By Temptations and by War

by Loren L. Coleman

  “I heard it was more like a derringer,” David said, leering across the table and waggling his eyebrows at Jenna. “That true?”

  Jenna’s green eyes sparkled playfully. To Mark’s embarrassment and Evan’s relief—he really didn’t want to get into a discussion of his friends’ relationship, not at that level—she merely smiled and shrugged. Lo flushed a healthy pink and Evan pretended to cover his ears with his hands.

  “Too—much—information,” he chanted, mocking Mark’s earlier routine.

  Everyone laughed, and on a gray day with news of the budding war storming the campus, it was a welcome sound. Their lunch rendezvous broke apart on that note. Mark gave Jenna a quick squeeze and David shot each of them with finger guns, blowing the smoke off the barrels after and then holstering them at his sides. “Sim time,” he said, and jogged off to the simulator complex. Mark zipped up his windbreaker and pushed off for the gym. Evan hooked his backpack over one shoulder and ambled out toward the edge of the covered park to stare into the rain.

  “Self-absorbed, aren’t we?” Jen asked, bumping him with a hip check as she stepped up on his left side. She hugged her CH&C books against her chest. “You thinking about the fighting?”

  Evan reached out to grab a sprinkling of water, and scrubbed it over his face. The chill pleasantly shocked his skin and distracted him from Jenna’s close proximity. “We’ll be late for class,” he said, avoiding an answer.

  Weaving past tables and knots of students, they chose a covered walkway that led toward the social sciences buildings. The smell of damp cement and fresh mud followed them. They walked close enough that their arms rubbed from time to time, sending an uneasy burst of warmth up to Evan’s shoulder.

  “Okay, give,” she said as they came to the intersection of two paths. From here, all three choices took them out into the rain. Turning left, it was a short fifty meters to social sciences, and part of that was shielded by a couple of large red cedars. “You’ve been moody for a couple of days and I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

  Evan considered the silent treatment, and knew he would never hold up against Jenna’s constant badgering. Reaching into his jacket’s inside pocket for the tightly folded letter he’d tucked away, he handed it over.

  Jenna snapped it open and read. “You’ve been offered your citizenship.” Her eyes glanced between the letter and Evan, glowing like polished jade. “We’ve always known you were holding out on us, Evan Kurst. All that community service and campaign work. You’re really going legit, aren’t you?”

  Her teasing needled him gently, but Evan still tensed. “You don’t think it’s a bit suspect?”

  “Why? Oh, the war?” To her credit, she didn’t dismiss it out of hand. “You think David might be right, that the government is going to step up the pressure to put us in the field faster?”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  Republic citizenship was not a right, it was earned. Residents knew mostly the same privileges as anyone else. They simply couldn’t hold titles, or large landholds. And they couldn’t vote. Part of Governor Lu Pohl’s triumph, in fact, was that she had persuaded enough citizens—people who thought enough of The Republic to actually work for its betterment—that their old heritage was still something of which to be proud.

  Evan’s foster parents had believed that, even though their pro-Capellan bias had kept them from earning citizenship despite sixteen years running a foster home for war orphans. In the fantasy all orphans created, Evan liked to believe that his real parents would have thought the same. That was the reason Evan had volunteered. Never to specifically earn citizenship for himself.

  And to offer it to him now?

  “ ‘Based on your earlier contribution to The Republic,’ ” Jenna read out loud, tasting the words, “ ‘and your continued commitment to its defense.’ ” She handed it back. “You could’ve gotten this letter at any time, you know. You earned it.”

  Tucking the letter away, Evan nodded out into the rain. Jenna stepped out first, careless of the rain that soaked into her tightly braided hair. Evan handed her his backpack and hiked his jacket up to form a temporary umbrella for them both. It got them under the trees, where big, fat drops leaked down, but not so hard that either of them cared. Evan settled his jacket back on his shoulders.

  “The fact is,” he began, almost thought better of it, then continued, “I earned it two years ago. Double service for my political work on the campaign and my academy years . . . why didn’t it come then?”

