Trial by Chaos

by J. Steven York

* * *

  Provisional Governor Vincent Florala sat in the armored limousine as it wove through traffic, and studied the two men across from him. Both had dark, straight hair and brown eyes, and wore similarly cut, expensive silk suits. But in every other way, they were a mismatched pair.

  The larger man was much larger. He dwarfed even some of the Clan elementals that Florala had met, and seemed just as formidable. His hair was short and thick, almost forming a skullcap on his round head. His nose was wide, his lips thick, his expressions covering the full gamut from indifferent to grim and back again. Neither his speech nor his bearing suggested he was an educated man. But there was an alertness in the eyes, even a kind of native intelligence, that suggested he wasn't a man to trifle with on any level.

  But it was the second, smaller man who most interested Florala. He was trim and muscular. He moved with the grace of a natural dancer, but showed no trace of the training that would have refined it. Except for a moment just after entering the car, when he'd lifted his shades to briefly study Florala, he kept his eyes covered by dark glasses, even though the windows of the car were heavily tinted.

  But Florala had a feeling that the man took in everything and missed nothing. His mind seemed sharp and calculating, his confidence boundless and probably justified. He had the rough sophistication of a man who had been introduced to manners late in life, and had never become entirely comfortable with them.

  This is a dangerous man, if he wants to he.

  Florala knew from the reports his people had provided him that this man sometimes did want to be dangerous. Very dangerous indeed.

  Other than his driver, Vincent Florala was alone in the car with them, and nobody else knew where they were.

  It was a calculated risk. But Florala was no stranger to risk, and he wanted to hear what the men had to say. "I've heard. Mister—surely your name isn't actually Smith—that you want to talk with me."

  The smaller man smiled. "My real name isn't available for this discussion, but it most certainly is not Smith. You can call me Bane. My friends call me Taylor, but we haven't established that relationship yet. My associate here, you can call Bruno."

  "Appropriate."

  "He thinks so."

  The big man grimaced slightly, as though the smaller man had just given him a verbal jab of some sort.

  "Very well, Mr. Bane. You wanted to talk to me."

  "On behalf of my employer, yes."

  "Which would be Jacob Bannson."

  "Yes."

  "I have an office, you know, and a receptionist who answers the phone. Jacob Bannson's name certainly would have gotten my attention, and we could have avoided this absurd cloak-and-dagger business."

  Bane smiled slightly. "You know as well as I, Governor. that if I'd gone through channels, and we'd been meeting at your office, it would have been under much different terms. Everyone—your friends, your enemies, your rivals, the Galaxy commander—would have known you'd taken a meeting with a representative of Jacob Bannson. They'd all want to know what the meeting was about, and what was said, and what, if anything, you agreed to. You're a politician. Your choices of action are always constrained by what other people know, and what other people think."

  Florala nodded. "Fair enough. So you've bought me some freedom of action. What is it you hope to have me use it for?"

  "Mr. Bannson is looking for associations, alliances, in areas of opportunity such as Vega."

  "A great number of people consider Vega an 'area of opportunity.' That's just our problem."

  "Does that include the Ghost Bears?"

  Florala frowned and shifted in his seat. "The Ghost Bears are, for the moment, an important stabilizing force and valuable allies. Galaxy Commander Bekker has been working tirelessly to knit together our fractured world and help us establish a new government."

  "Nice speech, but you can save it for the voters. You have reservations about the Ghost Bears, don't you?"

  He hesitated, feeling like a traitor. "Yes. Yes, I do. These are not the Clansmen I read about in my youth. They're divided, uncertain and, in a word, unstable. I'm not at all sure that the Galaxy commander has the full support of her Clan, nor that she can maintain full control of her forces here.

  "In some respects, I think the Ghost Bears are as much in need of reconstruction as Vega. That makes them a potential danger to everything I've worked for since the warlords were overthrown."

  "But you still need them?"

  "Yes."

  "And you're sleeping with their commander."

  Florala's mouth hung open, but nothing came out.

