Bred for war

by Michael A. Stackpole

  To his right the mirror showed him a gauze-swathed mummy. Sun-Tzu peered more closely at it, then an eye opened and he recognized it as the same piercing shade of blue as Davion's eyes. The body seemed trimmer and younger than the Hanse displayed in the portrait, and while Sun-Tzu was puzzling over that, a doorway into his past opened.

  He remembered being awakened one night when very young. He didn't see his grandfather at first, just smelled his breath and felt his clawlike nails through the cloth of his sleeping shirt. The little nightlight's feeble luminosity glinted from Maximilian's eyes, making them glow like a cat's.

  "Don't worry, don't worry." Urgency filled the voice, but the words were spoken in a harsh whisper. "He is my Hanse Davion. This is all a ruse. It is really ours."

  Sun-Tzu's door opened and men came to drag his grandfather away, then his father came and comforted him. He told Sun-Tzu not to worry, that his grandfather was confused. He said that Maximilian's doppelganger of Hanse Davion had been discovered, and that had been the reason for the war. "This has just been a bad dream, son. Think no more of it, and never mention it to your mother."

  Before his eyes the mummy fell to dust, then more than half of it blew away, just as half the Capellan Confederation had been blown away. Trembling, Sun-Tzu looked away from the mirror and pressed on, even though each step felt as if he were trying to move forward through invisible concrete.

  After what seemed to be an eternity during which a palsy shook his limbs, Sun-Tzu came to a portrait of Joshua Marik. Seeing it gave him the solution to his dream: his mind was filing away all of the images he had seen when reviewing the material Katrina Steiner had sent. Sun-Tzu had watched it intently, hoping against hope that something would indicate that Joshua was dying, but he got nothing of the sort. In the portrait the boy looked as he had in the holovids—sickly, but far too healthy for Sun-Tzu's taste.

  He turned toward the mirror and saw nothing. His own body shook, then he sat bolt-upright in bed and peeled the sheets from his sweat-slicked chest. Pushing himself up to sitting, he rested against the headboard and licked sweat from his upper lip. What did it mean?

  For a half-second he started to hear his sister's voice as it began a rambling, nonsensical explanation of a dream, but Sun-Tzu silenced the mental noise, forcing his brain to think clearly. My mind was correlating data and found no match for what I saw of Joshua. This is not surprising, given he was much younger when I saw him on Outreach. Children change a lot in six years. No correspondence exist, hence no mirror image.

  He nodded and smiled. That was a logical answer. Had this been his sister's dream, she would have come to him burbling on about how Victor Davion had slain Joshua and substituted his own agent in the Marik heir's place. He would have been forced to explain to her that Victor would never do any such thing—he simply wasn't devious enough. Kali wouldn't grasp any of his explanation and would continue to believe her dream and its hidden message.

  As sleep drained out of him, his mind passed into a new level of clarity. Indeed, Victor would never make a duplicate for Joshua. To do so, and to employ the double would be stirring up the pot too much. Sun-Tzu smiled as inspiration struck. But just because Victor would never do that, there is no reason I cannot accuse him of it. Victor, with his inflated sense of honor, would be furious.

  Second by second a plan built itself up in Sun-Tzu's mind. He decided that he did not want to make any accusations directly. Drawing Victor's anger could be suicidal for his nation. Instead, if he could fashion a plan to make Thomas believe that Victor had slain his son and substituted another, then Thomas might give Sun-Tzu free reign to step up activities in the Sarna March. If Thomas were outraged enough, he would demand concessions from Victor—possibly even the return of worlds taken from the Capellan Confederation.

  Sun-Tzu threw back his bedclothes and padded across the floor to his desk. His body wanted to return to bed, but his mind was too busy and full to let him sleep. Switching on his computer terminal, he began to draft a plan and prepare the messages that would start it running.

  "Poor Victor," he laughed softly to himself, "I have a dream and it becomes your nightmare."

  11

  O! what a fall was there, my countrymen; Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.

