“How we interpret his agreement is not part of our discussion,” Daoshen said.
“Well, he certainly did not agree to any appropriation of his fleet outside Prefecture V.” Now that was being diplomatic of her. Bannson had actually flung and broken a priceless piece of sculpture on learning that the Oriente Protectorate had seized three JumpShips. On the suggestion of Daoshen Liao!
The lift started down, building speed quickly as Di’s stomach lurched. “You discussed that with the ambassador from Oriente, didn’t you?”
“He was understandably curious how I moved troops and supplies around so quickly.” Daoshen sounded as if he were purring, self-satisfied and smug.
“And so the Protectorate feints at Elnath,” Jones said, “is able to grab Ohrensen, and they never show a weakness to the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth. At my employer’s expense.” The walls blurred past now, and she took a step back.
Daoshen remained where he was, so close to the near useless safety rail that if Di had wanted, she could have scrubbed the smirk off his face with a good shove. She didn’t believe even one of the self-serving tales telling about the Confederation leader’s superhuman strength or spiritual vision. She believed that if she had a secure way off-planet just now, she’d make herself infamous throughout the entire Inner Sphere.
“It is a wonderful plan,” he said. For a few brief seconds, Di thought that he might be complimenting her on her bloodlust.
How far would this lift descend? “It would be better if my employer were given his due.” If she brought it back with her, the appointment of nobility, then Dagger Di Jones was due a reward of her own. Bannson could be very generous when he was in a good mood.
“He is truly so eager to bring his fortunes and assets under Confederation influence? He sees the future drawing close?”
“He can tell which way the wind blows.” She resisted the urge to sniff at the air. “And you know the final offer: his fortune and businesses, minus the tribute already agreed upon, are to be awarded him in hereditary fief.” Otherwise, this snake-of-a-Liao could seize everything Bannson owned, inside the Confederation and out, as was the right of the Chancellor over a citizen and unincorporated noble. Bannson was no dummy. He’d have his cake, eat it and lease options on it, too.
Still, he played in an impressive league when he drew an inside straight against the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation. It was just one of the reasons she had tied her fortune to Bannson’s star.
Daoshen Liao still held a few aces up his sleeve, though.
The walls suddenly fell away, and a wave of vertigo swept over Di as the lift plunged down into a massive, well-lit cavern of mythic proportions. The lift shuddered as it shed speed quickly. That plus the swing in equilibrium had her grasping the rail, staring out and down and over the ranks of military equipment.
BattleMechs: six… no, nine full companies! Men Shen. Blackjacks. Assault-weight Yu Huangs and Raven scout ’Mechs. More companies of Po, Regulator and Ontos armored tanks. APCs and aerospace fighters and VTOLs.
This was the place. The place Bannson had told her about. One of Daoshen Liao’s treasure troves, kept spotless, no doubt, by a legion of workers who would never—never–be allowed out from under Mask scrutiny for fear of what they might say. Di had an image, dark even for her, of those workers and technicians (and yeah, even MechWarriors who had to operate the machines now and then to keep them in working order) kept in a nearby barracks hewn out of the raw mountainside and never seeing the light of day. The salt mines of Sian.
And what of her? Daoshen had once shown this to Jacob Bannson, but why her?
For the first time since setting foot on the wretched planet, Di wondered if she would be allowed to leave.
The lift continued to drop slowly, sliding down the equivalent of a five-story building as it finally came to a smooth rest at ground level. Daoshen lifted a portion of the railing, swinging it back on hidden hinges. “Do you know what it means to serve a master who takes a Lord?” That was how she heard it in his voice: Big L—Lord.
Di let her right arm hang loosely at her side. A slight stretch and the clasp released, dropping a half kilo of finely balanced and laser-sharpened steel into her hand. Daoshen never once looked back. She was no threat. So he thought.
“I’m Bannson’s.” It was the first time she had mentioned her employer’s name out loud. “You don’t dare.”
Maybe she was afraid of Daoshen Liao. A little. Now. But Di wasn’t going to bow and scrape before anyone. That was another promise made on the world that he had forced her to remember.
