By Temptations and by War

by Loren L. Coleman

  “But not permanently,” Beresk noted. “Another black mark against Ezekiel Crow. That man must’ve had the devil’s own touch.” A look of disgust passed over Lady Kincaid’s face at the mention of the Black Paladin. No one liked to think of Paladins and Knights of the Sphere as corruptible.

  Ruskoff had an agenda beyond discussing Ezekiel Crow. “We have no time for diplomacy in this case. I respectfully suggest using my Triarii and the Principes Guard to retake the Conservatory. Then we bottle up the Armored Cavalry best we can while waiting for whatever reinforcements the Sixth Hastati can spare.”

  Hidic tossed down the rest of his drink, and set his glass back to the sideboard with a rattle of ice. “Unacceptable,” he finally declared. “First of all, there will be no reinforcements, Viktor. Prefect Tao is stretched thin as it is. Second, second—” he held off an interruption with a raised hand “—allowing the Confederation to contest Liao is a show of weakness that undermines the entire Prefecture. You said it yourself; we must be decisive.”

  “You’re telling me what you want, Lord Governor. I’m telling you what we can accomplish.” Tension tightened Ruskoff’s shoulders. “If we cannot call in the Sixth Hastati, why not bring up more of the Principes Guard?”

  But Legate Ruskoff was not fully briefed on off-world movements.

  “The Principes Guard is on Gan Singh,” Eve Kincaid told him now, “replacing the Sixth Hastati, which are being pulled back. Prefecture VI is having more border trouble with the Oriente Protectorate.”

  This wasn’t news to Hidic or Beresk, who glanced nervously at each other. Gerald Tsung collapsed back into his chair, momentarily stunned.

  Tsung found his voice before Ruskoff. “What of our arrangement with New Canton?” he asked, his polished voice showing a bit of tarnish for once. The Lord Governor had promised to coordinate with his counterpart in Prefecture VI for their mutual defense.

  “Suspended, for the time being.”

  Ruskoff distanced himself from Tsung, paced a tight box around the room, thinking. With the exception of Lady Kincaid, everyone seemed too wrapped up in their own fears to focus on anything he had to say. “So we can rely on no new resources?” he finally asked.

  “Minor,” Lady Kincaid answered for the Lord Governor. Or, more likely, for Prefect Tao. “Our hope is to delay the Confederation advance, reorganize our defense, and then break their thrust off at the base.”

  Extend and amputate. Ruskoff nodded, knowing what the Knight-Errant had just given him. She was a second link to Prefect Tao, and they were planning to strike back at Daoshen on his staging worlds inside The Republic or actually over the border into Confederation space. That would likely be determined by the level of reinforcements—any reinforcements—that Shun Tao could draw from other sources.

  “In that case,” Ruskoff said, “we simply cannot run the Armored Cavalry to ground. Not without calling up militia units, which risks more defections and the real possibility of open mutiny.”

  Marion Hidic wasn’t hearing it. “I don’t want excuses, Legate. I want results.” He drew a measure of strength from nods by Beresk and Tsung. “You may handle the students politically or you can ignore them, but get that blasted Confederation force off my world.”

  “At your service,” Ruskoff promised, then cut a military turn for the study door. He’d had enough of this room and quite enough of this council. Liao was more Governor Lu Pohl’s world, more his world, but the Legate knew when to accept a tactical retreat. Viktor Ruskoff was still a soldier. And he had his marching orders.

  16

  The Bitter Taste of Diplomacy

  Mercenary forces in the employ of the Chancellor Daoshen Liao, held in reserve until now, have spearheaded new Confederation drives with assaults on Algot and Tsitsang. With these worlds in contention, the two operating theaters begin to close and Prefect Tao on New Aragon is surrounded on all sides by hostile forces.

  —Cassandra Clarke, reporting from New Aragon, 27 June 3134

  Yiling (Chang-an)

  Qinghai Province, Liao

  29 June 3134

  A Rifleman BattleMech stomped across the street, paused to track the open jeep, and then continued on its way. It passed close to the Men Shen Guardian, where evidence of the uprising’s beginning was now limited to muddy scars in the grass. Armored vehicles lined the Conservatory’s main avenue: one lance of Condor multipurpose vehicles to one side, a mixed unit of Jousts and JES II Strategic Missile Carriers to the other. Armed riflemen and armored infantry wearing Infiltrator and Purifier battlesuits patrolled the walls and grounds.

