As for the St. Ives Compact, nestled between the Capellan Confederation and the much larger Federated Suns, the region of space had originally belonged to the Capellans. Sun-Tzu now considered it a knife poised at his back, since Victor Davion could pour troops through the small state and be halfway to Sian before news ever reached his ears.
Naming his little pet after Kai was not intended to belittle his cousin, though that was an added bonus. No, it was to remind Sun-Tzu of the dangerous resemblance. Kai was a deadly warrior, one who could move through either political or military circles with an enviable ease. And the fish's wide, unblinking eyes reminded Sun-Tzu that every move he made from the Celestial Throne was observed by Kai's steady gaze.
His private smile faltering, Sun-Tzu stood and crossed to his desk in a few unhurried strides. He still did not seat himself. Instead he walked slowly around the desk, tracing one of his long fingernails along the rosewood trim.
Gone was the antiquated monitor that had once dominated the desk, now replaced with a screen set flush into the desktop. At the moment the screen displayed the Draconis Combine, but would eventually cycle through star maps of each of the Great Houses and then a full map of the Inner Sphere. The wood surface surrounding the screen was waxed and polished to a perfect finish. Sun-Tzu demanded that it be kept so, a fitting monument to the past. This had been Justin Allard's desk, as this had been Justin Allard's office.
Sun-Tzu had vowed to have the office destroyed the day he rose to the Celestial Throne. Too much treachery had been hatched here against House Liao. Justin Allard, known then as Justin Xiang, had crippled the Confederation's military efforts from this very office—leaving the Confederation near-defenseless in the onslaught of the Fourth Succession War. More than a hundred occupied worlds were lost to Hanse Davion and the newly formed Federated Commonwealth, nearly half the Capellan realm. Allard escaped with Candace Liao, the two of them later resurfacing in the seceded St. Ives Compact. Sun-Tzu had not yet been born, but he recalled his mother's description of what that war had done to Maximilian Liao, her father and his grandfather. Allard's treachery had changed old Liao into a feeble-minded weakling, the broken shell of a man who had ruled billions.
Another old memory.
But Sun-Tzu had changed his mind. Instead of having the office destroyed, he'd renovated it for his own use. He would not be ruled by superstition. It was from this desk that one short year ago he had helped coordinate the offensive that won back for the Capellan Confederation many worlds lost in the Fourth Succession War, plus a few dozen others under a cloak of Capellan influence that he hoped to strengthen. He might have gone further had Thomas Marik not refused to continue the war once he'd achieved his own goals, but Sun-Tzu was wise enough to know when to accept a winning hand. The decision to support Thomas's truce was also made at this desk. As with so much in his personal life, many things in this room served more than one purpose. It reminded Sun-Tzu to be wary of both appearances and complacency, and also that all victories must be guarded.
The memory that had drawn him to his office so late in the evening had to do partly with the latter thought. Though the Capellan Confederation had taken back some planets lost to the Davions in the Fourth Succession War, the greater portion still remained as fledgling independent worlds in the area known as the Chaos March. Some were reluctant to accept House Liao rule again, while the hated Sarna Supremacy represented a threat from within his own borders. Sun-Tzu had to admit that he simply did not have the military strength to retake and hold these worlds. Yet.
An almost audible click sounded within his mind as another piece of the puzzle slipped into place. Yes, he thought, nodding to the empty room, it all could fit quite well.
The old memory was of his mother Romano, who had ruled the Capellan Confederation for more than twenty years before him. Sun-Tzu had been a child—seven, perhaps eight years of age—and found his mother in a briefing room watching holovids of the 3030 invasion of the Capellan Confederation. He had already learned to avoid his mother when she was preoccupied, her uncertain temper able to transform without notice into driving rage. She'd noticed him, though, and called him to her. Sitting in her lap, Romano's strong arms wrapped tightly about him, Sun-Tzu's thoughts cycled between fear over what his mother might do to him and fascination as he watched the holovids of the war.
