Trial by Chaos

by J. Steven York

  Bruno stepped backward towards his guard, planting himself on the man's foot to hold him in place, then sent his elbow deep into the man's solar plexus.

  The fourth guard appeared at the entrance to the room. Bane drew the knife across his prisoner's throat and pushed him forward, snatching the rifle away from him as he fell. By the time the fourth guard had a clean shot, Bane had the gun in firing position, and strafed a burst of bullets across his position without aiming.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Bane saw Gustavo pull a large automatic pistol from under the cushion of his chair. Bruno put a burst of bullets into his chest and stomach.

  Bane heard a movement behind him, and spun to see two more men brandishing rifles enter from the far side of the room.

  They didn't see Bruno standing to their left, or the guard doubled over in pain at his feet.

  Bane rushed behind Gustavo's throne as bullets bounced off the concrete behind him, and he felt the stinging impact on his arm of what he hoped were splinters of concrete.

  Bruno made a noise and jumped back. The newcomers fired at the noise, instead striking the man doubled over on the floor. Bruno returned fire, and one of the men flew back.

  Bane popped up from behind the chair and strafed another burst across the remaining man, before taking more careful aim at his chest.

  The man whose throat he'd slit gurgled and thrashed around on the floor. Bruno quickly put a mercy bullet in his skull. Thoughtful of him.

  The room was quiet. They listened carefully for other attackers, but there was nothing. Bane sniffed. "Guess the warlord's private army isn't what it used to be. Wonder if he mentioned that to the people upstairs?" He looked at his arm, inspecting the ripped sleeve and the spatters of blood, none of it his.

  Bruno looked at him with concern. "You good?"

  "Ruined a perfectly cheap suit."

  Krago looked up from the floor, his eyes wide at the carnage around him.

  "I told you," said Bane. "We're dangerous men."

  They gathered up the half-dozen automatic rifles and Gustavo's expensive pistol, plus all their own weapons and climbed the steps. Most of the rifles were slung over Bruno's broad back, but Bane carried one. Krago had refused any weapon.

  As they emerged, they found a crowd of curious bystanders watching from behind piles of rubble and the few ruined bits of wall still standing. Bane saw the children he'd scared earlier. He also saw the red-haired man whom the children trusted as their guardian. Bane lowered his weapon, and he and Bruno walked up to the man.

  He nodded to Bruno, and he divested himself of his excess weaponry, handing the guns over to Big Red. "I guess you're in charge now," Bane said. He removed his jacket and pulled out the removable shoulder pads, peeled open the hook-and-loop closures, and removed three gold ingots from each. He put them into a stack, handed them to Bruno, reassembled the jacket, and put it back on.

  He recovered the gold from Bruno and passed it to Big Red. "I want you to buy food and hand it out to the children. Eat some yourself if you want, but the gold, all of it, is for them. Understand?"

  Big Red's hard face slowly spread into a grin. He nodded.

  Bane looked around at the crowd. "Mr. Bannson would appreciate it if you would remember today's generosity. He may be around this way someday."

  Bruno and Bane returned their own weapons to their proper places, and with Krago stumbling along after them, they began the hike back to the car.

  "Well, Bruno," said Bane after they'd walked awhile, "we came to talk to the people in charge. Looks like we haven't found them yet."

  * * *

  Isis Bekker looked at the thick pamphlet sitting on her desk as though it were a venomous serpent. She looked up at Vincent Florala. "Where did you get this?"

  He turned away from the simulated window, where he had been studying the financial district to their north and the buildings rising there with frustrating slowness. "One of my intelligence people got it from a small printing shop near the old capital in Neucason. We were looking for insurgents and found this instead."

  "Then these were not distributed?"

  "I didn't say that. This was a proof of some kind, found laying on an art table. The woman operating the shop freely admitted that five thousand of them were printed and picked up two weeks ago, presumably by your Freeminder friends. She had no loyalty to them, and as far as we can tell, no reason to lie."

