Standing Alone . . .
For more than a year, "divine leader" Daoshen Liao has relentlessly pushed his Capellan Confederation forces in their invasion of the Republic. Now the time has come for the next stage of his conquest—a conquest that will begin not with an enemy, but with his own family....
Raised among royalty in the Magistracy of Canopus, where the superiority of women is a cultural axiom, Danai Liao-Centrella possesses all the confidence necessary for her to ascend through the Confederacy ranks, despite having to contend with the constant machinations of her maniacal brother, Daoshen.
But when her latest mission ends in defeat and personal disgrace, Danai will face the greatest challenge of her life. Chancellor Daoshen rewards her failure by giving her a battalion of her own and a brand-new battlefield. And Danai is about to learn that in service to the state, even family comes second to safeguarding the Capellan Confederation.
Principles of Desolation
Sampson stood as Sophia entered. "Legate Juk," he said. "This is Lieutenant Governor Cuyos of Zurich. I'm sure you know why he's here, so I'll dispense with introductory matters and allow Mr. Cuyos to get to business."
"Thank you, Governor," Cuyos said. Sophia had to lean forward to hear him. "I wish I could report that the situation on my planet has improved. While the rioting seems to have calmed for the moment, the governor believes that's only because the rioters have run out of targets. Much of the planet still remains outside government control. Our militia is next to powerless— many troops have rebelled, others have simply gone home. In short. Governor Sampson, Zurich is rapidly falling into anarchy. We need aid."
"That much is clear," Sampson said in his customary even tones. "What I have difficulty understanding is why you are here instead of in the capital. Surely they are the ones who should organize the distribution of troops in the prefecture. We have only our own militia at our disposal, and we face the same concerns as you, if not to the same extent. It would not seem wise to part with any of our forces at present. I'm sure you understand."
In the blink of an eye, Cuyos lost his composure. He jumped to his feet, and his chair rolled backward into the wall. He waved his arms, and for the first time Sophia noticed sweat stains on the armpits of his jacket.
"Understand?" he yelled. "I understand that the house I grew up in, my family's house, burned to the ground the day I left my planet! I understand that hundreds of my people are dying every day! And I understand that there is no more Republic'. At the very least there is no more Prefecture VI! New Canton is the capital of nothing! I came to you because we are neighbors. If we do not act together in this universe, both of us will fall. We need your help. We are your countrymen. We are your friends. And we are falling apart."
Sophia was impressed at Cuyos' passion, but it did not change a thing. In the time it would take for reinforcements to get from Aldebaran to Zurich, the rioting on Zurich could end while new tension broke out on Aldebaran, and the militia would be more than a week away from being able to come back and help. Nothing could be spared.
PRINCIPLES OF DESOLATION
A BATTLETECH NOVEL
Jason M. Hardy and Randall N. Bills
ROC
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To my sisters, Lindy. Elissa, Megan, Gretchen, Katrina and Jenica. If there's anything accurate about the female characters in this book, it's because I lived with them for so long. —Jason M. Hardy
Prologue
Genève, Terra
Republic of the Sphere
9 May 3135
The Republic of the Sphere was spread out across the floor of the grand ballroom like a buffet, and most of the people present seemed interested in taking a slice or two for themselves. The planets stayed in their engraved places while the most powerful individuals in the Inner Sphere orbited around them. Taffeta and silk flashed and ruffled as people danced. Some of them moved to the music being played by the orchestra, others to the quieter but more powerful song of politics.
Politics was not supposed to be a topic of discussion in the room, by decree of the exarch. He followed his own order by diligently discussing thirtieth-century baroque revisionism with whoever tried to buttonhole him. Most people, being interested in meatier fare, quickly moved out of his orbit.
They would spin away from Exarch Levin into the middle of the floor, where dancers twirled gently near tables filled with people who were ready to spring to their feet as soon as they saw someone they needed to talk to. Traffic, dictated in part by the uniformed servers carrying trays that never stayed full for long, was generally clockwise and steady. Entering the outermost circle of the crowd was easy. Penetrating the other layers, moving toward the core, was much harder.
Low-level functionaries, carrying in their heads a list of questions or demands or requests, bobbed through the crowd, waiting to see someone significant enough for them to grab. The important people had functionaries of their own, clinging to them like barnacles. Their job was to keep other minor funct
ionaries away.
