Binding Force

by Loren L. Coleman

  “She works hard to improve her rudimentary ’Mech skills. Now she endears herself to some of the Warrior Houses by espousing many of your mother’s policies and methods. There are those who think the Confederation would be strong under her.”

  “The Warrior Houses are loyal to the person of the Chancellor,” Sun-Tzu said, as if repeating a maxim.

  No, sir, they are not. Ion Rush searched for a diplomatic way to contradict Sun-Tzu, especially on the matter of his own House’s loyalty, and failed. The Warrior Houses traditionally pledged themselves to the person of the Chancellor, but their true devotion was to the Liao bloodline, not to any single individual. If the Chancellor were to set himself on a path of destruction, as Sun-Tzu’s fixation on the Sarna Supremacy could become, some Warrior Houses might turn openly to support young Kali.

  Such things had occurred before.

  Again his thoughts turned to the past. Romano Liao, then Chancellor, had ordered the assassination of her sister Candace and Candace’s husband Justin Allard. Allard happened to be Prince Hanse Davion’s chief advisor. If the Federated Commonwealth hadn’t had its hands full with the Clan invasion at the time, Davion might have destroyed both Romano and Sian for her audacity. Ion Rush could still recall his own fury that she had gambled so carelessly with the fate of the Confederation.

  But Candace had survived the attempt, if her husband did not. With the help of Ion Rush, among others, she had secretly made her way to Sian, where she exacted vengeance on her sister. When it was all over, Romano and her husband were dead and Sun-Tzu was Chancellor.

  And now with Kali Liao making waves, the problem was how to persuade Sun-Tzu that solidarity was the Capellan Confederation’s best hope just now.

  “Where would you free up military forces?” he asked, hoping to make his point by attacking the argument from the other end. Simply put, the Confederation had ample military might to keep what it had, but not yet enough to take and hold the Chaos March even if the Sarna Supremacy no longer existed. Though he had his own thoughts on how that task might be accomplished, he would say nothing of them yet.

  Frustration showed on Sun-Tzu Liao’s face as he drew some of the same conclusions. “I will find a way,” he promised in a whisper.

  Past the east gate, the New Year’s dragon was finally making its appearance. Constructed in two-meter segments of bamboo rods and colored satiny cloth, the serpent danced and writhed its way up the street. It was more than a hundred meters long, each segment supported by a pair of long sticks. Dozens of people worked these rods to brace the dragon and make it move with lifelike grace. Rush knew that the dragon symbolized fertility and vigor, and he watched with interest this emblem of his own plan for destroying Sarna. He also considered the New Year. The color yellow was associated with the element of earth. Also prophetic?

  Sun-Tzu finally broke the silence. “No ruler likes to talk of divisiveness in his realm, House Master Rush.”

  “Dangran, Celestial Wisdom,” Ion Rush said. Of course. He popped another piece of fried bread into his mouth and chewed it slowly, savoring the sweet taste as he watched the dragon.

  “Makes a ruler nervous,” the Chancellor continued, voice pitched low enough that only Rush would hear. There was no trace of slurred speech as he continued. “Like, for instance, the way my Aunt Candace made it onto Sian, murdered my mother, and then escaped. She even said—what were the words?—that I would not be far wrong if I imagined that she had more palace people on her payroll than my mother.”

  The candied bread suddenly lost its taste, and what Rush had already eaten sat heavily in his stomach. As his mouth dried, the simple act of chewing became more difficult. He glanced over at Sun-Tzu and found him staring intently.

  “Can you imagine what my mother would have done in my place? No doubt she would have ordered one of those bloody purges by which she consolidated her own power. And Kali? Being so like my mother, as you put it, would probably do the same if she ever took the Celestial Throne. Especially if she had names…”

  Rush did not doubt for an instant that Sun-Tzu had proof that he, Ion Rush, Master of Imarra, had personally helped smuggle Candace Liao onto Sian. He could also feel the gaze of the Chancellor’s two Death Commandos burning into the back of his neck. Suddenly he felt isolated from his House and his warriors. But if his Chancellor was about to call down a death sentence, Rush steeled himself meet it with the dignity of his training and his office. He returned Sun-Tzu Liao’s unwavering green gaze.