  He must have seen the look on her face at his use of the word "Freeminder." He nodded. "I've played dumb on the subject in the past, Isis. so as not to make you uncomfortable, but we've been looking into the movement for some time now, and I've kept my briefings current. Frankly, many of my people are sympathetic to their cause, and I think support is even stronger in the Labor Party. They see themselves and your laborer caste as kindred spirits, both oppressed by the tyranny of the Ghost Bear warrior caste."

  Those last two sentences were nonsense and she nearly said so, but it wasn't Vince that she needed to argue the point with. He surely knew better.

  She once again reassessed the man who stood before her. He made it so easy to underestimate him. He successfully projected an image of a pleasant and congenial man, fiercely devoted to his people and his causes. Articulate, but far from brilliant.

  That, she knew from experience, was a mask that hid a good mind, a resourceful nature and a streak of ruthlessness that could come into play when the stakes were high. He is much like a bear himself: soft and furry to the touch, but one must never forget that he has teeth and claws.

  She had to wonder, too, at his comment about withholding his knowledge of the Freeminders so as not to "make her uncomfortable." She had to remember that he was not Clan, and that his statement, even coming from someone she trusted as much as he, could not be taken at face value.

  Polite deception, even between lovers, seemed to be the norm among the people of the Inner Sphere. And as closely as they worked together, and as much as they agreed on, Vince had his own agenda, and his agenda was not her agenda, nor that of her Clan.

  Her attention returned to the pamphlet. She reached out and touched the cover. It was printed on heavy, slick paper, the background designed to make it look like the cover of a leather-bound book. Gold letters in the center of the cover read, "The Lost Words of the Founder." And below that, "Know the truth of Nicholas Kerensky's Final Codex, and the lost destiny of the Clans."

  She picked it up and opened it. Her eye was drawn to scaled-down reproductions of a series of ancient-looking pages, curled and blackened around the edges as though they'd been snatched out of a fire. Her gaze returned to the introductory text at the top of the first page, and she began to read.

  The fragmentary pages pictured here come from one of the few existing copies of the Final Codex, written by our founder Nicholas Kerensky. Though these authenticated pages are not dated, they were most likely written between 2822, when the last rebel forces in the Pentagon worlds were quelled, and Nicholas' death at the hands of Clan Widowmaker. These documents state that it was the Founder's intention that the document be kept secret until 3019, the two hundredth anniversary of the Clan eugenics program, and that it then be released to all the people of the Clans, so that they could know and embrace their true destiny.

  Why did this not happen? It is possible that the Final Codex, which was to be placed in the archives of each Clan for safekeeping, was lost during the struggle with the Not-named Clan before it could be distributed. But we, the Freeminders, who have had the courage to study these instructions, believe that the document was distributed. We have evidence that it was suppressed from release by a conspiracy of the Khans in power at that time, and that this conspiracy continues to this day!

  Know the truth! All of Clan history since 3019 has been a mistake, a blight on the memory of our honored Founder, and a denial of the glorious destiny that he set forth for the Clans!

  Read for yourself arid learn! The Final Codex tells us that, in our Founder's name, the eugenics program m
ust end, and the caste system must be dissolved. The day of our glorious reunification with the Inner Sphere is more than a century overdue. Yet even without this critical guidance from the Founder, Clan Ghost Bear has returned to the Inner Sphere and stands poised to fulfill this destiny. We can lead the way, and set an example for all the Clans.

  We are, flesh and bone, the Founder's gift to the future. It is time to deliver this gift to the Inner Sphere. Only through this gift can the long-lost legacy of the Star League be restored.

  Isis Bekker looked up at Florala. "This is nonsense. A complete fabrication. Obviously, this document is a clever forgery designed to fool the weak-minded of the lower castes."

  Florala looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Is it? Why are you so sure?"