  "So, I see that's true. To be honest, I didn't think much of my source."

  He finally found his tongue. "Bane, if this is some attempt to blackmail me—"

  Bane laughed. "No, no, nothing like that, Governor.

  I just thought you should know that your relationship with her isn't as secret as you might hope. That might be useful information to you, and I'm passing it along free of charge, no strings attached, as a sign of my good intentions."

  Florala frowned. "I suppose I knew that our relationship was no longer secret, but I appreciate the warning." He considered. "That buys you my ear for a while, then. Just what is it you want?"

  "Friends. Associates. The possibility of establishing a base of operations here at some future date."

  "That's a lot to ask out of 'friendship,' Mr. Bane. Jacob Bannson doesn't have a very good reputation."

  "Mr. Bannson is a businessman. He makes deals, and he makes the best deals he can. He extracts to the letter on those deals, and that isn't popular with some people. They think they can get away with something, and when they find they can't, they get angry.

  "Yes, Mr. Bannson has vocal enemies. So does anyone of wealth who refuses to allow himself to be taken advantage of."

  It was Florala's turn to grin. "That, too, was a very nice speech, Mr. Bane, but save it for somebody more gullible. Any relationship I enter into with Jacob Bannson is, at best, going to be risky and problematic."

  Bane smiled respectfully. "Very good. Governor. Okay. Bottom line—yes, you're right. But you're living a risky and problematic life here on a risky and problematic planet. A bad deal may be better than no deal at all."

  Florala shook his head. "Even if I were inclined to make this deal, I don't have the authority or power to do so. I'm only the provisional governor. If all goes well, and I admit that's always in question around here, we'll have nailed down the Articles of Reunification in a few months, and we'll be holding free elections."

  "We're interested in future positions as much as in where you are now, Florala. You're a popular man, with a broad base of support. Your opposition is strong, but fragmented. I'd say you're an odds-on favorite to win those free elections."

  Florala sighed. "A few months ago, I would have agreed with you. But as you've pointed out, I have a fatal weakness. Many of the people who like me still don't like the Ghost Bears, and I'm sleeping with the mama bear herself. I've known for some time that I was likely scuttling my political future. You've just confirmed it."

  The corner of Bane's mouth crept up slyly. "I don't make this offer lightly, Governor, but Mr. Bannson's people have some experience in—influencing—elections."

  Florala frowned and made a chopping motion with his hand. "This conversation is over. Bane."

  "Please," said Bane, "no offense intended. You want what's best for Vega. Wouldn't that be you?"

  "I believe it is, but not if it means corrupting the very thing I'm trying to build. I warn you, I'll withdraw from the race and supervise the elections myself if I think there's even the smallest chance you're meddling in them!"

  "No, no. We'd like to see you win, for any number of reasons, but if you trust your people to choose wisely, well—" He grinned. "I like a good horse race." He leaned back in his seat. "We have no agreement. Governor. But I personally am impressed with you, and I ask this small thing. Can we leave this door open? If circumstances change
, would you be willing to talk again?"

  Florala studied Bane for a moment. He trusted Jacob Bannson as far as he could throw him. But Bane— Well, he wasn't sure about Taylor Bane, but he was intrigued. "If circumstances change, and I'm convinced you haven't been meddling in the election or acting against my planet's interests, then yes. We might talk."

  "There is one last item. With your permission, we would also like to speak with Galaxy Commander Bekker."

  "You don't need my permission."

  "We could use your introduction. As it was with you, we'd like our meeting with Bekker to be on the QT."

  "I should do this why?"

  "I did say, with your permission. And remember that we approached you first, gave you first right of refusal. But if you'd prefer not to bring us together with Commander Bekker, that has no influence on any potential future dealings between us."

  "I've got nothing to hide from Isis. I'll tell her that you're interested, but she won't deal with you."

  "You're so sure?"

  "Very sure. Remember. I know her well."

