TEXT: BattleCorps
  THE ART OF WAR:
  THE COMMANDER
  Phaedra M. Weldon
  PART ONE
  “The art of war, then, is governed by five constant factors, 
  to be taken into account in one’s deliberations, 
   when seeking to determine the conditions obtaining in the 
  field...
  ...The commander stands for the virtues of wisdom, sincerity, 
  benevolence, courage and strictness …
  Sun-Tzu, The Art of War
  
  BattleCorps
  The Art of War: The Commander Part I • Page 
  Lancer OPS (abandoned art gallery), Hustaing 
  Convention Center Square, early morning 
  Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation 
  20 October 3060
  Aris Sung stood at the edge of what had once been administra-
  tive offices overlooking the gallery below. He’d disliked this place 
  the second he, Raven and Jade had arrived. Aris had noticed 
  Robert’s absence, but he did not know where the young Zeng had 
  gone. 
  He assumed the glass and debris had been cleared away when 
  Richardson’s men appropriated the abandoned building. The art 
  had been either moved and stored, or destroyed. Aris didn’t want 
  to ask—he feared it was the latter. 
  His shoulder twinged where the nakjama had seared flesh and 
  muscle, but the mind was a significant tool in ordering the body si-
  lent. He held his arms crossed over his chest; he was clad in black, 
  head to toe, his hair pulled back and up. 
  Raven’s injury had been bandaged, and she was now out in the 
  city with Jade. The two women had formed an unusual bond, 
  with Jade showing a fascination with Raven’s weaponry and skill—
  which in itself was something that made Aris uneasy. 
  So much time had passed since Isis was taken. Ten days. Aris 
  gazed through the glass wall and watched the smoke streaming 
  skyward in tornadoes of black. The battles still raged on—but they 
  were few. Soon there would be nothing left of the Lancers. 
  And still Richardson believed his few remaining soldiers would 
  leave Hustaing, and unscathed. 
  I cannot protect them. I don’t trust him. I know the moment he 
  has Isis in his sights, he will betray me and run to his superiors 
  with his prize. 
   Which is why Aris had other plans in place.
  “We have a confirmation,” Richardson said from behind Aris. 
  Aris turned. Richardson limped toward him holding a piece of 
  paper in his left hand. In his right was the cane he now used. “A 
  confirmation?”
  
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  The Art of War: The Commander Part I • Page 
  Richardson stopped beside him. “Shadow Two confirmed activ-
  ity in a warehouse along the north of the bay. Abandoned area. 
  Some residential housing within a two-kilometer area. Vans in 
  and out, and several nearby residents admitted to seeing the Fan-
  K’uei symbol on several jackets and along one wall.”
  “And the Ch’in-Shu?”
  He looked like a Cheshire cat. Aris was immediately on guard. 
  “They’re the ones who led us to the warehouse.”
  Ah—my reservations at trusting him were well founded. “I as-
  sume you told their leader about Awun’s offer of weapons trade?”
  Richardson frowned. “Of course I did. Keep the local gangs 
  warring while we slip in and take the prize. Now,” he turned and 
  motioned Aris to follow him to a large table in the room. It was 
  covered with maps and coffee cups. 
  Aris stood to the side as Richardson picked up a red pen and 
  pulled a map of Choi Bay to the top of the stack. He leaned for-
  ward, bracing himself against the table for support, and drew a 
  red circle around a small gray area. “Here is where the vans have 
  been moving in and out. The Ch’in-Shu’s leader claims she’s seen 
  Awun here as well.” Richardson gave him a smug look. 
  Aris leaned over the map, the weight of his sword shifting against 
  his back. He looked at the roads, and at the dock. “How recent is 
  this map?”
  “Within five years.”
  “A lot can change in five years.” Aris straightened. “I suggest 
  more recent photos. Use the VTOL.”
  Richardson shook his head. “Can’t do it.”
  “Are you afraid?”
  “No,” came the abrupt answer. “We have no time. We’re moving 
  tonight.” 
  That set Aris’ nerves on end. “Tonight? You just received this in-
  tel, didn’t you? We should send in teams—do our own scouting.”
  “No. We go in tonight.”
  Aris paced a step closer to Richardson. The force leader took a 
  wobbly step back. “Why, Richardson? What deals have you made? 
  