Daoshen paused, cocked his head to one side as if he could hear the threat. “Truly? In all the demands you carry in that data crystal, is there a request for citizenship and inviolate status for any of his people?”
The crafty spider was giving something away? Di didn’t believe that, not for a second. But, she also knew the answer, and so remained mute.
“Go back to ‘your employer.’ Remind him.” He started walking again, leaving Di to wonder and guess of what she should remind her employer. The treasure trove? Daoshen’s scrambled eggs in naranji sauce? She would have a long talk with him about the inviolate status thing. Oh, yes, she would.
And she might owe Daoshen something for that, someday.
“Remind him, and tell him that when Liao falls, he is to come for his reward. That will be our time to consummate the bargain. He will have earned it. That is the word of Daoshen.”
33
Sons of Liao
In a bold gamble, Prefect Tao has pulled forces out of a dozen different engagements, conceding some, stalling others. These have been leveraged against Menkar and a counterthrust against Foochow, stunning Capellan holdfasts, while heavy aerospace assets assembled in the space far above New Aragon have jumped for Palos and Wei to institute a full blockade of those staging worlds.
—Jacquie Blitzer, battlecorps.org/blitzer/, New Aragon, 6 August 3134
Lianyungang Military Reserve
Qinghai, Liao
Prefecture V, Republic of the Sphere
13 August 3134
Damned self-centered, obstinate slip of a Capellan whore!”
Daniel Peterson winced as Ruskoff slammed the door and the frosted glass pane rattled angrily. The Legate stormed into his office off the Planetary Defense Center like he might assault a city in his Zeus. He set himself in a wide-legged stance, hands balled into tight fists. His burning glare fell on Daniel first, as if the entire situation were his fault. The disgraced Paladin knew he certainly bore the lion’s share of any blame to be passed around.
But Ruskoff’s fury passed over him. It slid by Lady Eve Kincaid with hardly a pause and then by Colonel James Lwellen, ranking military officer on Nánlù and another of Lord Governor Hidic’s representatives. It stuck to neither of them. The Legate was neutrally mad. Railing-at-the-world furious. Nothing personal.
Daniel knew that feeling; every muscle quivering and the taste of blood in his mouth. He had felt it after the Massacre, before moving on to penance and rebuilding himself as Ezekiel Crow. More recently, he’d seethed with such fury at Jacob Bannson. It took betrayal to raise this kind of anger.
“Governor Lu Pohl?” Lady Kincaid asked.
“Who else?” Ruskoff continued his assault, stomping forward in pursuit of a known objective. He eased past the visitors’ chairs—easily done, with Daniel’s shoved off a bit farther to one side, away from the line officers—cornered his desk and secured the sideboard bar. He splashed amber into three glasses, colored his own with some dark plum juice, and then poured a fourth glass full of crystal clear and dropped in two cubes from an ice bucket. He carried his own glass to his desk, but rather than take his seat he perched on one corner.
The Legate did not serve, so the officers rose and picked up their own glasses. Lwellen also cut his bourbon with plum. Lady Kincaid preferred hers neat. She also favored her left side, where some shrapnel had ended up after blowing through her cockpit.
Daniel did not move, hands clenched tight around the chair’s armrests, staring at the remaining glass.
“It’s sweet water,” Ruskoff said, his voice a touch calmer.
Daniel rocked himself up from his seat. “Of course it is,” he said. It was a thank-you, and Ruskoff knew it. But Daniel was also very conscious of the fact that Lwellen moved too far aside to let him pass and Eve Kincaid avoided his gaze on the way back.
Pariah.
Traitor.
Daniel’s wrists itched where the shackles had recently come off. He did not return to his chair, drifting farther away from the line officers to lean up against the office wall, instead. His water smelled faintly of naranji and tasted of sweet citrus.
“Anna Lu Pohl will not reconcile,” Ruskoff began the meeting. “Lord Governor Hidic and I spent half an hour reasoning with Gerald Tsang, and finally convinced him that we would only take the word of the Governor.” He sipped, grimaced. “She tied into the video conference and offered us two days’ grace before Confederation forces kicked us off Liao.”