  Bane shrugged. "All I ask is that you mention the possibility to her." He nodded towards the window. "There's a monorail station up ahead. If you'd please ask your driver to drop us off somewhere crowded?"

  Florala touched the intercom button on his armrest and gave the instruction to the driver. The car pulled into a loading zone jammed with commuters and street vendors. Taylor Bane and his associate stepped out of the car and, improbably, vanished into the crowd.

  They pulled away from the curb, and had gone only a block when they were surrounded by Clan police vehicles, which quickly brought them to a halt. A familiar face appeared outside his armored window, and he rolled it down. "Chief Ricco. What a surprise."

  "Sorry to do this, Governor, but those two men who just got out of your car are under investigation as potential threats to planetary security."

  He smiled politely. "I'm inclined to agree with you."

  "My men should have them in custody by now."

  "Somehow, I rather doubt that."

  "Still, you'll understand that I am going to have to report this meeting to Galaxy Commander Bekker."

  "But of course. In fact, I was just on my way to tell her about it myself."

  * * *

  The monorail car was nearly empty. A gaunt woman and two young boys sat at one end of the car, a plastic garbage bag at their feet. The boys looked tired, like they had just walked a very long way, and the woman stared blankly out the window as the train bumped along above the city at a third its rated speed.

  She looked up as the door at the end of the car opened, and a huge Clan elemental dressed in gray-and-white Ghost Bear camouflage stepped into the car. He did not look at her, nor did he sit. He reached up and grabbed a hanging strap and stood there, his muscled body barely moving as the train rumbled around a turn.

  The woman reached down and grabbed the bag by its tied neck, then urged the reluctant boys out of their seats. She pushed them through the car's rear door, looking nervously over her shoulder at the giant.

  In the vestibule, she passed a smaller man wearing a greasy blue maintenance coverall and a matching hard hat entering the car.

  She was gone before the man she had passed sauntered across the car and slumped into a seat near the big Clansman. Their eyes did not meet.

  "I have to say," said the man in the coveralls, "you got the better-looking outfit."

  "I like it," said the big man. "I may keep it. Sorry the meeting didn't go better, boss."

  The man in the coveralls shrugged. "1 haven't given up all hope of speaking with the Galaxy commander, but it looks grim." He turned and looked out the window. "Still, we have one other offer of friendship on the table, and it isn't a bad one if things develop as I think they might."

  * * *

  When Star Colonel Conner Hall arrived at the barracks it was a bustle of activity, the corridors busy with new MechWarrior faces and people rearranging accommodations to make room for them.

  Given the new 'Mech threat on this side of the continent and the relative quiet in the port city of Neucason, he'd recalled the MechWarriors stationed there to help defend the capital.

  That left the city defended by a binary of elementals, a Star of armor from the First Mechanized Cluster, and the Second Vega Regulars, an up-and-coming armor militia fielding nearly a Star of their own battlefield-salvage tanks and light armor.

  If there were no more surprises, it would be enough.

  In the confusion, he spotted a familiar technician relocating a computer terminal. He grabbed the woman's shoulder. "I'm looking for MechWarrior Huntsig. Have you seen him?"

  She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "He went that way about five minutes ago, Star Colonel."

  The direction she indicated was towards Huntsig's quarters. Conner marched down the corridor purposefully, but halfway down the hall he spotted Huntsig coming towards him, his eyes fixed firmly on Conner, a look of grim determination on his face.

  Conner immediately noticed that he wore his dress uniform: blue-gray jacket and trousers, a gray shirt, and a wide gray belt that held a personal ceremonial sword. Taken all together, the image Huntsig presented gave Conner a moment of hesitation over what he was planning to do.

  He had come with the idea to challenge Huntsig to a Trial of Grievance for deserting his position in the formation. Now, from his attire and attitude, it seemed that Huntsig probably had the same idea. The uniform wasn't required, or even part of the ritual, but it was just the sort of rigid Clan formality that Huntsig so loved. Doubtless, Huntsig planned to challenge his leadership and judgment.

