By Temptations and by War

by Loren L. Coleman

  David Parks waved frantically from the street, pointing at the entrance with enthusiastic stabs. No time left, Evan decided. He pushed up the engine’s throttle, thankful that the control helmet afforded him some hearing protection as the diesel coughed and roared and belched.

  A larger step, leaning into the awkward turn toward the gate. Another. He found that a kind of swaggering walk worked best, as if the ’Mech was slightly bowlegged. Careful of the growing crowd, he paced the lumbering machine forward, into the gated entrance and right into the path of the escaping Ranger, which power braked into a skidding, sideways stop.

  And then Evan stumbled backward as the Ranger’s machine guns opened up, slamming twenty-millimeter caseless into the ConstructionMech’s bulky frame.

  “Zāo gāo!” Evan yelled, his commandeered machine shaking with palsy. Sparks jumped off the bulky arms as bullets ricocheted, scoring the industrial yellow paint with bright metal scars. Two bullets starred the safety grade ferroglass off to his left, and a third punched through to ping against a metal support to Evan’s right.

  “Hùn dàn cretinous oubluduk!” he cursed, mixing hàn-yŭ, English and Russian.

  Then he pushed forward on the gearing stick, wading into the maelstrom of machine gun fire.

  The controls were just awkward enough that Evan had to think about every movement. It wasn’t an efficient melding of man and machine, but it was still a ’Mech and the Ranger was really a glorified military truck. He swung one of his arms in front of the yellow, glare-resistant ferroglass as a kind of shield, grateful when a fury of sparks danced around its edges. Working thumbsticks, he opened the claw into a narrow slit. Just enough to see through.

  Just in time to see a turtleback jump the curb and fishtail through the muddy turf, then angle back in to sideswipe the ConstructionMech. Evan tensed for the impact, and at the last second kicked his left leg forward to meet the onrushing vehicle. His kick staved in the side of the engine compartment and shattered the left front wheelwell. The truck spun, tilted up and rolled over, smashing up against the Conservatory’s inside wall.

  The impact also teetered the ConstructionMech sideways, forcing Evan to stutter-step-stumble to the right, opening up a path for the Ranger. The vehicle cornered forward, straightened itself out and made a run for the Chang-an suburbs of Yiling.

  Evan thrust out another arm, low, opening his claw as wide as he could. His grab for the Ranger’s fender missed, and the front wheel careened off the extended claw. The driver had to brake again rather than risk hitting the overturned truck. Evan reached out again, this time managing to catch hold of a side-mounted running board. He clamped his vise-claw down on the exposed metal, binding himself to the armored vehicle.

  A shallow victory. The Ranger might be held fast, but it still had a lethal bite. The turret weapon swung around again, tracking to the left and in Evan’s direction.

  Sparks jumped off of the turret. Off to Evan’s right, a cadet had appropriated an infantryman’s rifle. He opened fire, trying to add some meager support for the industrial machine. Behind him came a large crowd of demonstrators-turned-mutineers. Evan wasn’t certain he saw it right, but as the turret gun tracked past him toward this new threat, and also into the people behind, he thought he saw a man leap from the opposite side of the Ranger and make a wild dash at the rifleman, arms waving madly.

  He didn’t make it. New fire licked long fingers of flame out of the turret barrels, and lethal metal stitched small furrows into the ground at the rifleman’s feet. The bullets tracked upward, shattering legs into bloody ruin and then pitching the body up and back. A few people farther back dropped as well, catching pass-through fire.

  Enough!

  Evan extended the legs on his machine, standing it as tall as he could and dragging the Ranger up at an angle. Working the controls, he levered up his bulky right arm, extended it over the back of the Ranger, and then brought it down on the turret, smashing, bending the barrels, crushing armor and caving in the roof as he struck again and again and again.

  A muted knocking at Evan’s left ear and a gesture of movement caught his attention. He glanced over, then did a double take as his brain registered the threat. The same man who had run from the Ranger had picked up the fallen rifle. He crouched outside of the cockpit, perched awkwardly on the cowling that covered the ConstructionMech’s left knee, holding the rifle in a sideways firing position and tapping the barrel against the ferroglass. He dressed civilian, but had hard eyes and burn scars eating up one side of his face. The easy way he handled the assault rifle proclaimed him a veteran.

