“Lieutenant Daniel Peterson to see Legate Ruskoff,” he said calmly.

Corporal Paullat didn’t bother to open the wallet. His eyes widened with recognition. In the last two days, the media had made Daniel’s face instantly recognizable to the entire world.

“Lieutenant…” There was no respect in the title, only stunned repetition. “S–sir. You’re… under arrest.”

Daniel nodded. “Have the MPs meet me in front of the base command building, please.” He drove under the raised gate without looking back. The corporal never had time to remember his pistol, holstered at his side.

He picked up his first military patrol car only a block into the base, and two more before he ever got close to Ruskoff’s command center. A rifle platoon waited outside, backed up by armored infantry on the roof. Four military police approached his sedan, hands on their pistols, and ordered him out. Daniel complied, slowly, very much aware of how many weapons pointed his direction, keeping his hands in view at all times. The military police cuffed him, checked him for weapons, then shackled his wrists to the front of a leather belt which they cinched around his waist. With an MP at both sides, a hand locked around each upper arm, Daniel Peterson was finally escorted inside.

They led him down a familiar stretch of hallway, through a door and an adjoining office, and held him at stiff attention in front of Legate Viktor Ruskoff. The Legate sat in his chair, hands clamped onto the armrests. His ash blond hair, normally shorn into a tight flattop, wilted as the length grew out. Bags began to darken under his eyes. He said nothing for a long moment, and Daniel held up under the basilisk stare.

“So,” Ruskoff finally said. “This is what treason looks like.”

No sleep and a starvation diet had done its work on Daniel’s face. It had taken a great deal of energy just to shave this morning before leaving the hostel where he’d hidden for two days, thinking. “You have no idea who I am,” Daniel said. “Arrest me or shoot me, Legate.” He glanced away. “I don’t care what you think.”

“If that’s true, why did you come back? You’ve disappeared before. Twice before, in fact.”

Daniel chewed on the inside of his cheeks, holding his answer until he’d thought about it a moment. His eyes felt scratchy, dry, and he blinked some moisture over them. “Not this time. Whatever happens to me now, I’ll see it through without having to look back over my shoulder.”

“Very noble of you.” Ruskoff certainly wasn’t warming to the idea. “Do you know what you’ve cost this world? Just as the riots begin to settle down, suddenly people are up in arms again. I have fifteen new cases of officers absent without leave. You don’t want to know what this did to the enlisted ranks. And I can’t tell how many are defections, desertions or are simply dead. The public backlash has been incredible on both sides of the Capellan issue. Did you set me up, Michaelson? Crow… what the hell am I supposed to call you!”

“Daniel. My name is Daniel.”

He seemed to accept that. “Did you?” he asked again.

“Set you up? No. I was set up. Played. Masterfully.”

“So now you’re innocent?” Ruskoff’s sarcasm was plain.

“Ah, I’m guilty as hell, Viktor.” One of the MPs shook him, and Daniel twisted around to shake away their hands. They pulled batons, but hesitated when Ruskoff waved them back.

Daniel ignored the MPs and returned to some semblance of attention. “I’m guilty,” he said again, “but not of what you think. I was just trying to do what I thought was best.” That wasn’t quite right. That was Crow talking. “No, I’ve tried to do what I thought was best for everyone else. I did. But I never meant—”

What? Anyone to get hurt? Too late.

Ruskoff nodded a dismissal to the MPs, who left the office reluctantly. Daniel doubted they went much farther than the adjoining office, ready to take him back into custody the moment the Legate was through with him.

“So if it wasn’t you, then who was it? Tsung? Did the Governor’s man play me into the enemy’s hands? The Dynasty Guard? Who?”

What the hell. “Bannson. Jacob Bannson. Or, at least, it was some of his people.”

“What’s Jacob Bannson got to do with this?” Ruskoff obviously didn’t believe him. “Why would he care about Liao? Answer me, Daniel!”

“Business!” Daniel shouted back with all the strength left to him. “It’s all business with him. What he can get as a return on an investment. That’s what I was.” Daniel fought to recover his poise. “An investment.”

“Why you? What did Bannson, or his people, have on you that was so damning?” Of course, the moment he asked, the answer came to him. “The Massacre.”

Daniel breathed heavily as his chest tightened. He nodded. “Here on Liao, and on Northwind, I was Bannson’s tool. Some mistakes you never stop paying for. Not even when you die.”

And Daniel found himself backing up, taking his time to explain—slowly, carefully—the way he’d been approached to let the Confederation DropShip through security protocols. Why he’d done it. What was left to him after. Two years of bloody war. In the chaos, it had been easy to forge a new identity as Ezekiel Crow. Trying to redeem himself by making the “best” decisions on behalf of The Republic, devoting twenty years to doing as much good as possible.

He told Ruskoff about the Conservatory Uprising in 3128, how it was prompted by Confederation agents. That made the Legate sit up sharply and take notice. He talked at length about what happened on Northwind and Terra. For the first time in his life, he explained to another person every selfish motivation that drove him to excel, to do better, and what finally backed him into a corner. And what it had cost him. His parents. The trust and respect of his peers. Tara Campbell, who had reached out to him, and had been betrayed.

He’d been talking quite awhile. His mouth was parched and his throat hurt. Daniel ended quickly with his arrival on Liao.

Ruskoff nodded slowly. “So this is what treason looks like,” he said, though not quite so harshly as the first time.

“I rated everything I got,” Daniel admitted, refusing any pity. “This time I wasn’t going to play another man’s game. I had no aspirations of my own. I just wanted to help. I came clean—clean as I could and have you believe me at all—and hoped it was enough.” He swallowed dryly. “It wasn’t. And a lot of innocent people died.”

He thought a moment. “Well, they would have died anyway, I think. Bannson would have covered those bases. But I helped put it in motion, and got those deaths blamed on The Republic.”

Ruskoff leaned over his desk with hands steepled together. “I’ve been there,” he began slowly. “You take one step beyond the job description, and suddenly people are dead and you can’t help but think of what you could have done differently. Usually, the answer is: nothing. And now Liao is burning.” He shook his head. “I’m beginning to think this was all put into motion long before you and I ever put on a uniform. But that doesn’t matter, does it? What we have to deal with is what happens today.”

“And what is happening today?” Daniel asked. He couldn’t help it. The responsibility of duty still pricked at him. “Bad?”

The Legate hesitated, then decided it couldn’t hurt. “Lord Governor Hidic barely managed to hold on to the industrial centers of Nánlù. The Dynasty Guard struck during the New Year’s chaos, but Lady Kincaid stop-gapped them. She took a bad hit from a cockpit breach. Then the Guard suddenly left. No idea why. They pulled out lock, stock and BattleMech while Nánlù’s entire defense teetered on the edge. Relocated to Beilù’s Northern Ranges.”

“I’ve seen Chang-an,” Daniel admitted. “It’s every district and suburb for itself right now.”

“Governor Lu Pohl—” Ruskoff shrugged. “I’m not certain about her. She’s got a small task force sitting inside the White Towers District, appropriated from the surviving militia I had on the capital’s streets. I haven’t tested their loyalty yet by ordering them out. I might need them up there.”