He hadn't understood fully back then, but he did now. The Duchy of Andurien had tried to secede from the Free Worlds League in 3030. Believing the Capellan Confederation weakened because of Maximilian Liao's insanity, the Anduriens had allied themselves with the Magistracy of Canopus in the Periphery to invade the Confederation. Romano Liao led the Capellan military against them, fueled by her fanatic devotion to the state and her hatred of anything that threatened it, driving them completely back by 3035.
With her son on her lap, Romano had pointed out to him some valiant stands made by the invaders, even as the Capellan forces routed them. "Such disorganized states could not hope to win, but what courage they show in their deaths," she'd said, almost in admiration. "If only they could be harnessed and driven at our enemies."
Sun-Tzu had never forgotten that rare moment of intimacy or his mother's idea that a Periphery state could someday hold a balance of power. Wild beasts broken to a leash could still turn on their masters. But if they were handled properly, given the right prey to bring down, they could be partially tamed.
Sun-Tzu looked down at the screen, now displaying a map of the Capellan Confederation. A few taps against the touch-sensitive screen and the image was joined by the Taurian Concordat and the Magistracy of Canopus, the two Periphery states lying just outside the Confederation's rimward borders. The combined area of the two Periphery realms was almost half again as large as his own. They looked very much like the head of a hammer, while his Capellan Confederation was the handle for wielding it.
But where to begin? Political relations with the Taurian Concordat could only be described as frosty at best, and Sun-Tzu's ambassador to Canopus IV had recently been expelled for his arrogant behavior toward Magestrix Emma Centrella herself. So, at the moment, diplomacy did not seem very promising.
Until he remembered the reports on the Marian Hegemony's ongoing aggression against the Magistracy of Canopus. That placed Canopus in a position to need help. Also, the Magistracy had been the most vocal of the Periphery states in requesting aid in education and technological advancement, two areas they wanted to desperately upgrade. One last memory surfaced, again of his mother Romano and her standard policies when negotiating a deal of any type.
Offer most of what they want.
Give them some of what they need.
Use them for all they're worth.
Reaching out, Sun-Tzu tapped the glass over the Magistracy of Canopus, marking long seconds as he sat and thought.
BOOK II
Thus, what is of supreme importance in war is to attack the enemy's strategy. Next best is to disrupt his alliances. The next best is to attack his army.
—Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Strategy and diplomacy have their place, but do not be afraid to engage with the enemy. A war has yet to be won where men do not die.
—Chancellor Sun-Tzu Liao, in a speech to the graduating officers of Sian Martial Academy, Sian, 30 June 3056
8
DropShip Heaven Sent
Zenith Recharge Station, Andurien System
Duchy of Andurien, Free Worlds League
13 April 3058
Marcus gathered his legs up underneath him in the near-zero gravity of the DropShip and then kicked out at a nearby wall, launching himself down one of the Heaven Sent's longer passages. Twisting about until he was headed feet-first toward the DropShip's Number Two 'Mech bay, he then relied on small hand motions and body twists to keep himself on a reasonably level plane. Recessed handholds set into the wall offered the means of either slowing down or even pulling himself along in a more controlled manner, but he saw no harm in a little "flying." His only c
oncern was not drifting too close to the ceiling, where wire-reinforced safety glass surrounding the powerful corridor lights bled a singeing heat. Anyway, just coming off an hour-long workout with Thomas Faber, Marcus welcomed the relaxing sensation of freefall. His muscles throbbed with a dull, weary ache and his sweat-drenched shirt clung with increasing clamminess as his body began to cool down.
Exercise with pulley systems or free weights was virtually worthless in any ship that spent long periods under low-gravity conditions. So Faber had appropriated a ventilated storeroom from Yuri Petrovka and brought in a small assortment of equipment that relied on pneumatic pressure or flexible graphite rods for opposing force.
Marcus spent at least an hour working out with the equipment every other evening, usually in the company of Thomas Faber, though he could never hope to keep up with the big man. Thomas spent at least two hours at it every night, religious in his intention of keeping a rock-hard physique.
