Binding Force

by Loren L. Coleman

  Not citizen. Subject. Shen squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears of frustration and rage. He’d grown up on Kaifeng a free citizen of the Federated Commonwealth, but always with strong ties to his Capellan—or, rather, his Chinese—ancestry. Reminders of it stared back at him whenever he looked into a mirror. The dark, almond-shaped eyes. Yellow tint to his skin. Thick black hair that he kept well shorn because of his work in low gravity.

  And then there was Kaifeng, an agricultural world with a huge belt of farming communities but only four actual cities. Many Chinese traditions remained alive there, even after nearly thirty years of FedCom control. Particularly the traditions dealing with local holidays and fertility rites. So a rebirth of the Sarna Supremacy, joining the freedoms of FedCom rule with the Chinese heritage so well preserved and promoted under the Liaos, had seemed like the realization of a dream for his homeland and his people.

  A dream that had lasted less than a year.

  There would be no pardons from Sun-Tzu Liao. The three Sarna Supremacy worlds were not among those that had welcomed the return of Capellan rule. In the chaos wrought by the Liao-Marik invasion of Federated Commonwealth territory, the planets Kaifeng, Sarna, and Sakhalin had declared themselves an independent alliance standing in opposition to Capellans.

  So Sun-Tzu Liao now arrived as conqueror instead of liberator. And in the Capellan Confederation, subjects acquired as the direct result of war, regardless of former social position or education, were automatically relegated to the Servitors caste. They were slaves, treated as less than human and put to menial tasks in service to the Confederation. Citizenship could be regained, in theory, after five to ten years of loyal service. But in practice it would only be those of the next generation, the ones actually born under Liao rule, who could escape the onus of the Servitor caste.

  “Petty Officer Davidson, if you would assist me?” The words were out of Shen’s mouth before he could think better of it. It was risky, interrupting her work under the direction of their Hiritsu keepers. Plus, there was still one Capellan technician on the bridge who might recognize his request as being out of order and therefore suspicious.

  Fortunately, Davidson herself was not a concern. Her face was turned away from the others on the bridge, and that gave her time to compose her expression before looking around. “Yes,” she asked simply, neutrally.

  Shen swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and constricted. He was quite aware of the intense study Terry Chan was giving him, and could feel a warmth on the back of his neck that would be The Jackal staring at him as well. “I need the angular deviation to Kaifeng. For the logs.” He glanced up at Terry Chan, trying to look both intimidated and just a little dispirited. Her suspicious glare made it easy. “I don’t think I should be getting up to take readings just now.”

  Davidson smiled sadly. “Right,” she said, with just a small nod. She checked her screen, then told him, “Holding at four-point-two-nine degrees.”

  Shen entered that into his logs, thinking furiously all the while. Why had he done that? Just to see if Davidson would back him up? Well, she had. Now what did he plan to do with that information? The simple truth of the matter, which he should have realized before trying something so stupid, was that he couldn’t do anything. Shouldn’t do anything. Not yet. Wait, he counseled himself. This isn’t the time to attempt a warning. Not while these Hiritsu troops are all high-strung and The Jackal himself is here on the bridge. Kaifeng was more than a week away by DropShip. That gave him plenty of time after these people left to organize a warning message.

  But with every faked message, Shen knew he would lose his will to resist, much as Leftenant Harris already had. Cooperation is policy. He remembered that phrase from courses at the military academy. With planets constantly changing hands during the Succession Wars and all the border skirmishes in between, it had often become easier for people on occupied worlds to simply cooperate rather than resist.

  He was still deliberating when The Jackal’s sharp voice broke his reverie. “Silence on the bridge. You, Ellen, get ready to record. And don’t worry, I know you will do a perfect job. One that will make your new nation, and your family, proud. You, Shen? Continue making your log entries. That should keep you busy. All minders fade back, out of the camera angle.”

