Surprisingly enough, saKhan Sennet did not command Petr to meet him on his command DropShip, or even his command stateroom. Instead, saKhan Sennet had taken up a secondary residence in Alpha Community Prime (he said it reminded him of his responsibilities to the civilian castes, but Petr believed otherwise), and it was to this secondary residence that Petr now traveled.
Having been on this vessel numerous times, he moved with certainty, reading the jumbling confusion of directions printed in symbols on every corner of every block of residences. Before long he found the appropriate block, moved to the right hatch and rapped smartly, while holding on to one of the bars on either side of the entrance.
Several long seconds passed before the hatch undogged and swung inward; a head came into view and seemed to fill the entire hatchway.
saKhan Mikel Sennet’s stature created a legend all its own. A giant brute of a man, he stood 2.4 meters tall, with large, pale features and dirty brown hair and eyes; his opponents whispered his mother must have been an elemental.
Only in a whisper.
“Enter.” The deep voice perfectly matched such physical size.
Petr glided through as Mikel moved away from the door and pulled himself down into a seat at a small table. Petr closed the distance to the other chair and sat down as well; the static device in both chairs automatically activated to hold them to the surface. In microgravity, the decorum of waiting to be asked to sit had long since been done away with.
Glancing around, Petr approved of the Spartan accommodations. A place for everything and everything in its place, with little in the way of extraneous accoutrements—a simple, straightforward mind, with greater goals than to collect worthless knickknacks. Focusing on Mikel, he waited for an invitation to speak. Sitting was one thing, talking out of order another thing entirely.
He met the saKhan’s intense stare with one of his own. Mikel gave no notice to Petr’s disfigurement; he wore his own badges of honor, though none so large, or colorful.
Finally. “How does it progress?”
“Slowly.”
He quirked an eyebrow; Petr took the rebuke. Did not respond.
“When can I expect an update?” His tone of voice said there should be only one more time that he’d need to speak with Petr.
“Before the rain’s end.”
A slight tightening around the eyes betrayed anger—or levity—at such an evasive answer. Petr’s instincts said the latter. But mirth only took you so far with saKhan Sennet.
“Why have you come?”
“saKhan Sennet, I felt I needed to bring certain events to your attention.”
Petr might as well be talking to a wall. He took a deep breath—always best to be short and direct with the saKhan—and continued. “I believe ovKhan Clarke is attempting to break away Beta Aimag, or even Spina Khanate, from the Clan.”
Not a flicker crossed those features. Though he was trained to spot tells, to use them ruthlessly to acquire any edge in negotiation, to his scrutiny Mikel gave away nothing. Then again, Mikel excelled in such matters as well; he was saKhan, after all.
Still, such a statement should have elicited something. Anything. Did he read the situation wrong?
Questions tumbled rapid-fire through his mind as the silence stretched. Petr shifted, once more felt the loss of his braid and squashed the regret as unClanlike, felt the hard plastic chair dig uncomfortably into his back and left side. At least it was not on the right.
“Why?” Not a change in tone, simply a question.
He dreaded this part. Even though he had no answers to the inevitable questions, he knew that to speculate on Sha’s actions would get him in more trouble. “I do not know.”
“How?”
Petr licked his lips, and stopped himself again from speculation. You provided the facts and saKhan Sennet sifted them through his own perception. Not your own. Mikel allowed his ovKhans exceptional latitude, but when you approached him with a problem, you did so on his terms.
“I do not know.”
“When?”
“I do not know.”
“What, ovKhan, do you know?” The accent fell, stinging—a slapping rebuke.
“I do not have specifics. But my instincts tell me I am right. I have dealt with him for years and he has always had only the best interests of his Aimag at heart.”
“Is this not how it should be, quiaff?”
“Neg, saKhan. Not when it excludes the Clan. Always Clan Sea Fox above everything else.” No response. “His current actions on Adhafera, our conversations”—Petr paused, examined his memories and sifted for a final analysis, continued—“I know it. He is moving to try to split Clan Sea Fox. He must be stopped.”