Even now, through a bulkhead door and down ten meters of passageway, Marcus thought he could hear the fading grunt-and-hiss of Thomas battling it out with the largest pneumatic press.
And it's not as if there's so much more we could be doing, Marcus thought in irritation. When the Heaven Sent and the Pinhead had jumped into the Andurien system docked onto the Canopus Merchant Class Jump-Ship Adonis, they expected to hook up here with a Tramp Class Marik freighter for the next leg of their journey.
Floating just under a hard blast of cold air from a nearby vent, Marcus entered a second, shorter corridor that ran at a ninety-degree angle to the first to form a truncated "L." Tumbling against the bulkhead, he bent at knees and waist to absorb the impact until one of his outstretched hands came to rest flat on the cool metal of the hull and the other fastened around the bar-grip of a recessed handhold. With practiced ease he rotated about until his feet drifted only a few centimeters off the floor. This passage ran left five meters to an upper door of 'Mech Bay Number Two. A wheeled hatch hung open to Marcus' right. It led into a large axial trunk extending along the ship's three upper decks to the Mech Warrior quarters and then down to the lower levels for the docking assembly, allowing access to each deck in between.
Marcus frowned.
During zero-G or even low-grav conditions, all doors were to be kept closed and tightly dogged down to prevent accidents should the DropShip suddenly need to break away from the JumpShip and begin to move under its own power. DropShip crews obeyed routines like this in their sleep, and the Angels' technicians were equally careful because they'd be the ones who'd have to repair any accidental breakage. Marcus used a reasonably dry spot on the tail of his shirt to dab away the drop of sweat burning at the corner of his left eye. The hatch couldn't have been left unlocked by some careless member of the Angels' families because they were all aboard the Head of a Pin, and wouldn't have any business down here anyway. That left Mech Warriors.
Reaching out slowly, Marcus released the metal hook that held the hatch open. He thought he'd just slip through and close it behind him, cutting his Angels some slack, but then steeled himself against becoming too soft. He pushed on the hatch to close it, but just before it shut, a violent rush of air whistled out through the gap between the metal bulkhead and the rubber gasket on the hatch door. That meant another hatch was open somewhere inside the access trunk.
Marcus secured the hatch and dogged it with a quarter-turn of the wheel. A few gliding steps brought him to the door of 'Mech Bay Two. Like all doors leading into a bay, this one had three dogs spaced down each side—metal latches that could seal it even against the pull of vacuum. Because it was the Mech Warrior entrance, the door had been fitted with a fast-action lever that operated all six dogs simultaneously.
Marcus paused with one hand on the bright steel lever and almost succeeded in talking himself out of going in. He hated playing mother, reminding children to pick up after themselves. But it came with the job. He was betting on Karsskhov or Foley, the two newest Angels. An image of Brent Karsskhov and Charlene taking a stroll through the bay rose unbidden in his mind, and once more he almost turned away. But he steeled himself to behave like a proper commander as he quietly levered open the door. He'd just glance inside. If it looked like he'd be invading someone's privacy, he'd let the reminder wait.
The door opened onto a large, circular grate walkway that circled the 'Mech bay high above the floor, providing access to the head and upper torso area of eight BattleMech racks. The acrid scent of 'Mech coolant mixed with the ever-present smell of grease gave the air a familiar tang that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant.
The low-level red lighting often referred to as "night-red" turned the normally intimidating war machines into ghostly giants. Marcus couldn't see more than the nearest three 'Mechs, the large radar dish of Connor Monroe's Rifleman blocking his view into the bay's interior. He launched himself out toward the Rifleman, catching one of the rungs welded near the cockpit entry hatch, and hung quietly in the nonexistent gravity as he surveyed the vast, silent bay.
Tiny lights, like those from pocket flashes, played through the cockpit window of Paula Jacobs' Wasp.