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  Have you bargained with the Ch’in-Shu-Pao? Do you believe they 
  will help you?”
  “They have guaranteed me Isis’ location. And they have already 
  set up their own perimeter. We have more than enough resources 
  and information to go in and take what is ours.”
  Aris took a deep breath. Patience. Test the caged animal. See 
  where it will strike first. “What is it you would have my people 
  do?”
  Richardson’s grin returned. “I need you and your people to meet 
  up with Shadow Two just east of the designated target at oh nine-
  teen hundred. Sergeant Smith will give you your instructions from 
  there.” 
  Aris shook his head. “No.”
  Richardson blinked. “Excuse me?”
  “What you propose is unacceptable.” He turned on his heel and 
  left the office. 
  Richardson did yell after him. 
  Once downstairs, Aris stepped out into the bright sunlight and 
  at once saw a shadow moving across the rubble-strewn street. 
  He recognized the silhouette as Raven’s and turned right, strolling 
  to the next building so he could duck out of sight of Richardson’s 
  lookout. 
  Days in the gallery had given him ample opportunity to scout 
  out the Lancers’ defenses—and their weaknesses.
  Once out of sight, he backtracked along the street and then 
  crossed the road using fallen chunks of buildings and abandoned 
  cars to hide his progress. As soon he was near enough to Raven, 
  she oozed out of the shadow of a building and put a finger to her 
  lips.
  “You have news?” he said in a low voice.
  “And you have that look on your face,” she said, arching a dark 
  eyebrow at him. “Richardson?”
  “He is a fool. He’s in league with the Ch’in-Shu.”
  “Bad idea. But good for us,” she smiled. “I have established con-
  tact with an ally.” 
  
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  Aris frowned. “Oh? Someone you trust?”
  He wasn’t sure he liked the insane gleam in his friend’s eye. “Oh, 
  someone I know you’ll be glad to see.” She made a small hand 
  signal. 
  Someone moved in the shadows of the rubble to their right. Aris 
  reached for his sword and then stopped as a ghost moved from 
  the ash and came to stand beside him. 
  “Li Wynn?”
  “It is good to see you, Lien-zhang Sung. I am here—to help you 
  slay the dragon,” was all the thin, pale man was able to utter be-
  fore collapsing into Aris’ arms. 
  v v v
  Richardson watched Aris retreat from the room. A slow smile 
  pulled at the right side of his lips. His original plan to take posses-
  sion of the duchess had met with disaster. Trusting a gang such as 
  the Fan K’uei was one of the biggest mistakes he’d ever made. Erik 
  Richardson was a man who believed in honor. 
  He was a soldier. 
  Honor was not about betrayal—unless he was doing the betraying.
  He’d forgotten how backward and full of self-worth were those 
  who lived on the streets with no hope of a future. Such a sad 
  life. Especially here, on this worthless rock. Subservient to a mad-
  man’s regime. 
  And in the end, it didn’t matter. These small-time traitors were 
  nothing more than pawns; and Richardson could move pawns—
  sacrifice them—use them—betray them. 
  I’m not stupid—Aris Sung is House Hiritsu-trained, though he 
  hasn’t admitted his position. Or his reason for being here. I’m also 
  aware he doesn’t trust me, or my men, nor does he believe I will 
  play fair tonight.
  Force Leader Richardson had no intention of being fair to anyone 
  who got in the way of him achieving his prize, the one goal set for 
  him by his commanding officers. If he pulled it off—if he brought 
  in Isis Marik—alive and unharmed—and they could arrange safe 
  transport off Hustaing, then he knew he’d be a hero. 
  
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  And Smithson and Doles?
  Those two had gotten the Lancers into this situation. And it 
  would take a nobody like him to get them out. 
  Only this time he had every intention of going after Isis himself. 
  The door opened from the side staircase and he identified 
  Cooper’s shuffling gait without turning. His right-hand man had 
  suffered a jarring blow to his lower left leg. A pin held the bones 
  together with the knee joint, and the entire thing was now incased 
  in an exoskeleton of metal. 
  As long as he didn’t rust, he was still useful. Though Richardson 
  was sure the lower part of the leg would need to be amputated 
  once they were home. 
  “Sir, Aris Sung disappeared behind the building. We lost his posi-
  tion soon after.” 
  He’d expected it. “Doesn’t matter.” He turned and moved back 
  to the map, his own mind superimposing the real layout and goal 
  of the night’s exercise. 
  “Cooper, make sure your best snipers are here”—he pointed to 
  two places on the map, one after the other—”and here. I’ve told 
  Aris that this is where we’re entering, and that’s where we want 
  him to rendezvous.”
  “You sure he’ll do it?”
  “Of course he won’t,” Richardson sighed. “He’ll come in his way, 
  and with his own intel. Which of course I’m sure will be vetted by 
  that woman, and perhaps that Zeng boy.” He looked up at his man. 
  “Any word on where he got off to?”
  Cooper shook his head. “He wasn’t spotted across the bay.”
  “No matter. Whatever he or Miss Clearwater discovers will be 
  information planted by Fin’s people.” He thought of the Ch’in-Shu-
  Pao’s leader. She was a small woman. Plain to the point of being 
  almost invisible. But he’d felt the power radiating from her. She 
  was devout in her gang’s cause. And to her, the elimination of the 
  Fan K’uei was necessary. And it would make her and her people 
  heroes. Which wasn’t a bad thing for a zealous group.
  But none of it mattered to him. Who won. As long as the final 
  result yielded him with the duchess and the rest of them killing 
  each other in the warehouse. 
  
