That'll mean trouble for Griff, Grayson thought. Trouble for all of us. His mind spun back to the explosion that had taken his father. How and why had it happened? The thought of his father's BattleMech lying in a twisted ruin out on the spaceport apron, tomb for whatever remained of Durant Carlyle's body, tore at Grayson's mind. He suddenly began remembering odd little moments. His father presenting him with apprenticeship orders when he was ten and the surge of still-remembered pride. His father's ashen face at his mother's funeral just before they'd come to Trellwan five years ago. His father discussing Grayson's education schedule with Ari and Griff in the officer's lounge here in the Castle just after they'd arrived.
Durant Carlyle had been a permanent, unchanging fixture in Grayson's life. Though always busy with the never-ending business of outfitting, supplying, and leading a House Steiner BattleMech Lance, the smile and the steady warmth in those eyes had always been there for his son.
Now they were no more. Grayson had taken them for granted, and their loss tore a wound
so deep and so telling that he could not yet feel it. He could only repeat inwardly, numbly, "Dad..."
The Vehicle Bay was crowded with men, women, and children waiting to board the HVTs, transport hovercraft capable of carrying 25 or 30 people at a time. The plenum chamber fans were already turning, filling the room with the high, warbling hum of many engines.
A sergeant saluted Griffith as they entered the room "We've set scouts out down the road. It appears clear."
"IR and motion scans?"
"All clear, Weapons Master."
"Good. Maybe they didn't expect to be this successful. The road to the port may not be covered yet But I want the convoy covered by every HVWC we have." The weapons carriers were already moving, small hovercraft mounting missile launchers or beam weapons and carrying five or six soldiers each. The keening of hovercraft engines rose in pitch, and the first machines skimmed off their heavy rubber skirts and drifted through the open doors into the cold darkness outside.
Vogel was there. He seemed to have lost some of his bluster, but not his scowl. "I've had enough of this foolishness, Weapons Master. I want a hovercraft, a pilot, and a guard. And I want them now."
Griffith waved him aside with the machine pistol, then called out "Brookes!" Sergeant Brookes! Are you ready to move?"
A harried, red-haired man looked up from his humming scout It was a tiny hovercraft, a four-seater. A pair of soldiers were wrestling a lightweight laser onto an aftdeck pintle mount "Yeah, Griff! Any time!"
"Take Master Carlyle with you."
The realization that Griffith was sending him on ahead cut through Grayson's numbness. "Griff, no! I..."
"Go on, lad. I'll catch up with you later. Quickly now!"
Grayson didn't hear Griffith's answer. The Weapons Master had turned away from him and was facing Vogel, speaking quietly. Vogel's face was turning red.
"C'mon, Master Carlyle. Old Hattie herell have us back t' the shuttle at light speed. Here. You'll be wanting these." He handed Grayson a hooded, cold weather jacket and goggles. The scout had an open well deck, and a high-speed run would be dangerously cold in this weather.
The sharp crack of an ear-stunning detonation smacked across the Vehicle Bay, and smoke boiled from the door across the room. Grayson whirled, wide-eyed. Vogel was lying on his face, with Griffith crouched above him. The five soldiers were fanning out toward the smoking door.
Just then, several black-clad figures burst through the smoke, spewing the savage white bursts of automatic weapons fire. Griffith was on one knee now, the Gunther balanced in a classic one-hand brace right out of the BattleMech Manual. He fired in short, precise bursts, centering each burst on an attacker's chest
More attackers swarmed though the door. Grayson realized with dull shock that each wore a heavy mask, the goggles insect-like in the Bay's dim red lighting. They plunged into the Bay in headlong dives that brought them rolling up to one shoulder, subguns chattering in sharp, short bursts before the milling crowd of Techs and staff personnel could respond. Grayson saw Riviera sagging back against the skirt of an idling hovercraft, tiny scarlet explosions blossoming across his torso from right thigh to left shoulder.
One of the soldiers beside the Weapons Master pitched back, his face a streaming mask of red. Two more crumpled where they stood, and the two survivors turned and ran for the nearest hovercraft
"Griff!" Grayson screamed. His fingers were on a handhold on the hoverscout's side. "Come on!"
"Let's go, son!" Brooke laid a hand on Grayson's shoulder, urgency in his voice. "We've got to leave!"
Grayson shook free of the hand and dashed back toward Griffith. As long as he had known his father, he had also know Kai Griffith, with whom he had probably spent more time from day to day.
"Grayson! Come back!" Sergeant Brooke was close behind. Grayson dodged in front of a hover transport that was just rising from the ferrocrete, its skirts rattling in the overpressure of screaming fans. Air whipped Grayson's pants against his legs, and the keening fans drowned out the rattle of small arms fire from across the Bay. Black figures continued to pour from the passageway door.