Binding Force

by Loren L. Coleman

  TWO LANCES OF ENEMY 'MECHS POURED FROM THE JUNGLE.

  Aris opened a general line to the company. "Fall back. Repeat, fall back to southern bank. Jumping 'Mechs take to the air. Fire Lance break off now. Yan Lu, take rear guard. You'll have to walk backward in order to keep your good armor toward the enemy."

  Yan's Thunder had the best armor of any of Aris' Battle-Mechs, and it could sustain hits better than anyone else's. And the machine's autocannon would keep the opposing 'Mechs from following too closely.

  His defense laid as best he could, Aris pivoted his Wraith and ran to the edge of the riverbank. At a stretch, the 'Mech could jump just over two hundred meters. It's gonna be close, he thought, triggering his jump jets for the third time this battle and angling for the far shore.

  And then incoming rockets made him realize that getting to the other side of the river had just become the least of his concerns. . ..

  BATTLETECH

  LE5604

  BINDING FORCE

  Loren L. Coleman

  ROC

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books USA Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,

  London W8 5TZ, England

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood,

  Victoria, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England

  First published by Roc, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.

  First Printing, June, 1997

  10987654321

  Copyright © FAS A Corporation, 1997 All rights reserved

  Series Editor: Donna Ippolito Cover art by Bruce Jensen

  Mechanical Drawings: Duane Loose and the FASA art department

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  BATTLETECH, FASA, and the distinctive BATTLETECH and FASA logos are trademarks of the FASA Corporation, 1100 W. Cermak, Suite B305, Chicago, IL 60608.

  Printed in the United States of America

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  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  This story is dedicated to my parents, LaRon and Dawn Coleman, who have both contributed much to my career and my appreciation of family.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to charge the following people with aiding and abetting a known author:

  Jim LeMonds, who gave me my initial tools.

  Keith A. Mick, for that first invitation. Ray Sainze, wherever he ended up, for sharing his fascination for BattleTech—it was contagious. Tim Tousely and Matt Dillahunty, who keep putting my computer back together.

  Everyone associated with "the gang"—that is, the Eugene Professional Writer's Workshop. Jon, Jak, and Tom, who first drew me in and made me feel welcome. Jerry, Kathy, Steve, Chris, Ray, Dan, and all the others who I haven't seen recently. Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rush, who have both done so much for my skills and my career.

  Greg Gordon, the man in the know.

  Bryan Nystul for my first BattleTech job. Mike Stackpole, Blaine Lee Pardoe, and Annalise Raziq, for their advice. Donna Ippolito, who worked very hard to help me get this story out.

  Heather Joy Coleman, a willing partner in my life. My sons, Talon Laron and Conner Rhys, who make everything worthwhile just by being there.

  Prologue

  Celestial Palace

  Forbidden City, Sian

  Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation

  21 February 3058

  Ion Rush, Master of Imarra, toured the third-floor ballroom of the Celestial Palace, trying to avoid the other guests. He sipped occasionally at a light, dry wine that left the tang of plums on his tongue. Attired simply for the evening, he wore the dress uniform of House Imarra. An ivory-colored suit trimmed heavily in what was commonly called Liao green. Gold buttons decorated the sleeves, and the crest of the Capellan Confederation rode on a patch at his right shoulder. The Imarra uniform did not sport the narrow cape of the regular Capellan Armed Forces, and Ion had chosen to forego his ceremonial katana sword and medals.

  The Celestial Palace, seat of government for the Capellan Confederation, was currently hosting its biggest celebration of the year outside of the Chancellor’s birthday. The Chinese Lunar New Year. Its fifteen days of celebration and ritual observances gave the normally reserved Capellan citizens a chance to unwind, relax.

  If that is so, then why am I so tense ? He accepted a jiaozi from the tray of a passing server and bit into the spicy meat dumpling, concentrating on its rich flavor rather than the question he’d asked himself.

  The ballroom was nowhere near filled to capacity, but still Rush guessed that at least two hundred people milled about the spacious floor, making small talk, drinking wine, eating jiaozi or the sweet rice pudding niangao that was also a favorite of the New Year celebration. Red bunting and ribbon had been strung everywhere, the bright, cheerful color meant to reinforce the festive mood. The buzz of half a hundred conversations warmed his ears, but none engaged him as he continued his solitary patrol.

  Not because he could be easily ignored. Ion Rush was not a small man, nor usually one of quiet disposition. With close-cropped blonde hair and broad Slavic features he was obviously not a member of the Directorship, the Confederation’s bureaucratic and administrative caste, which took such pride in breeding themselves ever closer to their ideal of sharp-eyed, dark-haired Asian ancestry. Nor was he a member of the Intelligentsia, the technicians and scientists who made up the other high-ranking caste present at the Chancellor’s celebration. Even more than the uniform, it was his strong build, his confident, almost swaggering gait, his way of calmly searching a crowd—blue eyes sharp and piercing, spotting potential allies, enemies—that gave him away as a member of a third group. Janshi.

  Warrior.