  Ty Wu Non and Terry Chan moved off to Shen’s left, taking seats at consoles against the wall. On the right-hand side of the room, a Hiritsu sentry drifted over to the starboard wall to find an anchoring position. The Capellan technician remained next to Petty Officer Davidson, whose station would not be in view of the camera. “Recording,” Davidson said.

  Shen tried not to even hear as Leftenant Harris began the prearranged spiel about taking advantage of low traffic to perform monthly preventive maintenance early. He continued to type comments into the log. Zero-eight-fifty, cooperation becomes policy.

  Then Shen suddenly hit the Period key at the end of that sentence with a violent stabbing motion that cracked the noteputer’s screen. He picked it up and hefted it and with a mighty throw, sending the ’puter spinning across the short distance between him and the technician overseeing Davidson’s work on the communications console. The spinning device caught the man in the ear and threw him completely off-balance for a few precious seconds. Shen was already talking frantically.

  “Capellan forces have seized this station and will soon invade Kaifeng. Trust no further transmissions. Inform Sarna. Prepare for—”

  The first laser burst caught him in the left shoulder, the second against the left side of his chest. Shen crumpled, sagging to the right in an effort to escape the pain while the stench of his burnt coveralls and scorched flesh made him gag. Behind him Leftenant Harris was screaming at him for being such a stupid, selfish bastard. Shen wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. He settled for several choking gasps while looking over toward Petty Officer Davidson at her station.

  Forewarned that Shen might try something, her hands flew over the comm panel in practiced efficiency trying to send out the message before anyone could stop her. She stabbed repeatedly at the Transmit button, paused, threw a few more switches, and then kept hammering at Transmit until the technician finally regained his legs and stopped her with a vicious punch to the side of her head. Then Shen’s view changed as Terry Chan grabbed him by the hair and hauled him about, placing her Nakjama right up to the side of his head. Well behind him he heard the bridge door cycle open as more Hiritsu personnel entered the bridge.

  Doesn’t matter, he thought. I beat you. Zero-eight-fifty-five, defeated House Hiritsu.

  “Did it go out?” The Jackal asked the Capellan technician. The anger in his voice promised death. “Was the message sent?”

  The answer did not come from the technician, but from a voice he hadn’t heard before. “No, it was not.”

  Shen couldn’t see much more out of the corner of his eye than the barrel of the laser pistol shoved up to his temple and part of Terry Chan’s hand. But the new voice was that of another female, full of strength and authority. He found himself believing it without question, and the despair welled up inside him. He’d failed.

  The voice rang out again, chiding. “Foolish to think we would not anticipate such an attempt. The bridge comm station is unable to transmit at all. The message has to be physically carried down to the communications center and transmitted from there. You accomplished nothing.”

  Shen heard Davidson crying softly, and then realized that tears were spilling silently down his own cheeks as well. With an effort he brought them under control. “We tried,” he said, spitting out each word at the unseen voice. “The others will know that we tried.”

  “And failed,” the new voice said in casual dismissal. “Ellen Harris, you will prove your worth by sitting in judgment over these two. They were your people. Make them answer for their crime, or answer for them.”

  There was a moment of silence in which Shen felt a glimmer of hope that the leftenant would not undermine the sacrifice they ha
d just made. Then his hopes died as he heard her answer without faltering.

  “I recommend you gather two bridge crews at the forward docking collar. Let them watch as the disobedient are punished by being ejected into space. That should solve your discipline problem.”

  “Yes, it should. And make sure everyone understands, Ellen Harris, that even the smallest episode of defiance will be considered a capital offense.” A slight pause and then the new voice was addressing the Jackal. “You trained this one well, Ty. I expect no further trouble from these other two, so you may turn this operation over to Lance Leader Sung. I have need of your presence aboard the Tao-te.”

  Shen felt cold and empty, utterly despondent. He would not have believed he could feel more pain, until the unseen woman’s next words drove one last spike of hopelessness into him. “Please tell Aris Sung that Ellen Harris may operate the airlock controls herself, as her reward for faithful service.”