Lady Kincaid sat up straighter. “Does she really have that kind of control over the CapCons?”
“I doubt it. But she’s certainly in with them now. The palace district is guarded by what few militia she trusts and one or two Conservatory cadets.” No one asked how the Legate knew this. “The bulk of her ‘guard’ is operating in concert with McCarron’s Armored Cavalry and this recent amalgamation calling itself House Ijori.”
“After the dead Warrior House,” Daniel volunteered softly. “Mai Uhn Wa is a student and disciple of the lost order.”
Lwellen dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Uppity kids and Ijori Dè Guāng terrorists. We’ve dealt with their kind before. The Dynasty Guard and McCarron’s Second are the real threat. The question is, can we meet them here, or do we fall back to Nánlù?”
That was Hidic’s question. Daniel tasted his water, but did not swallow, holding it in his mouth for a moment, warming it, thinking.
“I’d like to meet them here,” Ruskoff said. “Beilù doesn’t have a heavy industrial base to wreck, and Chang-an is here. If we follow Lord Governor Hidic’s suggestion, we’ll destroy exactly what we want to protect.”
Lwellen was not swayed. “And if we lose here, lose big, Nánlù falls to the Confederation by default. We’ll have to burn it behind us.”
Daniel glanced sharply at the colonel’s back. Ruskoff frowned, not liking that idea any more than the disgraced veteran.
Fortunately, it was Eve Kincaid who came to the rescue. “You do that, and the Republic can never come back to Liao. I think MechWarrior Flint proved that quite ably by burning our bridges in Chang-an.”
Along with the Destroyer and its martyred crew. Daniel gave the Sphere Knight high marks for taking responsibility for the Principes Warrior, but even so she could not quite face the ugliness straight on. Of course, he’d had years to practice looking in mirrors and staring out into sleepless nights.
“The key to taking back Beilù is the Dynasty Guard,” Ruskoff said, turning the meeting around to practical considerations. He eased off the corner of his desk, leaving his sweating glass behind on the blotter, and walked over to one wall where he’d tacked up a map. “If we kick out the biggest support propping up the Confederation drive, then Prefect Tao’s strategy to blockade Wei and Palos might have time to work. Without constant refreshment, Terrence McCarron and this Mai Uhn Wa will wither and die.”
“You’re suggesting we leave Chang-an in enemy hands, then, and go after the Guard. But how?” Lwellen pushed his agenda by attacking Ruskoff’s. “The Guard owns Hussan, the Du-jin Mountains and now the entire eastern and northern territories. The Capellan pseudomystic babble circulating says that they’ve received the guidance of Sun-Tzu Liao, which makes sense. Only Confederation inefficiency would have them move their base of operations out of the south and stake out claims on the plains and farmlands.”
“It does make pinning them down harder.” Given that she’d worked in Nánlù with Hidic, Lady Kincaid still sounded reluctant to agree. “They haven’t even moved to defend Chang-an. Why not come again at the local forces protecting the capital?”
Daniel swallowed. “Because we’ll lose.” He saw disgust in Lwellen’s eyes. It talks. “McCarron’s Second and the Conservatory uprising have won over the people here. Which is why Governor Lu Pohl has gone over.”
“You’re the expert on treason,” Lwellen snapped.
A heated flush prickled at the back of Daniel’s neck. “Go on,” Ruskoff told him.
“Any direct assault against Chang-an now will be seen as an attack against Liao, not for Liao. This has been the Confederation strategy from the start, to win back support from an alienated—and very large—portion of the population. It is time to attack that strategy.”
Lwellen tossed off the last of his drink and reached forward to set the glass on the Legate’s desk. “How can you attack an idea?”
“With the truth,” Ruskoff offered. “Sun-Tzu Liao has not extended any magical protection over the Confederation forces. If he had, the Guard would be invincible. We know they are not. We will prove it. Rout them, and people will begin to doubt again.”
“If we can pin them down.” Lady Kincaid returned to practical considerations. “They must have a dozen staging camps established by now.”
