Yiling (Chang-an)

Qinghai Province, Liao

29 June 3134

A Rifleman BattleMech stomped across the street, paused to track the open jeep, and then continued on its way. It passed close to the Men Shen Guardian, where evidence of the uprising’s beginning was now limited to muddy scars in the grass. Armored vehicles lined the Conservatory’s main avenue: one lance of Condor multipurpose vehicles to one side, a mixed unit of Jousts and JES II Strategic Missile Carriers to the other. Armed riflemen and armored infantry wearing Infiltrator and Purifier battlesuits patrolled the walls and grounds.

Sitting in the front passenger seat of the jeep, Evan Kurst nodded his approval of how Colonel Feldspar set the Conservatory’s defenses. There weren’t many senior instructors the students trusted, but Feldspar had stepped up on the day of the uprising to take control around the training grounds, organize the cadet corps and set an immediate defensive perimeter. Feldspar’s efforts, Evan felt certain, were not lost on the two officers sitting behind him.

“An impressive display,” Legate Ruskoff said with bland interest. “Since you don’t expect an attack while I am in your company, you’ve shifted… what? Half your active forces to the formal grounds?”

Less than that. Only about a third. Under the cover of night, Whit Greggor had brought in all military equipment appropriated by the Ijori Dè Guāng.

“Something like that,” was all Evan said. He didn’t mind the Legate underestimating the students’ strength. “We’re taking nothing for granted, though.”

“In your position, no, you can’t.”

Evan glanced back, but the Planetary Legate let his comment stand. Ruskoff’s gaze roamed, constantly on the move, studying the defensive posture.

“We heard that a Knight made planetfall,” Evan said.

“Did you?”

They did. Information leaked out of the regular military faster than ever these days. “We half expected to see her with you.” Instead, Ruskoff’s aide was a lieutenant not much older than Evan, with a stiff spine and nervous eyes.

“Believe it or not, Cadet, there are other issues confronting Liao at the moment.”

Yet Ruskoff was still here. Did that say the Conservatory uprising was more important to the Legate, or less important to the Knight?

It was something for Evan to think on as the jeep turned in between a pair of administration buildings with white stone facades. The avenue split two lanes off into large parking lots, then narrowed into a circular drive around the Conservatory’s monument to the Jihad. A Yu Huang, created in dark steel and red enamel, stood at one-third scale. A dozen sculpted people crowded the impressive machine, touching it, standing on its feet to raise fists in victory. More figures carried clubs, farm tools or liberated rifles, swarming a fallen machine laid out before the Yu Huang. There was no way to tell what that machine once was, as the people of Liao ripped it apart with their bare hands. Only the artist had known.

“Did you know the Conservatory’s original monument actually survived the Jihad?” Evan asked.

The lieutenant glanced away. Ruskoff paid Evan the basic courtesy of meeting his gaze.

“It commemorated the retaking of Liao during the Offensive of 3057. A Ti Ts’ang, a Vindicator, and half a dozen Fa Shih troopers making planetfall, suspended above a cheering throng of people. Each large piece displayed a different emblem of the Capellan Warrior Houses. It was buried in the rubble of the old Conservatory. After being excavated, it was cut apart and scrapped.”

Ruskoff held his ground, stone-faced and calm. “Lots of things changed after the Word’s defeat,” he said simply.

Evan pressed. “Did you know that work to restore the Conservatory was halted for two weeks as alumni staged a sit-in demonstration?”

Was that a flicker of surprise twitching Ruskoff’s brow? “No, I didn’t.”

“It was our first student protest of Liao’s occupation. Each member of that demonstration was arrested, and all were cashiered out of service within the next five years.”

The Legate adjusted his uniform. “All militaries downsized after the Jihad, Cadet Kurst. Coincidence.”

“I don’t think you believe that any more than I do.”

“Where did you learn this?”

From Mai Wa, and some treasured documents that survived among various underground movements. Evan smiled tightly. “I went to school,” he said.

The jeep pulled up in front of a bunker-style building, all gray concrete and narrow windows. The vehicle rocked to a halt as Evan’s driver applied the brakes with gusto. Jenna and Hahn stood in front of a small crowd. Hahn wore a heavy sidearm at his hip. Evan also spied Major Ritter Michaelson, who had offered to remain on campus. David Parks led a patrol on the south side of the university grounds, and Mark had refused to take part in this meeting. Mai Wa…

Evan actually wished his mentor luck in what he was about today.

“I have to ask,” Ruskoff said as the troop moved indoors, shuffling down a wide, tiled hall. “What is the status of your detainees?”

Ignoring the question, Evan stepped through a door. “In here,” he said.

It was a conference room normally reserved for meetings among the university’s staff. A citrus-polished table glowed under the room’s bright light, crowded by twice the usual number of chairs. An infantry cadet with David Parks’s personal endorsement stood near the door with the only rifle, though several students besides Hahn carried pistols.

Evan took a seat at one end of the table. Surprisingly, Legate Ruskoff chose a seat right next to Evan, and the lieutenant stood behind his master. An intimate chat, then. Ruskoff would not start off with ultimatums or threats.

“The students and teachers you have detained?” he asked again, very patiently.

Evan spread his hands, then placed them flat on the table’s smooth polished top. “There are none left to worry about.”

“You…?” The Legate nearly rose to the bait, but decided that Evan spoke more literally than with malice. “You freed them all?”

“Days ago. The staff who did not wish to stay, the nonmilitary students, pro-Republic cadets. All of them were made free to leave.”

The Legate frowned, studying faces around the room. Very few showed anything but hostility. “We’ve only accounted for sixty percent of the staff and thirty-five percent of the student body.”

“Most of them chose not to leave. I guess your screening techniques weren’t quite as good as you had hoped.” Two very public funerals had also helped sway some hearts and minds.

“All of them are pro-Confederation?” The lieutenant spoke out of turn. “Impossible.”

“We are only as pro-Confederation as you wish to make us,” Jenna bit back, seated only a few chairs away from Evan. Her surgically altered eyes narrowed into dramatic slits. “That has been the problem all along, treating those of us who respect our heritage as the enemy.”

Ritter Michaelson stood against the wall, holding himself slightly apart. He faced directly across at Ruskoff. “Regardless of their politics, a fair percentage of the cadets and students admit there is a Republic bias. They wish to be heard. You know they have a legitimate concern or you wouldn’t have agreed to this meeting.”