  Then Sun-Tzu turned back to the window, putting on a wistful expression as he watched the tail end of the dragon disappear past the gate along with the last of the lantern-bearers. “Do you know what I like about the New Year, Master Rush?” he asked, his tone now suddenly casual.

  “What, sire?”

  “According to Chinese custom, it’s a time to begin fresh. Not to forget, or forgive. But the troubles of last year are past and it is a time for looking forward.”

  Ion Rush nodded slowly. Was Sun-Tzu offering him a lifeline? “An admirable sentiment, Celestial Wisdom.”

  “Besides, are you not Master of Imarra?” Sun-Tzu’s voice had again dropped to a confidential pitch. “You share the Chancellor’s authority over all the Warrior Houses, do you not?”

  In theory, Rush thought. But he wasn’t about to disagree at this moment. He simply nodded.

  “And since you are a loyal warrior of the Capellan Confederation, and loyal specifically to me, I have nothing to fear, do I?” Sun-Tzu’s tone implied that the question was purely rhetorical.

  The Master of Imarra considered the unspoken offer. Pledge myself and my House to Sun-Tzu Liao, and I may continue to serve the Confederation. Rush believed he would have refused such an offer from Romano Liao, and possibly Maximilian before her. Sun-Tzu, though, was different.

  “Hurt them,” Sun-Tzu commanded, not making it clear who them was. The ghost of a smile played at the edges of his mouth. “I will stumble around a bit more and then retire. It will give Kali and any of her supporters present a bit of courage. Our Maskirovka agents will handle any traitors among the Directorship. You will keep the Warrior Houses in line however you must, and you will find a way to keep Sarna from thrusting a knife deeper into the Confederation’s side. Leave the rest of the Chaos March to me.

  “That is a riddle for me to solve,” Sun-Tzu promised. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  First Interlude

  Being tactful in audacity is knowing how far one can go too far.

  Jerome Blake, founder of ComStar, 2788

  House Hiritsu Stronghold

  Randar

  Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation

  24 April 3047

  A sharp kick just behind his right knee made the leg buckle. Aris Sung fell heavily to both knees just as the main doors were swung open by muscular guards who must have heard their House Master approaching. Then he felt the steel of two katana blades pressing down hard from behind, one on each shoulder, to keep him from trying to rise. The wielder of the blade pressing down on his right shoulder sawed with his weapon, ever so slightly, to cut through Aris’ tight-fitting black shirt and into the flesh beneath. Aris clenched his jaw against the pain and kept his eyes focused on the doors, waiting to see the person he had gambled his life to meet.

  A woman entered, dressed in silk robes of a green so dark they were almost black. She walked with strength and purpose to her step. Her long dark hair showed a touch of iron gray at each temple, and her high cheekbones and slightly uptilted eyes spoke of her Asian ancestry. Late thirties, he judged, only because he knew how to look. This woman had that ageless quality of so many Asians, though it might have had less to do with genetics and more to do with her indomitable will. It was as if not even time dared presume too much in her presence.

  The room was simply constructed and furnished, even though it was part of the largest stronghold on Randar. Aris had had the devil’s own time getting over the outer walls, which were built of steel-reinf
orced ferrocrete and designed to keep out BattleMechs. Then in avoiding patrols and passing through armored doors. Now he was where he’d risked all to be, in this room trimmed in hardwood polished to such a sheen that the grain seemed to dance in the light of the lamps. Most of the seating consisted of mats of woven rushes. Against one wall, however, was a platform too low to be called a dais, though what sat on it could definitely be construed as a throne. On it was a bench seat, which Aris guessed to be constructed of dark linwood. It was hand-carved with intricate designs and cushioned with pillows of a green satiny cloth.

  And on the wall above the seat, an empty sword rack.

  The woman stepped up onto the platform and quietly stared up at the empty rack for a long moment. Aris Sung counted thirteen drops of blood seeping beyond the dark cloth of his shirt and trickling down his right side. A good omen, he decided. He had recently turned thirteen years of age.

