Pandora's Gambit

by Randall N Bills

You’re not sorry at all, Christopher. But that’s all right. For now. Soon enough you’ll prove just how far you’ve come.

  With a final glance at the amused face of her husband, Jessica slid back her chair and stood. Can’t dance the flamenco anymore, but I might still make it through a waltz. She patted her hair unconsciously, caught herself in the act and smiled at her own indulgence. “I will provide additional information in the next few days, but at the moment I have to prepare for several more meetings today.” She paused, then did sigh as no response came from the end of the table. She moved toward the door, signaling Phillip to follow.

  “Mother.”

  Jessica turned back toward the table. “Yes, Elis?”

  “You never said who would travel with you to Terra.”

  “No, I didn’t. Perhaps if the right person had asked . . .” She turned, tapped on the door and waited for the guard to open it. She stepped outside and began walking down the long hallway, Phillip in tow, as the guards closed the door on her children. I know Nikol will take the public reprimand as intended. As needed. Time for her to start stepping up.

  Elis Marik watched her mother depart. The room remained quiet for a whole thirty seconds before it exploded into conversation; even Janos and Julietta joined in, though they kept their conversation between them, their voices low.

  Thanks to years of training, she kept the sneer off her face. That’s how they define subtlety. She considered her two younger siblings. Chris and Niki . . . they can be excused by youth and distance from the throne. But Janos and Julietta? There is no excuse.

  “I’m going on the ski trip!” Christopher couldn’t stop talking, bombarding Nikol with his excitement. He obviously failed to see the darkness masked by her pale smile.

  You’re so worried, Niki. So worried. Wonderingwhat Mother thinks of you. Wondering why Mother didn’t give you an assignment. Upset that she chastised you in front of us.

  Though her fingers flicked, as though they wished to tap impatiently on the ancient table, she kept herself perfectly still. When she wanted, she could literally vanish, watching while others revealed all. She remained still as Janos and Julietta conducted their prim, hushed conversation of their own stupidities, as Christopher meandered through a stream-of-consciousness recitation of the worlds he would see and the mountains he would conquer, as Nikol tried to force an ill-fitting façade of equal eagerness to her face.

  But I’ve kept a façade in place almost since you were born, Niki. And as they say, it takes one to know one. And I can see through your mask like the clearest glass. You’re terrified Mother has slighted you, leaving you here to rot while the rest of us are given important assignments. She managed not to snort. You’ve no idea. No idea you’re the favorite. No idea that Mother will be taking you to Terra.

  Elis knew her own mission was important . . . already knew most of what it would entail. Unlike Christopher, and maybe even Julietta, she had already figured out the angles. Yet she was honest enough with herself to admit it burned that Mother would once more choose her favorite daughter to be at her side for such a seminal event as Paladin Victor’s funeral on Terra.

  For many years, she had tried hard not to direct feelings of resentment toward Niki. She actually still liked her youngest sibling. But she usually didn’t try to stave off such sentiment when it came to her mother.

  I don’t hate you, Mother. I know you too well. Youthink Niki is you reincarnated. But that’s only superficial. She is nothing like you underneath. Of all your daughters, I’m most like you. This time Elis gave in to the impulse, and her slender fingers touched the table. She carefully rested her entire palm on its surface, as though to create a mystical connection to the spot her mother touched . . . to her mother. She shook her head at her own folly.

  You think you know all the angles, Mother. You think you have all your bases covered. But I have my own angles. I know what you want me to bring back from my trip. And I’ll bring it back. But under my own conditions.

  She smiled, but the expression didn’t touch her eyes.

  Jessica slowly paced in her personal quarters. Seven steps up one side of the room, twenty down the middle, seven to the wall, seven back, twenty and then seven and so on: her mind worked in lockstep with her movement, compartmentalizing each task that lay before her family, the coming months and years unfolding like the solar sail of a JumpShip. Methodical and slow, but a solid hedge to help guarantee success.

