don’t see how anyone could have switched them.”
  Aaron pursed his lips. “No—not at a glance. But,” he turned and 
  braced himself on one knee as he looked back down at the Caliph. 
  “How does your daughter activate it?”
  “Her code is only needed when information is communicated. 
  When a message is detected, Nicol touches the box on the left 
  side.”
  Aaron stood, as did Dags, and looked on the box’s left side. There 
  Dags noticed a small raised surface that didn’t look like a part of the 
  original manufacture—not that he was anything like an expert on 
  this gadget. It reminded him of fingerprint pads on noteputers.
  “Was she ever left alone with it?” Aaron asked.
  
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  The Caliph’s expression became dark, but it was Dulcé who 
  stepped forward, her tone sharp. “What exactly are you implying, 
  Mr. Garrett?”
  “Nothing,” Dags said quickly. “He’s just wondering if—” he gave 
  Aaron a glare as he spoke. “—maybe she was alone in here when 
  both of them were snatched.”
  His answer seemed to placate her. She nodded. “I see your logic. 
  No, Nicol was never left alone with the box. As I said, the guards 
  are always here, and the stations are always manned.”
  The guard behind Aaron tightened his grip on his weapon. Dags 
  wasn’t particularly skilled at reading body language, but in his ex-
  perience, sentinel guards weren’t supposed to move, were they? 
  Show of force and all that?
  Aaron moved forward. “Can you trust your guards?”
  Again the guard moved, only this time he actually shifted on his 
  feet. Dags almost reached for his hip holster before remembering 
  there wasn’t a pistol there. None of them had weapons except 
  Ria.
  “Are you suggesting a weakness in my ability to command?”
  “No—but do you know them?” Aaron glanced back at the agitated 
  men standing on either side of the dummy Kasten. “I mean—how 
  can you tell?”
  “He is trouble, Caliph,” Dulcé said aloud this time, not whis-
  pering in her commander’s ear. “He should be detained and 
  questioned.”
  Aaron put up his hands. “No, no, no—detained?” He pushed his 
  glasses up on the bridge of his nose and gestured to the guard 
  looming behind him. “It’s just that—with their faces covered—how 
  do you know they’re really your men?”
  Both guards fidgeted.
  Dags looked at Ria. The Nova Cat was watching the guards as 
  well as the technicians in the room. Several of them had turned to 
  look at the newcomers, but none of them moved in any nervous 
  sort of way.
  “I will prove to you, Mr. Garrett, that I know every Umayyad in 
  this building, where they are, and what they do.” The Caliph shift-
  ed her hardening gaze to the guards.
  