  The woman settled herself onto the bench seat, arranging her robes about her as if in afterthought. Not a word had yet been spoken by anyone. Aris was sure his throat would be slit before he could utter a sound should he open his own mouth. So he waited, meeting her icy sapphire eyes with a determined gaze of his own. He willed himself not to blink, carefully widening and relaxing his eyelids.

  Neither one of them moved for half a minute, and then Aris took his first calculated risk. He straightened his back, slowly so as not to invite a deeper cut into his right shoulder. Then he rocked back, jaw set against the pain as he unavoidably forced a deeper cut, until resting comfortably against his own calves. Adjusting his posture from defeated slump to comfortable meditation.

  She blinked.

  “Lance Leader Non.” The woman turned her gaze to stare over Aris’ right shoulder. “How does Crescent Moon happen to be missing?”

  “House Master, we caught this thief in the outer chambers.” The answering voice was proud and firm. An accomplishment for anyone under the direct stare of this forceful woman, Aris thought.

  Her expression was inscrutable, but her voice seemed to hint at something Aris almost thought was amusement. “Then why don’t I see Crescent Moon lying on the floor where it would have fallen, Ty?”

  The pressure eased against Aris’ shoulder as the sword-wielder considered this riddle. According to information purchased by Aris at a steep price, the katana sword Crescent Moon had originally been given to the first Master of House Hiritsu by Dainmar Liao, twenty-third Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation, at the time of Warrior House Hiritsu’s formation almost two centuries before. Only the current House Master was allowed to touch the artifact. For the past year and a half, ever since his initial failure to be accepted by House Hiritsu, Aris had been planning its theft. Forcing himself to be patient until he knew he would succeed. Were he caught too soon, any Hiritsu warrior would have cut him down on the spot. But the successful theft of the sword, that demanded the immediate attention of the House Master.

  Lance Leader Non finally came up with an answer. “We searched the outer chambers. He must have cached it somewhere else within the stronghold. Or possibly outside the walls, before returning to steal again.”

  Time to turn the conversation, Aris decided. If the House Master passed sentence now…

  He kept his voice even and calm. “And how many times would you say I walked right through Hiritsu security, Ty?”

  Aris had discovered many things concerning House Hiritsu in his eighteen months of planning, including their rigid devotion to courtesy. As expected, the familiar use of the lance leader’s name infuriated him. In one fluid motion the warrior laid his blade flat against Aris’ shoulder and then slid it forward till the point rested just under Aris’ chin with his head tilted back. “No one gave you leave to speak, carrion.”

  “It is a fair question, Lance Leader.” Was that the trace of a smile tugging at the right corner of the House Master’s mouth? Aris couldn’t be sure. Master of the House, he thought, for the first time feeling out of his depth.

  The lance leader read it as a challenge. “We will find it, House Master York.”

  “Like hell,” Aris spat out.

  The point pressed up harder, breaking the skin just under his jaw, but that was only pain and Aris was now confident that this man was too well-disciplined to kill him unless so ordered by his House Master. That was the way of things.

  The will of the House Master is the will of the House. If any one maxim defined the Warrior Houses of the Capellan Confederation, it was that one. Aris longed to be a part of this world—of honor and family and service to the Chancellor and the state. But for now his only chance lay in boldness of word and action. “You will never find Crescent Moon without my help,” he said quietly.

  Now there was no trace of amusement in the House Master’s face or voice. “Do you really think so little of us?” she asked, her face like stone.

  Careful, Aris warned himself. He bit back on the response that leapt to mind, a boast of his own abilities. That was not the way. “I think that highly of House Hiritsu,” he finally said. “I spent eighteen months preparing for this night, this moment. I left nothing to chance.”

  House Master York’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. “You are willing to wager your life on that?”

  “Will you put up a position in House Hiritsu against it?”

  The moment the words left his lips, Aris knew he had made his first real mistake. Over his left shoulder he heard a female voice whisper, “Impudent bastard,” and from behind he heard several more oaths at his presumptuousness. Those, however, did not concern him. What did was the way House Master Virginia York’s eyes suddenly widened and turned upward in thought, her fingers rubbing together in anticipation. If living on the streets had taught Aris anything—other than the fact that he wanted more than that solitary, meaningless life—it was to read the language of the body. He had just handed the House Master his motivation, his goal, and now she was puzzling it through with the relish of a master games-woman. Putting herself in his place.