  “That was quite a bombshell you dropped, my dear,” Phillip said, intruding on her thoughts.

  He sat casually by the window, enjoying the sunshine despite the heat, his legs propped up on the cushioned window seat. Her frown didn’t budge them.

  “I know,” she said, her pacing continuing without a hitch.

  “You could’ve told me.”

  “I know. But I wanted to see who would pick up on the fact I’d not told you.”

  “Christopher.”

  “That was a surprise.”

  “And Elis.”

  That did cause a slight hitch. “Really? I missed that.”

  “Not a twitch of her muscles, and her eyes could hide the existence of a DropShip. But I know her too well. She figured it.”

  Jessica nodded slowly. Of all her children, it would be Elis.

  “Do you really mean to try to marry off Julietta to Andurien? You know it’s a dupe.”

  A hitch again, forehead creasing at her husband’s quick change of topic. “Of course not. Doubt the man would have her, anyway. She’s too old.”

  “Then why? To test Julietta? Hasn’t she been tested enough?”

  Jessica blocked her empathetic response to her husband’s melancholy. “She is our daughter. Royal blood flows in her veins. She still has time to step up, to find the spark to lead. It just requires the right incentive.” She avoided her husband’s eyes, knowing her own would betray that she didn’t believe her words.

  “So, then Elis and Christopher? Testing and missions.”

  The pacing had begun to make her calves ache, but she refused to give in to the weakness. The day will come when I’m not even able to walk. Until then, my body will obey me. “Of course.”

  “And what of Janos? What testing could he possibly face here on Oriente?”

  A sigh rattled as she cleared her throat of the sudden desire to cough. “None. I have plans for our eldest upon my return. But for now, none.” This time she did meet her husband’s eyes as her pacing cycled her back toward him; their mutual sadness over their eldest’s apathy was a strong bond. Years of trying to find the spark of leadership in Janos, and all we find is competence. That would be fine for a commoner. But not for a person of noble blood, of someone destined to become a leader. She shrugged, exasperated for the thousandth time over her eldest children.

  “And Nikol?” Phillip said, his tone knowing.

  Jessica laughed softly, the optimism for her youngest a cool breeze against the stifling heat of disappointment in her eldest. “I have high hopes for her on this trip, Phillip. High hopes.”

  “I can support what you are doing, Jessica,” Phillip began.

  After a lifetime together, she knew from his tone of voice that he was about to force her to say something out loud . . . something difficult, yet something she needed to face; it was one of his most important gifts to their relationship.

  “You know I can. But of all our children, of all the tests you are about to set them to . . . I feel that Julietta . . .” He paused, the quaver in his voice a match for her earlier inability to look her husband in the eye. “She’s being set up for failure. Even for Janos, you do not have a goal that he cannot accomplish. But you are sending her to fail. And you know it. Why?”

  Jessica kept up her pacing with an effort, examining her own feelings. She’d made a decision, and her decisions moved mountains. For Phillip to question her after she had already suffered the anxiety of making the decision and when she’d already moved on showed his depth of unease over the situation.

/>   As ever, Phillip, you are a mirror for my feelings. You know me better than I know myself. “It’s not just about testing her, Phillip. The time has finally come to move our plans forward. We’ve got to keep an eye on Andurien. Better yet, keep them occupied for a time.”

  “Important goals. But it still doesn’t explain why she’s being sent to fail. You know our daughter will never marry. She will occupy Duke Humphreys, I’ll give you that. But she cannot complete the mission she is being sent to explore. You speak of her stepping up, and yet we both know that won’t happen. Elis has more chance of success at securing a marriage with the Anduriens than Julietta. So why?”

  The rhythm of her footfalls kept up a steady, almost soothing cadence to the difficulty of the discussion. “She needs to be an object lesson to her siblings.”

  “Ah,” her husband said, voice as weary as if he’d just finished a marathon.