  —William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

  Arc-Royal

  District of Donegal, Federated Commonwealth

  4 July 3057

  "I don't know what I'm trying to say, Chris." Caitlin Kell tucked a lock of black hair behind her left ear. "A lot got said on Tharkad, things I can't reveal because they were told to me in confidence. Still, it got me thinking. I tend to process information while I try to explain it to someone else, so I guess that's what I'm doing now."

  Christian Kell smiled at his cousin. "So, are Dan and I sounding boards, or do you want reactions to your ideas?"

  Caitlin nodded to both Chris and the white-haired man also sitting on the couch with her cousin. "I don't think I can expect you not to comment."

  Daniel Allard, leader of the Kell Hounds since Morgan Kell's retirement, gave her a sympathetic smile. "Especially when you start by asking if there's been a coverup of the identity of Archon Melissa Steiner's assassin. You obviously have questions about the official story, or you wouldn't have brought it up."

  Chris nodded. "I have questions about the official story. I'm not buying the idea that a lone lunatic could have fashioned the sort of bomb used to kill the Archon and your mother, Caitlin. I've heard our special ops guys talking about what kind of training someone would need to pull it off. Aside from the fact that we'd like to string up whoever did it, the skill involved was impressive.

  "I'd agree that it was a little too convenient that the assassin committed suicide shortly thereafter, and the lack of a body is less than satisfying. But I think the recent murder of Ryan Steiner shows that assassins do kill themselves after acting."

  Caitlin's green eyes shrank to hard slivers. "Coincidental, isn't it, that two assassinations requiring incredible skill end in suicide?"

  Chris frowned. "You think the kid who shot Ryan because he thought he was Ryan's bastard child also killed Melissa? Did he think she was his mother?"

  "No, that's not it. Look, Ryan was Victor's mortal enemy, and he died at a very fortuitous time for Victor. His death took all the pressure off in the Skye situation." Caitlin opened her hands. "Cross Victor and you pay."

  "That's drawing a lot of conclusion from one instance, Caitlin," Dan Allard said, shaking his head. "And the implication is that Victor killed Melissa, which I don't buy."

  "Dan, no disrespect intended, but is that something you think or something you feel?" Caitlin walked from her small living room and ducked into the kitchen for a glass of water. "Your family has worked closely with the Davions."

  "Meaning?"

  "You have a vested interest in seeing someone other than Victor be the killer."

  Dan nodded. "Ah, and the fact that you're related to the Steiner household means that you don't want Ryan suspected as Melissa's killer?"

  Ouch. Caitiin frowned and picked up her glass for a sip of water. "We're related to Victor and Katrina through their grandfather, so we're not kin to Ryan Steiner. I just don't trust the official verdict in Melissa's murder, and I think the story of Ryan's death stinks just as much of fraud and cover-up."

  "Okay, Caitlin, just so we understand each other. I met Melissa Steiner long before your father and mother got together to bring you into the world and I considered her a dear friend as well as a wonderful woman. I'd like to get my hands around the throat of the fiend who killed her and whoever hired him to do it. And I'll agree that the official report on her death is not the most solid of cases, but projecting a conspiracy when there is no evidence is a very dangerous game."

  Was that the sound of your mind closing, Dan? Caitlin looked up over the rim of her plastic cup at Christian Kell. "You're quiet all of a sudden."

  Chris
shifted his shoulders slightly in lieu of a verbal reply. Through his shirt's open collar, Caitlin caught a glimpse of the blue and green dragon tattooed on the left side of his chest. He has become so much a member of the Kell Hounds that sometimes I forget he was raised in the Combine and once belonged to a yakuza gang. His upbringing would provide him a unique perspective, yet the societal value given silence in the Combine would make him reluctant to share it.

  Caitlin's unwavering stare made him squirm, as she knew it would, but she did not relent. "I really do want to know what you think, Chris."

  He ran a hand back through his dark hair, then nodded. "I think you're making some mistakes in your analysis. The first is one of which you may not be aware, and that is lumping Ryan Steiner into the same category as Melissa Steiner."