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  It was all so simple it was laughable. The Ch’in-Shu-Pao would 
  plant false clues to lead Sung, Clearwater and the punk kid to one 
  entrance, the Fan K’uei would guard a second entrance based on 
  information also planted by Fin’s people, while he and his people 
  infiltrated the third entrance—the correct entrance—based on in-
  tel from Awun. 
  Sung would be killed by the Fan K’uei, Awun by the Ch’in-Shu-
  Pao, and Richardson’s people would disappear into the night. 
  “Sir,” Cooper said. “Is the location for the duchess correct?”
  “Not the one I gave Sung. If he takes the route I suggested he’ll 
  face twenty Fan K’uei,” he smiled. “And even with his bravado and 
  fighting skills, he’ll be no match for that many men with guns. The 
  same for Clearwater.”
  Richardson rubbed at his chin. “Once I give the signal that I have 
  the duchess, your two OPS should go in and make sure David 
  Hollister is dead—and make it look like Awun did it. Don’t forget to 
  carve the A in his chest. By oh-twenty-hundred hours I want two 
  men here”—again he pointed to locations on the map—“in case 
  Sung and Clearwater bring in backup. Two men here, and here, 
  in case they use this entrance or this entrance, and two men over 
  there to keep an eye on the shore.”
  “And the rest of our men?”
  “Get them ready,” Richardson said. “We’re going home in the 
  morning.”
  
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  The Art of War: The Commander Part I • Page 
  Mako Warehouse, Choi Bay, evening 
  Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation 
  20 October 3060
  “What exactly are you doing?” David asked, from where he’d 
  propped himself up against the farthest wall. 
  Isis waved at him to be quiet, making a shushing noise. “Not so 
  loud. I’m going to get us out of here.”
  “By hiding by the door?” He gave her a pained expression. 
  “Duchess—that’s the stupidest idea you’ve had in three hours.”
  She gave him her best withering look. “Well, have you got a 
  better one? In all the vids I’ve ever seen, daring escapes always 
  happen by outsmarting the guards, because they always leave the 
  stupid guards to guard the prisoners.”
  David chuckled and then grabbed his side. “Okay. You win.” He 
  sighed. “You know—you’re really not what I expected.”
  Isis decided to ignore that comment. She heard it a lot—and still 
  wasn’t sure how to take it. What exactly did they expect? She nar-
  rowed her eyes at him. 
  Isis knew that hiding behind the door was stupid and moved 
  away from the entrance, her shoulders slumping. And what good 
  would it do to trick the guards? They had no weapon. Not even a 
  stick or a pipe. How were they going to defend themselves?
  “Careful,” David said. “You nearly tripped in that hole again.”
  Isis sidestepped the protruding concrete and moved to sit on the 
  ground beside David. He looked better—and he was sitting up on 
  his own—but he still had a fever. Without antibiotics to fight the in-
  fection in his blood there was little she could do. Isis could smell the 
  sickness, even over the rancid smell of fish and oil that surrounded 
  them in their prison. “You’re right—it’s a ridiculous idea.”
  “No, no. You might have a point.” He smiled, but it looked more 
  like a grimace. “They usually do use their dimmest bulbs to guard 
  prisoners. I’m sure it’s because they think if we’re stupid enough 
  to get caught, we’re too stupid to free ourselves.”
  Isis pursed her lips. Random thoughts filtered through. She 
  wanted a bath. She wanted a real night’s sleep. She wanted a 
  manicure. She wanted a decent toilet. She wanted—
  