“His latest actions?” Mikel said, leaning forward slightly, moving his hand to the smooth blue tabletop; he looked down at it. “Are your new badges attributed to such actions?” He looked up once more and the meaning sang clear; Petr’s back stiffened.
“If you think I would cast such accusations simply due to my disfigurement,” he began hotly, “then—”
saKhan cut him off with a raised hand; the tightening around the eyes recurred. This time Petr felt confident it was mirth. Laughing at me? The anger began to mount.
“ovKhan Petr, I would never think such a thing. After all, no ovKhan of mine could possibly be so petty.” The tone did not match his words, adding fuel to the growing warmth within. “Or jealous.” The last struck like a Gauss slug, shattering firmly held bands around his rage.
“If you believe that, then you must believe that no ovKhan of yours could rise to his position without the instincts to let him know when to seize the deal, when to walk away, when to sweeten the deal and when a Trial is the only way forward. I tell you now, you must keep an eye on Sha. He is dangerous.”
For the first time, real emotion transfigured Mikel’s face; too late, Petr realized his mistake.
“I must,” Mikel said in a soft voice, discordant from such a mound of flesh.
Petr could see the harm had already been done, but nevertheless tried damage control. “saKhan, my choice of words… was poor. In my desire to safeguard our Clan, I overstepped my bounds.” That was as close to sucking up as Petr had ever come in his life. Despite the necessity, it made him feel unclean.
“Aff. Especially considering your proof.” Two slabs of meat lightly smacked the table. “You come to me with nothing. I know your record. I know my ovKhans, and I trust your instincts. But you cannot expect me to take action based only on your words.”
“But the things he has said, about removing those from power who will not be removed by our traditions,” Petr replied, desperate to keep the meeting going—a meeting already ended. If Mikel respected his instincts, why did he ignore them? More questions kept falling, one after the other, quicker than he could assimilate. Why?
“We all say things at times we do not mean, quiaff?”
Petr stiffened at the reminder of his own mistake committed only moments ago. “I traveled here because I felt I could make a case that a simple message would fail to convey.”
Suddenly Mikel leaned across the table, a hard expression falling into place like a sheet of armor moved into position over a ’Mech’s chest, ready for welding. “Then you have wasted your time, when you could have finalized the issues on Adhafera. The Khan is nearing this region, and I want it on a platter in front of him.” The implied rebuke that Petr also had wasted his time hung between them. Mikel rose from his chair and moved toward the hatch. The meeting was terminated.
But why! I do not understand. He knew saKhan Sennet well enough to know that once he had reached a decision, you might as well try to shift a star’s orbit with the thrust from an aerospace fighter.
Confused and angry, Petr slunk toward the hatch. Mikel’s voice followed him out. “ovKhan, next time do not be so foolish as to assume I am not aware of what my ovKhans are doing. They are mine, after all.”
The hatch swung home with a bang, a scrape of metal as
it cycled.
What did he mean by that? That he knew I was coming and what I would say? Or that he already knew about the events on Adhafera? With the HPG down, it did not seem likely. But he had learned never to underestimate the crafty saKhan.
As he traveled the corridors back toward his ship, a new thought surfaced, shocking him so that he stopped abruptly and sent a passing civilian careening into the wall.
He knew about Sha. About his plans to try to break away Spina Khanate.
Though he tried to shake the feeling, his instincts sunk their teeth into it and locked their jaws. Not only was he aware of it, but he allowed it to continue.
Why?
He hesitated, felt compelled to return and confront him over this revelation, but knew a trial would be the only result. He would suffer defeat in such a hand-to-hand conflict, especially with Petr still less than one hundred percent.
As he launched himself back into the stream of humanity, his spirits sank further. Not only did he have to stop Sha, but the possibility existed he would have to stop saKhan Sennet as well.
His anger washed away in the cool waters of despair.