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  A Distant Thunder • Page 15
  “My Lady,” Dulcé began. “I think you might—”
  “Hush, Dulcé.” She saluted the guards.
  They half-saluted back.
  Dags took a single step back against the dais railing. This isn’t 
  looking good.
  “Amiel, Brennen,” the Caliph barked. “Reveal your faces to this 
  outsider.”
  Dags felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Yep—I’m think-
  ing these two didn’t expect us in here. He moved to the dais stairs 
  and tried to motion for Aaron to come with him, only the Wobbie 
  was too interested in the guards.
  When the two addressed Umayyads did not comply with their 
  leader’s orders, the Caliph stepped onto the first stair. “I gave you 
  a direct order. Remove your cowls.” She reached into the folds of 
  her own uniform with her right hand and retrieved a pistol.
  Dags caught the first movement by the guard directly behind 
  Aaron. He also sensed the guard closest to himself shift and felt 
  the air move as he brandished his own scimitar. Before he could 
  shout a warning to Aaron, to Dags’ surprise, the Wobbie ducked 
  and rolled under the shelf where the Kasten sat, narrowly avoiding 
  being sliced in half. The resulting miss threw the guard off bal-
  ance, and Dags nearly laughed out loud when Aaron reached out 
  and grabbed the guard’s ankle and yanked, throwing him forward 
  toward the stairs.
  But Dags had problems of his own. The second guard tried to 
  cleave him in half and nearly succeeded. Dags turned and ducked, 
  but not before the scimitar’s edge grazed his bare left forearm. 
  There wasn’t any pain as he reached back and grabbed the rail-
  ing around the dais, leaning back and lashing a booted kick to 
  the guard’s head. The guard staggered back, but didn’t drop his 
  scimitar.
  Nuts. Dags rolled against the railing to the wall of circuitry on his 
  left and got behind the guard, who had prevented himself from 
  falling down the stairs and now turned toward Dags, pulling up his 
  weapon for another assault and yelling something unintelligible.
  Dags stood weaponless against the wall as the guard raised his 
  scimitar. The black box was to Dags’ left, the railing was to his 
  right, and a bad guy in front of him. 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  A Distant Thunder • Page 16
  Why can’t these things ever go easy?
  “Major!” Ben yelled out.
  Dags reacted without thought. He saw the weapon in the air, 
  reached out with his right hand (years of battle training to always 
  watch the peripheral vision) and caught the needler. He managed 
  to get the grip in his hand and held up the barrel as the guard 
  charged forward.
  The attacker’s eyes crossed as they focused on the needler and 
  he stopped, weapon raised, breathing heavily.
  “Might I suggest you lower your weapon? Or do you like the idea 
  of having millions of shaved pieces in your face?” He smiled.
  The doors burst open and at least twenty armed Umayyad 
  guards, all with hidden faces, rushed into the room and swarmed 
  the Caliph. Several broke off and rushed up the stairs. They re-
  moved the scimitar from the attacker and immediately attempted 
  to place him in restraints.
  Dags lowered the needler and looked to his right and down at 
  Ben. He gestured with the weapon, giving his pilot a Where the 
  hell did this come from? look. 
  “I got it off the other guard,” Ben said. “Ria whacked him with her 
  stick and I frisked him.” The Warrior grinned. “Figured you could 
  use a little help.”
  One of the new guards took the needler away and Dags stepped 
  back, arms raised. “Hey, hey—I’m not the enemy here.”
  “Leave the Wraiths,” the Caliph said. “Remove your cowls.” 
  All of the guards did as they were told. Except the two guards 
  that had stood beside the Kasten.
  Dags, feeling a little light-headed, moved out and around his 
  struggling attacker. Aaron was on his feet and looking at the black 
  box once more, his brow knitted in concentration.
  “Remove it,” the Caliph was saying.
  The room seemed to be in chaos. Dags noticed the technicians 
  had not moved from their stations, but they weren’t watching 
  their posts either. Twenty or so caftan-uniformed guards filled the 
  empty spaces, all of them armed with assault rifles, ranging in 
  make and model.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  A Distant Thunder • Page 17
  It’s an assortment of Inner Sphere technology. But then the Deep 
  was known for taking what stumbled into its web and making it 
  theirs. The scene blurred for a second and Dags put his hand to 
  his forehead. Whoa…I’m not feeling so good. 
  The guard who had attacked Aaron struggled against his bind-
  ings as the Caliph removed the cowl herself.
  To Dags he looked like every other Umayyad he’d seen since ar-
  riving in the Castile. Olive-skinned and dark hair.
  The Caliph frowned, and then turned and moved up the dais to 
  the second guard. This man screamed out something through his 
  cowl and managed to throw off his guard. He wasn’t restrained 
  securely enough either and when he turned his right hand went 
  into the depths of his robes.
  Dammit—another needler. Dags was at the bottom of the steps 
  and started up only to lose steam when his vision swam again. 
  Aaron was closest, and ended up behind the attacker when he 
  went for the Caliph.
  The next few seconds moved slowly. Dags stumbled on the step. 
  The Caliph threw up her hands and backed away, perilously close 
  to the edge of the stairs. The attacker yelled something out as he 
  pulled a needler from his uniform. Guards rushed to the dais to 
  save their leader. There was screaming.
  Aaron picked up the box in both hands, raised it above his head, 
  and brought it down as hard as he could on top of the imposter’s 
  head. The outer casing of the box cracked as he fell to the floor in 
  a heap. Dags managed to get up the stairs and put his arms out to 
  brace the Caliph before she fell backward.
  Aaron stepped back and went down on his knees, the broken 
  box in his hands, as the other guards scrambled to help their 
  leader. She moved forward without a backwards glance at Dags 
  and knelt down, yanking the cowl from the unconscious guard’s 
  face.
  Dags couldn’t speak Umayyad very well, but he understood 
  tones. Though he couldn’t understand Lise Burill’s words, he could 
  only imagine she was swearing up a storm cloud.
  “I know this man,” the closest of the guards said. “He was with 
  the King’s guard that accompanied Francisco Wheeler.”
  
  BATTLECORPS
  A Distant Thunder • Page 18
  The Caliph nodded as she stood. “We are deceived on many lev-
  els. Take this one and his mate to the dungeons. Tell Ishdul he has 
  my permission to interrogate them. There is no limit.”
  Dags wobbled, and sat down on the top step hard. His head was 
  spinning and he was starting to shake. When he looked down he 
  saw the blood. Lots of it. Seeping endlessly from the cut on his 
  left forearm.
  Oh. Great. I’m bleeding to death and didn’t know it. 
  Ria was by his side in seconds, with Ben beside her. “Sir—you 
  are very pale.”
  “Yeah,” Dags said. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
  “Raja,” the Caliph said. “Get Major Honor to the Sick House. He’s 
  wounded—there may be poison.”
  Poison? Dags looked up at her with an arched eyebrow. No one 
  said anything about poison. But come to think of it, he sure was 
  feeling awful poorly from what should have been a little cut.
  “Ma’am,” Aaron Garrett said. “May I continue to examine this 
  box?” 
  Uh-oh. Dags’s vision grew darker as several of the Caliph’s men 
  surrounded him, lifted him to his feet beneath his arms. He looked 
  around and caught Ria’s gaze. The Nova Cat put a commanding 
  hand on the guard on Dags’ right and leaned in close to her leader. 
  “Watch Aaron. Don’t let him get us, or him, into trouble.”
  Ria’s almond-shaped gaze searched Dags’ face. “I’m afraid, sir, 
  we’re already in deeper trouble than we realize.”
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/BattleTech [multi]/EXTRA/Novels/Battlecorps Novels/A Distant Thunder Pt 02 - Phaedra M. Weldon.pdf