“You’re not going to listen, Evan, but I’m going to try one last time. I’ve spent most of my life trying to make good on what I did, but I’ve never made excuses. And I’m not about to start with you.”

“Why not me? What’s wrong with me?” Evan felt a cold hollow beginning to eat away at his anger now. He’d let it go for too long. “My parents died after the Night of Screams when a ’Mech—a Republic ’Mech!—smashed through our apartment building. That was in the second wave of assaults. Why should I care how many years you lived a lie, trying to make it up to The Republic? What have you done to make it up to me?”

“I tried to help you not make the same mistake I did.”

“It’s not a mistake unless you never had the conviction to begin with. That’s your problem, not mine.” His rage was spent, and Evan shook with cold and adrenaline fatigue now. He waited, but Peterson had nothing else to say, apparently. The two men stood looking at each other. “What did you expect, Daniel? Why did you come here? Forgiveness?”

“It’s not important anymore, Evan, why I came here. The person I wanted to help is gone.”

“No.” Evan shook his head. “The person you thought you could help never was. My decisions may not be easy ones, but I can live with them.” It was he who turned away now. Toward his own dormitory. Not Jenna’s. He glanced back once, and saw Peterson still standing there. “Can you say the same?” he asked.

No answer followed after him.

Suriwong Floods

Sarrin Province, Liao

15 August 3134

The mobile HQ rocked back and forth as it lumbered up the clay riverbank. Mai Uhn Wa tightened down the simple lap belt that strapped him into the crawler’s seat. Gray, pre-dawn light brightened his monitors, and on them he watched as half a dozen ’Mechs and a rump battalion of tanks and APCs waded ashore, skimmed across the latest in a series of shallow rivers, or plowed through one of a dozen fords.

The Suriwong Floods drained out of Beilù’s Northern Ranges every year as heavy spring melt washed through the flatlands. The runoff spread into a system of marshes and bogs, cutting through in a shifting pattern. As the runoff slackened and one particular cut deepened, the Floods would eventually form the Suriwong River. But not yet.

“Shiao Mai. I have Sang-shao Rieves on video transmission.”

Michael Yung-Te glowered down at him. “Now you will see.” The agent had refused a secure seat on the observation pad, not wanting to leave Mai’s side on the control deck. He stood near one wall, holding on to a hand strap, looking vaguely sick as the crawler continued to roll and pitch as a large vessel sliding over ocean waves. “The Sang-shao will not be in a forgiving mood.”

Mai nodded, and slid his chair back to an empty station. A nearby tech patched through the transmission, and a darkly unhappy face glared at him from only a few dozen kilometers away.

“You tread on dangerous ground, Mai Uhn Wa.”

“That is so. Footing on the Suriwong Floods is tricky at best.”

The Dynasty Guard’s commander was not amused. “My scouts have reported a large military force converging on our position. Other than yours,” the man clarified, preempting Mai’s next remark.

“That would be Legate Ruskoff. I would expect a mix of militia, Triarii Protectors, and Principes Guards.”

“The Republic is striking at us here? Now? How very convenient.”

Mai chose to ignore the sarcasm. “We think so, since we have come here to assist, Sang-shao Rieves. If you will deploy from the north, we can link up before Legate Ruskoff hits your valley hideaway.”

“A location they should know nothing about! We cannot remove… the artifact in time.” Meaning the stasis chamber containing Sun-Tzu Liao. “It is a technology we are unfamiliar with. But of course, your faithful dog would know that.”

Mai shrugged. “However The Republic militia has come here, we are on hand to assist. Shall we pool our efforts, Carson Rieves, or shall we divide our efforts in front of a larger enemy force?”

“Very soon, Mai Uhn Wa, we will determine, you and I, who is in charge on Liao.”

“And if we discuss this much longer, The Republic will settle that for us. I estimate fifteen minutes before my forces engage. Without you, we fail.” And without the Second McCarron’s and the Conservatory cadre, Rieves could not be assured of victory on Liao either. Mai let the officer chew on that a moment. “Or would you rather risk the artifact and have to explain its loss to Chancellor Daoshen?”

The idea did not sit well with Rieves no matter which way he looked at it. “You are playing for stakes far above your position,” was all Reives said. And then his transmission winked out of existence.

Mai Uhn Wa looked to the Maskirovka agent. “Now we shall see,” he agreed.

Evan already had too much to keep straight in his mind. The hastily studied lay of the land—mostly a marshy river basin followed by the soft rolling hills that were Sun-Tzu Liao’s final resting place. He juggled Mai’s orders for battle, the various level of skill of the men and women under his command, his position on the far right wing of the Capellan line and what would be expected of him. Jenna in her ForestryMech. Mark Lo, who had joined one of the new Fa Shih squads.

The very real fact that the assembled Republic army was twice their size.

Mai’s Praetorian command vehicle fed strategic information onto one of his screens. With the Principes Guards and most every militia Warrior that Nánlù could spare fielded in this final strike at the Confederation position, Ruskoff assembled nearly two mixed-force battalions. The Legate’s Zeus was their heaviest ’Mech, and one of a dozen large machines. The Capellan irregulars could not compete. Even with McCarron’s Armored Cavalry and Governor Lu Pohl’s commandeered forces. They needed the Dynasty Guard, and Shiao Mai could not promise they would deploy.

“Contact,” a voice crackled in his ear as forward scouts began skirmishing with Republic outriders. Threat icons burned to life on his heads-up display. “Falling back under heavy fire.”

Evan’s orders were clear. Draw a large force off The Republic’s main body and pull them in toward the Dynasty Guard’s position. “Bring them to us,” he reminded his small picket force. “Company. Forward at them.”

The ground was soft. Too soft for speedy travel unless Evan wanted to strain a leg actuator or hyperextend a joint. Muddy clay oozed around the Ti Ts’ang’s feet, sucked at each footstep and clung to the lower legs in large clumps of reddish gold muck. He moved in lurches and bowlegged steps, hoping they would clear the Floods quickly and find some good open room for maneuvers.

Not quick enough. The scouts in Pegasus hovercraft and Demons arrived first, pulling a pair of VTOL strike craft behind them as well as a mixed lance of Destroyers and Bellona.

The wheeled Demons stuck to more solid ground, bouncing and skidding and throwing out long rooster tails of earth. The Destroyers had every advantage, and pounced on the wheeled vehicles just short of safety, turning one into a burning wreck before Evan could throw enough forces forward to aid them.