By Temptations and by War

by Loren L. Coleman

  The tide turned that quickly. Where Ruskoff’s force had held the upper hand, it took one malevolent act to swing a number of shocked warriors to the Conservatory’s side. Evan found himself fighting alongside the Phoenix Hawk and Regulator II, Jenna’s limping ForestryMech and some Armored Cavalry Demons. His Ti Ts’ang hacked and slashed and battered its way forward, chasing Ruskoff’s Zeus.

  Ruskoff fell back quickly with a guard of heavy armor and retreating infantry. His assault ’Mech became a dark shadow moving farther back into the gray downpour.

  Blood boiling, muscles trembling, Evan still knew a bad fight when he saw it. Throwing away lives to chase after Ruskoff would not bring back Hahn. And there were still heavy forces belonging to the Principes Guard on planet. They would have to be dealt with as well, and not by a crippled Ti Ts’ang.

  Evan stood at the edge of the Grinder, astride the shattered fence line, and watched as the Republic force fell back in full retreat, but not a rout. Thunder rolled overhead, like an echo of the battle’s earlier rage, and rain pelted down in a deepening cloak of false twilight. It pinged and rang against the Ti Ts’ang’s armored head, streaked the ferroglass shield and puddled on the Grinder’s rough ferrocrete surface.

  Behind him, it began to quench the greasy fires that raged over Hahn Soom Gui’s funeral pyre.

  It was a call Viktor Ruskoff had never thought to make. But then, he’d witnessed events in the last five minutes that he’d never thought to see.

  . . . A beaten cadre that stood strong behind its desperate ideology.

  . . . Students choosing the martyrdom of suicide strikes over rational surrender.

  . . . A Principes Guards Mech Warrior throwing honor to the winds, executing any chance that the Destroyer’s crew might be saved. Those were Liao lives. Liao children. And the MechWarrior hadn’t cared.

  “If he was still with us, I’d burn him down myself,” Ruskoff whispered out loud, wanting to hear the words, but careful not to trigger his voice-activated mic. There wasn’t anyone out here to talk to. Not even his aide, Lieutenant Nguyen, who had been in the Phoenix Hawk and had thrown his lot in with the Capellan horde. Where arguments had not persuaded Nguyen, one act of blind hatred had convinced him.

  He toggled over to his command frequencies, connecting back to the Reserve and, through relays, into the satellite system that eventually found Lord Governor Hidic.

  Ruskoff was not one to mince words. Even when the news was grave. Especially, when the news was grave. Turning his Zeus to stare back through the curtain of rain, he could see not a trace of Conservatory forces. But they were there. He waited for the Lord Governor to identify himself, and then strengthened his own voice with military steel.

  His report was simple and damning, as most failures were.

  “We just lost Chang-an.”

  31

  Friends and Family

  “Freedom dawns on many true citizens today. A time long in coming, but one more step on the path back to the Confederation’s manifest destiny. Capellans rejoice. Gan Singh has fallen.”

  —Lord Colonel Xavier McCarron, Gan Singh, 3 August 3134

  Yiling (Chang-an)

  Qinghai Province, Liao

  7 August 3134

  In a ceremony prepared over several days, Evan stood among his friends and comrades in arms as the final remains of fourteen cadets were laid to rest at the heart of the Conservatory’s grounds.

  The battle-thinned ranks stood at silent rest on the circular drive, out in front of the administration buildings. Gone was the old sculpture celebrating Devlin Stone and The Republic’s coming to Liao, dismantled piece by piece by volunteer hands and cutting torches since the ConstructionMechs had all been pressed into service. The old metal lay in a scrap heap piled next to one wall. Eventually, it would be reclaimed and recast into a new sculpture. One that honored the sacrifice of all Capellans in the struggle to free their world.

  Benevolent oppression, however you wanted to couch the name, was still oppression.

  Mai Uhn Wa stepped up to the grave site. He wore simple robes and mantle of green and tan. His wispy beard was trimmed and his gray hair worn loose and flowing around his shoulders.

