TEXT: BATTLECORPS
  Destiny’s Call
  By Loren L. Coleman
  Part III
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  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 2
  Tharkad, 2721
  Six hours into his 
  academic review, Alek 
  knew what a firing 
  squad victim felt like.
  The 
  room 
  Dean 
  Albrecht chose was 
  Spartan 
  and 
  cold, 
  painted an olive drab 
  that someone, at some 
  time, thought was a 
  good idea. It smelled 
  of floor wax and after-
  shave. Tharkad’s pale 
  sun shone through the room’s single window, high on the left-
  hand wall so that no one could look out. Dust motes chased each 
  other in the butterish sunbeams slanting across the floor.
  Alek stood at the front of the room, behind a small metal po-
  dium on which rested a sweating pitcher of water and a single 
  glass. His hands smoothed the edges along either side. He faced 
  the seated board which was now down to Dean Albrecht and 
  Professor Kleppinger. Michael Steiner sat in as Alek’s advocate, 
  keeping the long process civil. Keeping his own counsel, Michael 
  had also brought in Colonel Baumgarten who sat in stoic silence 
  through the entire ordeal, his falcon-sharp gaze pinning Alek to 
  the wall, missing nothing. Behind the board his parents sat in 
  straight-backed chairs, having delayed their travels to support 
  Alek through his review. Dad rarely blinked, his blue eyes fastened 
  steadfastly on his son, offering silent encouragement. Mom spent 
  more time studying the academic board, seemingly amused by 
  the entire process. Neither showed any doubt as to the outcome, 
  and Alek was grateful for the strength of their belief.
   “Another question,” Kleppinger said, resting forward on his 
  elbows. He looked down at Alek, a true accomplishment when 
  seated. “Unless you need a moment to collect yourself.”
  “I’m ready if you are,” Alek said. Kleppinger frowned.
  Other instructors had arrived, asked their questions, and left 
  satisfied. Kleppinger seemed to take this entire review personally. 
  Alek remembered the professor’s surprise—and suspicion—when 
  told that his student would be let back into class pending a full 
  academic review. It hadn’t taken Kleppinger long to discover that 
  
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  Destiny's Call • Page 3
  Michael Steiner had gone to bat for Alek, vouchsafing his charac-
  ter and demanding the board prove Alek’s need to cheat.
  “The boy’s own noteputer clipped under the table isn’t enough?” 
  Michael had later told Alek of Kleppinger’s outrage. “His own fin-
  gerprints on it, and no one else’s I’m told.”
  Convenient that three of Alek’s most serious on-campus en-
  emies had worn gloves that day as part of their dress uniforms. 
  He never once pointed a finger in their direction, though the bro-
  ken lock discovered at his dorm room had argued part of his case 
  for him. 
  “Is this question going to require another thirty minute answer?” 
  Michael asked, glancing at the slender watch clipped to his wrist. 
  “We do have a Spring Reception to ready ourselves for tonight.”
  Kleppinger drew himself up haughtily. “Perhaps we should be 
  more interested in the ethical fiber of our student body than a 
  social event.”
  “Quite right, quite right.” Michael nodded. “I’m sure the Archon 
  will excuse our tardiness.” Michael did not go on at any length to 
  remind the board members of his relation to the Archon. He didn’t 
  have to. Dean Albrecht took a long look at his watch as well, a ges-
  ture certainly not missed by Kleppinger. 
  “Very well,” the Poli-Sci instructor conceded. “I’ll keep this one 
  short.” He spread his hands over the table they all sat behind. “In 
  the briefest answer possible, Alek, give me the founding political 
  cause behind the last four decades of challenges from ronin Kurita 
  samurai against Star League base champions.”
  Identifying the political foundations for current troubles was 
  never an easy task, and would open a debate more often than 
  ever reaching a consensus. Alek, however, was not one to shirk 
  a challenge. “The Reunification War,” he said at once. Then was 
  quiet. He sipped from his water. Waited.
  “I’ll ask you to elaborate somewhat,” Kleppinger said finally with 
  great distaste.
