And Daniel found himself backing up, taking his time to explain—slowly, carefully—the way he’d been approached to let the Confederation DropShip through security protocols. Why he’d done it. What was left to him after. Two years of bloody war. In the chaos, it had been easy to forge a new identity as Ezekiel Crow. Trying to redeem himself by making the “best” decisions on behalf of The Republic, devoting twenty years to doing as much good as possible.
He told Ruskoff about the Conservatory Uprising in 3128, how it was prompted by Confederation agents. That made the Legate sit up sharply and take notice. He talked at length about what happened on Northwind and Terra. For the first time in his life, he explained to another person every selfish motivation that drove him to excel, to do better, and what finally backed him into a corner. And what it had cost him. His parents. The trust and respect of his peers. Tara Campbell, who had reached out to him, and had been betrayed.
He’d been talking quite awhile. His mouth was parched and his throat hurt. Daniel ended quickly with his arrival on Liao.
Ruskoff nodded slowly. “So this is what treason looks like,” he said, though not quite so harshly as the first time.
“I rated everything I got,” Daniel admitted, refusing any pity. “This time I wasn’t going to play another man’s game. I had no aspirations of my own. I just wanted to help. I came clean—clean as I could and have you believe me at all—and hoped it was enough.” He swallowed dryly. “It wasn’t. And a lot of innocent people died.”
He thought a moment. “Well, they would have died anyway, I think. Bannson would have covered those bases. But I helped put it in motion, and got those deaths blamed on The Republic.”
Ruskoff leaned over his desk with hands steepled together. “I’ve been there,” he began slowly. “You take one step beyond the job description, and suddenly people are dead and you can’t help but think of what you could have done differently. Usually, the answer is: nothing. And now Liao is burning.” He shook his head. “I’m beginning to think this was all put into motion long before you and I ever put on a uniform. But that doesn’t matter, does it? What we have to deal with is what happens today.”
“And what is happening today?” Daniel asked. He couldn’t help it. The responsibility of duty still pricked at him. “Bad?”
The Legate hesitated, then decided it couldn’t hurt. “Lord Governor Hidic barely managed to hold on to the industrial centers of Nánlù. The Dynasty Guard struck during the New Year’s chaos, but Lady Kincaid stop-gapped them. She took a bad hit from a cockpit breach. Then the Guard suddenly left. No idea why. They pulled out lock, stock and BattleMech while Nánlù’s entire defense teetered on the edge. Relocated to Beilù’s Northern Ranges.”
“I’ve seen Chang-an,” Daniel admitted. “It’s every district and suburb for itself right now.”
“Governor Lu Pohl—” Ruskoff shrugged. “I’m not certain about her. She’s got a small task force sitting inside the White Towers District, appropriated from the surviving militia I had on the capital’s streets. I haven’t tested their loyalty yet by ordering them out. I might need them up there.”
“Need them? For what?” Daniel tried to see where the Legate had mentioned a pending attack. He hadn’t. “The Conservatory?” A chill grabbed him. He still felt torn inside that he had been unable to help the students. Unable even to reach Evan Kurst. “I think that would be a mistake.”
“It’s one thorn in my side that I can deal with immediately.” The Legate’s hands clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists. “I knew better than to let that fester. Because of Lord Governor Hidic, I’ve already waited too long, and it’s cost us. I bring the Conservatory back under Republic control, the rest of Chang-an might calm enough for the Governor to relax. We may able to restore order.”
He might be right, Daniel knew. Maybe it was too far gone for a peaceful solution. “What about me?” Daniel asked.
Ruskoff thought, then shook his head. “I’m not fit to judge you, Daniel. That will be for people wiser than I.” He stood, leaning over his desk. His voice hardened. “But I can’t trust you either. I’ll keep you on the Reserve for now, under protection, until I am sure you can get a fair hearing. That’s the best I can do for you.”
Daniel nodded. “Then it’ll have to be enough.”
But still a part of him wondered who Legate Ruskoff could ever find to give him that fair hearing? Just who would declare themselves fit to judge him?
And if anything happened to the Legate, what would become of him then?
28
A Divided House
Sir Ian Valstone, Knight of the Sphere, and elements of the Fifth Hastati Sentinels pushed Confederation forces off the world of Algot this week. Thought to be another major offensive to take the working HPG station, the Capellan drive now looks to have been a feint designed to tie up Prefect Tao’s dwindling resources.
Yiling (Chang-an)
Qinghai Province, Liao
4 August 3134
You gave it to them!” Evan Kurst shouted as he stormed through the door, into the invitation-only meeting Mai Uhn Wa had called.
The tactical review room was normally used for student debriefing after live maneuvers. Located in a hardened building on the Conservatory’s “military campus,” it was used maybe twice in any given week during normal university operations, heavier toward the end of an academic year. Normally dressed in Mech Warrior togs or a simple jumpsuit, Evan often found the room cold, stark and forbidding. A place he was summoned to be lectured on what he had done wrong and to give an accounting of what he had learned.
Today the room smelled of coffee and nervous cigarettes, filled with a dozen people that Mai felt deserving of a place in the budding House Ijori. Most of Evan’s campus cabal, painfully missing Mark Lo. Jenna Lynn Tang stood nearby, but shrank away from the fury that heavily darkened his face. Colonel Feldspar and Field Sergeant Hoi had selected three senior cadets to help cover infantry and tanks. Tori Yngstram. Whit Greggor and two more Ijori Dè Guāng cell leaders. These were the people who could be trusted implicitly. Plus the always present Maskirovka agent, Michael Yung-Te.
Evan dismissed them all with hardly a glance.
It was Mai Uhn Wa who could not be trusted.
Word arrived that morning. Using stealth suits, the Dynasty Guard had taken the Cult of Liao’s valley stronghold, and had obviously been prewarned of the valley and vault defenses. Evan missed the initial report by hours, busy tearing apart the room “Ritter Michaelson” had used on campus, and then checking his contacts in Chang-an for any news of the traitor. Part of him recognized that Daniel Peterson was only a small part in the Capellan-Republic conflict. Another part wanted to choke the life out of him. If there was one man directly responsible for his parents’ deaths, it was Peterson.
But no one knew where Michaelson had disappeared to.
Evan had come back on campus to find the news waiting for him: Sun-Tzu’s body was in the hands of the Dynasty Guard. Now he stood, shaking. His hands clenched and unclenched.
“You handed over the shrine to Rieves!”
Mai had put together a paramilitary uniform with brown fatigues webbed at the forearms and lower legs with green plasteel mesh. The older man remained visibly calm, even in the face of Evan’s accusation. “Our final force strength includes only five BattleMechs, Evan. There is no way to return the Rifleman to duty without another week’s effort.”
Evan locked gazes with his mentor, his Master, at a momentary loss for words that Mai would not even acknowledge the betrayal. “Did you think my network would not report this?” he asked, choking off every word. “I did not want to believe it. But the Guard’s DropShip is parked in the valley. Sitting right on top of the farmhouse, I’d guess.”