Mechwarrior: Dark Age #27

Jessica Marik tried to suppress the smirk threatening to edge onto her lips, knowing that it masked her grudging admiration. You do know how to put on a show, don’t you? Even dressed in rags you would come off looking better than other rulers backed by a regiment of ’Mechs.

She and Nikol stood mere steps inside the main hall of the Capellan Cultural Center in Geneva. A literal host of tradesmen worked like busy beavers, their efforts covering almost every inch of the large room’s walls. More like busy bees, and all answering to the queen. The joke fell flat against her admiration.

‘‘We welcome our honored guest to the Hall of Celestial Purity,’’ Chancellor Daoshen Liao intoned in the formal drone he always used. She looked around, and then slowly inclined her head, one ruler to another. Acoustics are magnificent. Hardly speaks above his normal insufferable tone and despite this ruckus, it’s like we’re sharing tea on a quiet morning.

While it was hard to see what the current austere lines of the room would become along the walls, the back of the hall already sported most of its more . . . imperial design. The thronelike chair in which Daoshen sat ensconced, like a spider beckoning to its dinner, stretched a full meter higher than Daoshen’s head—an accomplishment, because at two meters- plus, the chancellor generally towered over anyone in his presence.

She considered the rest of the gaudy setup as she began walking sedately down the newly laid black carpet strip; one of the only clean places at the moment. Above the chair hung the seal of the Capellan Confederation, etched in glossy green and black and a full two meters in diameter. Well-placed wall sconces angled light around the chair-throne, turning the burnished metal into a halo highlighting the chancellor. While the effect tended to turn Daoshen into a creature of shadows, Jessica knew the man’s features well: dusky complexion, dark hair worn loose around his shoulders—often falling over his face like a shield— and his eyes . . . eyes like polished jade.

‘‘Chancellor Liao.’’ She inclined her head once more upon coming to a stop a handful of steps from the chair-throne, confident Nikol followed in proper form.

This close, Jessica couldn’t make out Daoshen’s eyes at all and was left looking elsewhere for nuances. Then again, even if I could see his eyes, I’m not sure I’d find what I need. Not just dead, but mad. Mad. Mad. Madder than old Max after the Fourth Succession War, and that’s saying something. Your great-grandfather, Daoshen. Must run in the family.

She just managed to keep a startled expression from sweeping her features (simultaneously trying not to frown at the small squeak of surprise from behind) as two guards stepped away from the deep shadows behind the chair-throne, both raising their wrists to their mouths and speaking softly. The abrupt halt to all activity in the room created a deafening silence, before the shuffling of feet scraping heavily dusted flooring announced that every worker was making his way out of the hall. In less than twenty seconds the industrious room was a sepulcher of floating dust and empty echoes of breathing as the guards walked out the door and closed it softly.

Show-off. She inclined her head once more. ‘‘I thank you, Chancellor.’’ She caught herself looking around for a place to sit, before chiding herself. Not in his presence, Jessica. This is as intimate as it gets with a god . . . . She smiled sweetly.

You’re going to make me come right out and say it, aren’t you, Daoshen? Going to make me look like a supplicant. She inhaled a slow, deep breath, feeling the mauve dress pull tight against her breasts, before letting it out along with her anger; it would make no impression against his façade. For the good of the Protectorate. ‘‘I have come to ask whether such a mutually beneficial relationship is worth either of our efforts at this time.’’ Chew on that.

Jessica refused to respond again without some verbal concession from Daoshen. Emasculated The Republic may be, but we are on Terra. I’m not about to stick my neck out and admit we’re on their doorstep discussing carving up their house. She gazed demurely at her folded hands, keeping her attention focused on waiting for a reply even as the rustling of heavy fabric behind her told her Nikol was losing her fight with patience. You’re coming along so well, yet you have so far to go.

‘‘And I am confident we will find another mutually beneficial circumstance. Hopefully one that we will be as successful as the last.’’

‘‘We have heard wonderful things about the bazaars on one of your traditional worlds, set against a giant mountain range. There is beauty in such industriousness, would you not say?’’

Jessica’s mind raced. As though on cue, her long hours of studying The Republic/Protectorate/Confederation border brought up a crystal-clear mental image. The purple of the Oriente Protectorate in the anti-spinward/rimward region, the green of the Confederation spinward of the Protectorate and the brown of The Republic nestled at the top of both borders. Except those borders were fraying like a hem snagged on a thorny bush, the wearer blissfully unaware of what transpired. Yet in this case, The Republic is all too aware . . . and there’s nothing they can do about it.

She poked and prodded at the mental image, hoping to quickly decipher Daoshen’s enigmatic message. I’m not the only one unwilling to stick his neck out, chair-throne or no chair-throne.

The Confederation had invaded The Republic late last year and netted numerous worlds, including five worlds past the previous Confederation/Republic border to the jewel of Liao, the birth world of the Liao dynasty. Also last year, while Liao ate into Prefecture V, as part of a verbal agreement reached with the Confederation Jessica allowed her troops to lunge at the world of Elnath, just across the border into The Republic’s Prefecture VI. In reality, they moved anti-spinward and grabbed the world of Ohrensen, almost without a shot being fired. This move helped to keep Prefecture VI stymied, unsure of how to respond to the Liao incursion: this was the ‘‘mutually beneficial’’ circumstance.