  "I would never ..."

  "Ah, but you did. You see them both as victims of the same assassin, but you have no proof. And even if the same person did kill them, it doesn't mean the assassin was employed by the same person. In fact, if Ryan had retained the assassin to kill Melissa, the assassin might have killed Ryan to cover his own tracks. Ryan might even have tried to get rid of the assassin to cover himself, but got a bullet in return for his trouble instead."

  Perched on the arm of the couch, Chris' dark eyes focused distantly. "I'd also point out that you're being very selective in the evidence you're using to build your case against Victor."

  Caitlin started. She wanted to say he was wrong, but she knew he was on target. "For example?"

  "For example, there are currently three stories concerning Ryan's death. The first is the one advanced by Federated Commonwealth authorities that says a lone gunman shot Ryan over an imagined grievance. They have forensic evidence to back that up and they seem satisfied with the conclusion. The second story is yours, that the suicide was a set up and someone else, a phantom, pulled the trigger, then killed the kid to cover his trail. And the third is that Sven Newmark, Ryan's aide, shot him at close range with a handgun that he was able to discard before authorities arrived."

  Caitlin shook her head. "The Newmark story is nonsense. Only conspiracy nuts buy that story."

  "But they believe it because it makes sense to them. His motive, if you will recall, is supposed to have been revenge for the attempted kidnapping of Prince Ragnar by Ryan's people from Arc-Royal and retaliation for your mother's death and your father's maiming in the attack that killed Melissa. After all, Newmark was a Rasalhague expatriate, and we have a sizable Rasalhagian community here because your grandfather and father made it easy for them to emigrate. Others go further and suggest Newmark was in your father's employ."

  "But that's preposterous."

  "Why?"

  "Because my father wouldn't do that sort of thing." Chris smiled. "So, you reject that theory based on specialized knowledge of parties involved."

  "Yes."

  "Then if we return to Melissa's murder and we look at specialized knowledge of your suspect, Victor, I shall plead specialized knowledge." Chris looked up at her. "I trained Victor. He would not order a murder."

  "You're wrong, Chris."

  Dan eased forward to the edge of the couch. "What are you saying, Cait?"

  She took a deep breath, but found it did not lessen the pressure building in her chest. "I know I can trust you. Katrina told me that Victor admitted to her that he gave the order for an assassin to kill Ryan."

  Chris slumped back, stunned. "I don't believe it."

  Dan nodded. "I do."

  Caitlin looked wide-eyed at the older man. "You do?"

  "Yes." A weariness entered Dan's voice. "Victor is enough Hanse's son to use such direct methods to eliminate Ryan. He wouldn't have done it because Ryan was a political enemy, though. It must have been because he'd linked Ryan to his mother's death or some other heinous plot."

  Caitlin set her glass down on the table. "Do you know that, or are you conjecturing?"

  "Conjecturing, but I know I'm right."

  Chris still shook his head. "That could be the only explanation, but I still don't believe it. And I don't believe he killed his mother."

  "Why not? Just like Ryan, she stood in his path to power. He killed Melissa to take power, and killed Ryan to keep it. On top of that, it's his people who conduct the investigations into the deaths and then pronounce Victor innocent."

  Dan massaged his temples. "I don't like it."

  "I don't like it, either." Chris stood. "And I don't believe it. I don't doubt that you're telling me exactly what Katrina—or Katherine—told you, Cait, but that bit about the assassin is hearsay."

  Caitlin frowned. "Katrina wouldn't repeat it if it weren't true."

  "No? Victor is all that stands between her and the Federated Commonwealth's throne, if you'll recall."

  "She doesn't want the throne. She's having a hard enough time picking up after Victor."

  "Specialized knowledge, Cait?"

  "Specialized knowledge, Chris."

  Dan stood and went between them. "I think, as special knowledge cases go, one or the other of you is wrong."

  "Worse yet," Chris whispered, "we could both be wrong."