  The Inner Sphere, over a thousand light years wide and comprised of hundreds of settled worlds, held few constants. Each world possessed its own resources and needs. Governments were varied, and promoted their own agendas. But one thing did hold true throughout. Warriors were a privileged class.

  The five Great Houses of the Inner Sphere, which included the Capellan Confederation, had once united all of humankind under a single government known as the Star League. But the League had collapsed some three hundred years before, and the surviving Successor Houses had been at each other’s throats ever since. To fight their wars they used BattleMechs—giant humanoid machines weighing up to one hundred tons worth of armor, weapons, and control components.

  Ion Rush was a thirty-year veteran of those ongoing wars, a MechWarrior who piloted one of the ten-meter tall ’Mechs. He was also Master of Imarra, the most prestigious of eight Warrior Houses supplementing the Capellan military. The Warrior Houses lived by special laws, apart from normal Capellan society, each House a world unto itself. Members were hand-pi
cked by the House Master at twelve years of age. They were cared for, taught, and trained by the House Mentors. A Warrior House directed the lives of its members, lives that would be dedicated to service to the Capellan ruler and the state until death. It was one of the greatest honors to which a Capellan citizen could hope to aspire.

  It was also the reason Rush remained apart from the festivities. As a protector of the realm, he felt it his duty to remain on guard. Even if the current Chancellor was not. Especially if he was not.

  “Join me at the window, Ion?”

  As if summoned by thought, Chancellor Sun-Tzu Liao suddenly appeared at Rush’s side flanked by two large men dressed in black uniforms. The Master of Imarra gave each bodyguard an appraising glance while trying to conceal his surprise. A white death’s head pin worn at the collar was the only badge of rank they wore. For most people, that was more than enough to identify them.

  They were members of the Chancellor’s elite Death Commandos—some of the Confederation’s deadliest warriors. Drawn from the regular military and the Warrior Houses, their lives were pledged directly to the Chancellor. But Ion Rush had trained both of these men. Had controlled their lives for six years before releasing them to the Death Commandos. He did not feel the least bit intimidated.

  Perhaps that was a mistake. Perhaps not.

  Tall and thin, Sun-Tzu was a contrast to the powerful builds of his men and looked even younger than his twenty-seven years, though Rush knew from weekly matches that the young ruler kept himself fit and was a decent student of karate. The Chancellor wore red silk robes traditional to his office, these with black and gold Bengal tigers cavorting on each breast and around the edges of his wide sleeves. And across the back would be the Chinese zodiac wheel, recently adjusted to reflect the New Year.

  Ion Rush shrugged off his discomfort at having been surprised and gave the Chancellor a neutral smile. Sun-Tzu had apparently taken pains to come upon the Master of Imarra unaware, and the Liao was not known for his empty gestures.

  “At your service, Celestial Wisdom,” Rush said, and gestured the Chancellor ahead of him.

  Fully a fourth of the ballroom’s eastern wall was constructed of bullet-proof glass, allowing the guests to look out over a large courtyard and the east palace walls to where the lights of the capital stared back. On the way over, Rush plucked a piece of fried dough from a serving plate. It would serve well as a prop to keep his hands busy or his mouth quiet if he needed a pause to think.

  Sun-Tzu’s walk was slightly staggered, as if the young Chancellor had drunk too much wine, and once he stumbled slightly when passing Jesse Villars, Master of House LuSann. Villars kept his face studiously blank, but Rush could read the scorn in his eyes. He wished Sun-Tzu would take notice and deal with the man’s insolence. That might solve a few of the problems worrying the Imarra House Master. But Sun-Tzu apparently had other things in mind.

  The Lantern Festival parade was passing by the eastern gate, and nearing its end. Now Rush silently thanked the Chancellor for his timing, and tore off a small piece of the candied bread and chewed on it slowly with something approaching relish. Of all the New Year’s festivities, he liked best the parade with its color and energy and high spirits. The Lantern Festival concluded the New Year’s celebration, and the citizens of the capital threw themselves into it with limitless vigor.

  People wearing colorful, giant lion and dragon masks danced in the street beyond the gate. This close to the glass wall Rush could hear the rhythmic beats of the large drums and crashing cymbals they danced to, sounds that would turn the streets into a barely controlled frenzy. He couldn’t hear the staccato string of firecracker explosions, but he knew that the hundreds—the thousands—of flashes around the dancers’ feet were just that. Pinwheels carried on poles spun their red and orange fire well above the heads of the dancers and rained down glowing sparks. As Rush watched, a single stilt-walker passed the gate, a dark silhouette against a backdrop of colorful fire.

  “So the Year of the Yellow Horse is upon us,” Sun-Tzu slurred, his voice carrying to several nearby members of the Directorship, who tactfully took it upon themselves to edge further away from the young Liao.

  Without looking, Rush knew that the zodiac wheel on the back of the Chancellor’s silk robes showed the Horse in the dominant position and that the entire wheel would be trimmed in gold thread. He’d been born and lived his entire fifty-two years in the Capellan Confederation, where the Liao family proudly endorsed the Chinese culture as part of their ancient heritage, but he’d never entirely understood some of the mysticism.