  Sitting in the front passenger seat of the jeep, Evan Kurst nodded his approval of how Colonel Feldspar set the Conservatory’s defenses. There weren’t many senior instructors the students trusted, but Feldspar had stepped up on the day of the uprising to take control around the training grounds, organize the cadet corps and set an immediate defensive perimeter. Feldspar’s efforts, Evan felt certain, were not lost on the two officers sitting behind him.

  “An impressive display,” Legate Ruskoff said with bland interest. “Since you don’t expect an attack while I am in your company, you’ve shifted . . . what? Half your active forces to the formal grounds?”

  Less than that. Only about a third. Under the cover of night, Whit Greggor had brought in all military equipment appropriated by the Ijori Dè Guāng.

  “Something like that,” was all Evan said. He didn’t mind the Legate underestimating the students’ strength. “We’re taking nothing for granted, though.”

  “In your position, no, you can’t.”

  Evan glanced back, but the Planetary Legate let his comment stand. Ruskoff’s gaze roamed, constantly on the move, studying the defensive posture.

  “We heard that a Knight made planetfall,” Evan said.

  “Did you?”

  They did. Information leaked out of the regular military faster than ever these days. “We half expected to see her with you.” Instead, Ruskoff’s aide was a lieutenant not much older than Evan, with a stiff spine and nervous eyes.

  “Believe it or not, Cadet, there are other issues confronting Liao at the moment.”

  Yet Ruskoff was still here. Did that say the Conservatory uprising was more important to the Legate, or less important to the Knight?

  It was something for Evan to think on as the jeep turned in between a pair of administration buildings with white stone facades. The avenue split two lanes off into large parking lots, then narrowed into a circular drive around the Conservatory’s monument to the Jihad. A Yu Huang, created in dark steel and red enamel, stood at one-third scale. A dozen sculpted people crowded the impressive machine, touching it, standing on its feet to raise fists in victory. More figures carried clubs, farm tools or liberated rifles, swarming a fallen machine laid out before the Yu Huang. There was no way to tell what that machine once was, as the people of Liao ripped it apart with their bare hands. Only the artist had known.

  “Did you know the Conservatory’s original monument actually survived the Jihad?” Evan asked.

  The lieutenant glanced away. Ruskoff paid Evan the basic courtesy of meeting his gaze.

  “It commemorated the retaking of Liao during the Offensive of 3057. A Ti Ts’ang, a Vindicator, and half a dozen Fa Shih troopers making planetfall, suspended above a cheering throng of people. Each large piece displayed a different emblem of the Capellan Warrior Houses. It was buried in the rubble of the old Conservatory. After being excavated, it was cut apart and scrapped.”

  Ruskoff held his ground, stone-faced and calm. “Lots of things changed after the Word’s defeat,” he said simply.

  Evan pressed. “Did you know that work to restore the Conservatory was halted for two weeks as alumni staged a sit-in demonstration?”

  Was that a flicker of surprise twitching Ruskoff’s brow? “No, I didn’t.”

  “It was our first student protest of Liao’s occupation. Each member of that demonstration was arrested, and all were cashiered out
of service within the next five years.”

  The Legate adjusted his uniform. “All militaries downsized after the Jihad, Cadet Kurst. Coincidence.”

  “I don’t think you believe that any more than I do.”

  “Where did you learn this?”

  From Mai Wa, and some treasured documents that survived among various underground movements. Evan smiled tightly. “I went to school,” he said.

  The jeep pulled up in front of a bunker-style building, all gray concrete and narrow windows. The vehicle rocked to a halt as Evan’s driver applied the brakes with gusto. Jenna and Hahn stood in front of a small crowd. Hahn wore a heavy sidearm at his hip. Evan also spied Major Ritter Michaelson, who had offered to remain on campus. David Parks led a patrol on the south side of the university grounds, and Mark had refused to take part in this meeting. Mai Wa. . . .

