“He is truly so eager to bring his fortunes and assets under Confederation influence? He sees the future drawing close?”
“He can tell which way the wind blows.” She resisted the urge to sniff at the air. “And you know the final offer: his fortune and businesses, minus the tribute already agreed upon, are to be awarded him in hereditary fief.” Otherwise, this snake-of-a-Liao could seize everything Bannson owned, inside the Confederation and out, as was the right of the Chancellor over a citizen and unincorporated noble. Bannson was no dummy. He’d have his cake, eat it and lease options on it, too.
Still, he played in an impressive league when he drew an inside straight against the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation. It was just one of the reasons she had tied her fortune to Bannson’s star.
Daoshen Liao still held a few aces up his sleeve, though.
The walls suddenly fell away, and a wave of vertigo swept over Di as the lift plunged down into a massive, well-lit cavern of mythic proportions. The lift shuddered as it shed speed quickly. That plus the swing in equilibrium had her grasping the rail, staring out and down and over the ranks of military equipment.
BattleMechs: six… no, nine full companies! Men Shen. Blackjacks. Assault-weight Yu Huangs and Raven scout ’Mechs. More companies of Po, Regulator and Ontos armored tanks. APCs and aerospace fighters and VTOLs.
This was the place. The place Bannson had told her about. One of Daoshen Liao’s treasure troves, kept spotless, no doubt, by a legion of workers who would never—never–be allowed out from under Mask scrutiny for fear of what they might say. Di had an image, dark even for her, of those workers and technicians (and yeah, even MechWarriors who had to operate the machines now and then to keep them in working order) kept in a nearby barracks hewn out of the raw mountainside and never seeing the light of day. The salt mines of Sian.
And what of her? Daoshen had once shown this to Jacob Bannson, but why her?
For the first time since setting foot on the wretched planet, Di wondered if she would be allowed to leave.
The lift continued to drop slowly, sliding down the equivalent of a five-story building as it finally came to a smooth rest at ground level. Daoshen lifted a portion of the railing, swinging it back on hidden hinges. “Do you know what it means to serve a master who takes a Lord?” That was how she heard it in his voice: Big L—Lord.
Di let her right arm hang loosely at her side. A slight stretch and the clasp released, dropping a half kilo of finely balanced and laser-sharpened steel into her hand. Daoshen never once looked back. She was no threat. So he thought.
“I’m Bannson’s.” It was the first time she had mentioned her employer’s name out loud. “You don’t dare.”
Maybe she was afraid of Daoshen Liao. A little. Now. But Di wasn’t going to bow and scrape before anyone. That was another promise made on the world that he had forced her to remember.
Daoshen paused, cocked his head to one side as if he could hear the threat. “Truly? In all the demands you carry in that data crystal, is there a request for citizenship and inviolate status for any of his people?”
The crafty spider was giving something away? Di didn’t believe that, not for a second. But, she also knew the answer, and so remained mute.
“Go back to ‘your employer.’ Remind him.” He started walking again, leaving Di to wonder and guess of what she should remind her employer. The treasure trove? Daoshen’s scrambled eggs in naranji sauce? She would have a long talk with him about the inviolate status thing. Oh, yes, she would.
And she might owe Daoshen something for that, someday.
“Remind him, and tell him that when Liao falls, he is to come for his reward. That will be our time to consummate the bargain. He will have earned it. That is the word of Daoshen.”
33
Sons of Liao
In a bold gamble, Prefect Tao has pulled forces out of a dozen different engagements, conceding some, stalling others. These have been leveraged against Menkar and a counterthrust against Foochow, stunning Capellan holdfasts, while heavy aerospace assets assembled in the space far above New Aragon have jumped for Palos and Wei to institute a full blockade of those staging worlds.
Lianyungang Military Reserve
Qinghai, Liao
Prefecture V, Republic of the Sphere
13 August 3134
Damned self-centered, obstinate slip of a Capellan whore!”
Daniel Peterson winced as Ruskoff slammed the door and the frosted glass pane rattled angrily. The Legate stormed into his office off the Planetary Defense Center like he might assault a city in his Zeus. He set himself in a wide-legged stance, hands balled into tight fists. His burning glare fell on Daniel first, as if the entire situation were his fault. The disgraced Paladin knew he certainly bore the lion’s share of any blame to be passed around.
But Ruskoff’s fury passed over him. It slid by Lady Eve Kincaid with hardly a pause and then by Colonel James Lwellen, ranking military officer on Nánlù and another of Lord Governor Hidic’s representatives. It stuck to neither of them. The Legate was neutrally mad. Railing-at-the-world furious. Nothing personal.
Daniel knew that feeling; every muscle quivering and the taste of blood in his mouth. He had felt it after the Massacre, before moving on to penance and rebuilding himself as Ezekiel Crow. More recently, he’d seethed with such fury at Jacob Bannson. It took betrayal to raise this kind of anger.
“Governor Lu Pohl?” Lady Kincaid asked.
“Who else?” Ruskoff continued his assault, stomping forward in pursuit of a known objective. He eased past the visitors’ chairs—easily done, with Daniel’s shoved off a bit farther to one side, away from the line officers—cornered his desk and secured the sideboard bar. He splashed amber into three glasses, colored his own with some dark plum juice, and then poured a fourth glass full of crystal clear and dropped in two cubes from an ice bucket. He carried his own glass to his desk, but rather than take his seat he perched on one corner.
The Legate did not serve, so the officers rose and picked up their own glasses. Lwellen also cut his bourbon with plum. Lady Kincaid preferred hers neat. She also favored her left side, where some shrapnel had ended up after blowing through her cockpit. Daniel did not move, hands clenched tight around the chair’s armrests, staring at the remaining glass.
“It’s sweet water,” Ruskoff said, his voice a touch calmer.
Daniel rocked himself up from his seat. “Of course it is,” he said. It was a thank-you, and Ruskoff knew it. But Daniel was also very conscious of the fact that Lwellen moved too far aside to let him pass and Eve Kincaid avoided his gaze on the way back.
Pariah.
Traitor.
Daniel’s wrists itched where the shackles had recently come off. He did not return to his chair, drifting farther away from the line officers to lean up against the office wall, instead. His water smelled faintly of naranji and tasted of sweet citrus.
“Anna Lu Pohl will not reconcile,” Ruskoff began the meeting. “Lord Governor Hidic and I spent half an hour reasoning with Gerald Tsang, and finally convinced him that we would only take the word of the Governor.” He sipped, grimaced. “She tied into the video conference and offered us two days’ grace before Confederation forces kicked us off Liao.”