  Because he was flagged as a potential Capellan sympathizer? Because The Republic wasn’t worried about him then, planning to shuffle him off to the side in a dead-end militia post or cashier him due to lack of billets? Jenna didn’t make any other suggestions because deep down both students felt the truth of it. The Republic wanted to buy him off now because he might be called up for off-planet duty. And an enfranchised soldier had more to fight for, didn’t he?

  “You’ll still accept, of course.”

  When had he said that? “I don’t know,” he said. “Would you?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, you have to be part of the system to change it, don’t you?” She grinned, reached for a laugh. “The Ijori Dè Guāng notwithstanding.”

  As a joke it fell flat, stretching a long silence between them as the two cadets gained the social sciences building and shook off the rain. Jenna whipped her braids around, flinging water in all directions. She glanced at him repeatedly, but held her tongue until they slipped into the main hall, joining the press of students who shuffled around between classes.

  “Do you think we should drop Rogers’s CH&C course?” she asked. “I mean, if The Republic is really paying attention to this kind of detail right now—”

  “I don’t like being manipulated,” Evan said shortly. He nodded Jenna through the auditorium door first. “Not by anyone.”

  But then a hand fell on his shoulder, preventing him from following. “No,” a soft voice said as the hand turned him around. “Going your own way has never been a problem for you, has it?”

  Evan might have overlooked the other man without recognizing him. The long hair, a wispy beard shot through with gray—but the voice, that was familiar. And the eyes. Still dark and hard, like a doll’s eyes. In less than a second, they chilled Evan right to his core. He dropped his backpack to the floor, stood their dumbly.

  Mai Uhn Wa had returned to Liao.

  “Hello, Evan,” his old mentor said with false pleasantry. “Don’t you have a greeting for—” he paused, as if trying to think how best to describe himself, “—an old friend?”

  He did. With all the strength he could summon on an instant’s notice, Evan balled up one fist and swung it for the tip of Mai Wa’s chin.

  9

  Sifu

  I see nothing courageous or noble in undermining your legitimate government. Devlin Stone brought peace to The Republic and to much of the Inner Sphere. Have we already forgotten him? I tell you now that I have not. If necessary, I will save our Capellan people even from themselves.

  —Prefect Shun Tao, Public address, 28 May 3134

  Yiling (Chang-an)

  Qinghai Province, Liao

  30 May 3134

  The shock of seeing his old mentor fueled a deep anger within Evan Kurst. Mai Wa’s return at this very moment seemed just as opportunistic as the letter Evan carried in his jacket pocket. He swung without thinking, dropping his thin veneer of calm for several irretrievable seconds.

  And then he was flying forward, pulled off balance and bodily tossed into the center of the corridor. Mai Wa had been ready for any outburst of anger. A simple matter to block the punch, grab, twist and extend . . . Evan tripped over an outstretched leg and levered out full-length before he caught the floor with his hands, chest, and the side of his head.

  The small man stood over him. “Good to see you, too.”

  Evan rocked up onto his knees, shook his head clear. He owned the center of the hall. Other cade
t-students stood around in a rough circle, watching. Jenna waited at the door, casting a wary glance at Mai Wa, but also spending some concern in Evan’s direction. Ruefully, he dusted his hands against his jacket and climbed slowly back to his feet, bending down to get his backpack before facing his old sifu—mentor and master—again.

  Mai Wa kept a flat-footed stance and a wary shoulder turned toward him. “First attempt is free, Evan. The next one will cost you.”

  He considered it. Then Jenna placed a hand on the side of Evan’s face where he had polished the vinyl floor, brushed some dirt from it. “Everything all right here?”

  Ignoring the ringing in his left ear, Evan nodded. “Just saying hello to an old friend. Jenna Lynn Tang, this is Mai Uhn Wa. My old kung fu instructor.” The half-truth rolled easily off his tongue. Chinese martial arts techniques were some of the things Mai had taught him. “I’ve never been able to catch him off his guard.” Also true.

  “Well—” she didn’t sound sure “—if that’s how rough you boys used to play, no wonder David can never get the drop on you.”

