"Justin, Vitios will crucify you. You saw how he forced your father to say things he didn't want to say. You heard how he twisted the interpretation of your normal behavior to look like the sinister machinations of a master spy. What can you do on the stand that will help you?"
Justin shook his head. "Nothing."
"Exactly . .."
"Nothing but point up what an absolute travesty this whole trial has been from the start."
Lofton thrust his face at Justin. "No! If you go rogue in that courtroom, if you sink down into the pits with Vitios, they'll kill you. Treason is still a capital offense, Justin, and if you anger enough people out there, you'll be dead."
Justin looked up and met Lofton's concerned stare with a blank one. "David, put me on the stand, or I'll find a lawyer who will."
David Lofton slowly straightened up, then rebuttoned his dress jacket. "Very well, Major, you'll have your wish." Lofton stared down at his client. "One thing, though. When I told you what sort of officer I had for a client, you said I was alone in my opinion. Don't you believe in yourself?"
Justin shook his head slowly. "The only thing I believe right now is that I made a mistake in leaving my mother's people to live with my father."
* * *
Lofton turned from his client and returned to the defense desk. "Thank you, Major Allard, for your cooperation." Without looking up, he added, "I am finished with this witness, Your Honor."
Courtney nodded. "Your witness, Count Vitios."
Vitios stalked Justin Allard like a tiger that has tasted human flesh. He stopped his pacing directly before the witness box and met Justin's hot glare with one of arctic frigidity. "What comes to mind, Major Allard, when someone calls you 'yellow?' "
"Objection!" Lofton vaulted out of his seat and stepped toward his client. "The prosecutor is insulting my client with irrelevant questions."
Vitios shook his head. "I will show relevancy, Your Honor."
Courtney waved Lofton back to his bench, then turned to Justin. "Answer the question, Major."
Justin let the hint of a smile flicker over his lips. "Generally, I would assume that someone who called me 'yellow' was accusing me of being a coward, but when a small-minded bigot like you uses the term, I assume it is a racial slur."
Vitios stepped back. "Quick to take offense, aren't you, Major?" Justin opened his mouth to reply, but Vitios started another question first.
Lofton smiled and split the confusion with a loud voice, "Objection. My client has not had a chance to answer your question."
Vitios, slightly off balance, growled. "I withdraw the question."
"No," Justin interjected. "I'd like to answer it. I understand, Count Vitios, why you hate the Capellan Confederation. I know your family died in a Liao raid on Verio. I know the attack came after insurgents had poisoned the local garrison forces and I know you've been looking under beds and in closets for Capellan spies ever since. I've heard your hatred of me in everything you've said since we first met after the battle of Valencia on Spica. Your blind prejudice disgusts me."
"Does it, now, Major Justin Xiang Allard?" Vitios returned to the prosecution table, picked up a file, and began to flip through it as he spoke. "You associate with known Liao agents. You speak their tongue and are accepted in their homes. You use a catch phrase from a tong as your 'Mech's personal security code. You abandon your men to a Liao ambush during an exercise you never wanted to participate in to start with! Forgive me my blind loathing, Major, but something here stinks, and the facts say that it's you!"
Vitios slammed the folder back down on the desk. "Major Allard, you nearly cost the Federated Suns over forty-eight million C-bills in equipment, the lives of thirty MechWarriors, and the world of Kittery. You sold out the people who accepted you as one of their own and who gave you everything you have! You betrayed everything that humans hold sacred anywhere in the Inner Sphere, and you betrayed your honor as a MechWarrior!"
The prosecutor raked fingers back through his thin brown hair, and wiped flecks of spittle from the corners of his mouth. "You take the stand and have your attorney feed you questions so that you can trot out your unsubstantiated fabrication of a battle with a 'Mech three times the size of your Valkyrie. Then you ask us to believe that story. But I know the real truth, you lying son of a Capellan slut, and so does everyone else in this courtroom!"
"Enough!" Spoken in a voice born to command, that single word silenced the uproar that had seized the spectators. The attention of everyone in the courtroom turned toward the bronze double-doors at the rear of the room, and the spectators were riveted by what they saw. Flanked by Ardan Sortek, Quintus Allard, and CID guards, Prince Hanse Davion strode smartly into the room. "I have heard enough!"