  “Despite the distance between Julietta and the three youngest, they still have attachments. She has failed to lead. Not once, despite the competence with which she manages her landholds, her corporate responsibilities, her . . .” Jessica breathed deeply to calm her nerves. “Despite every opportunity to lead, she has failed to step up and lead. They must see that failure. They must see that you can only give someone, even a member of the royal family, so many chances. But Julietta has had a lifetime of chances and has never been able to find her way to the goal. Now, in her failure, she can step up. She can succeed by her very failure. Succeed in showing Nikol and Christopher and even Elis that the state demands success. It is time for Julietta to become a leader . . . or be set aside.”

  Though she faced away from Phillip in her current circuit of the room, she could feel his grudging nod of agreement at her reasoning, regardless of how painful the conclusion.

  You simply wanted me to face it straight on, right, Phillip? Ever my conscience. She smiled, the thought supporting her in this moment.

  A soft knock interrupted their conversation, ending Jessica’s pacing. She looked toward the sound, then nodded briefly to Phillip, who stood and departed with a casual wave. She moved to a hidden panel in the room; her fingers pressed three studs hidden in the floral paneling and she slipped inside the opening, closing the door behind her.

  “How did the meeting go, Your Grace?” Torrian Dolcat asked.

  Jessica took a seat in the tiny room adjacent to her personal quarters. Glancing up, she noted the red light, assuring her the white-noise generator surrounding the room was engaged and that no one was within ten meters of the room except herself and the other occupant. She looked at the youngish man seated on the other side of the small table built into the wall. His smooth-shaven face revealed clean lines and his hazel eyes were to die for. “Have I told you you’re much too good-looking and young to be my spymaster?”

  Torrian smiled easily, revealing bright teeth. After many years, he could now play the game with casual ease. “I believe you have, Your Grace.”

  “Well, you are. You should be twenty years older to head up SAFE. And the meeting with my family went just fine. Enough small talk.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” he said, nodding his head.

  “What is the status?”

  “Operation Stormdrain is still one hundred percent viable.”

  “How prepared are we?”

  “We’ve had to cycle through continual preparation phases. You cannot prep an operation of this scale for launch and then leave it uninitiated. You have to ensure downtime, rest the whole apparatus from a readiness stage. Yet all phases of the operation appear completely intact. General Hollis and his Eagle Corps have outdone themselves.”

  She found such discussions vaguely distressing, but she accepted them and understood their necessity regardless. “Of course. Where do we stand now?”

  “A full year is optimal.”

  “A year!” She tried to keep her voice at an even level, but her exclamation echoed slightly in the stark room.

  The other man nodded. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but you have reviewed every aspect of the operation. You know we cannot proceed swiftly at any level in such a complicated endeavor. The consequences of failure— of discovery . . .”

  She breathed deeply, inhaling his musky scent, her own jasmine perfume and the unique aroma of cold concrete. “Would be catastrophic. I know.”

  “Do you still wish to proceed, Your Grace? What is your word?”

  She looked into his eyes, perhaps to find recriminations, but found none. I guess you can’t head up an intelligence agency and allow such things as morals to get in your way. She closed her eyes, allowing a hundred different scenarios to replay one final time. They all ended at the decision she’d made years ago. I’ve never wavered on a decision made, but what I’m about to set in motion . . .

  She opened her eyes. Too late to turn back now, Jessica. Despite her resolve, she swallowed past a throat tight with anxiety.

  “My word is Exalted Requiem.” Despite her soft-voiced delivery, the words seemed to echo with power.

  No turning back now.

  1

  Desolate Pass

  Juniper, Mallory’s World

  Prefecture III

  4 February 3135

  “This place called you?” Kev Rosse’s disembodied voice flowed on the heat eddies of the mammoth bonfire eating voraciously at the wood.

  Rikkard Nova Cat opened pale, almost violet eyes and responded immediately. “Strength.”

  “You seem to be repeating yourself.”

  “Fate repeats. I but travel the path.”

  “Are you a Visionmaster now?”

