Detachment and distance indeed had been my stock in trade, but that was during a time when The Republic had been strong and able to deal with problems like this in a benign manner. My job was to investigate and seek solutions others could implement. The problem now was that Bernard was a force that was accelerating entropy, and the only way to counter that was to inject more energy into the system.

My energy.

I discovered that Bernard had made himself a third enemy: ME.

I brought my crosshairs around and dropped them on the outline of Bernard’s Catapult. Without a second’s hesitation I launched two flights of missiles at him, and he returned the favor. Both of our attacks hit solidly. Heat from the missile launchings flooded my cockpit, then his missiles poured down over me. Ghost shook as if in an earthquake and the explosions sounded as if I were in the heart of a Basalt thunderstorm. Light flashed, shrapnel pinged. Alarms went off in my cockpit and the outline of my ’Mech on the primary monitor went from green to yellow as armor was reduced to dust.

My Mad Cat III staggered, but I managed to keep it on its feet despite a feeling of dizziness and sweat burning into my eyes. Though my ’Mech massed less than the Catapult, I could hit harder. My only weakness was that Ghost was a bit more fragile than Bernard’s ’Mech. As the smoke cleared around me, I cut to the left, moving perilously close to Siwek’s old command.

Another barrage from Alba’s lance nibbled at the rear of Bernard’s mercenary formation. Her troops emerged from the rain forest and were angling toward the last of Siwek’s command, but kept their fire on Bernard’s mercs. The implications were clear: they didn’t have to get dead if they didn’t want to. The Militia ripping into their former comrades gave everyone a pretty good indication of the locals’ dislike for them.

Bernard fired at me again, but as we were both moving, half his missiles missed and the rest just ground armor away. I retaliated by hitting him with some lasers that burned away the last of the armor over his left thigh. Another chunk of damage there and he’d go down.

Easier said than done, however. He was already moving east, toward Siwek’s company, doubtless exhorting them to enter the fight. With his ’Mech moving that fast, the chances of me getting a specific enough target lock to take that leg out were slim. Each step carried him further from me, but if I pursued, I would trade movement for range in targeting trouble.

Janella’s voice crackled over the speakers. “Be aware, helping Bernard Germayne will subject you to arrest by The Republic as well. You can never hide. He cannot save you.”

I keyed my microphone. “Not only that: he’s broke. You’ll never get what he promised you.”

I must say that is the nice thing about mercenaries: they are loyal to themselves and have a fine grasp of microeconomics. The two SM1s swiveled their turrets and shot, but not at Bernard. Their autocannon fire gnawed through two of the Jessies. The rest of Siwek’s old command focused on Bernard’s mercs as well, making them into an “Oh God why me?” sandwich against Alba’s force and the Militia.

Bernard flew on toward the rain forest, seeking escape. I punched two buttons on my communications console and tightbeamed a message to him. “Has Germayne blood turned yellow, Bernie? Is it that you’re stupid enough to think that if you run away, you’ll live to fight another day? Teyte didn’t—I saw to that—and I’ll do you, too.”

I’m not sure if it was just the words, or his recognizing my voice, but sparks flared from beneath his ’Mech’s feet as he brought it around to face me. The LRM launchers on the ’Mech’s shoulders spat fire. His anger might have made him foolish, but it also focused him. Though my antimissile system whined and picked off a few projectiles, Bernard’s salvos still smashed unerringly into Ghost, ripping the right arm clean off.

The blasts staggered the ’Mech. I slipped to the left—was knocked to that side, truth be told. Sweat and a bit of blood from my bitten tongue filled my mouth. Struggling with the controls, I kept the ’ Cat upright, then shifted the left foot forward and raked my crosshairs over his ’Mech. Bernie, in what he saw as a moment of triumph, stood there, tall, imposing—his ’Mech mirroring his posture at our first meeting.

The gold dot on my crosshairs burned bright.

My missiles streaked out on smoky ropes linking me with him. He had no defense, but even the best would not have blunted my attack. His momentary motionlessness, his arrogance, gave me a better target than he really wanted. The missiles leaped from the ’Cat, then dipped down for a second before all arrowed in at his Catapult.

Bernard’s ’Mech had lost all the armor from the left thigh. While not all my missiles struck that target, out of forty enough did reach it. Explosions clawed their way through the myomer muscles. They chopped at ferro-titanium bones, knocking great chips from them while other blasts just twisted and warped them. The Catapult, which massed sixty-five tons, shifted to the left as the ravaged bone screamed and parted. The shin fell back and the ’Mech crashed left.

It landed hard on a missile rack, which exploded and almost managed to pitch the ’Mech back upright. I could almost feel Bernard’s spirit soaring for a second. In his mind, I was certain, he felt victory in his grasp.

He clung to it the way a drowning man clings to a life preserver.

It did no good. The Catapult crashed back down and Bernard’s plans crashed with it.

And as smoke shrouded his ruined ’Mech, I smiled.

With the final shots they fired, Siwek’s company became a mercenary unit led by Kim Knutson—the Pack Hunter’s pilot. They called themselves Knutson’s Rangers and accepted a hundred-thousand-stone reward for holding Bernard’s troops off—which I paid out of the monies I’d earned at Emblyn’s casino. I believe their intention was to try to get off Basalt with their rides and offer their services as mercenaries in what they saw as coming troubles. Janella pointed out that this simply was not going to happen since they had been involved in actions to overthrow the legitimate government.

The government of Basalt came up with a plan that traded ten years of community service in return for full pardons. The Rangers and their equipment were drafted into the Basalt Militia, strengthening it greatly. Even before their service would be finished, those who were not Republic citizens would have earned the right to become citizens. While this was appreciated by many, it wasn’t by one or two who believed The Republic would not last that long.

The plan and the general amnesty that moved toward reconciliation was crafted by the planet’s new leadership. Count Hector did recover from his wound, but would never be the robust man he had been before. He had a change of heart, which many put down to rumors that he’d actually died in the hospital and had been revived. Others assumed that learning of his son’s treachery had wounded him more deeply.

I put it down to the fact that while Bernard was off trying to supplant his father, Bianca had been there at her father’s side. The media reports would have had everyone believe that anyone Bianca had ever helped had turned around and sent messages and flowers, or made donations in her father’s name. The outpouring of concern for how she felt was tremendous and, for once, the media couldn’t blow it all out of proportion.

Bianca, at her father’s request, assumed leadership of Basalt and immediately set about using her network of friends to calm fears, organize relief efforts and expand the sorts of things she was already doing. The people rallied around her and the peace that Basalt had known again descended on the planet.