  She frowned at him. "If you have studied the Freeminder movement at all, then you should be able to see how this document is nothing more than wish fulfillment for them. They are mostly a collection lower-caste malcontents, grown soft during our time living in the Inner Sphere. They romanticize the lives of the native free-borns and wish to become part of that culture. They wish to see themselves as equals of the higher castes, even warriors. They wish to freely intermarry with the native freeborn and breed like animals. This is abhorrent to us. Vincent. These people belong in the Dark Caste. And that is where I should put them!"

  As she spoke, a frown appeared on Florala's face, and deepened with every word. "I think you're being far too quick to dismiss this. You haven't even read the entire pamphlet. I have, by the way. The concept of the Final Codex may be 'convenient' for your Freeminders, and it's possible they're bending the contents to suit their agenda, but from what I know of Clan history and the personality of Kerensky, it makes a fair amount of sense."

  Her jaw hung open in surprise. "That we should abandon everything that makes us Clan? We have changed, Vincent. We have adapted to our new situation, but this nonsense proposes an end to everything we are!"

  His head tilted, like someone trying to explain a difficult concept to a child. "Isis, this gives purpose to everything you are, all your centuries of sacrifice and deprivation."

  She laughed. "Sacrifice, perhaps. But deprivation? Deprivation of what?"

  "Of family, Isis. I've heard you speak of your Clan's founders—" He struggled to remember the names.

  "Hans Ole Jorgensson and Sandra Tseng."

  "Right. You told me the story of how they rebelled against Kerensky when he tried to separate them. They were willing to die in a frigid wilderness together, rather than let him tear them apart."

  "This is true. But what is your point?"

  He laughed, but she heard an edge in the sound. "Do you think they wanted so desperately to stay together because of their genes? Because some damned Keeper in a eugenics program put them together based on a computer printout? They did it because they were soul mates, Isis. They did it because they were in love, so deeply and fiercely that they would die to preserve their relationship. Your entire Clan is based on love, the very emotion your Clan nature tells you to deny." The whole thing seemed to disturb him profoundly, in a way she didn't understand.

  "You couple when and where you please, with whom you please, but you're denied the joy and pain of seeking someone worth giving your life to. You're denied the hope of finding a life partner, and together having children. Your children, that you can raise and care for, and teach, and go to the grave knowing they'll carry on for you. Yes, I call that sacrifice. Yes, I call that deprivation."

  "Those in the lower castes do care for their freeborn children."

  "Children born of eugenicaily arranged, loveless marriages. And this is only true of your so-called lower castes, not the warriors."

  "Not the warriors," she agreed, unsure why that was an issue.

  He pointed at the pamphlet. "That document says that all that sacrifice was for something, and more importantly, it says it can end!"

  "Why should we want it to end?"

  He threw up his hands in frustration and spun away from her, then back. "Isis, you can be so oblivious at times, it drives me insane! This isn't some alien concept we're talking about here. This is a central, core value of your Clan, your Clan above all others. The Ghost Bears were founded on love, born of the union of a man and a woman, and they have always espoused the concept of family."

  She blinked. "What you say is true. We have family. The family of our sibko, of our caste, of our unit, of our fellow warriors. That is family to us."

  "And that's good, but it's a shadow of what your founders shared. And notice that Kerensky, he didn't separate them. Once they demonstrated their bond, and how strong it made them, he let them stay together. Isn't it just possible that a few years later, when he sat down to write his ultimate plan for the Clans, he thought regretfully of his decision to try to separate them, and of what he was asking his fellow Clansmen to give up in the name of necessity? Wouldn't it be logical that his final gift to them would be to restore to them what they'd lost?"

  She shook her head and pushed the pamphlet away. "You are still talking nonsense, Vince. We don't need any of the things you speak of. We have lived without them for centuries."

  He bowed his head and shook it sadly. "You just don't understand, do you? I wish I'd never brought it up. You and your damned Clan bluntness. Some truths I could live without knowing."