  He nodded. “Can I catch up with you in a second?”

  It was an abrupt dismissal, maybe too abrupt. Jenna frowned, then glanced around quickly, nervously. Sometimes having a reputation among his friends served Evan well. This was one of those times. Jenna moved into the small auditorium. Mai and Evan followed, but immediately moved to one side to sit at the upper row of tables. Jenna had found her usual seat next to Hahn, who stared a question back at Evan.

  “Your friends?” Mai asked.

  “My friends.” The emphasis was slightly different between the two. Hands off.

  “Róng-yi, Evan. Easy. You are the only person here I am interested in.”

  “That makes me feel so much safer.” Evan shouldered his backpack onto the table. Professor Rogers stepped up to the podium, readying the day’s lecture. As usual, a Conservatory proctor sat in on the class, right down front, taking obvious notes for his report to the dean. “How did you slip back onto Liao?” he asked.

  “Customs was a problem. They’ve tightened down border crossings, certainly, but JumpShip crews are not interrogated as well as they might be. And planetfall?” Mai Wa shrugged. “I am not without resources, even now. Still, if approached, you may want to stick with your story about kung fu instruction. It will hold up much better.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I understand that you have been busy in my absence. I expected nothing less. Causing gridlock traffic to reroute the Heritage Days military parade—a masterful piece of work.”

  Evan simmered. “Greggor has a big mouth.” Who else had Mai contacted?

  “Loyalty, Evan, is never easily abandoned.”

  “You seemed to find it easy to do so.”

  “From your point of view, that is probably true. Or you could say that loyalty is what brought me back. I never forgot you, Evan, and we still want the same thing: a free Liao.”

  “I don’t know what it is you want, Mai. You left us. Care to explain that?”

  The old man steeled himself against something unpleasant. Evan saw it in his eyes, and slack expression. “I was called back to the capital,” he said, careful not to speak direct names. “To the . . . black towers. That is all the answer you should need.”

  Sian! The Celestial Palace . . . Mai Wa had always intimated that his orders came from the highest levels. Evan wanted to stay angry, not believe him, but he couldn’t help asking, “Did the . . . the Celestial Wisdom send you back here?” Meaning to Liao.

  Mai answered it differently. “To the Conservatory? Actually, I was invited. By Professor Rogers.” With a tight smile the old Capellan stood and walked stoically down the aisle to accept a nervous handshake from the professor.

  Professor Rogers was a bookish, slender man, and Evan had no trouble reading his unease in the tight set of his shoulders. He introduced Mai Wa as a visiting lecturer from Bulics Academy, Evan’s previous school. Another weighty glance from Hahn Soom Gui followed that announcement. Evan groaned, and put his head down on the table.

  Fortunately, Mai Wa did not launch into a tirade against the evils of The Republic. He actually talked, at length, about its formation. About Devlin Stone, fresh from victory over the Word of Blake, convincing the great leaders of his time to help him create a new hegemony with Terra at its center. Stone’s swords-to-plowshares program, adopted by—or forced upon—the Great Houses so that war could not be waged at the Jihad’s scale again.

  The world of Liao was part of those events. An example of the horrors of unbridled war, and the courage of a besieged people.

  “But didn’t those people lose their basic freedom of choice?” Only Hahn would ask that question with the dean’s man sitting two tables in front of him. “Liao did not wish to join The Republic. It was thrust upon the Capellan people, for the common good.” The way he phrased it, Hahn could be playing devil’s advocate and leading the discussion into the merits of Republic occupation of Liao.

  Always the politician.

  “One point two billion dead,” Mai reminded them all. “That was the price Liao paid for never capitulating to the Word of Blake fanatics. The continent of Anderia was rendered nearly uninhabitable. Two of the Confederation’s fabled Warrior Houses died here. And still the people rose up time and again, flooding the streets and the battlefields with live bodies, often wielding nothing more than a pistol, or a club. They formed a living shield and forced the Blakists to march over them. Enemy Mech Warriors were never safe outside of their cockpits. Infantry could never hold on to gains made by the ’Mechs and tanks.