  “As we say our farewells to these brave sons and daughters of Liao, we do so in the light of a new morning, which they helped to purchase with their very lives. We do so with the knowledge that they did not sacrifice themselves in vain. The Conservatory still stands. Chang-an and Governor Lu Pohl are with us. We have so much of what we sought. And yet, we have so much left to attain.”

  Jenna leaned into Evan, who wrapped one arm around her and to the devil with military protocol. She was a friend. They leaned on each other.

  “Even with this heavy cost, Liao still does not enjoy the freedom that Gan Singh has finally come to know. And Styk. We are still held in the grip of The Republic’s hand, and it seems they would rather choke us to death than let us breathe one taste of true Capellan liberty. But we shall continue. We shall fight against the smothering embrace of Exarch Redburn and his dying Republic. We shall remain until Liao celebrates once again the right to choose its own destiny.”

  As Mai Wa continued to extol the virtues of a free Liao, Evan tucked himself into Jenna. He couldn’t help thinking about the costs, paid in blood, over so many years.

  It reminded him again of the Betrayer, Daniel Peterson. Evan’s grip tightened, remembering how the man had dared to lecture him. What did Peterson know about loss? What had really been his game?

  Mai Wa headed into the close of the eulogy, drawing Evan back to the somber event. “The highest and most important ideal in any Warrior’s life,” the House Master said, his gaze finding Evan in the crowd, “is loyalty: to the citizenry he protects, to the state that provides, and to the chief executive of the state, who is the Warrior’s commander-in-chief.” The sixth dictum of the Lorix Order. One of the founding philosophies of the Warrior Houses. “This also provides one other charge. Loyalty to the people among whom you serve.

  “I can say nothing finer of these soldiers, these Warriors, than they proved themselves among the most loyal of us all. We salute them.”

  Colonel Feldspar called the assembly to attention. Evan felt Jenna stiffen, but he continued to hold her. Seven infantrymen, Mark Lo and David Parks among them, marched up to the fore of the assembly. They held rifles in tight embraces. Jenna turned her face into Evan’s shoulder. Rifles came up, and fired, fired, fired. Three salvoes, echoing lonely around the campus grounds. A whiff of cordite touched the air and Evan swallowed dryly.

  Colonel Feldspar took the nod from Mai Uhn Wa and ordered the company dismissed.

  Evan led Jenna forward, to inspect the small pedestal, which would be the only grave marker for some time. The planetary crest of Liao graced its head, followed by the inscription Yù Xiān Guò Guān. First Through The Breech.

  Hahn Soom Gui’s name was first on the list. Evan had seen to that.

  “Good-bye, Hahn,” Jen Lynn Tang whispered as David and Mark joined them. If Evan’s comforting Jenna bothered Mark Lo, the stiff-necked infantryman did not show it.

  David, however, was shaken. He had dark circles beneath his eyes and ashen skin. “I’m sorry,” he said to Evan, bringing himself briefly to attention as if reporting to his commanding officer.

  Jenna misunderstood. “There was nothing you could have done, David.”

  “It’s all right,” Evan said. He heard the good-bye. He left Jenna’s side for a moment and embraced his friend. “You did what you could. And you will always have a place here.”

  David nodded. He leaned in to kiss Jenna on the cheek and traded grips with Lo. Jenna’s gaze followed after him, confused. “Did he. . . .”

  “He’s done,” Evan said. “Hahn’s death was the last straw for David. He’ll never set foot on a battlefield again.” Had that been a fundamental flaw in the soldier’s makeup from the start? Or could he have served with distinction before being broken under the added weight of rebellio
n? “How about you?” Evan asked Mark. “Still with us?”

  “To the bloody, bitter end,” Mark affirmed. A pledge that had taken on a life of its own in the last few days.

  Jenna gave Mark a hug, whispered something to him. He nodded to her when they separated. Evan did not ask. It did not matter. In the end, all that would matter is whether they won their goal, and how many lives were paid in the cost. Hahn’s was one among several. It brought home the very real cost, though. Evan had used Hahn just as Hahn had used Evan from time to time, supporting his politics. Hahn believed he was right in doing so. Just as Evan did.

  Just as Mai Uhn Wa must.

