Well, that wasn’t quite true. They wanted it all, Capellan and Republic and citizen and patriot. Now they were learning that the cost of such desires ran high, very high.

They were also making up their minds. Anna could sense that. She had felt the shift in Capellan sympathies growing stronger, and with the Conservatory revolt she had sensed the problem coming to a head. People were waking up. They were scratching their heads and their numb asses, and they were beginning to wonder if they had surrendered too much for The Republic.

“When the people question their government, that government deserves to be questioned. And when the government is more concerned with maintaining itself at any cost to its people, the people will no longer fear. They will rebel.”

So said Lao-Tzu. Many had made the conscious choice, for one side or the other. The balance swayed. Could it be brought back under control? Possibly. But it wouldn’t take much to tip everything against The Republic. If that happened…

When that happened, Governor Anna Lu Pohl would have everything in place. For the good of Liao, for the good of her people, she would ready herself for anything.

Even in welcoming home the Confederation.

Beilù Northern Ranges

Sarrin Province, Liao

29 July 3134

The VTOL trio flew a tight formation, a Sprint scout helicopter leading the way and two Balac Strike VTOLs flanking. Rotors thumped hard overhead as the craft banked just above treetop level and ran hard for the approaching Northern Ranges.

Mai Uhn Wa saw no tactical or strategic reason why Evan would want him to see this remote area of Beilù. His former protégé was most secretive about the whole episode, which both pleased and irritated the elder warrior. He had taught Evan well the value of closely held information. Now he was the student. Mai glanced into the rear passenger compartment, where Evan sat with stoic calm, then turned back to gaze out of the forward canopy.

Two hundred kilometers northeast of Chang-an, only blue green evergreens thrived in winter’s final grip. There were towns, occasionally, and small farms. Cattle, hardy sheep and goats fled from the noise of the passing VTOLs. Not even the Dynasty Guard, striking west from the Du-jín, had seen the need to press forces this far north.

“Not much longer,” Evan promised, leaning forward to make himself heard over the deafening rotors. He tapped the VTOL pilot on the shoulder, made a slashing motion across his throat and then pointed out the Balac Strike ’copters that flew as escorts. The pilot nodded, and pinched closed his throat mic.

Mai wore the copilot’s helmet for its sound-deadening properties as much as any need to stay plugged into the chatter. Still, he raised an eyebrow when their pilot ordered the Balacs to find themselves a good nest and wait for the Sprint’s return. The Strike VTOLs were a loan from McCarron’s Armored Cavalry, requested through Mai Uhn Wa. They had no way of knowing the command did not come from him, and Mai saw no need to fight with Evan now, after coming so far, over who controlled them. He let them go.

Evan would not risk their lives foolishly. Or, at least, without need.

The Sprint dodged over a few more foothills and found a small valley farm that looked no different from any other except for its hillside barn. Mai spared it a single glance, but slapped his gaze back to the control panel as alarms wailed from sensor lock. Someone was tracking them with military targeting systems! Multiple systems, in fact, though Mai saw no movement from the barn, farmhouse or hillsides.

Evan reached forward and grabbed the pilot’s arm with steadying strength, pointed out a cleared area of land near the strangely placed barn. The pilot drifted down carefully, making no threatening maneuvers, bumping the landing skids against a tan-colored pad of ferrocrete painted expertly to blend into the hillside grasses and open scrabbles of hard dirt and rock.

“A strange area for an Ijori Dè Guāng cell,” was Mai’s only comment as he released his own harness and left the helmet sitting on his seat. “See a lot of military activity out this way?”

Evan followed him out through the VTOL’s passenger door, both of them bending down to run out from under the still spinning blades. “Not Ijori Dè Guāng,” Evan said. “This is the Cult of Liao stronghold.”

Mai had a moment to ponder that as the two men walked toward the aged gray barn. Cult of Liao. The political faction that supported the Confederation’s return. Evan was obviously involved with them, able to lead a military chopper into this protected valley. But had he chosen his words carefully when he said this was the stronghold? One? Mai Uhn Wa had always envisioned a cell system much like the one he had worked to establish for the Light of Ijori. In military terms, it made sense. So, “They are not a paramilitary order.”

“Not exactly,” Evan admitted.

“How involved are you with the Cult?”

“As deeply as one can be.” Evan hesitated, then, “I would have told you that night.”

No need explaining to which night Evan referred. The night Mai Uhn Wa had turned his back on Evan, Greggor and the entire organization. The night he had left Liao to answer for his crimes against the State.

Mai Uhn Wa felt a touch of sadness and, in a way, disappointment. When he’d first met Evan, the young student had been searching for something to fill the void hollowed out of his life. His parents killed shortly after the Night of Screams. Raised as a ward of the state. Mai had sensed the longing inside him to connect with something larger, and also recognized Evan’s incredible natural talents. A future leader. He had planned to nurture Evan into that role himself, and had been just as proud to learn Evan had gone on without him.

But a cult? Mai had thought Evan destined for leadership, not servitude.

“A civilian organization,” Mai asked, betraying none of his thoughts. “They are worth our time now?”

“He is worth it,” Evan promised. He. Mai was to meet with the leader of the Cult.

They were nearly at the barn. From the ground it looked more wrong than it had from the air. Built partly into the hillside, as a mining shaft might be, the barn was painted gray with darker streaks added to make it look like naturally aged wood. One of the larger doors stood open, swinging neglected in the chill winds that gusted through the short valley. Mai pictured a barren floor with a rickety table and no chairs, around which a few fanatics met with a candle for light to whisper of government insurrection. And built into the hillside? A bolt-hole for safety.

Might take a military force all of twenty minutes to dig them out.

Mai followed Evan into the barn, built on a ferrocrete pad, and stood in awe of the bunker-quality doors recessed into the hillside. Twenty hours, he quickly amended his first estimate.

“There are petragylcerin charges built into the pad, ready to take off the entire side of the hill. The doors are also primed with charges, and we can bring down fifty meters of corridor inside, sealing off the primary access.”