  Alek set the glass back on the podium. “When Michael Cameron 
  assumed the First Lordship in 2649, one of his first challenges 
  came from Tadeo Amaris and the Rim Worlds Republic. Amaris 
  had begun expanding his armies at an alarming rate. This prompt-
  ed First Lord Michael into signing, among other laws, Council 
  Edict 2650, dictating the acceptable size of any non-Star League 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 4
  military force. House Kurita’s necessary downsizing of their army 
  led to the ronin, or “masterless warriors” as they are called. Out of 
  spite, under orders, or as a salve to their family honor, these ronin 
  have been challenging Star League champions since 2681.”
  “And this relates to The Reunification War, of the twenty-sixth 
  century, how?” Dean Albrecht asked.
  Alek sipped again from his water glass. “The specter of another 
  Reunification War no doubt loomed over First Lord Michael’s deci-
  sion to enact such military restriction in the first place.”
  “You propose to know the mind of the First Lord?” Kleppinger 
  waved a hand, dismissing such a claim. “Your psychological skills 
  aside, this would still seem a tenuous tie between events.”
  “‘The processes of cause and effect among political circumstance 
  are often legion, and nebulous, until viewed from a historian’s 
  perspective.’”
  The professor scoffed. “Who said that?”
  “Weldon Kleppinger, doctorate thesis, 2706.” Michael Steiner 
  laughed out loud and Colonel Baumgarten dipped his head in 
  a silent salute. Alek smiled. The academic gauntlet had been 
  thrown down.
  “And yet,” Kleppinger rebounded on the attack, “you assert con-
  temporary rationale for the ronin’s activities. Spite. Honor.”
  “And being under orders,” Alek reminded him, picking up his wa-
  ter glass. “But I never stated that these were contemporary issues. 
  Even orders—if there were, passed through back channels—must 
  have an historical context. These are the children and grandchil-
  dren of those who served under Leonard Kurita, who brought the 
  Draconis Combine to the brink of war against the Star League 
  in 2605.”
  “Leonard’s Folly.” Kleppinger nodded. “He died of ‘mysterious 
  illness’ though it seems likely that his replacement was engi-
  neered by…?”
  “Siriwan McAllister-Kurita, after the seppuku of Leonard’s sister—”
  “Elaine Kurita,” Kleppinger interrupted. Now the professor 
  seemed to have something to prove. “She committed ritual sui-
  cide in shame for her brother’s actions. But Leonard was too far 
  unbalanced by alcohol and drug dependence to care, and his 
  paranoia following—”
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 5
  “Following an incident that took place in the High Council, where 
  Leonard attempted to assault the First Lord with a thrown bottle 
  and instead struck a guard, who fired out of reflex, wounding the 
  Coordinator.” Alek replaced his glass on the podium with a tired 
  hand. “So we might as well say that the ronin challenges are all for 
  the sake of a  wayward bottle.”
  “And that guard’s name was… was…” Kleppinger trailed off 
  helplessly, unable to say. Alek saw in his eyes, though, that he 
  knew. Knew, and wanted to deny it.
  Levering himself out of his chair with hands splayed on the 
  table’s top, Dean Albrecht rose. “I think we are at an end here, and 
  this whole unfortunate misunderstanding can be chalked up to 
  campus hijinks. Wouldn’t you agree, Weldon?” Kleppinger nod-
  ded dumbly. “Alek, please accept the university’s apology. Your 
  scholarship stands and your record will not reflect this incident.”
  He shrugged. The bitter taste at the back of his throat had little to 
  do with victory, and everything to do with the crestfallen expres-
  sion on Kleppinger’s face. Maybe it had been necessary to push 
  back so hard, but Alek had taken some measure of joy in it as well, 
  and that seemed—now—inappropriate. “And my prelims? I never 
  did finish them.”
  Kleppinger shook himself back to some semblance of decorum. 
  He rose slowly. “Full marks,” he promised. He seemed a bit taken 
  aback when Michael Steiner offered his hand and a sincere thanks 
  on Alek’s behalf, but drew some extra strength from that and left 
  the room with salvaged dignity.
  His parents came forward, offering handshakes and warm hugs, 
  while Dean Albrecht passed a few comments with Michael and 
  Colonel Baumgarten. “Did just fine,” his father said. “What you 
  had to do. Don’t worry about the rest.”
  But Alek always worried about the rest. His parents knew that.