  It made no difference to Conner. Perhaps his leadership had failed them. He had thought of a thousand ways he could have executed their mission differently, or anticipated the unexpected danger. Were their positions reversed, he would have been inclined to challenge.

  He found it did not matter. Either way, he would face Huntsig in a trial of blood. Let combat decide. It was the Clan way.

  The new MechWarriors watched curiously as Huntsig stalked past them. They had not yet been briefed, and most were only marginally knowledgeable of the circumstances that had led to their recall to the capital. They all knew Conner, of course, and most had encountered Huntsig at some point as well. The Omega Galaxy's 'Mech forces still had not rebuilt to the point that there were many strangers in them. But as to what drove these two men marching towards each other, most of them could only guess. They could sense trouble brewing, and stopped to see what form it would take.

  Huntsig stopped midcorridor, stood at rigid attention and waited for Conner to close the distance.

  Conner walked to within a meter of the junior officer and stopped.

  They looked into each other's eyes.

  Huntsig reached for his sword, smoothly drew it from its sheath and held it vertically in front of his face.

  Conner did not move. He was unarmed, but he found it difficult to believe that Huntsig would strike him, dishonorably and outside a formal trial.

  Then Huntsig did the utterly unexpected.

  He dropped to one knee, carefully placed the sword on the floor in front of Conner and bowed his head.

  "I am MechWarrior Duncan Huntsig of the Ghost Bear Clan. From you. Star Colonel Conner Hall, I beg for surkai. I have wronged you in this way: I abandoned my assigned position in combat, in violation of the orders of you, my superior. In so doing, I cost myself the glory of a greater target. I caused unnecessary losses. I denied my unit victory, or even a kill. I have dishonored myself as a warrior, and I submit myself to your judgment and punishment."

  Conner looked down at him, speechless and confused. Of course, surkai was no shield. He could still refuse surkai and challenge him to a Trial of Grievance. That was his right.

  But in asking for surkai, especially in such a formal, public and humble fashion, Huntsig had shown considerable honor. For Conner to refuse him and challenge him to a trial might not sit
well with the other MechWarriors under his command. It might appear that Conner was acting in a petty and dishonorable way.

  After all, what was he really angry about? Why did he feel wronged? The wounds suffered by Karen Tupolov? The Clan way anticipated casualties, and injuries were not mourned. Karen fought bravely, taking fire in order to allow a fellow MechWarrior to achieve a more strategic position, and continuing to return fire against their enemy when no one else was in a position to do so. Beyond what Huntsig had admitted in his request for surkai, Conner had few legitimate grievances.

  So. the appearance of honor sat squarely with Huntsig.

  The question was: did Conner care?

  He shocked himself with the unspoken question. Of course! One always acts with honor!

  But now, he discovered, he doubted even that. What his head told him was proper honor did not match what he felt in his heart.

  He looked down at Huntsig and considered his choices; the warrior still bowed before him, still awaited his decision.

  The anger in Conner's heart settled as a tight, bitter knot in his belly.

  Had Huntsig not done what any aggressive MechWarrior would have done in the same circumstances? Did the Clan way not, despite all efforts of the Omega Galaxy to redirect it, value individual glory over the success of the unit? Why should Huntsig suffer for doing what he was raised from birth to do? Why should he be forced by honor to deplete their already diminished forces in this time of crisis?

  Yet his heart promoted many reasons.

  Conner reached down and picked up the sword, hefting it experimentally. It was a fine, plated blade, sharp, light and well balanced. The grip was ivory, carved with a depiction of a lone warrior armed with a spear facing a rearing ghost bear. The basket was shaped to resemble a bear's paw, and the pommel took the form of a silver bear's head. He held the sword two-handed, straight out in the air over Duncan Huntsig, hesitating for a long time.

  "MechWarrior Duncan Huntsig. I accept your plea for surkai. As your punishment, I demand of you two things.

  "First: this fine blade will be mine, to hold until such time as I die, or until I decide that you have satisfied your debt of honor to me, whichever comes first.