Hanse pushed open the low wooden gates and admitted himself to the center of the courtroom. He looked at Count Vitios, who seemed to recoil from the cold impact of the Prince's gaze. The Prince then looked up at Major General Courtney. "I would address the court."
The judge nodded nervously. Hanse turned slowly, then pointed at Count Vitios. "You are, without a doubt, the most shameless creature it has ever been my sad duty to acknowledge as a subject. Your very manner is offensive to me and any clear-thinking person alive today. You do not wear your bigotry like a uniform; it has utterly consumed you and poisoned everything you do. I accepted you as prosecutor as a favor to Duke Michael Hasek-Davion, but I do not owe him enough to put up with you any longer. You will leave New Avalon tonight!"
Hanse turned so that he could address both the Tribunal and the gallery of spectators. "As I have watched this trial, it appears to be an indictment of a whole nation, not an adjudication of the guilt or innocence of one MechWarrior. This trial, and the manner in which it has been conducted, is an example of power and hatred run rampant. Leftenant Lofton's valiant attempts to win justice for his client have been crushed by the vilest of legal trickery. I call this whole procedure a mockery of everything the Davions honor and hold dear."
Hanse smiled, as he turned toward the Tribunal. "Certainly, you must recognize that there is no solid proof of Justin Allard's guilt. The facts—those few that the Count has actually managed to present—are all circumstantial. Yes, Allard's Capellan middle name may be close to that of the tong designation for an agent, but would he or his spymasters have been stupid enough to choose such a codename? Have enough respect for House Liao to dismiss that idea immediately."
Hanse shrugged. "Perhaps Major Allard did display poor judgement in moving off to investigate the UrbanMech hidden further ahead. And yet, if he believed his men were faced with a possible ambush, this might have been the most prudent course of action. Strip him of his command, as you must, but is a simple act of negligence to cost him his life?"
"No command!" The Prince's words had hit Justin like a meteorite and visibly crushed him. He leaned forward heavily, hands pressed against the dark wooden railing of the witness box, staring at Hanse Davion's back. At Justin's outburst, the Prince spun around to face him. Justin gestured with his right hand at the crowd. "Do not spare me the full depth of hatred that these people—your people—feel for me. They look at me and see no further than the shape of my eyes or the color of my skin. All my life I have fought against the legacy of having a Capellan mother. I became more loyal to House Davion than anyone else I knew because I hoped—prayed—that what I held in my heart would make me like everyone else in my flesh. But that did not happen."
Anger flashed through Hanse's blue eyes, and his face registered pain at the bitter rage in Justin's voice. "Beware, Major. I offer you your life!"
"Ha! Life? For what? So that I can continue to protect these ungrateful slugs who fatten themselves in the Federated Suns core while their countless countrymen work and sweat and die to keep them safe? Do I want to live to protect animals like Vitios there ... so that they can continue their witchhunts?"
Davion's ice blue eyes flared. "Don't push me, Major. I'm being generous with you. Do not presume, however, tha
t I owe you even as much as the life I offer you."
For a half-second, Justin's eyes closed, then they jerked open. The pain of a lifetime showed in them and seemed to flood through the room. Justin smashed his black-gloved hand into the witness box railing, shattering it.
"What you offer me is as much a life as this is a hand! You flatter yourself to imagine I might be grateful." Justin stared at Hanse Davion, fury making his eyes shine with a malevolent light. "What is it, then, Prince Davion? Do you want to keep me as you do Ardan Sortek? Is not one captive MechWarrior enough?" Justin spat on the floor. "The life you offer me is as shallow as House Davion's conception of justice!" His anger spent, Justin cradled his lifeless arm against his chest and trembled.
Immobile as a statue, Hanse Davion stood within the silence that settled heavily over the room. Finally, he nodded slightly, the motion growing as he gathered his thoughts. "Very well, Justin Allard. I will give you what you most desire."
