Scorpio Ascendant
A Novel of an Alternative BattleTech Universe
by Stephen T Bynum
All Rights Reserved
PrologueTemple of the Nine Muses
Roche, Clan Homeworlds
May 4, 3030The flash of a bolt of lightning lit the dark sky, casting long shadows over the rocky wastelands of Roche. The massive fortress—carved from a granite mesa more than two centuries ago by the laborers of Clan Widowmaker and first named Spiderholm in their honor; the fortress sullenly brooded over the parched and barren landscape beneath it. Star Colonel Mikhail Kirov halted his climb along the long and winding path that led from the valley below to the entrance tunnel above. He looked out at the low hanging clouds that hid the stars from his sight, the glow of the night moon as well, and he nodded as another thundering crash from the heavens heralded a lightning strike in the distant wastes.
Roche herself will soon weep for my Scorpions, he thought, even as the first heavy drops of the storm began to plummet down around him. He ignored the warm rain that splattered from his ceremonial leathers, and he once more resumed his course towards the Temple of the Nine Muses. Cleansed of the taint of the Widowmakers, Spiderholm had been given to the Scorpions in appreciation for their defense of Khan Jerome Winson of the Wolves during that long ago War. Forty years of work by artisans and laborers had removed all symbols of the defunct Clan, and transformed the fat-bellied Spider that had once rested above the gates on eight slender legs into a rearing Scorpion, its obsidian sting poised to deliver death.
How prideful we are, Mikhail thought as he stared into the polished golden gemstones that served the eighty-meter wide statue of a Goliath Scorpion for eyes. This edifice is what we wasted our finest days upon, when we could—and should—have devoted our strength to making the Nest strong. You care not for such works, he directed towards the massive statue as he continued to climb the ramp. You care only with our devotion to your ideals; a devotion which has, of late, gone awry.
But the unmoving colossus of polished granite and obsidian and precious stones dug from the Wastes remained silent.
At long last, Mikhail reached the summit, and he nodded in approval as the Elemental Warriors on duty raised their weapons—and servo-mounted automatic cannons swiveled towards the approaching Warriors. While the old fortress was now a ‘temple’ in name, she had not been totally stripped of her claws.
“I am Star Colonel Mikhail Kirov, commander of the 24th Scorpion Cuirassier Cluster. I am expected this evening, Warriors.â€
“Sir,†one barked, “if the Star Colonel would present his codex for confirmation.â€
Mikhail removed one leather gauntlet and held out his clenched fist and bare forearm, a tight metal band fixed just below his wrist adorned with blinking lights. A second Elemental stepped forward and pressed an electronic reader to the codex, and then both the reader and codex beeped.
“Your identity has been confirmed, Star Colonel Kirov. You have full authorization to enter the Temple,†the commander of the Elemental Guards said in a much softer and restrained voice.
Kirov nodded as he tugged the gauntlet back on and he briskly moved forward, followed by each and every one of the Blood-named Warriors assigned to The Khan’s Own Cluster. Twenty-two pairs of steel-shod boots echoed down the long sloping tunnel as those Warriors moved downwards in Mikhail’s wake, passing by gun emplacements set in the walls, underneath murder holes in the ceiling, and through two more checkpoints before he finally entered the Scorpion Grand Cathedral itself.
The Chamber was filled by Scorpions dressed in their ceremonial leathers, gathered about the room; few looked up as Mikhail and his entourage entered. Ignoring the rest, Mikhail picked up his pace and he strode with purpose towards the bier set in the center of the Cathedral; the bier upon which rested the body of his Khan, surrounded by a Guard of Honor bearing long flickering torches.
Mikhail stood there for what seemed to be an eternity, staring at the waxen features of the corpse of Conner Yeh as he lay there, slowly decomposing. Finally Mikhail turned to one of the Guards of Honor.