  “You proved yourself a credit to the university,” his mother re-
  minded him. “That is what matters.”
  “Indeed.” Colonel Baumgarten joined them. “A true credit.” He 
  introduced himself to Alek’s parents. “I wish I could claim so much 
  on behalf of the Star League Defense Force, but Alek is steadfast 
  in pursuit of academia. He’d make a fine officer.”
  His father swelled with pride. “Told him much the same,” he 
  said, putting a large hand on Alek’s shoulder. More than thirty 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 6
  years out of service, he still wore the same infantryman’s flattop 
  and had a stiff military bearing. “Mother and I, both. But Alek, he 
  is his own man. And has Tronchina’s stubbornness,” he quipped, 
  glancing at Alek’s mother.
  His parents shared a laugh over that, and Colonel Baumgarten 
  joined in politely. Finally, his mother made excuses for her and 
  her husband both. “We should get ready. Dean Albrecht extended 
  an invitation to attend tonight’s reception, as chaperones, so we 
  shall. If you do not mind, Alek.”
  “Not at all,” Alek said. He gave both parents another strong hug 
  and watched them go. “I should be off to get dressed as well.” 
  But he held back just a moment, sensing a question in the Star 
  League officer.
  “You took Professor Kleppinger apart fairly quickly at the end,” 
  Baumgarten said. “I saw his shoulders fall, and knew that he was 
  finished. It made me wonder.”
  “What’s that?” Alek asked. 
  “What the guard’s name was who shot Leonard Kurita.”
  Alek paused near the door. Dean Albrecht waited off to one side 
  to say his goodbye to the colonel. He saw no reason to drag out 
  another history lesson just now. “Her name was Tanya,” he said, 
  then slipped out the door. The colonel could look up her last name 
  himself. And he would, Alek knew.
  He would.
  For the most part Alek had gotten used to the stares and whis-
  pers, the fingers pointed his direction as he passed tight knots of 
  students in the halls or on campus grounds. He cataloged them 
  in the back of his mind, parsing out those he felt might be a real 
  threat from the students who simply enjoyed the petty torments 
  of social segregation, and those who just didn’t care enough to 
  go out of their way. It was, he’d discovered over time, a kind of 
  status in and of itself. To whom was he important enough to be 
  worth disliking.
  Walking into the university’s Spring Reception with Gabriella 
  Bailey on his arm earned him an entirely new level of attention. 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 7
  A symphony breathed light melodies over the entire ballroom. 
  Couples waltzed across a polished floor. Drifting slowly about the 
  hall, roaming in between the refreshment tables and the receiving 
  line already forming in anticipation of the Archon’s arrival, stu-
  dents and soldiers formed larger islands of conversation. 
  Alek had early hopes of slipping into obscurity among the 
  crowds, but those dreams were quickly dashed. They were a 
  match meant to attract notice, it seemed; silent, thoughtful Alek 
  escorting the stunning debutante. Gabriella’s gown did not run 
  toward any of the usual shades of blue, a color heavily associated 
  with House Steiner and the Lyran Commonwealth. She had cho-
  sen a full-length emerald green with a slightly metallic sheen. A 
  slit up the side flashed jewel-studded shoes and shapely calf. The 
  back of the gown was strapless, entirely open down to the small of 
  her back. Steering her toward the dance floor Alek’s hand slipped 
  across that expanse of bare skin. It left him feeling warm inside his 
  suit of basic black.
  Gabriella laughed at his blush, but not in an unpleasant way.
  “Nothing like being the center of attention,” Gabriella whispered half-
  way through a waltz, finally noticing the stares which followed them. 
  “It’s your gown,” he said. Though both of them knew it for a lie. 
  Alek’s past week, and his success at today’s review board, was the 
  hot topic of conversation in many circles.
  “No.” Gabriella took her hand from his shoulder for a moment, 
  tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “It’s your dancing.” Alek 
  wasn’t so certain she was talking about his waltz.
  They finished their dance and one more, and then moved to-
  ward a refreshment table where crystal cups rested in a snowdrift 
  of ice shavings. Alek found two non-alcoholic sparkling ciders. 
  They traded stares with several other attendees over the rims of 
  their glasses. 