  Though last year had been eerily prophetic. Ding si. Year of the Red Snake, the year 3057. The red snake was identified with fire, and was characterized as being both soft-spoken and a deep thinker. The red of Sun-Tzu’s silk robe sent Rush’s thoughts back over the events of the past year.

  A few short months ago Sun-Tzu had joined Thomas Marik of the Free Worlds League in a drive to reclaim worlds lost to the Davions and their damnable Federated Commonwealth. The brief offensive had been more successful than anyone could have predicted. The Federated Commonwealth had split back into two states over internal differences brought about by the invasion, while the Capellan Confederation had reclaimed dozens of worlds lost in the Fourth Succession War. Dozens more were assisted in breaking away from Davion rule.

  But reclaiming worlds was one thing. Being able to hold them against an invasion was another. For that reason, these planets were listed as being of strong Capellan influence. Still other worlds managed to make a clean break altogether, away from both the Federated Commonwealth and House Liao. These fledging independent worlds occupied space now popularly known as the Chaos March.

  Yes, Sun-Tzu could be soft-spoken and a deep thinker, and he had already proved on several occasions that he could accomplish great things. What remained to be seen was whether he had inherited his mother’s obsessive streak. Ion Rush knew that was what had truly killed Romano Liao. And it was what could still bring down the Capellan Confederation if Sun-Tzu wasn’t careful.

  Rush watched as the first lanterns began to pass the gate, oil lamps with colored shades carried by first a few people, and then dozens more. The sight helped to calm his thoughts, reminding him of the serene beauty that was life’s mate to turmoil. Yin and yang. Besides, he did not much like thinking of Romano Liao’s death, and his part in it, while standing next to her son and heir. “So what does the Yellow Horse signify, Celestial Wisdom?”

  “It is a good prophecy,” Sun-Tzu said after a moment’s reflection, slurring his words only slightly. “Yellow corresponds to the element earth, and could also forecast heat waves. The Horse is cheerful, perceptive, and quick-witted. It has a love of being where the action is.”

  Sun-Tzu studied the fingernails of his left hand. As with the right, the nails of the last three fingers were ten centimeters long, carbon-reinforced and painted with intricate designs in black lacquer and gold leaf. “It has made me think of perhaps setting a Warrior House against Sarna.”

  Sarna! Ion Rush controlled his exasperation with several deep breaths. Then he finished chewing his candied bread and swallowed. “Why Sarna?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “The Sarna Supremacy sits on the Confederation’s coreward border, protruding into my realm like a cancer. It is the most stable of all the Chaos March alliances. Reports have them hiring mercenaries, readying themselves to expand their influence to other nearby worlds or perhaps to strike into the Confederation itself.” Sun-Tzu studied his right-hand nails. “I cannot allow this.”

  The Master of Imarra nodded because it was expected of him. He believed the reason Sun-Tzu had failed to secure Sarna in the invasion was because he hadn’t sent in a large enough force early on. By the time he could divert the necessary forces, Sarna had liberated nearby Sakhalin for its mineral resources and Kaifeng for its agricultural potential. Sarna’s leaders then announced the rebirth of the Sarna Supremacy, an alliance whose original charter
had been signed centuries ago, predating the existence of the Capellan Confederation. Yes, the Sarna Supremacy could make trouble, but in Rush’s opinion they were nowhere near the threat Sun-Tzu believed.

  “And once Sarna is eliminated?” the House Master asked.

  Sun-Tzu smiled at their reflection in the glass, his eyes sharp and full of emotion. “Then the rest of the Chaos March, and the disputed territory, is open for the taking. We could free up military forces and sweep up through those systems without opposition.”

  Free up what forces? Rush knew as well as Sun-Tzu how thinly the Capellan garrisons were stretched. And perhaps it was true that the Capellans would not encounter local opposition in a drive through the Chaos March, but Rush would never discount Victor Steiner-Davion so readily. Davion still considered himself prince of the Federated Commonwealth, and was not about to relinquish his claim to these worlds. And Rush saw an even more important problem. “Have you thought about which Warrior House you would use? Which you can trust?” He uttered the questions softly, for the Chancellor’s ears alone.

  “You refer to your report, that some Warrior Houses may not be as loyal as I would like?”

  Ion Rush nodded. “Your mother demanded the utmost loyalty of the Warrior Houses. She proved herself in battle when she stood against the Canopus-Andurien invasion back in the 3030s, then rebuilt those Houses that had been destroyed in the Fourth Succession War. Your actions last year won you some acclaim, Chancellor, but you are not really a warrior.”

  “As my sister is becoming?” Sun-Tzu asked with a trace of impatience.

  Kali Liao was unstable, in Ion’s opinion, but not stupid. Also she was ambitious, which made her a greater danger. He knew about the scar on her chest, a vestige of her gruesome initiation into the feared Thugee cult of assassins, whose members believed in personal advancement at any price. That should serve as some kind of warning.