  When her gaze began to scan the room slowly, searching, he knew she almost had it. “You’re not going to find it sitting on your ass,” he said, deliberately forcing some scorn into his voice and trying hard to keep his own fear from showing.

  The point disappeared from under his throat and a sharp pain bit into the side of his head, making his ears ring. For a moment Aris thought he was dead, but then realized that Lance Leader Non must have hit him with the flat of his blade. That, more than anything else so far, actually frightened him. He had been a quarter-turn of the wrist away from death.

  But the gamble suddenly seemed to be paying off. House Master York was no longer searching the room. Her sharp gaze seemed to pin him to the wall. “What is your name?” she demanded.

  “Aris Sung,” he said with a dry mouth. He thought about adding more, his home city or name of his father, but then decided it wiser to answer nothing more than she asked. There might yet be a limit to the House Master’s patience.

  “Aris Sung. I welcome you into House Hiritsu.” The blades fell away from his shoulders with those words, though Lance Leader Non at his right shoulder seemed to hesitate ever so slightly. “Does this make you happy?” House Master York inquired almost pleasantly.

  You mean, can I die happy? Aris translated. He knew she could order the death of any House Hiritsu member as easily as that of any thief. But the door had opened a crack, and he now had to make sure it wasn’t slammed in his face. So he leaned forward and bowed his head in shame, his forehead almost touching the polished wooden floor. “No, House Master York,” he said quietly.

  “And why not?”

  It was time to make amends. “Because this unworthy one has spoken rudely to a highly placed House warrior,” he said, voice filled with contrition, “to the House Master herself, and dared to lay hands on Crescent Moon, which is taped to the underside of your seat. I expect and await punishment. I regret that you will have to stoop in order to retrieve the blade.” A drop
of sweat rolled off his nose and spattered against the wood grain. Aris kept his attention focused on it, not daring to look up. Was that enough?

  Virginia York’s tone revealed no trace of either anger or acceptance. “I won’t have to stoop at all, Aris Sung. After I leave this room, you will return Crescent Moon to its place of rest, voluntarily, and suffer twice the punishment.”

  Aris felt his hopes rise slightly. He could only die once, so perhaps House Master York had other plans in mind.

  “Lance Leader Ty Wu Non,” she continued. “You are recognized as this child’s Mentor. He is now your responsibility. I want him trained against the day when such audacity might actually be of use. Start with fifteen lashes for touching Crescent Moon, another fifteen for his insult to me, and five for the insult to yourself. Then run him for five kilometers. If he falls, shoot him.”

  “Yes, House Master.”

  Aris looked up, not wanting to speak out of turn but realizing that he had to make sure his debt was fully repaid to the satisfaction of the House Master.

  “Yes, Aris Sung,” she said. “You have something to say?”

  He nodded and met her eyes. “The House Master has not sentenced me for the second offense of touching Crescent Moon.”

  Her gaze was cold and appraising, as if wondering just how much a thirteen-year-old boy thought he could take. Finally she nodded to Aris’ new House Mentor. “If he lasts the run, another twenty lashes.” Then she gathered her robes about her and left the room with the same proud stride that had brought her in.

  Aris smiled grimly. He was right where he wanted to be. Now all he had to do was survive it.

  1

  Kaifeng Recharge Station Jodo Shinsa

  Zenith Jump Point, Kaifeng System

  Sarna Supremacy, Chaos March

  10 July 3058

  The master alarm circuit on the bridge of the Kaifeng Recharge Station Jodo Shinsa pulsed out soft beeps at steady intervals while amber caution lights atop several consoles flashed for attention. Conversation among the five Kaifeng SMM officers on duty ceased abruptly, a comment on the latest ’Mech duels from Solaris hanging in the air unfinished and forgotten. Two of the five men and women swung their chairs around to face their panels while a third unbuckled herself and swam across the null gravity to a panel manned only during the main shift or high-traffic periods.