  * * *

  Aris Sung drifted into the hub of the grav deck. Like a giant spinning wheel some twelve hundred meters in diameter and forty meters thick, the only place one could realistically expect to enter it was through the middle. The eye of the storm, so to speak, where the centrifugal forces were so minor as to be easily dealt with.

  Grabbing onto one of the handholds, Aris swung down out from the hub into one of many access tubes that ran down to the outer wheel, where gravity was maintained at one Terran standard gravity. His weight increased the further down he climbed, finally reaching his normal sixty-six kilograms as he stepped out onto the grav deck’s outermost level. From there it was a short walk to the station commander’s stateroom, appropriated by Virginia York for her stay.

  Aris felt pleased with himself. Not for having gotten the better of Ty Wu Non. Inwardly he felt guilty that the senior company leader had suffered a slight loss of face. But it had been necessary to preserve the will of the House Master, which was to maintain the element of surprise. And in the final analysis, Virginia York was still Master of House Hiritsu and Ty Wu Non was only her most senior warrior. Aris had served her well, and so deserved the small pleasure of self-satisfaction.

  But the feeling faded quickly as he crossed the short stretch of hallway. In its place came an unease, a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. Where were the House Master’s guards? At least one Hiritsu infantryman should have been stationed at the head of the corridor. And as it was too early for the House Master to be sleeping, a junior MechWarrior or MechWarrior trainee should have been posted outside her stateroom in case she had need to send someone on errands.

  No, it didn’t make sense. Aris drew his Nakjama laser pistol and pressed his back up against the smooth metal bulkhead. He slid forward, passing a door by turning his back out toward the open passage, keeping the laser chest-high and covering the closed door, and then completing the spin to end up with his back to the bulkhead on the opposite side of the door once more. Three of these careful movements later, he stood next to the House Master’s adopted stateroom slash office.

  Maybe she had returned to the Tao-te, Aris thought. Overseeing the preparations for the assault or simply deciding that the recharge station no longer warranted her full attention. The idea was so compelling that he almost dropped his guard and walked into the room.

  Almost.

  Aris reached across the closed door to thumb the opener and then pulled his arm back before the door actually began to cycle open. He waited for it to close, and then repeated his action. No sounds from the dark room. No sensation of movement. On the fourth cycle Aris swung around and into the room, immediately diving to one side so he would not be framed by the corridor light.

  Pressed up against the room’s outer bulkhead, he still neither heard nor sensed any motion. The light spilling in through the open doorway was enough to show him that no one occupied the starkly furnished room. No one alive.

  Virginia York sat at the desk, slumped over as if asleep. Aris could smell the scent of death, of blood and a body having voided itself in final relief. Off to the right were two other bodies, piled into the corner out of the way. He stood, pistol gripped loosely in his right hand, which hung down impotently at his side. He walked forward a few steps, enough to see by the corridor light Virginia York’s staring, unseeing eyes and the pool of blood spilling across the desktop and down onto the floor. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry and scratchy, and he fought the gnawing sensation in his stomach that threatened to sap his strength altogether.

  He stood there for several minutes after the door cycled shut, his world again plunged back into darkness.

  6

  JumpShip Tao-te

  Zenith Jump Point, Kaifeng System

  Sarna Supremacy, Chaos March

  11 July 3058

  “The passing of Virginia York is a tragic loss to House Hiritsu. She guided our path for over thirteen years. Many among us have known no other Master of our House. Many among us would not be here if not for her command on the battlefield, or off.”

  Ty Wu Non paused in his speech, eyes sweeping the faces of the assembled warriors. Aris thought his gaze lingered an instant longer on him, as if once again singling him out. Yes, he thought, it was by Virginia York’s wish alone that I managed to join House Hiritsu. Must you belabor that even now?