The Prince turned on his heel and stared up at Courtney. "Sentence him as you will. It makes no difference. I will strip him of his rank and commute any sentence to a lifetime in exile." The Prince turned again, this time picking out Quintus Allard among the crowd. "You, Quintus Allard, no longer have a son named Justin. He no longer exists, and no one will ever speak his name to me again."
Finally, Hanse Davion set his malachite gaze on Justin Allard himself. "I give you back your Capellan name, traitor. Justin Xiang, there is no place for you in the Federated Suns. You will be taken to any world willing to accept you, as long as it is beyond the borders of the Federated Suns." Hanse's head dropped for a moment, then came back up. "And if you wish to learn the true depth of justice in the Federated Suns, return here and we will drown you in it!"
* * *
Ardan Sortek and Andrew Redburn stood in the control tower, watching while the DropShip Sigmund Rosenblum accepted its final passenger. As Justin Xiang passed up the ramp and into the ship's dark interior, Redburn turned from the window. "I'm sure, Colonel Sortek, that Justin—I mean Major Allard—did not mean what he said in court."
Ardan Sortek smiled knowingly and rested a hand on Redburn's shoulder. "No need for you to apologize, Leftenant. There was a time when I, too, believed that I was wasting away here on New Avalon. I went back into the field, but after a harrowing adventure or two, I realized that a man at peace with himself can be useful anywhere." He looked out as the DropShip's engines ignited and the egg-shaped ship slowly shuddered skyward. "Your friend has a lot of pain in him, and he'll not be satisfied until he can deal with that. I take no offense at anything he said while so sorely troubled."
Redburn nodded. "It's a waste of a damn good MechWarrior."
Sortek shrugged. "On Solaris VII, he'll be with plenty of his own kind." Sortek's next words caused Redburn to smile. "And while he's trying to sate that anger, I imagine he'll be hell on wheels there on the Game World."
"But I know he's innocent, Colonel Sortek, and when I return to Kittery, I'll get the evidence to prove it. His Val was empty of LRMs after the battle. No UrbanMech could have survived that barrage. It had to have been a Rifleman"
The smile drained from Sortek's face. "I suppose they've not told you about your new assignment, have they?"
Redburn froze. "I was told that I'd ship back to Kittery and resume command of the training battalion."
Sortek shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and shook his head. "Eventually you'll get there, Leftenant. But first, you and I will be shipping out to the Lyran Commonwealth. I've got inspections and official functions to attend. Now that you're a hero, we'll give a lot of influential people a chance to have their holographs taken with you."
Redburn frowned with puzzlement. "Isn't there someone else, say, from Redfield or from Galtor, who could go?"
Sortek shrugged and led the other man to the elevator. "Nothing more stale than yesterday's heroes. Besides, some people want to know how this training battalion idea is working out. Lots of resistance in House Steiner to MechWarriors trained in anything other than the Academies. Your men, and their performance against the Liao ambush, are hot right now."
Redburn nodded, but barely heard the words. Good luck, Justin. I know that deep in your heart you’re one of us. Somehow, I'll find a way to prove it.
15
Echo V
Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
1 January 3027
Jiro Ishiyama bowed deeply out of respect for the wrinkled old monk who had led him through the twisting tunnels of the Zen monastery. Above them, on Echo V's barren, wind-scarred tundra, icy cyclones shrieked as they scourged the planet. Ishiyama fought the shiver provoked by the planet's chill, and respected the old monk even more because of his indifference to the cold.
Indeed, Ishiyama was swathed in the warm folds of a heavy coat, while the monk wore a simple black robe. Though the air was cold enough to show both men's breath, the monk wore only sandals, and had neither gloves to protect his hands nor a hood to protect his shaved pate. In the monk's eyes, however, Ishiyama saw no superiority or disdain for this visitor from far Luthien. Instead, Ishiyama read pity for the man who does not know himself well enough to exist as one with the cold.
The monk looked beyond Jiro Ishiyama and wordlessly directed the two initiates bearing the visitor's lacquered trunks to pass around them. The initiates, bowing only their heads because of the burdens on their backs, passed through the garden to the small hut reserved for the cha-no-yu, the tea ceremony. The two initiates vanished into the hut for a moment, then returned to bow deeply to the monk and his visitor before disappearing into the dark tunnels of the monastery complex.