  Rikkard jerked backward, nearly overbalancing before recognizing the humor hidden in his Galaxy commander’s words. He resettled into his cross-legged stance with exacting precision, ceremonial leathers bunching, and then stretching. “I am no Visionmaster. “

  “Of course you are not. Yet you return here. How many years since you first sought answers in this canyon? How many since you departed to attack Ozawa?”

  Rikkard looked around the place that had been known as Desolate Pass since Mallory’s World’s first colonists landed. Though he could not see them, the force of the mammoth rock walls that towered around them called to him as surely as did this spot; he glanced up, a river of stars a thin ribbon against the overwhelming blackness of the canyon walls. “Not enough. Too many. It does not matter. I seek answers where I might find them. Find strength where it may be found. And I find strength here.”

  “Then this place called you, quiaff.”

  Rikkard’s eyes bored into the flames, demanding answers, yet none came. He clenched a will as hard as ferrocarbide armor around his frustration; knew that his refusal to answer was petulance. He placed his hands upon the sandy bottom of the canyon as if to evoke the spirit of Ian Davion.

  “Why should he come to you?”

  Startled by the question, Rikkard delayed answering; he drew in a deep breath of the aromatic scents of the burning juniper tree he’d dragged into the depth of the canyon. He looked up again to see his Galaxy commander looming over him.

  “That is what you seek, is it not? Ian Davion’s blood washed this sand more than a century ago. You wish to evoke the spirit of The Hound.”

  Rikkard nodded slowly, unable to articulate his need, the visions that drove him. “Strength,” was all he could manage.

  “He was stupid.”

  “What?” Rikkard’s anger coalesced and found a target at Kev’s demeaning of Ian Davion. “House Kurita’s Second Sword of Light was on the verge of destroying the Fourth Davion Guards. Ian Davion sacrificed himself that day to save his command. He held off and destroyed a host of enemy ’Mechs in this very canyon, before the Kurita commander himself, Yorinaga Kurita, killed Ian. What more could be asked of a warrior?”

  If possible, Kev seemed to loom larger, his eyes abruptly blazing in the night. “You are so un-Clanlike at times,” Kev began, stoking Rikkard’s anger ever higher, just as the sparks from the
bonfire leapt and danced into the night sky on currents of heat. “Clansmen are not known for studying history.”

  “Clansmen study military history,” Rikkard shot back. His right fist dug into the sand in frustration, as though he might dig up a shard of armor from that centuries-ago battle.

  “Clansmen study military tactics. They rarely study the generals involved. You reach deeper than most. You dig for the truths hidden in the generals and leaders behind the tactics that shaped the great battles of history. When first we came to Mallory’s World, you immediately set about studying the most significant military history that shaped this world, particularly the leaders involved. Which led to Ian Davion. I applaud such un-Clanlike initiative. Of all those who follow me, I see myself most in you.”

  Rikkard glanced up from the sand slowly spilling between his fingers, found Kev still looming. Hearing the words of praise, but also the tone of reprimand; braced for it.

  “Yet despite the eyes that see so much that other Clansmen do not, you miss a critical element of Ian’s performance. He was never just a warrior. He was the leader of his people. The Clans for too long have failed to recognize that while a leader should be a warrior without equal, he should be a warrior willing and able to place the honor and safety of his Clan before his own honor. Ian forgot that simple truth— a simple truth his brother never forgot. As you seek your answers, perhaps look to The Fox, rather than The Hound.”

  Rikkard’s mind reeled as he tried to absorb the words. While they’d discussed such things before in theory, never had his Galaxy commander spoken so plainly of the faults of the Clans. He latched on to Kev’s final comment, defensive words spilling before he could stop them. “Hanse Davion ruled using a level of treachery and trickery Ian would never have condoned. How can you say he is a man to emulate?”

  Kev’s voice hissed, eyes flashing again. “I did not say emulate. But you fixate on a single strength of a man, lauding his glorious death, when you should take that element and make it your own.”

  “Hanse fought at the end of the Fourth Succession War.” The darkness hid the flush that spread across his cheeks at such a weak response.