  Before Evan could respond, violently or otherwise, the man simply shook his head and gestured toward the Ranger. He swung down using the nearby rungs for support, landing on the ground and walking out from beneath Evan’s cockpit nest with rifle held ready and pointed right into the Ranger’s forward window. Over the roar of the competing diesel engines and through their own armored window, Evan doubted the soldiers inside could hear much of what the man was saying, but there was no mistaking his gestures, demanding their surrender.

  More people surged forward now, creating a living wall around the besieged Ranger. They had nowhere to go. The Ranger shut down and a door popped open. Raised hands were the first thing to appear as one by one the occupants surrendered.

  Then a cheer swept through the assembled people as Mai Uhn Wa appeared, a bit unsteady on his feet, but well enough. He was carried up onto the shoulders of a few larger men, hands all around him grasping, slapping his sides and arms, wanting to touch the man who had sparked the uprising.

  Mai Wa was not accepting accolades alone. Students also clambered up the sides of the ConstructionMech, slapping at its metal carapace. They raised fists into the air in celebration. Evan saw Mai Wa reach into the audience, pulling and prodding until Hahn Soom Gui also rode high atop shoulders.

  Evan’s relief at seeing his friend in one piece was short lived, however, as Hahn leaned in to clasp warm hands with Mai Wa. Shouts of Liào Su¯ n Zı˘ and Liào Dè Guāng mixed together, loud enough for Evan to hear even over the ’Mech’s engine noise. Then Mai began to order the crowd into small, organized groups, which was when Evan realized, regardless of best intentions or who fired first, the end result was all that mattered. The end result was that Hahn, Evan, and some Republic-fanatic infantrymen had put the full fury of the uprising into Mai Wa’s hands.

  Evan had wanted to instill a measure of control over the riot, and he had helped do so.

  And were things now better, or worse?

  PART TWO

  The Marches of Chaos

  15

  Council of Fear

  In a stunning announcement, the world of Styk declared its independence from The Republic of the Sphere. Lord Governor Hidic is calling home Senators Jiu Soon Lah and Tiberius Denton to deal with this latest crisis, hoping that the return of our senior diplomats will bolster his position and help bring Styk back into the fold.

  —Governor Mikhail Cherenko, Genoa, 25 June 3134

  Sovetskaya

  Lower Nánlù, Liao

  26 June 3134

  Lord Governor Marion Hidic’s refuge near Sovetskaya was opulent, well guarded, and, in Viktor Ruskoff’s opinion, a completely inappropriate setting for the high-level meeting.

  A roaring fire burned at one end of the study, putting out far too much heat for the medium-size room. Scented logs snapped and popped. A gold, wire-mesh screen saved the thick pile carpet that swept around the hearth like a malachite ocean breaking against redbrick sand. Bookcases framed two sides of the study; history and law on one wall and an impressive set of classics on the other. The Lord Governor had already shown off the prize of his collection, encased under glass and held in a nitrogen atmosphere: a copy of the world charter, granted by the ancient Terran Hegemony and referring to Liao by its original name of Cynthiana.

  Interesting, but hardly worth pulling Viktor away from the troubles plaguing modern-day Liao. Not when he had Confede
ration forces on-planet and a student uprising in control of the Conservatory. His plate was full.

  Lord Governor Hidic didn’t mind. He paced the room, promising the head of Styk’s world governor on a platter. Leon Beresk, his staff section chief, looked as if he’d like to do the Governor’s pacing for him, shifting uncomfortably on the overstuffed leather sofa. Even Gerald Tsung looked uneasy. Elbows on his chair’s armrests, Tsung repeatedly tapped his fingers together. Only Knight-Errant Eve Kincaid, recently arrived on Liao and the other professional soldier in the room, exhibited some reserve. She asked intelligent questions, and gave succinct, useful answers when she spoke at all.