  Evan actually wished his mentor luck in what he was about today.

  “I have to ask,” Ruskoff said as the troop moved indoors, shuffling down a wide, tiled hall. “What is the status of your detainees?”

  Ignoring the question, Evan stepped through a door. “In here,” he said.

  It was a conference room normally reserved for meetings among the university’s staff. A citrus-polished table glowed under the room’s bright light, crowded by twice the usual number of chairs. An infantry cadet with David Parks’s personal endorsement stood near the door with the only rifle, though several students besides Hahn carried pistols.

  Evan took a seat at one end of the table. Surprisingly, Legate Ruskoff chose a seat right next to Evan, and the lieutenant stood behind his master. An intimate chat, then. Ruskoff would not start off with ultimatums or threats.

  “The students and teachers you have detained?” he asked again, very patiently.

  Evan spread his hands, then placed them flat on the table’s smooth polished top. “There are none left to worry about.”

  “You. . . ?” The Legate nearly rose to the bait, but decided that Evan spoke more literally than with malice. “You freed them all?”

  “Days ago. The staff who did not wish to stay, the nonmilitary students, pro-Republic cadets. All of them were made free to leave.”

  The Legate frowned, studying faces around the room. Very few showed anything but hostility. “We’ve only accounted for sixty percent of the staff and thirty-five percent of the student body.”

  “Most of them chose not to leave. I guess your screening techniques weren’t quite as good as you had hoped.” Two very public funerals had also helped sway some hearts and minds.

  “All of them are pro-Confederation?” The lieutenant spoke out of turn. “Impossible.”

  “We are only as pro-Confederation as you wish to make us,” Jenna bit back, seated only a few chairs away from Evan. Her surgically altered eyes narrowed into dramatic slits. “That has been the problem all along, treating those of us who respect our heritage as the enemy.”

  Ritter Michaelson stood against the wall, holding himself slightly apart. He faced directly across at Ruskoff. “Regardless of their politics, a fair percentage of the cadets and students admit there is a Republic bias. They wish to be heard. You know they have a legitimate concern or you wouldn’t have agreed to this meeting.”

  Especially in person. Legate Ruskoff had obviously felt secure enough accepting the students’ guarantee of safe conduct.

  “And your place in this, Major Michaelson?” He peered intently at the other man.

  Michaelson broke his gaze away, turning the ruined side of his face toward Ruskoff. “Trying to save lives, Legate Ruskoff. I believe that’s still my sworn duty.”

  “Damn strange way to show it,” Ruskoff offered.

  “I was there when your man gunned down two students, Legate. Damn strange way to protect the people of Liao.”

  Hahn Soom Gui had also remained standing. “The sooner you recognize The Republic shares in the blame for this incident, the sooner we can meet on equal ground to diffuse it.” He rested one hand on his side arm in a pose for strength. “Until then, we will hold the Conservatory as a refuge for any resident, citizen or soldier who wants to join us for a free Liao.”

  “What does that mean,” Ruskoff asked, “a free Liao?”

  Hahn rose flawlessly to the occasion. “We want a forum to address our grievances, with assurances from Governor Lu Pohl that we will not be saddled with pro-Republic judges. Anyone who wishes should have a say in the selection of such overseers . . . not just Republic citizens, but all residents of Liao. The discrimination may not end, but we’ll bring it into the open where it belongs. It is time to acknowledge that Liao is Capellan first, and Republic second.”

  Worship spread over the faces of many assembled cadets. Ruskoff shook his head, and Evan heard the sound of the man’s mind closing. “I cannot approve of those demands,” he said flatly.

  “You do not have to approve,” Michaelson said softly. “Only Governor Lu Pohl does.”

  “Anna Lu Pohl must answer to Lord Governor Hidic. He is not going to allow terms to be dictated in this manner. What if other worlds took it upon themselves to challenge The Republic’s leadership this way. What would we have then?”

  “Equality!” Evan said, surprising himself. Cheers and a smattering of applause greeted his outburst.