  Steering through the maze of mourners, Jenna in tow, Evan cast around for Mai Wa. Found him talking with Colonel Feldspar and Gerald Tsung, as well as a few junior officers. The Maskirovka agent Michael Yung-Te was fortunately absent. He steered over toward the small gathering, his thoughts in a tangle regarding his mentor and Master. Like a sculptor, Mai had chipped away at Evan’s rough network to reveal the strength from inside. No denying his success. In the last few days, Mai had also begun to question Evan on the Cult of Liao assets still available to him. Evan had turned over everything, resenting the need to do so, then.

  But if Evan believed that he had done right, didn’t he also have to accept that everything Mai Uhn Wa had done was only what the veteran officer and rebel leader believed the best path to a free Liao?

  “Evan,” Mai greeted, nodding respectfully to Jenna to let her know that her company was best applied elsewhere.

  He also dismissed another of the junior officers, leaving only Feldspar, Tsung, the two former Ijori Dè Guāng members and a man with insignia of the Fifth Triarii. Evan recognized him as Legate Ruskoff’s aide, Lieutenant Nguyen. He’d been in the Phoenix Hawk, and had fired more out of disgust and shock over the actions of the Principes Guards than in true support of throwing off The Republic yoke.

  Evan had not been surprised to hear that Mai had guaranteed Lieutenant Nguyen and his BattleMech release should Nguyen wish to leave. A Phoenix Hawk was a venerable design, and nothing to be thrown aside lightly in the aftermath of the battle. The Capellan cadre needed equipment, supplies and warriors. But even more, they needed unity. And that they might just have now.

  “Shiao Mai.” Evan began to nod, then bowed formally, a change that surprised both himself and Mai Uhn Wa. “Thank you for this morning. Hahn . . . all of them . . . appreciate it.”

  “We show our strength in remembering the sacrifices of those before us,” the older man said, stroking one hand down his gray beard. Dark, hard eyes surveyed each man in turn. “Liao was once a strong and united world. It can be again. It will be again.”

  It startled Evan that his mentor’s thoughts closely paralleled his own, though it shouldn’t have. Evan had learned from Mai’s study of history, just as he had learned from the military academies.

  He had also pushed back against both, mentor and military, never fully accepting either into his life. Maybe it was time to change that.

  “It might be,” he agreed. “If we can accept our differences and put them aside for the greater good.”

  Nguyen shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m not so certain that I agree that a Confederation vision for Liao is the greater good,” he said, reading Evan’s words literally. “No matter what Governor Lu Pohl now says.”

  Evan followed Nguyen’s glance to Gerald Tsung. Whatever the man’s feelings, he kept them well hidden. “We really have her behind us?” he asked Mai directly, meaning no insult to the Governor’s Aide.

  “We do. Yes.” Mai spoke slowly, eyes clouded as he mentally chewed on Evan’s earlier statement. “She has defied Hidic and cast her strength behind a return to true Capellan rule, calling on all residents and citizens to assist Confederation efforts with any and all means as a show of their loyalty.”

  Which would put the most pressure on landed nobles, who would lose everything if the Confederation returned and judged them not enthusiastic enough. The Maskirovka would quickly ferret out those who had worked against local efforts. Perhaps that was where Michael Yung-Te was off to. Yung-Te would find the Cult of Liao a great deal of help, if Mai Wa decided to grant the agent access.

  “It is not an easy path,” Nguyen said. “In my head, I know that The Republic has been a better steward of this world and its people. I accept that its open form of government is a better system.”

  “And what does your heart tell you?” Mai asked. But he was looking at Evan as well.

  The lieutenant sighed. “That the people . . . our people,” he amended, “that they will only suffer more under the forced occupation of The Republic. And that my oath to the people supercedes my oath to the Exarch.”

  Not an easy choice to make. Not for anyone. “It is time to put the past behind us,” Evan said to Nguyen and Mai both, but in different contexts. “Liao needs us all.” He bowed his head. “The heart knows where it belongs.”

  “And that,” Mai said, satisfied, “is the essence of family.”