But this? This would be bigger. The chancellor already holds Liao. He’ll now be thinking bigger fish. Nanking and its production facilities? No . . . Tikonov. Production facilities to dwarf Nanking, and an ancient Liao stronghold. But that would be pushing it even for Daoshen, reaching clear into Prefecture IV. He’ll want continued pressure into Prefecture VI. Keep Prefecture troops on New Canton from launching a strike on Liao while his back is turned.

She made minute, unnecessary adjustments to the smooth-as-water silk of her dress to buy more time to think, as if she were rearranging some unseen, out-of-place pleat.

Then the light flashed on and she allowed a warm smile to light her face. Zion. That bazaar is on Zion. An old League world, and it would put us one jump from New Canton . . . more than enough pressure to keep them off Liao.

She cleared her throat, the sound overly loud in the large hall. ‘‘I’ve heard similar things, Chancellor. I would very much like to show you such splendor.’’

She sucked in a breath, the pungent incense hidden somewhere in the room prompting a light coughing fit she could not stifle. The end of the year! Ambitious, Chancellor, very ambitious.

She smiled sweetly once more. ‘‘I’m so sorry, Chancellor. I think I may be coming down with something. I request your permission to depart.’’

‘‘Thank you, Chancellor,’’ she said, inclining her head before turning gracefully to retrace her steps, barely conscious of her daughter at her heels.

There are many bazaars, Chancellor. You put far too much trust in your ability to intimidate. And far too much trust in the purity of my ambitions, Chancellor. Watch yourself.

Pulled from his reverie by words that so closely echoed his last meeting with Galaxy Commander Kev Rosse, Rikkard glanced away from the ferroglass porthole and the view of the world of Irian. Found the bald head of Janis Nova Cat in the darkened room by looking for the reflection. The harsh, actinic light of the G5III-class star in the system—uncut by any atmosphere—created harsh shadows, making her appear almost skeletal. Except for her eyes, which fought the sun for brightness. For glare. Must we always contend . . . ?

He looked away from the eyes that tried to flay him and found the emptiness of space soothing. The world, in its own way, conveyed strength. Strength of purpose and dedication. The size of the universe dwarfed the planet, regardless of the planet’s size in human scale. And yet it never wavered from its course. Revolved on its axis; revolved around its sun; revolved with the entire galaxy around the core; revolved as the entire galaxy roamed the universe.

She does not take silence well. He continued his contemplation, easily maintaining equilibrium in the microgravity aboard the Starbinder Overlord-C-class DropShip as the craft continued its silent orbit of the planet; let the silence stretch further.

Her sarcasm slid off his skin like oil and water. It is true. ‘‘Yet Clansmen never waste. This world does not call to me. And so a fight would be a waste, quiaff?’’

He ran both hands across his face, carefully to not upset his balance, rubbing gently at tense muscles and too-tired skin. Late afternoon stubble pricked his flesh. He was not going to get into a semantic debate over what constituted a spheroid. Not after last time. Will you never learn? Will you always buck against my leadership, Janis? Are your Purifier beliefs so absolute they cannot accept a different kind of leadership?

Rikkard slowly lowered his hands, extending his right foot toward the deck plating where his magslip adhered, allowing him to easily attach the other foot before he turned to face her. ‘‘If you have a grievance with Galaxy Commander Rosse, you may bring it before him in a trial when next we meet,’’ he said, his voice low, but pitched with the authority earned in blood. ‘‘Until that time, I will not hear his name derided. If you need to bring a grievance before me this day, then this day we shall fight and I will defeat you again.’’

Despite her diminutive size, Janis seemed to loom in the shadows, almost vibrating with the energy of her disgust for Rikkard. ‘‘We are Clansmen, Rikkard, born to fight. Even you must remember this. And we have not fought in too long. Other Spirit Cats are conquering worlds and yet we roam restlessly, doing nothing, accomplishing nothing. We might as well travel outside The Republic and see what worlds are for the taking. We might accomplish more.’’

As her tirade washed over him, Rikkard seemed to see through her and beyond her, past the metal walls of the DropShip, as though her words rent the universe and he saw somewhere else. Saw a world of dry, hot landscapes, and a predatory bird astride a tornado. Her words, as though a catalyst, spun visions before his eyes, until he physically bent under the onslaught.

Janis’ words roped him back to reality with a shuddering pop that seemed like a hammer-blow against his human shell, the long peal of the tone attenuating into the stillness of space.

His eyes found hers, finally focusing on the here and now as he seemed to have the first solid set of answers in far too long. She seemed to shrink as his banked passions sparked and enveloped him in energy. ‘‘Beyond.’’

‘‘We have hunted for sanctuary across dozens of worlds, all to no avail. It is time to move beyond The Republic. Beyond the borders trapping and obscuring our visions. We will search beyond the old Republic borders.’’

She stood dumbstruck, the hate in her eyes dimming with confusion, and then slowly realigning with avarice at the scope of what he proposed. He knew he had her then.