  “There are other ways to accomplish this. Some of you have already earned your citizenship. Others are working in that direction. If you truly support the Governor’s example, you should work within the system.”

  “Where you will continue to stack the deck against us,” another cadet said, her voice breaking.

  Michaelson stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Legate,” he spoke carefully, choosing each word with great care, “I have . . . suffered through a great deal in service to The Republic. I have fought and bled for it, and I’ve made my share of mistakes. I have also seen for myself the trials Liao has endured over the past twenty-two years. These people are frustrated. They are simply asking for a forum. How can this be a bad thing?”

  Ruskoff visibly winced at the mention of mistakes made in service to The Republic. Perhaps the Legate was not so immune to the overbearing weight often brought against Liao. He recovered quickly. “Perhaps if Governor Lu Pohl were to introduce measures during the next world campaign. . . .”

  “No!” Evan banged his hand down on the table. Michaelson started to speak, but Evan silenced him with a gesture. The veteran’s calm words were not what they needed. “No more promises, no more delays. We’re tired of feeling afraid on our world, in our towns and around our campus.”

  Everyone stared at him. After two years of working in the dark, attention was hard for him to bear. He took a calming breath.

  “It is time for The Republic to step back and exercise a measure of the grand tolerance it preaches. Devlin Stone is watching us: that’s what the politicians throw in our faces. Do you realize how much that sounds like a threat? Well, Stone is gone. He left. It’s The Republic’s eye always on us to decide if we’ll toe the line. Well, we won’t. I won’t.” More cheers, many with a bright edge that could cut if he was not very, very careful.

  “You don’t have a choice.” Ruskoff appealed to the assembled group. He found only Michaelson. “Major, help them understand. This solves nothing.”

  “And walking away now?” Evan asked. “That’s in our best interest?” He shook his head. “We know that our military careers are over, Legate. We realized that the next day, and we accepted it. You’ll never trust us with troops. You’ll never give us a voice. And you know what? Most of us have embraced the idea, and so have troops from under your own command, who are on campus to support our position. We also have a fairly large and growing tent city of local civilians presenting themselves for service. Because this is our time. Now.”

  Evan pulled his appointment of citizenship out of a pocket. “My citizenship, finally offered when The Republic is desperate enough to need me.” Evan held it up. Some cadets watched with
admiration, some envy and then shock. Jenna stared at Evan with sadness welling in her eyes as he ripped the appointment in half, lengthwise, slowly, so that the sound of tearing paper filled the room for several long and painful heartbeats. “It’s too late, Legate. It was too late when I came to this school.”

  He tore another stripe. “It was too late when I joined the Ijori Dè Guāng.”

  Another. “It was too late the day I was born.”

  He laid the scraps of his citizenship onto the table. “Take this back to Lord Governor Hidic, with my compliments.”

  Ruskoff stood. He nodded to his lieutenant who moved for the door, opened it, and stood aside for the senior officer. The Legate leaned in toward Evan, speaking very calmly. “You are going to force me into doing something that I truly do not want to do, Evan Kurst. You and all of your comrades. This may be the only round of diplomacy you get. Eventually, I will have to come back. And if I have to pull this school apart again, stone by stone, I will. Who wins then, Evan?”

  Ruskoff left on that, striding for the door and out into the hall. Michaelson followed, and Hahn. Others filed out after them with a few pausing to place a hand on Evan’s shoulder and giving him a reassuring squeeze. They left him there, alone with his thoughts and with their silent approval.

  Jenna was last to leave.

  “You did not have to do that,” she said.

  “But I did, Jen Lynn Tang. I did. For me, if for no one else.” He stared at the shredded page, where Ruskoff had left it. “Either I believe in what we do here, or. . . .” Or else he accepted that Liao would never be free. “Or, I do not.”

  She bent down, and kissed him on the brow. His skin burned where her lips brushed him. Then she, too, left.

  Evan glanced around the empty room. Some cadets and students would slip away tonight, he knew. More, he hoped, would steel themselves for the trials yet to come. How many would be left, he wondered, to be remembered as heroes or tried as traitors?