20
Beta Aimag Encampment, Halifax
Vanderfox, Adhafera
Prefecture VII, The Republic
15 August 3134
Sha Clarke stared at the hard copies, his eyes unseeing.
Innumerable thoughts tumbled through his head with failed entry trajectories, dead stick and tumbling endlessly, end over end, burning up in the arctic chill of his cerebral atmosphere.
He could not focus, his thoughts too disjointed from the reports in front of him.
To top it off, he only recently learned that Petr lifted off-planet weeks ago. Weeks!
Sha’s aide would not make such a mistake again soon. Regardless of how well Delta hid the information, his aide existed to provide information. If he could not rely on her to obtain it, especially during such a critical time, then she could deexist.
He rubbed his tired face with both hands, blinked several times to moisten his scale-dry eyes and leaned back, throwing a casual arm across his closed eyelids; his subordinates would’ve been shocked to see such lassitude.
The aromas of this world worked their way under multiple seals and down long corridors, wafted through endless eddies until they moved sluggishly through his office, their scents tickling his nose and bursting images of alien flora and fauna before his closed lids like a holoprojector.
“Java. Java,” he spoke slowly. Rhetorically, really, since a half-empty cup steamed on the table. A brewing pot lurked in the corner on the room’s only furniture other than the desk and chair, which swallowed the remaining space in dark wood and exquisite whorls of local design.
He leaned forward once more, red eyes open, and picked up the first report again, re-read it for the third time.
<<
EYES ONLY: ovKhan Sha Clarke
From: Sea Fox Watch, Field Beta, Team Beta
Date: 1 August 3134
My Khan,
The avians have not been totally successful at Zipper 5-Talon 3, losing many of their number; no additional eggs have been shipped.
The rest of the flock have begun to gather toward the clouds.
<<<
Sha willed himself not to crumple the paper in frustration. He should have known the Jade Falcons would be his weak link. Should have foreseen they would hood themselves with shortsightedness, as they always did.
A Clan-wide inferiority complex? Centuries later, did their feathers still ruffle and their beaks click despairingly over the Founder’s decision to mix his blood with that of Clan Wolf in place of their own?
He snorted mockingly. To be tied to such an event, when every day brought new currents and new opportunities to launch toward glory. They have declawed themselves for so long, they cannot even recognize that their talons no longer can make a lasting impression on their prey, momentarily damaging, leaving the enemy to rise again and destroy them. Or at least drive them back.
He’d read the reports on Kimball II several times. How they could fail to pacify the world boggled the mind. And not having their full forces for Skye?
Sha reached over and tossed back the remains of his Ulan Bator Java, the cooling burned-bean liquid shriveling his tongue, but shaking him awake.
No, they just might fail. Despite their self-declawing, the Falcons could and would hurt their prey in the short term. But Sha had traveled the space lanes of The Republic and the Inner Sphere for too long not to recognize that the Falcons kept their own brand of honor and prowess… though theirs was lesser than Clan Sea Fox. Neg, when push came to shove, if the Falcons could not bring enough force to bear, Skye might just succeed.
And if they did, then what of his deal with Jade Falcon?
He slapped the paper down and picked up the next sheet, ignoring the stinging in his hand.
<<
To: ovKhan Sha Clarke
From: saKhan Sennet
Date: 30 July 3134
RE: Activities ovKhan Clarke,
My ovKhans are given greater latitude than any other within Clan Sea Fox, but do not make the mistake of thinking I do not watch. Your activities are known.
If you are dedicated to the greater good of Spina Khanate, then you have nothing to fear.
<<<
Petr leaned back once more and held the report up to the fluorescent light above. Noticed the slightly mottled look all paper showed when held to a strong light source; felt the rough edges and recognized the low quality of indigenous paper stock. Peered steadily, as though trying to find something that did not exist. Some extra meaning hidden within the paper itself; the words remained as opaque as a Nova Cat.
What in the world could the Khan have meant?