The monk inclined his head and half-smiled. "Sumimasen, Ishiyama Jiro-sama," he began slowly. "Excuse me if I speak slowly because we use words sparingly here."
Ishiyama bowed. "I am honored by the words you grant me." He looked out over the rock and bonsai garden that filled the underground cavern. The pale white gravel had been raked in long, undulating waves that truly made one feel that he were viewing a frozen ocean. Larger rocks, from the gray of granite to the glassy black-purple of obsidian, thrust up through the stone surf like defiant islands. Nestled in the naturally carven niches, bonsai trees pushed up as though part of the rock, while carefully nurtured mosses clung to the rock, adding the proper verdant touches.
The tea house stood in the center of the garden, and though of obvious human construction, it seemed to be an organic part of the garden. Styled after a pagoda, complete with wood lattice, rice-paper screen walls, and a red-tiled roof, the well-worn granite used to construct the tea house made it look as though the structure were even older than the garden itself. From beneath the tip of the tea house's peaked roof, gray smoke drifted almost imperceptibly.
Ishiyama breathed in and smiled at the familiar, pleasing aroma of burning cedar. Again, he bowed to the monk. "All is perfect. Your faithfulness honors the Dragon." The monk, obviously pleased, bowed his head. Both men knew that, as perfect as the garden might seem, Ishiyama would alter it in some subtle way to make it yet more perfect, and to bind it into the cha-no-yu that he had travelled more than two hundred light years to perform.
"Do itashimash'te, Ishiyama Jiro-sama," the monk replied softly. "It is we who are honored that the Dragon sends you to grace us with your skill. Be assured that your preparations will not be disturbed. In four hours, I will send Kurita Yorinaga-ji to you."
"Domo arigato." Ishiyama bowed deeply and did not straighten up until the monk had silently departed the chamber. Ishiyama studied the garden. As his eyes followed the path of flat stones leading from the entrance to the tea house, he allowed himself to become absorbed in the beauty the monks had created. The garden, by its artistry and resonance, touched him deeply and peeled away layers of emotion and inner conflicts. The scene restored him to the centered feeling of peace that his trip across seven jump points had stripped away.
Ishiyama forced his mind to the cavern and the garden and h
is mission. He removed his thick, quilted mittens, stuffed them into his coat pockets, pulled off his boots, and then crossed to where a bamboo rake lay hidden in a shadowed niche. Brandishing it with the care and reverence a warrior might give to his 'Mech, Ishiyama slowly stepped out onto the stone path. Three stones out, he used the rake to gently tease four small pieces of gravel onto that third stone. He did nothing to change or repair how the gravel had fallen, and it might have been only that the last person to rake the gravel had been careless.
Ishiyama allowed himself a brief smile. Deliberately careless. Ishiyama knew that Kurita Yorinaga-ji would immediately spot the small white pebbles on the broad gray steppingstone. He knew, too, that Yorinaga-ji would take them as the first sign that the perfect universe, the universe that had trapped him, was changing.
Ishiyama looked up and concentrated. If the tea house is Luthien, then ... He turned to the left and squinted. Reaching out with the butt of the rake, he gently pressed it into the gravel. Mallory's World, the site of Yorinaga-ji's disgrace, would be here.
Ishiyama reversed the rake and used the broad, toothed end to subtly alter the flowing wavelines around the mark he'd made for Mallory's World. Slowly, and with a patience bordering upon the superhuman, he reworked the gravel until one could see, if one knew how to look, minute ripples spreading from that point. Advancing ahead three more path-stones, Ishiyama completed the eleventh concentric ripple-ring—one for each year since Yorinaga-ji had disgraced himself. It was now just over an hour since he had first laid eyes on the garden.
Ishiyama backtracked to the garden's edge, and removed his coat and hat. The chill air sliced through the midnight-blue silken kimono he wore, and Ishiyama unconsciously retied the silver obi a bit tighter. Though difficult to see in the soothing half-light, a dragon figure coiled around the kimono, woven into the garment with slightly darker blue thread.