A diplomat spinning through the room's outer orbit would see Coordinator Vincent Kurita standing with his left foot planted firmly on the engraved representation of Savannah, a planet on the opposite side of the Republic from where his forces were whittling the Republic down, planet by planet. On the other side of the Inner Sphere map. Chancellor Daoshen Liao rose above the throng surrounding him like a needle poking through uneven fabric, and he surveyed the image of the Republic and those who stood on top of it with equal disdain. Prince Harrison Davion stood near the representation of Yangtze, tolerantly listening to the governor of that very planet regale him about local difficulties.
These were the people shaping the Inner Sphere's fate, people who might make plans to attack one another's holdings immediately after the end of this ball. The level of power in this room was intoxicating.
But most of the participants knew they couldn't let it overwhelm them. They needed to stay alert, to see who was talking to whom, to eavesdrop on conversations where important deals were being struck, or to pass along rumors about what others had heard. Questions darted back and forth between the minor functionaries as they worked to stay abreast of what was happening. Who's that talking to Tara Campbell? Does Daoshen Liao always look that angry, or did something specific rouse his ire? What's going on between Alaric Wolf and Caleb Davion? And where was that woman who entered the reception behind Daoshen Liao, the one with the burgundy dress and the swept-up hair?
Attendees at the ball were playing other games besides political ones. Power wasn't just an intoxicant, it was an aphrodisiac, and the sheer number of glamorous, attractive men and women—plus the fact that many envoys and nobles were currently quite far from their homes and families—only encouraged those who wished to turn the Exarch's Ball into the largest, most expensive singles bar on the planet. Or in known space, for that matter. Several attendees had been the targets of multiple advances, both clumsy and graceful, but the strange disappearance of the woman in the deep red dress after her grand entrance had only heightened her already considerable desirability.
Most of the rumormongers had attached a name to their target—Danai Liao-Centrella. The name was enough to scare many of them off. As the youngest sister of the Capellan chancellor and the champion of the Ishi- yama Open on Solaris VII. she was out of reach of all but the highly noble or the vastly deluded.
However, as the night wore on, the latter group surged in numbers, and more and more suitors tried to track the woman down. Soon, rumors of a few confirmed sightings made their way around the room. She had been seen on a balcony, and the son of a senator of the Republic bellowed a proposition up to her. She responded by draining her wine glass on his head, a perfect hit from eight meters in the air. But what else could be expected of a 'Mech champion?
A noble from the Federated Suns told of finding her near the orchestra, and engaging her in a long, entendre- filled conversation. While no conclusive plans had been made, the noble said he had every reason to believe their sparring would continue later that night, and would be more than verbal in its nature.
So when the son of the chief of staff of the legate of Upton chanced upon Danai leaning against the east wall, he prepared himself for an extended battle of wits that, if he had his way, would end up with her succumbing to his charms.
He strolled up to her while she sipped from a champagne flute, pretending (he guessed) not to see his approach. When he got close enough to be heard over the noise of the orchestra and the chatter of hundreds of guests, he spoke.
"Did you ever turn a cartwheel in a 'Mech?" he asked.
Danai continued looking at her glass. She might have said something, but her suitor couldn't make it out. So he just kept talking.
"I've heard some people have tried it, pulled it off even. Seems impractical to me, but I guess it would give you the advantage of surprise. It'd better—or else any enemy watching would blast you to kingdom come while you were heels over head."
A mild grin flickered on Danai's narrow mouth, and a few words worked their way past her lips. "Yes. I suppose."
The suitor looked at her curiously. These brief, distant replies were not what he'd been led to expect. Danai still hadn't looked directly at him, or even in his direction.
"There's something to be said for distractions," the suitor continued valiantly. "Look at what you're doing to us in the Republic now. Or what your brother is doing, at least. When was the last time the Republic struck any sort of blow against his efforts? Levin's just too distracted. Interior problems, Jade Falcon problems, Dragon problems—his whole realm's turning one big cartwheel. Works out well for you, doesn't it?"
If anything, Danai looked more removed from the conversation. She shrugged. "I suppose."
The suitor made a few more volleys before he finally gave up and took his leave of the lovely Danai. Either her wit and intelligence had been greatly inflated by a considerable number of people, or she disdained him too much to have a real conversation with him. Either way, he wasn't getting anywhere.