  32

  The Treasure of Daoshen

  The whispers grow in retelling. Sun-Tzu Liao has risen. The great Chancellor is rumored once again to have appeared before military leaders on the world of Liao. His presence has strengthened Capellan resolve despite recent efforts by Lord Governor Hidic and Prefect Tao to strangle the newborn movement. Said the Lord Governor at the end of a recent interview, “How does one fight an idea?”

  —Reported by Mace O’Ronnell, Stellar Associated Press, 3 August 3134

  Thunder Mountain

  Sian

  Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation

  11 August 3134

  Dagger Di Jones did not care for the Capellan Confederation. She hated Sian, and she was ready to stick her knife into Daoshen Liao’s throat.

  “I have heard the shout for pan-Capellan unity. It echoes across half a hundred worlds, and shakes the foundation of The Republic down to its faulted core.” Daoshen clasped slender hands behind his back, voluminous sleeves falling down to cover them.

  The two of them waited at a pair of bright steel doors, polished enough to reflect lasers, she’d have guessed. Funhouse images of the two of them stared back, standing at the beginning—or the end, depending on how you liked to think of mirrors—of a short corridor.

  With a start, she realized that the images were actually mirror perfect. It was the difference between them that made it comical. Di Jones had angry red hair trimmed short, and brown eyes quick and active. Daoshen Liao had a dusky complexion, dark, dark hair worn loose around his shoulders and falling over his face, with eyes of polished, inscrutable jade. She also looked shrunk down next to Daoshen’s two-plus meters, and heavier than she should against his ninety kilos (sopping wet and rocks in his pocket as well as his head).

  “It echoes. It echoes.” Daoshen liked to mark the passing time with the sound of his own voice. Di wasn’t even certain what they waited for. He had given no order, and there was no button to press. “It has even called to my father, who graces our efforts with his favor.”

  Cracked bread. The phrase shook Di, recalled to mind a world she had tried so very hard to forget, one whose dust she had kicked from her boots twenty years ago. It just fit Daoshen Liao so well. Flaky and burnt on the outside, dried to crumbs within. A brittle husk that cracked under the lightest pressure. She damned the lunatic again for reminding her.

  And Bannson, for sending her.

  The inbound trip on the Corporate Raider—a joke in plain sight, Bannson liked to say—had been long and tedious. Checkpoints and searches. Redundant layers of security that any pirate navigator worth her salt could bypass with one in-system pirate jump. On the ground it got no better: Death Commando escorts, frequent changes in her schedule with no interview given, interminable periods of waiting in small sitting rooms after which a new flunky came to ask her for her business with the Chancellor. At first she gave them Bannson’s name only. Ten visits later she gave t
hem the toe of her boot and a helping throw out the door.

  Bannson didn’t like the way she did business, he could send one of his stiff-suited toadies next time. Hobnobbing with the powerful wasn’t her thing. But give Di a ’Mech, and she’d storm hell for Bannson.

  Give her a few minutes with the knife tucked up her sleeve in a hold-out scabbard, and she’d carve an expression of interest on the Capellan leader’s slack features. She wondered how he’d look with just one eye.

  Half as well as he does with two.

  She smiled, and the Capellan Chancellor craned around to glare. “You doubt that my father returns?”

  Yes! “I doubt that my employer has an opinion. I am here to pass along a report, and, no offense, get the hell home.” She started to dig the data crystal out of her pocket again, but he turned away. Again. No one would take the bloody thing. “My employer is very upset that his . . . reward . . . has not been offered.”

  “We are not in possession of Liao, are we.” Not a question.

  Di breathed a sigh of relief as the metal doors finally hushed open, revealing an octagonal room no larger than a BattleMech gantry lift. It had a wide seam around the entire floor. The walls were white-speckled stone and open to the chamber except for a square metal railing four feet around the entire floor. An elevator down into this Thunder Mountain that Daoshen had talked about on the flight north.

  “My employer did not agree to take Liao. He agreed to support your efforts inside the Republic. That’s it.”

  She followed Daoshen into the chamber. No wall held a tracked groove, so the support arm had to come straight up from below, like standing on the head of a giant piston. She didn’t care for that idea, but at least this wouldn’t be a long ride in an enclosed space with the scarecrow of a leader. Only one of them would have emerged alive.