  Women seemed to appraise them as a couple, reserving their 
  approval or catty glances for them both, equally. Many of the 
  young men looked in his direction with obvious envy, or elbowed 
  a buddy and whispered an aside that caused jealous laughter. 
  A few glowered darkly at the match. Most of these wore Star 
  League cadet uniforms, complete with the Nagelring’s blue sash 
  tied around their waists with ends hanging down over their left leg 
  as was allowed by tradition. Hands rested aggressively on saber 
  hilts, and a cautioning flush warmed the nape of Alek’s neck.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 8
  “You make it look so easy,” Gabriella said, sipping at her drink. 
  “I count a dozen pair of eyes boring into your skull, none of them 
  exactly wishing you well, and you still look relaxed.”
  “You would like me to beat on my chest and make loud growl-
  ing noises, yes?” The question made her laugh. It made a nearby 
  Nagelring cadet frown, and Alek lowered his voice. “I can’t help 
  what they think,” he told her.
  “But doesn’t it wear on you?”
  Alek sipped from the fruity beverage, let it play over his tongue 
  and whisper down his throat. He smiled, almost sadly. “‘Not all of 
  me is dust,’” he quoted. “‘Within my song, safe from the worm, 
  my spirit will survive.’”
  “I remember you saying that. Before. Or part of it, anyway.” She 
  set her empty glass on the tray of a passing server. “You draw 
  a great deal of strength from the words of others. How do you 
  do that?”
  “I believe.” Alek shrugged. “Because ‘the writer is the engineer 
  of the human soul,’ I can decide how to influence the person I wish 
  to become.”
  Gabriella’s eyes softened, sparkled. Her lips parted in a light 
  smile, showing a hint of white teeth. She leaned forward ever so 
  slightly, then caught herself. “Take a walk with me?” she asked, 
  nodding toward one end of the ballroom. Large doors opened 
  through a glass wall onto a formal courtyard, and the university’s 
  gardens beyond.
  He swallowed hard. “Of course.”
  Hand on arm they strolled along the tables, running into Michael 
  Steiner and Alek’s mother returning from the dance floor. It was 
  Michael’s first chance to speak with Alek since ducking out af-
  ter the review. He buttonholed Alek while Tronchina exchanged 
  pleasantries with Gabriella.
  “Excellent work today, Alek. Old Weldon looked as if he’d swal-
  lowed a bug.”
  Uncomfortable, Alek shifted his weight from one foot to the 
  other. His father turned up and lead his mother away toward the 
  refreshment tables. Gabriella looked over and smiled a promise to 
  him, then withdrew to leave him a moment with Michael. “I really 
  should thank you again,” Alek said, “for sticking by me, pushing 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 9
  through the academic board review.” He saw a shadow flit over 
  Michael’s usually amiable face. “What?”
  “Well, I didn’t push for that. My family connections notwith-
  standing, as a faculty member I’m responsible to support Dean 
  Albrecht’s decision. It was Colonel Baumgarten who actually 
  swung some weight behind a board review and got you the sec-
  ond chance.”
  Baumgarten? “Why did he…”
  “Mostly because of your parents, and the fact that you are here 
  on a Star League scholarship.” He smiled. “The military looks 
  after its own, Alek. Even when they don’t necessarily want to 
  be claimed.”
  And, Alek realized, Michael had realized well ahead of time that it 
  might take Baumgarten to bring about a review, which answered 
  Alek’s question as to why his friend had brought in the colonel. 
  Alek wrestled with propriety and pride. It wasn’t much of a con-
  test. “Thanks, Michael. I owe you.”
  “Ja, you do, wunderkind.” He tipped a wink at Alek. “You can 
  repay me by suffering through the formalities and allowing me to 
  introduce you to my brother at some point.”
  “Give me a moment to find my parents,” Alek offered. “I’m sure 
  they would consider it a great honor to—”
  “At some point,” Michael said again, interrupting. He placed 
  hands on Alek’s shoulders. “Alek, never keep a lady waiting. 
  Especially one in need of rescuing.” He turned Alek to one side, 
  pointing out Gabriella and Elias Luvon near the edge of the 
  dance floor.
  “Right,” Alek agreed, trading clasps with Michael.