* * *
Danai watched the young man go, feeling a twinge of regret at how poorly the conversation had gone. But only a twinge. She didn't enjoy talking politics with anyone, and having some useless bureaucrat try to talk to her about the Confederation's ongoing incursion into former Republic territory didn't help. So she was less than gracious to the boy, mainly because she couldn't find a way to be interested in his chatter, until he mercifully left.
She'd been looking for isolated spots where she could wait out as much of the ball as possible, but no location stayed empty for long. The balcony, the little nook behind the orchestra, this plain spot on the wall— everywhere she went, people found her. And they all wanted something from her.
There was one person at the ball she wouldn't avoid if he came looking for her, but she'd only seen Caleb from a great distance a time or two. She thought they'd made eye contact once, but Caleb had quickly broken it off. He hadn't come looking for her, and she wouldn't blame him for staying away. She was still trying to get her mind around what she'd learned tonight—that the Caleb she'd had several dinners with on the journey here was Caleb Davion. Possibly the last person (besides Harrison Davion) she should be socializing with. She'd been clumsy, relaxing her guard on the journey here. If Dao- shen ever caught wind of it . . .
Anyway, she certainly couldn't go anywhere near Caleb tonight. What good could come from a Davion and a Liao flirting in full view of the collected powers of the Inner Sphere?
She knew that in most of her conversations this evening she'd sounded as engaging as a baboon, which, in hindsight, was as good a strategy as any for pushing away unwanted attention. Still, many of the people pestering her had no interest in her verbal skills, and while her mumblings might have disoriented them briefly, they kept after her. So she kept avoiding them, kept moving.
She'd had her eye on one possible spot for much of the evening, a tiny alcove where a fountain ran down the high wall into a small pool. The sound of the water discouraged conversation, and that, along with the drops that tended to fly out of the pool, was enough to repel most of the attendees. Danai would have settled there earlier, except there were always one or two other people perched on the pool's rim—apparently she wasn't the only one hoping to avoid talking to other guests.
She glanced at the fountain again as she passed, and was once again disappointed to see two people occupying the spot she wanted. She turned her head, ready to look for a new safe perch, but then stopped and looked back. She recognized the posture of the two people, and her sympathies were raised. A woman in a jade green dress was backed against the low wall of the pool, throwing quick glances back and forth as she sought an escape path. But the man in front of her—a rather attractive man, though quite a bit older than the woman he had pinned down—had cornered her quite neatly. She needed help. Danai, who had spent the entire evening feeling directionless, suddenly had a purpose.
It only took three stride
s for her confidence to return. She wasn't caught in politics anymore. She was back on the battlefield—the oldest battlefield in history.
Thanks to the noise of the fountain, Danai didn't hear a word of the conversation until she was just behind the older man in the jet-black suit.
"You wouldn't even have to adjust to a new last name!" he said in a jocular tone. "You'd still be a Marik. Or you could hyphenate. Marik-Marik." Danai couldn't see the man's expression as he spoke, but she caught a glimpse of the increasing horror in the woman's eyes.
She knew who the woman was. Once she heard the last name, the face fell into place. Nikol Marik, fifth in line for the throne of the Oriente Protectorate. A neighbor of the Confederation and therefore, in the eternal tradition of Capellans, a likely rival. For the moment, though, Danai put aside politics, preferring to help someone who needed assistance.
She'd tried to think of a line of attack on the way over, but hadn't come up with one. Her warrior blood was up, so she decided to take a physical approach.
Walking at a good clip, she let her left shoulder catch the older man firmly in the back. He lurched forward, and Nikol alertly dodged him by stepping to her right.
Danai grabbed the gentleman's arm. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I don't know what's gotten into me tonight. It's possible that, well, I think I might have had a little too much to, well, you know, what is it that they're serving? It's spectacular, but it seems to have me somewhat off my balance. I'm really, really sorry. Did I already say that? Then I should say it again. I'm really very really sorry."
The man stood stiffly, pulling on his jacket to smooth it. "Think nothing of it. Now if you'll excuse us . . ."
"Oh, no no no, excuse me" Danai said, deliberately missing the man's meaning. "I'm the one who bumped into you!" Then she assumed a confused expression. "That's what happened, right? You didn't back into me? Did you?"
Principles of Desolation Page 1