  Aris felt wooden, detached. He knew the shock would pass, but not quickly. He could vaguely remember giving the alarm, and joining in the search for the assassin. Popular speculation was that it had to be some secret agent posing as a member of the recharge station crew. Sarnese, most likely, but possibly a FedCom operative guarding the latent interests of Prince Victor Davion. Certainly the kill was too clean for an ordinary crewman to have done it.

  Whoever the assassin, the fact remained that the House Master was dead. And that gnawed away at Aris from within.

  The thirty-six MechWarriors and a select dozen men and women from among the House infantry had gathered in the war room of the Tao-te. The command staff, lance leaders and above, sat belted in at their usual places along the metal conference table. The others crowded the walls or drifted up in the null gravity to catch a handhold near the ceiling. The room felt uncomfortably warm and confining with so many bodies, but no one complained and no one left.

  Aris Sung kept his eyes fastened on Ty Wu Non. Despite the possible slur against himself, Aris felt that the senior Hiritsu warrior had delivered a fairly decent service in memory of Virginia York. He wasn’t sure why that should surprise him. Had his own feelings toward Non blinded him to the man’s devotion to the House they both served? It must have. Aris felt a twinge of shame. He depended on his ability to read people, and that ability had failed him.

  The problem was that he’d simply never believed that Virginia York could die. He still found it hard to accept, though he had spent several minutes alone with the body before calling the alert. He had noticed bruises on the back and sides of her neck, nearly hidden by her hair. Strangulation. Then her throat slashed to finish the job properly. It reminded Aris of Hiritsu infantry custom—the enemy isn’t dead until you see blood spill. Aris had pointed out the bruises to Doctor Hammond, House Hiritsu’s chief surgeon. He had only nodded absently, made a note in his private log, and sealed up the body for return to Randar.

  Virginia York had always been so full of strength, so able—her unflagging devotion to the House inspiring those around her. He thought back on his acceptance into House Hiritsu. How he had been shunned by the other trainees, treated with utter contempt by his instructors. And everyday, interrupting his training, came a personal summons from the House Master to the inner chamber, where Aris would spend one hour staring at Crescent Moon and contemplating his origins as a thief and his breaking of House law. Aris remembered that daily vigil, being removed from training and then the hour alone with his thoughts, as his most humiliating time in those first months.

  Those first six months, to the day, from his eventual acceptance.

  Virginia York visited the t
raining field that day, inspecting the training procedures of two infantry Mentors and the progress of their charges. Not an unusual occurrence, except that it was the exact hour when she usually sent a runner with the summons for Aris Sung. She’d walked along the line where the trainees continued their rifle drills, and coming up on Aris’ position she asked who was consistently the best marksman among the students over the last month. Aris knew that it has him, but had thought the instructors would surely name someone else. Someone in better standing. He still had not fully realized the real nature of the commitment to a Warrior House by its members.

  When the Mentors singled him out, Virginia York’s tone registered neither surprise or displeasure. She merely accepted the information, and ordered them to assign Aris an extra hour of training each day until he could compete with House Hiritsu’s best marksman.

  Aris’ time in purgatory was over. The other trainees accepted him. And while his Mentors still drove him hard, as per the directions of Ty Wu Non, they never again showed disdain for what he once had been. Aris had never thanked Virginia York for that, or anything else she had done for him. It would not have been appropriate. But he thanked her now, silently, and pledged himself even more to the will of House Hiritsu.

  And he promised both himself and her memory that when this was all over he would find whoever was responsible for her death. Find them, and kill them. He was sure House Master Virginia York would have wanted it just that way.

  * * *

  Aris was last to leave the war room, lingering behind until he felt sure that both Ty and Terry Chan were far enough away. Not that he bore either of them ill will.

  Terry Chan, for all her recent antagonizing, was merely emulating her Mentor, Ty Wu Non. And Ty, well, he was Master of House Hiritsu now. Or would be. Chancellor Sun-Tzu Liao would have to recognize him as the legitimate successor to Virginia York. But that was merely a formality, to be accomplished when contact could be reestablished with Sian.