  She looked at him. puzzled. "What?"

  "That business about 'intermarrying with native free-born and breeding like animals.' That hurts, you know."

  "Hurts? How could that hurt you?"

  "We've been—as you so romantically put it—coupling for nearly a year now. Is that still how you think of me? Is the idea of mingling your precious genes with mine, even hypothetically, so horrible a concept?"

  She frowned. "It just is not done, Vince. It is wrong."

  He looked at her, and she saw something new in his eyes. "I don't think so, Isis. I think you and I could make fine children together. I honestly wish we could."

  She felt her face go red. "Vince, what you are talking about is perverse."

  "Not to me it isn't. It shouldn't be to you either, if you were actually true to the legacy of your Clan's founders. You claim not to know love, Isis, but I—" The words seemed to hang in his throat for a moment. "I love you. I love you enough for both of us."

  She just looked at him, dumbstruck.

  He went on. "Look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing in return."

  She looked him in the eye. "Vince, I find your company enjoyable and stimulating. I find our work together satisfying, and our clashes to be challenging. You are very important to me. But I'm not even sure I know what love is, and I don't see how you can be in love with me."

  He laughed harshly. "A bold pronouncement, if you don't know what love is. If you don't think I mean it when I say I love you, then try this on for size."

  He walked around her desk, got down on one knee, and took her hand. His actions seemed impulsive, seemed to surprise him as much as they surprised her, but he did not hesitate.

  "Isis Bekker, I'm asking you to marry me!"

  8

  From the Great Work of Galaxy Commander Isis Bekker

  The origin story of the Ghost Bear Clan is as powerful and fantastic as that of any of the ancient gods and heroes of Earth. In the same way as those ancient stories, I cannot say how literally this tale is to be taken. The events described are not impossible, but they stretch the bounds of credibility almost to the breaking point. Some of my Clan would criticize me harshly for questioning its truth, but in my mind, that shows only the weakness of their beliefs.

  Personally, I do not think it matters. I have always found comfort and wisdom in the story and the lessons it teaches. I have always found strength and purpose in the teachings of the Bear.

  Truth is not merely an assemblage of facts that can be broken down like a wall, brick by brick. Truth is what we can learn from the story, and the value of those lessons. If the lessons are strong, the indiv
idual facts do not matter.

  This is truth of the heart, not truth of the mind, and it is far more powerful.

  So I will tell you my truth. I will tell you the origin of my Clan.

  Hans Ole Jorgensson and Sandra Tseng were among the mightiest warriors of Nicholas Kerensky, and among his most energetic and vocal advocates in the events leading up to the formation of the Clans. They were also married, and as many people forget, had a son who was killed during the violent incidents that led to Nicholas Kerensky's Second Exodus to the Kerensky Cluster.

  But as Kerensky put into motion his plan to create the Clans, he made a fateful decision. Individually, Jorgensson and Tseng were too valuable to give to any one Clan. He decided to place them in two separate Clans, ending their marriage and partnership.

  That, they could not abide.

  Of this part of the story there is little doubt, and if one studies the details of the pair's life before the formation of the Clans—their time as soldiers under Aleksandr Kerensky, their transition to peaceful family life on the planet Babylon, the death of their son, their return to military service under Nicholas and their critical role in the creation of the Clans—it is possible to see the beginnings of all the principles that our Clan holds dear.

  But there is nothing mythic about it, nothing grand, and its lessons are subtle and subject to interpretation. And, therefore, there is more to the story, and the facts of this part are subject to question. But that does not matter. This part of the story is as necessary as the rest, for it is powerful and mythic, and anything but subtle.

  It is said that, rather than be separated, and rather than directly refuse the orders of the Founder, the pair chose to die together. They traveled into the antarctic wilderness of the planet Strana Mechty, expecting never to return. They wandered the frigid wilderness for three weeks, until their supplies ran out and their demise seemed certain.