“Where is he?â€
The young Warrior’s eyes grew large, and he stared at Mikhail for a moment. But the veteran Star Colonel’s gaze was too fierce to ignore, and he swallowed. “In his private chambers, Star Colonel—but he commanded that he not be disturbed.â€
Mikhail snorted and he turned on his right foot and set off for the guarded pair of high doors leading into the depths of the warren that honeycombed the mesa turned Temple. Another Star Colonel stood in front of the door, and he shook his head and held up one hand.
“He is resting, Kirov, and is not to be disTURB—AARGH!†the voice turned into a scream as Mikhail grabbed the protestor by the throat and slammed him back into the stone wall. Conversation in the Grand Cathedral drifted to a halt as everyone present turned to look.
Mikhail glared at the two armed guards. “Open those doors now, Warriors, or kill me. For I swear if they are not unsealed in the next fifteen seconds, then I will kill the both of you.†He dropped the gagging Star Colonel on the ground, and Mikhail’s solemn officers hauled him away, pushing him from his post and tossing him to the flagstones.
The guards unlocked the doors and opened them wide for the passage of Mikhail and his band of men and women. He pressed forward, and behind them came a flood of other Scorpions, many with grins of glee upon their faces; a sad few resigned to the necessity of what was occuring; a handful in shock that someone was actually daring to press the issue.
Mikhail’s boots rang from the flagstones as he crossed the extravagant office—an office larger than the ‘Mech bay on an Overlord, and he shook his head in disgust as the naked pleasure girls and boys scampered like rabbits out of his path. He pressed forward until he reached the doors of Gregor Lunde’s sleeping chambers, and he thrust them open with a loud BANG against the cold stone walls.
The saKhan of the Scorpions looked up in confusion, and then he smiled at Mikhail. “Kirov, you came. It is good of you to pay your respects to our fallen Khan.â€
“You are using again, are you not, Gregor?†Mikhail asked softly.
The saKhan smiled, and he lifted an injector and pressed it against his own throat—the luminous green liquid plunging into his bloodstream. “Necrosia is the Scorpion’s gift to us, Mikhail—through it we see what he wants us to see. And you shall address me as Khan, Star Colonel.â€
“Tell me, ‘Khan’, were you high when the Jaguars killed Yeh two days ago? When you abandoned him and his Star to pursue your own glory in individual combat?â€
“I care not for your tone, or for your accusations, Star Colonel. I had imbibed the Gift to sharpen my senses and defeat the Jaguars—and defeat my opponent I did.â€
“Yet, you lost the Trial, and you allowed the Khan to die.â€
“Had he been a better Warrior, he would be alive today. I think that I shall instruct all of the Scorpions to inject the Gift before battle—it makes one fight better, sharper, clearer; and removes the distractions and discomforts of our daily drudge.’
Mikhail shook his head, a look of revulsion upon his face. “Our Clan has fallen enough, Gregor. I challenge you, here and now to a Trial of Grievance. You are not fit to be Khan. You are not fit to be a Warrior.â€
“Ah, but to Challenge a Khan, one must be a Khan. Or have a Khan’s approval. Do you have the approval of a Khan, Mikhail?â€
“No. But I have their approval,†the Star Colonel answered as he swept his hand towards the densely packed crowd of Blood Named Warriors who filled Lunde’s office and watched.
“Perhaps you do,†Lunde mused as he stood and stretched. “Shall we arrange for combat in ‘Mechs, or . . .†Lunde smiled. “No, I feel the rush of necrosia in my veins. Kirov, if you mean to challenge me, I shall meet you here and now. And I will defeat you.â€
“Here? Now? With what the two of use have at our disposal, my Khan?â€
“Was that not what I said?†Lunde asked as he picked up a knife, the light flickering from the keenly honed edge.
Mikhail smiled. “Bargained well and done,†he snapped as his left hand dropped down and he drew his slug-thrower and fired two shots into Lunde’s chest, and the saKhan collapsed to the floor, bleeding profusely.
“Or perhaps, saKhan Lunde, I should say that you bargained poorly,†he said as he raised the pistol and fired twice more into the man’s forehead.