His activities here? Trying to deny Delta its prey and subvert Kalasa? Or perhaps his attempts—none of which he’d discussed with the saKhan—to finally crack the Regulan Fiefs?
He didn’t for a minute believe saKhan Sennet could be aware of his sojourn to the Falcons. The saKhan had always been a “wait and see” leader, basking in the glory of his subordinates, but stepping aside when failure reared its head, generally too cautious for his own good. Even so, Sha did not believe for a moment the saKhan would condone his actions, if he knew the truth. If he understood the full complexity of the plan.
Then again, saKhan Mikel, despite his station, would miss such a subterfuge, would miss most of Sha’s moves, if he did not telegraph them blatantly enough to keep the saKhan and the rest of Spina Khanate’s ovKhans focused on his right hand, while his left worked the real deal. Sha’s lips tweaked, cold and mirthless.
Of course, so few could understand the glory he worked to bestow upon his Aimag, upon Spina Khanate. The prosperity that would elevate the Khanate to a new level.
A bootheel squeaked outside the door. Sha glanced up sharply, but turned back to his reports when he realized the guard had simply changed his stance; he’d have to remind the man once more about extraneous noise.
With regret, he slowly placed the enigmatic report back onto the glossy wood and retrieved the final report.
<<
EYES ONLY: ovKhan Sha Clarke
From: Sea Fox Watch, Field Beta, Team Omega
Date: 15 July 3134
My Khan,
Prey lost.
<<<
The paper’s edge tried vainly to pierce his skin as it trembled under clenching fingers—rigid, steel bands that crushed the sheet to a small, insignificant sphere. Again.
Sha trembled. Had to breathe deeply and relax. For the first time in long years, needed to remind himself anger got you nowhere.
Look at where it got Kalasa.
Sha immediately cooled, his steel fingers turned to flesh once more, though his knuckles ached with the force of his rage, smoothed out the paper as best he could.
All they had to do was follow a slow, ponderous ship.
Unlike the rest of the Khanates and their Aimags, which bid for and fought to acquire the rights in specific regions of space—worlds each Aimag and Khanate would then use to further their revenues, honor and glory for the Clan—the ilKhanate acted as an oversight governing body. Never with a set destination, the Khan and Alpha Clan Council traversed known space, checking in on the activities of the subordinate Khanates and their Aimags, taking their ten percent due. Though it was generally known in which direction the ilKhanate was traveling—as was the case right now, with the ilKhanate known to be heading in their direction—you simply never knew when the stravag Khan and his outdated authorities would darken your skies to grasp un-worked-for glories.
And to such a wallowing ArcShip he tasked three tails… and still they lost it.
He tried to order his thoughts once more, but felt the weight of the reports pushing at him. Pulling him. Their combined mass unbalancing the plan. Putting an erratic wobble into its forward motion which, if not corrected immediately would eventually spin it out of control, sending it tumbling to burn up in atmosphere or a stellar mass.
All the more galling, since he could do nothing about any of it immediately. If they lost their prey, he would not find it himself by blundering off; such a hunt would only waste valuable weeks and resources.
He stood slowly, pushing back the roller chair with his knees; it moved with a soft squeal just far enough for him to extricate himself before coming to a stop with a soft bump against the back wall. He gathered the papers slowly together, squared them and smoothed wrinkles.
Nothing to be done about the Falcons. If they have handed the Skye defenders the clippers to snip their own wings… nothing to be done. At this point, he simply could not associate with the Falcons in any way; the terse note from saKhan Sennet made it too dangerous. A new thought skewed its way into consciousness.
Disconnect.
He grimaced and moved out from around the desk, toward the java pot. Sha hated that word. Hated its implied weakness. Yet he had not gained such heights without knowing when to pull back. When to disengage. Though secondary plans were in place, with all three of his primary plans in trouble, he must accept the fact he might have to pull back. Might have to wait longer before seizing destiny for Spina Khanate.
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