Marcus tensed, doubt and fear suddenly sending a flush of warmth and tingling over his skin. Someone was torquing with Paula's ride. The Wasp occupied a rack not ten meters from the bay doors, which put it about ten meters out and thirty meters left of where Marcus hung from the Rifleman's head. An easy flight, if he decided to go it. The lights flashed again. Definitely two. Marcus thought he'd go and get Faber first before checking things out further. But a noise from behind him never gave him that chance.
It was a rattle of the walkway grating, the sound of someone stepping onto a portion with loose fastenings. Marcus instantly drew his legs up and tucked them beneath him, ready to launch in any direction. The defensive move was quickly justified as he heard the sharp click of a safety being snapped off. Marcus kicked out hard into the middle of the bay as flechettes spanged off the Rifleman's head where he'd been crouched moments before. A sharp sting in Marcus' lower left leg told him that not all the weapons fire had missed.
Damn! A needler. One of the more deadly hand-held weapons invented, a needle gun stripped its ammunition off a block of plastic—shredding the material into thin plastic shards and launching them at high velocity. Entrance wounds tended to be clean, but the plastic quickly fragmented to chew up the inside. Hoping the damage wasn't too severe, Marcus twisted about to ready himself for a hard landing in the middle of the bay.
Voices rose from below him, cursing as at least two men struggled from the Wasp's small cockpit. A soft cough from behind him and another spray of plastic death whispered through the air, missing wide and rattling off into the further reaches of the bay. Marcus knew he couldn't count on such luck forever, but fortunately he'd just slid past the left shoulder of the Wasp, into relative safety.
He struck the inner hull of the DropShip with a lot of force. Rather than try to absorb it all, he tucked into a roll that slammed his shoulder and then the small of his back into a firefighting station. Clawing for purchase before he could rebound out into the hidden gunman's line of sight, Marcus was able to grasp the fire station's supply piping and bring himself under control.
The pipes and bundled hose were only vague outlines, but he could see the small green light set over the activation button. Marcus stabbed at it, and was rewarded by the light shifting to red. Besides starting a remote pump, the switch would also trip warning lights on the DropShip bridge. But he knew it would take someone a few solid minutes to get here. He'd just have to buy himself that time. He cursed the lack of an audible alarm, knowing Faber was only thirty seconds away.
Two shadows loomed over him. Three against one, he thought. And me with nothing more damaging than a damp shirt. Using his grip on the pipes for support, Marcus scissored out his legs in an attempt to strike anything vital. He felt his foot come into contact with a leg as he swept the feet out from under one of his attackers. Then hands fastened around his ankle and y
anked him free of the fire station.
Marcus curled his legs up into his body, but did not struggle. In the absence of gravity, neither he nor his foe would possess much leverage for throwing a punch, for a body would move backward with the same force as a fist moving forward. His attacker grabbing him was a mistake. All it did was give Marcus the leverage he needed to do some real damage. He speared out with his free leg, catching his assailant in the midsection and throwing himself back and away. The force knocked the other man off his feet, but he did not release his grip, and the two of them bounced and tumbled across the hull. Marcus drew back his leg and kicked out again, and again, relying on the other man's grip for support behind his strikes. If the other man had let go, the kicks wouldn't have done much more than push the two of them apart.
A heavy weight fell against Marcus, pressing him painfully against the hull. The second assailant, back on his feet again, had reentered the fight. And if the guy with the needler gets down here, I'm history. Coiling in on himself again, Marcus then thrust out his legs and arms to try and dislodge one or both of his opponents. He heard a grunt as his legs were finally freed, leaving him in a grappling match with the second man. This guy either had a bit more experience in low-G combat or was simply learning fast. Having got his legs wrapped about Marcus, the attacker was trying to squeeze the breath out of him while his hands struggled for purchase at Marcus' throat. Marcus kept his head tucked down, and pummeled the man's kidneys with his fists, all the while the two of them continued to bounce further along the DropShip's inner hull.
Double-Blind Page 7