  “Does this sound like a people who would meekly accept anything?”

  It was a refined approach to the same arguments which had given birth to the Ijori Dè Guāng. Mai was not given to extravagant gestures or boisterous speech, as Hahn used in rallies. He put the information to you in reasonable tones, and let you decide for yourself. But Mai Wa was a master at leading you to the conclusion he wanted you to find.

  It was a skill he demonstrated as another student stood, waited to be acknowledged. “Some books suggest that our suicidal behavior only fueled the Word of Blake’s anger.” Cynthia Raddle. Evan recognized her haughty tone. “We allowed them no safe refuge, so they razed cities to the ground rather than leave enemy strongholds at their back. In the conduct of civilized warfare—”

  Mai Wa let her get no farther. “Warfare is never civilized,” he said tersely. “It is the focused use of power to gain a specific objective. Focused . . . use.” He repeated those two words slowly.

  “The Word of Blake was not interested in warfare, civilized or otherwise. They were wanton and malicious. They reveled in destruction as only agents of chaos can. Look at their actions on Tikonov, on Northwind, where the public did not as strenuously oppose them. When you make excuses for the Word of Blake, Raddle-xi ă o-jie, you weaken The Republic’s authority and you cheapen the cost to Liao.”

  Ouch! Turning Cynthia’s pro-Republic leanings back onto her was a method Evan had not considered. It was no off-the-cuff remark. Mai had been prepared with her name. Evan fought through the reasoning, trying to see what Mai gained by promoting Stone’s efforts. He did not have far to go, as the other man quickly returned to his point.

  “One point two billion dead. That is what we gave up in the struggle. And Liao, in ten years, did not fall. This was the strength of your grandfathers and grandmothers. This is why our Chung Yeung Festival, the Autumn Remembrance where we feast for the dead, is a larger festivity on Liao than even the New Year’s holiday. This is what it means to be Capellan.”

  Never give up. Never bend your neck—not when you know you are right. These were the lessons Mai Wa attempted to instill in the young minds.

  Evan tried to hold himself in his seat, unwilling to leap to Mai Wa’s assistance yet unable to pass up the opportunity. Someone had to bring the topic back around, and Hahn was apparently not going to stick his neck out a second time in on
e class. Evan rose, felt eyes turn on him as his chair scrapped against the floor. Mai’s curt nod was no more than he had given the other students.

  “The earlier question, Mai sifu. If our ancestors were so strong, why did they embrace The Republic when, according to most scholars, they wanted to resist?”

  No doubt that added Evan’s name to the proctor’s report.

  Mai Wa allowed the question to hang over the class for several long heartbeats. “Shock,” he finally said. “Grief. Liao had suffered through ten long and traumatic years. And on no world was Devlin Stone more celebrated than he was on Liao during the day of liberation. People trusted in the future, and few truly believed then that the Confederation could be pressured into giving up this world. Throughout the entire Jihad, House Liao never once turned away from its birthworld, and that as much as anything empowered the people.

  “Remember that word, young sir. Empowered. The people never threw their lives away without some meaning attached. Not once.”

  Evan sat back down, a warm flush burning his ears. Mai did not wait for a new question.

  “But in a political decision made on a distant planet by powers far removed from the people of this world, Liao was suddenly stripped away from the Confederation with assurances that its Capellan roots would never be forgotten. Would be celebrated, in fact. And it was like that, for a time. The problem that crept up on the population, though, was that it was no longer empowered. Citizenship, once earned under the Confederation flag, had to be earned again in support of The Republic. Add to that Stone’s relocation programs, which flooded many non-Capellan communities onto Liao, and you can see why some would say that we were given no choice. But we were.”

  Was it a good choice, though? The question was there, whether Mai Wa voiced it himself, or not.

  “Now, there is a subtler context to your question, which you did not mean, but I will also try to answer. You asked why the people embraced The Republic. I ask you, did they?” Silence. He let his gaze travel the entire breadth of the class. “Have you?” he asked.