  Elias had proffered an arm to Gabriella, holding it out for an awk-
  ward moment. She looked at him coolly. Alek walked up in time to 
  hear him ask—not for the first time, likely—for a dance. “Alek can 
  spare you for another two minutes, certainly.”
  “Not by choice, Elias.” He slipped up to Gabriella’s side, and her 
  hands encircled his upper arm. It felt as if low voltage electrical 
  currents played out of her fingertips, teasing and trembling his 
  skin even through his jacket sleeve.
  “You can’t be gracious about this?” Elias glanced to one side, and 
  Alek followed his gaze. Some of Elias’s cadet cronies watched the 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 10
  exchange from the dance floor, already partnered up and waiting 
  for their friend. “Just to show there are no hard feelings?”
  Which was almost humorous, considering who offered the 
  olive branch. Alek still harbored a coal of resentment for Elias’s 
  latest tactic, attacking him through his academic standing, but he 
  banked it, smothering the angry burn in layers of calm reasoning. 
  “You know what? There aren’t any hard feelings. Whatever your 
  problems have been with me, they’re your problems. Not mine.” 
  Elias had obviously thought he heard capitulation in Alek’s words, 
  and began to offer his arm again. But Alek shifted Gabriella back, 
  putting himself slightly in front of her. “But those problems have 
  nothing to do with Gabriella, either. And since I have never shown 
  you hard feelings, I see no reason to demonstrate a lack of them 
  now.” He nodded deeply. “Good eve, Elias.”
  Escorting Gabriella away, he felt her reassuring squeeze on his 
  arm. “Thank you,” she whispered after a long moment.
  “My pleasure.” 
  And it had been. Where Alek had felt worse for Professor 
  Kleppinger’s discomfort earlier this day, he could only believe that 
  Elias Luvon had earned whatever loss of face this evening had 
  brought him. A strong man—a future leader of men—would learn 
  from such an experience. Alek hoped that Elias had such character 
  in him.
  Perhaps he should have known better and stayed more on his 
  guard. But passing through the glass wall and onto the courtyard 
  with Gabriella on his arm, it felt as if the day’s entire troubles sim-
  ply drained away. The crisp evening air stole their breath and gave 
  it back frosted. Tharkad’s legendary aurora borealis shimmered 
  and wafted through the dark skies like a heavenly tide washing 
  over a beach of black sand and brilliant diamonds. Couples stood 
  transfixed by the stellar theater. Others strolled the brushed flag-
  stone, and lost themselves among a spectacular collection of ice 
  sculptures or headed out toward the university’s winter gardens. 
  Alek and Gabriella took a slow turn around the yard, enjoying 
  the frozen tableaus. They passed by a pair of ballroom dancers; 
  the man wearing a frosted uniform and saber, bowing low to his 
  lady in a formal gown and a necklace of faceted diamonds. They 
  walked among crystalline swans and a forest of ice-captured 
  pines. Deer stood proudly on glacier cliffs, their delicate antlers 
  glittering like starlight.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 11
  Gabriella wore Alek’s suit jacket over her shoulders for what thin 
  warmth it offered against the night’s chill. As the couple drifted 
  further away from the lights and sounds of the reception, they 
  also drifted closer together. Passing through a small alpine village, 
  each building carved at one-fourth scale, Alek’s arm stole around 
  Gabriella and pulled her close. 
  They found themselves on a small patio, overlooking a short 
  flight of steps leading down into the gardens. Alek wasn’t sure 
  what made him stop there. A hesitation in Gabriella’s step? A 
  squeeze of her hand on his arm? Whatever the reason, he paused 
  and she swung around to face him. Her eyes were wide and fright-
  ened, and also warm and inviting. 
  “Gabriella, I—” She hushed him with a finger held up to his lips. 
  What had he been about to say? An apology? Her slow smile 
  echoed his thoughts. Neither one was sure. Neither one was will-
  ing to back away. She stepped into him, chin tilting up, and Alek 
  caught her hands in his, holding them at their waist.
  Then a new pair of hands gripped him on the shoulders, yanked 
  him back.
  “Now they are your problems,” Elias Luvon whispered in his ear. 
  And the cadet chopped Alek hard on the back of his neck, sending 
  him to the ground with a violent shove.
  To be
  Continued…
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