“Staging camps, yes.” Ruskoff weighed back in. “But there may be one place in particular where they will stand and defend to the death. We’ve managed to compromise some highly placed members of the Cult of Liao in the last week. The Dynasty Guard has apparently occupied one of their ‘holy sites’—the place where Sun-Tzu Liao ascended, apparently.”
Lwellen scoffed. “And you think the Guard will defend such nonsense?”
Lady Kincaid hesitated. “They obviously thought enough of that nonsense to pull out of Nánlù. If they hadn’t, we would be in worse shape. It may be worth the chance. If they allow it.”
“If we can, we stand and fight,” Ruskoff agreed. “If not, well, we do as we must.” He left the map, paced in front of his desk and finally stopped in front of Lwellen. “That includes returning Lieutenant Daniel Peterson to active military service.”
That brought Lwellen to his feet in a hurry, though he looked slightly foolish having to stumble shove his chair back with Ruskoff crowding over him. “Oh, that helps our cause, when the Black Paladin and the Betrayer of Liao comes out of retirement to fight for us. It’s insulting enough that he is even here!”
Ruskoff had also caught Daniel flat-footed. He found his voice, quivering and shaking back in a dark corner of his mind. “You can’t. People wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t understand,” he finished with a nod at the other line officers. He knew why the offer had come, and worried that Ruskoff might unmask himself and what small part he had played in the Uprising of 3128. Not a good idea. The Legate needed a united force. He needed a decisive victory.
“I need him,” the Legate said, dismissing Daniel’s unspoken arguments. “Lord Governor Hidic has already agreed to sign an order of amnesty.” That stunned the entire room. Eve Kincaid glanced sharply toward Daniel. Lwellen sat back down and Daniel sagged back against the wall, his legs suddenly unable to bear much weight.
Ruskoff waited to make certain he had everyone’s attention. He most certainly did. “If we are to reclaim the moral high ground, with citizens and Capellan residents both, we need to set an example that redemption is possible. What better way?” The military officer walked over to Daniel, pulled him off the wall and forced him to stand upright. “Daniel is a son of Liao. We can use that in our favor.”
“I would like to confirm this,” Lwellen said, jumping back to his feet like some kind of military jack-in-the-box. Ruskoff’s handling had him rattled and off balance, no doubt as the Legate had intended from the moment he’d walked into the room. Daniel stood silent as the colonel left the room. Lady Kincaid remained.
“You did not have to do this,” Dan
iel said once the door rattled shut behind Lwellen.
“Yes,” Ruskoff said. “I did.” He left Daniel’s side and moved back to his earlier perch on the edge of his desk. He looked at once commanding and compassionate. Daniel had not seen the latter in some time. “I need experienced soldiers, and you’re still one of the most able Mech Warriors on the planet. And I meant what I said to Lwellen. You might be valuable in proving the power of redemption to the Capellans.”
Lady Kincaid leaned forward. “But that’s not why you did this,” she said. Perhaps guessing, perhaps not.
The Legate smiled thinly. “Not completely, no.” He said nothing more on it.
She climbed gingerly to her feet, set her glass next to Lwellen’s. “The Black Paladin rides again?” she asked. She stepped over to look Daniel up and down very carefully. In the past few days Daniel had gotten to know people’s expressions very well when it came to judging him. Eve Kincaid’s was different. She seemed to measure something deeper than his actions. “Maybe,” was her final judgment.
Then she limped out the door.
Ruskoff met Daniel’s gaze. “If I can forgive myself, I can begin to forgive you. What you do from here is in fate’s hands.” He glanced at the door. “Lwellen will be finding out any moment that the Lord Governor’s promise is contingent on a lot of things, including proof of your rehabilitation and your testimony in a great deal of hearings. So I suggest you absent yourself for the unflattering discussion we will have on the merits of your case. Unless you do not trust me to look after your interests.”
Daniel shook his head, throat pinched closed and unable to speak.
“Go on, then, Daniel. Get some rest and come in fresh for our morning’s planning session. If we’re going to force the Dynasty Guard to stand and fight, we’ll need to convince Hidic to back our play with every last soldier he can spare.”
By Temptations and By War mda-7 Page 27