  Ruskoff stood at the window, avoiding the small group. Outside, snowy drifts piled up near braces of tall evergreen. A venerable Raven BattleMech strutted by with its birdlike gait. The dropping nose, so much like a bird’s beak, contained an impressive sensor package that rivaled anything The Republic produced today. A good, solid Capellan design. Leaving out the fact that Hidic had federalized local troops for his own protection, a move that undercut Ruskoff’s authority, there was no reason other than power politics that demanded this meeting be held in Nánlù and not in Chang-an. He’d debated saying so, then realized that he’d only be telling one other person in the room something they didn’t already know.

  Maybe not her either.

  “Are you determined not to join us, Viktor?” Hidic had paused for breath, noticed that he did not have the room’s full attention. He took a seat next to his aide.

  Ruskoff let the heavily brocaded draperies fall back over the window, shutting out Nánlù’s winter. Crossing the carpeted floor in half a dozen easy strides, he stood at one end of the small congregation with hands clasped behind his back in a semblance of parade rest. He felt no desire to sit. In fact, he felt a subtle push to remain slightly removed from the council. “At your service, Lord Governor.”

  Marion Hidic was a square-jawed man of medium height but good build. He wore his conservative suit quite well, with the SuDa University tie tack polished to a golden shine. His family had earned citizenship supporting Devlin Stone’s formation of The Republic. He would likely quote The Republic’s motto on his deathbed: Ad Securitas Per Unitas.

  Liberty through unity.

  “What I’d like to know,” the Lord Governor asked, “is your impression of Legate Heivilin. Is she likely to have gone over with Governor Lusebrink?”

  He spoke of Legate Daria Heivilin, Styk’s senior military official.

  “There is no way to say, sir.” He paused, then, “If I were you, I’d hope that Daria was not party to the idea of secession.”

  “Why is that?” Gerald Tsung asked. Governor Lu Pohl had sent her aide in her stead, a decision which did not sit well with Hidic. But it was a good question regardless. The Lord Governor backed it with a grunt and a nod.

  “Because if Daria supported this move, she did so in such a way to organize it bloodlessly and keep a sound command structure within the local military organization. She will be ready to meet any challenge of force.” Lady Kincaid nodded her agreement.

  “What makes you so certain?” Hidic asked.

  “That is what I would do.”

  Which also did not sit well with the Lord Governor. If Hidic was looking for reassurance, the man had summoned the wrong person to his State-supported retreat.

  Leon Beresk sat forward with a creak of leather and old knee joints. His sharp blue eyes promised strength for a man who had only thinning snow on the roof. “Look, Styk will take care of itself. We’ve sent to Terra for Senator Jiu Soon Lah, haven’t we?” He waited for Hidic’s nod, which came short and curt. “Then we wait for her to get back. She may be Decentralist Party, but she’s still Republic. And she’s respected on Styk.”

  Tsung shrugged. “That’s Styk. Governor Lu Pohl will want to know what we will do about Liao.”

  “That should be our question for her,” Beresk said, then took a sip from his sweating water glass before replacing it on the redwood coffee table. Our seemed to include only himself and the Lord Governor.

  Ruskoff rubbed at his jaw, feeling stubble as his afternoon shadow filled in. Politics, he reminded himself, was the art of asking for one thing in order to get another. “What we could use,” he began slowly, “are the Sixth Hastati Sentinels being employed on Gan Singh.”

  Eve Kincaid looked him over coolly, her winter blue eyes betraying neither insult nor injury. “Are you implying that we cannot handle the local problem ourselves?” she asked, her voice tightly controlled.

  Her uniform decorations rated her at twelve years of service with numerous awards for bravery and accomplishment. She had been working with a small cadre of Republic Knights and Prefect Shun Tao on New Aragon, but with McCarron’s Armored Cavalry slipping forces onto Liao she was ordered to investigate and assist, bringing with her a mixed company from the veteran Principes Guard.

  Ruskoff also suspected that she acted as Prefect Tao’s local eyes on Ruskoff. With the current state of chaos gripping Prefecture V, unsure whom your allies might be from one day to the next, Ruskoff couldn’t blame the Prefect.

  “My assessment is that we should lock down Liao, now, rather than delay and fight any kind of lengthy campaign.”