  Caitlin felt her stomach tighten down into a knot. If that's true, then I've been way off in reading Katrina. That thought made the knot even tighter. "I'm sorry, Chris. I don't want to fight with you about this. It's just that I'm worried that the next time the Federated Commonwealth offers us a contract, we might be used for political reasons, not to defend the nation."

  Chris smiled gently. "It's a disturbing subject, Caitlin, and I don't wish to fight with you about it either."

  "Good," said Daniel Allard, "because your disagreement is not the most disturbing thing about this."

  Caitlin turned to Dan, her brow wrinkling in puzzlement. "What is?"

  "That people out there are able to manufacture evidence and rumors that have intelligent, sensible people in a quandary about the Federated Commonwealth's leadership. Face it, we know everyone involved on a personal level." Dan's expression turned grim. "If we're this confused, imagine how the ordinary people feel. Without much more effort, things could get very bad, and I don't like the future that paints for me at all."

  Tamar

  Wolf Clan Occupation Zone

  Standing impatiently between Natasha and Ulric on the left side of the auditorium stage, Phelan folded his arms as Loremaster Dalk Cams stepped through the curtains downstage. The Loremaster bowed his head to the ilKhan and his party, then accorded the same respect to the others standing opposite them. Finally he acknowledged the Clan Council members seated beyond the footlights.

  "He plays at this as if he expects a review in the morning newsfax."

  Natasha cracked a smile at Phelan's whispered remark. "I considered printing up programs, but the list of people under the 'village idiots' section became unwieldy."

  Her comment trailed off to silence as Dalk strode to the podium in the center of the stage. While both the Khans and their accusers had chosen to wear gray woolen uniforms, Dalk had again donned the Clan Wolf ceremonial leathers. He set his enameled wolf's-head helmet on the podium and stared out at the audience from between the two ears.

  "Trothkin, I am the Loremaster. I call thee, one and all, to stand as jury and judge in the matter here come before us." Dalk kept his voice low and full of import. "By this conclave all will be bound until they are but dust and memories, and then beyond that until the end of all that is."

  "Seyla," Phelan breathed in a kind of chant with all the other Wolves gathered here today. He'd uttered the sacred oath automatically, almost without having to think, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Though raised in the Inner Sphere, he had given himself over to his adopted people fully, accepting without question their system of justice and honor. All things being equal, he would normally have been confident of the defeat of this attempt embarrass and discredit the ilKhan.

  If doubt assailed him, it was because he knew all things were not equal. He knew the
case against Ulric was without merit, but that did not mean a jury couldn't be swayed by politics. The ilKhan was showing no concern about the charges and this also gave Phelan pause. He had seen him navigate through more dangerous political situations than this without incident, but Ulric's fierce determination was what had always won the day.

  Ulric's nonchalance could be taken as contempt, which would doom him.

  Phelan glared across the stage at the two people who would serve as the prosecution. The woman was small for a MechWarrior, but was nonetheless attractive in spite of her slight height. Honey-blond hair, thickly curled, framed her face and fell forward over her shoulders. When she looked up Phelan saw a white webwork of scars on her throat—the result of wounds taken in the fighting on Tukayyid. Her amber eyes and sharp, vulpine features always reminded Phelan of a wild animal, and her reckless bravery in combat had earned Marialle Radick the nickname of "Death's Vixen."

  Standing next to her, Vladimir caught Phelan's gaze and held it unflinchingly. With his black hair slicked back to emphasize a widow's peak, Vlad might have been handsome but for the jagged scar running from eyebrow to jaw on the left side of his face. Pure hatred burned in his brown eyes, and Phelan knew Vlad would have preferred to die of the injuries that had scarred him than live knowing that Phelan, the freeborn from the Inner Sphere, had saved his life.

  Phelan smiled at Vlad, then scratched his own left cheek. Vlad's eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. Marialle spoke to Vlad once, then again more sharply, but even her resting a hand on his shoulder did not calm him. More insistent pressure finally did it, and Vlad reacted by looking down and shuffling the papers in his hands.