  “Lock it down?” Hidic waved off the idea. “We have two isolated incidents and a small enemy force running around on planet. Handle it.”

  Isolated? “Lord Governor, the incidents are not separate at their root cause. In Shanto, the small garrison post self-destructed over whether or not to take control of the local preparatory school when students acted out in support of the Conservatory uprising. Shots were exchanged. Men were killed. Sir.”

  Leon Beresk placed a cautionary hand on Hidic’s leg, keeping the noble from making any statement that might be used against him later. “The Lord Governor does not impugn the tragic loss of these sons of Liao,” he said. “What he meant is . . . there are no organized ties between the two events.”

  “Are there?” Lady Kincaid asked directly of the Legate.

  “Not that we have discovered,” Ruskoff admitted. “But we are seeing more cases of insubordination and even outright revolt. With the Second McCarron’s running free on Liao, we spend too much time worrying our own ranks to discover whom we can trust. Administration policy to confine pro-Capellan troops to Liao is working against us.”

  “There is no such policy,” Hidic said, managing to sound accused and self-righteous all at once.

  “We can argue that there is or there isn’t, Lord Governor.” Ruskoff walked his career into dangerous ground. “Prefect Tao will certainly confirm that our official policy is one of enlightened liberalism. That does not explain why some top-drawer grads from the Conservatory, as well as Bulics and Renfield academies, were not accepted to postings in the Triarii and Principes and lesser candidates were.”

  Lady Kincaid blinked slowly, digesting this idea. “You are worried that any show of less than complete control will encourage further episodes.”

  “I have eleven men and women, three of them officers, absent without leave. I cannot prove they have gone over to the Second McCarron’s, or to the Ijori Dè Guāng, but there is that chance.”

  “Eleven.” Leon Beresk shrugged. “Hardly a drop in the bucket.”

  “Legate Ruskoff,” the Knight-Errant spoke up again, “how many soldiers have you lost to underground activity in the past four years. Prior to the invasion?”

  “Three.”

  “That is an increase of nearly four hundred percent.”

  “You aren’t buying into this?” Hidic asked. The Lord Governor went to a side bar to splash a small stream of bourbon over ice. “We’re talking eleven people who may simply be scared their first time facing live fire. We don’t know.”

  “No, we don’t.” Gerald Tsung plucked at the sleeve of his shirt where it peeked out of his suit jacket. “But we’ve also had two local diems and the city magistrate of Duan question Republic policies in official forums
of late. Their stand mirrors the Cult of Liao platform. Not a lot, in and of itself, but . . . suggestive.”

  “Suggestive. A politician’s word for needing more polling data.” Hidic nearly smiled. “Anna worried about the next elections?”

  “Why should she be?” Tsung asked breezily. “She ran on a People’s Choice platform. At this rate she’ll be looking at a landslide.”

  The discussion was getting far afield from where Ruskoff intended. He dialed back the rhetoric. “I’m not saying that we’re looking at open rebellion in the streets,” he said, conceding the point, “but I’d like to show a decisive move. Now.”

  “Then deal with McCarron’s Armored Cavalry,” Hidic ordered. “You’ve let that wound fester too long.”

  He nodded. “Tell me where they are, and I will destroy them.” He waited. “That is our problem. The Armored Cavalry moves too swiftly, striking only when it suits them. They are quite obviously getting support from the local population as well.”

  The Lord Governor frowned. “What do you propose?”

  Knowing he was about to make a political enemy, Ruskoff said, “First, we retake the Liao Conservatory. The longer we leave students in control, the more we legitimize their position. And I don’t want that dagger held at my back if we do get a line on the Armored Cavalry.”

  “You’ve given them five days,” Lady Kincaid noted. “Why haven’t you handled this already?”

  Tsung cleared his throat. “That was the Governor’s call. We have two dead students riddled with machine gun fire, several more wounded . . . a lot of fence-sitters went over to the demonstrators after that. The Conservatory also has popular support from the suburbs of YiCha and Suri. The Governor hopes to avoid further loss of life and try diplomatic means. It worked once before.”