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  A heavy sigh flushed the air from her lungs as she looked at 
  David, who was obviously in a considerable amount of pain. 
  She wanted a real doctor. Someone who could fix him up right. 
  “But what I wouldn’t give for a good, heavy weapon.” 
  David frowned at her. “Huh?”
  “Nothing,” she felt her face grow hot. “Thinking out loud. What 
  time is it?”
  Her stomach growled at that moment and she clutched it. 
  “I’d say it’s getting close to dinner time,” David said. “But please—
  don’t make me eat that fish again. I’m afraid all the salt is going to 
  somehow preserve my insides.”
  “ I’m sure it’s making us dehydrated,” Isis said. She looked at the 
  pothole in the floor, and then back at the door. “David—I need you 
  to moan.”
  “What? You told me to stop moaning.”
  “That’s because I was trying to sleep.” She put a grimy hand on 
  his upper arm. “I need you to act feverish.”
  He smirked. “There’s very little acting required for that, you 
  know.”
  “Fine. Just do it. Please.”
  With a sigh, David settled back down on the makeshift pallet of 
  burlap bags and oily rags and began making a constant, painful-
  sounding moan. Isis started for the door but then paused and turned. 
  David really didn’t need to try very hard to sound convincing. 
  But that only made her feel worse for him being in this situa-
  tion. 
  The entire thing was her fault. All of it. If she hadn’t been on 
  Hustaing to begin with, none of these people would have been 
  touched by her. Not Jade, not April and not even David. 
  Aris Sung and Raven would not have been in danger. 
  All those men and women in the forest—
  Stop, stop, stop it. That is not the way to think. What would Sun-
  Tzu do in this situation? 
  
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  Ha. That was easy. 
  He wouldn’t be in this situation. 
  With renewed determination, Isis went to the door, took two 
  deep breaths and started pounding on it. “Hey! Anybody! He’s 
  dying and I can’t stop it! Hey! Somebody! Hel-LOW!”
  Her voice reverberated around the metal walls, and she was 
  beginning to think they’d been abandoned. Then the clomp of 
  footsteps answered her. The door clinked, followed by the grind-
  ing of worn metal on metal. 
  Two men stepped in, both holding needlers in her face. “Get 
  back,” one of them said. 
  They were about the same size—bigger than her. Dressed in 
  leather waistcoats and black pants. She saw the sword-and-drag-
  on emblems on their shoulders and chewed on her lower lip. 
  “What’re you screaming about?”
  Isis cleared her throat. “It’s David,” she pointed to the moaning 
  man a few meters away. “He’s dying—I can’t get his fever down. 
  Nothing you’ve given me is working.”
  The one with the needler in her face glanced at his partner. “Awun 
  doesn’t want Hollister dead—not till he gets his sister.”
  “Right,” Isis couldn’t help the snarkiness in her voice. “Because 
  wow—we wouldn’t something to happen to the duchess and her 
  former kidnapper, now would we?”
  “You get over there,” he waved the needler away from David. 
  “And stay put.”
  Isis backed up as he moved quickly toward David. The partner 
  took up a position at the door, but he hadn’t raised his own weap-
  on yet. 
  Things couldn’t have gone more wrong—and yet worked so 
  well. 
  Her plan had been to jump the guard at the door and then put 
  him in front of her when his partner shot at her, so that the guard 
  took the needle-sharp bits of plastic. 
  She’d seen Aris do it, and it looked easy.
  
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  But instead the big oaf tripped in the pothole and went crashing 
  forward toward David, sprawling on his face. 
  Well—Isis turned and jumped at the other guard as he ran 
  forward to help his partner. She hung on his back and used his 
  ponytail for a rein as she dug her fingernails into whatever flesh 
  she could reach—especially his cheeks. When she was done with 
  him he’d look like he had permanent war paint on his face. 
  But he wasn’t giving in so easily. He scrabbled behind his back 
  until he succeeded in grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling—
  to which she screamed in response and then used her right hand 
  to grab his wrist and bite down.
  Hard.
  He screamed. 
  She screamed. 
  A needler blast deafened both her and her assailant as he twist-
  ed around, and Isis feared he’d actually tried to fire at her. What a 
  stupid thing to do! Didn’t he know he could hit somebody else?
  “Isis—jump off!”
  That was David’s voice.
  With a final yank she pushed herself away and landed painfully 
  on her backside, rolling and then slamming the back of her head 
  into the wall by the open door. 
  Another needler blast, and her assailant exploded backward, his 
  flesh and muscle splattering against the wall behind Isis—and all 
  over her. 
  He landed on his back a few centimeters away, his ruined face 
  turned toward her. 
  Bile rose to the back of her throat and she gave a dry heave to 
  the side as she saw the bits of skin and blood on her hands, her 
  knees. She was coated in her enemy’s flesh. 
  “I’m sorry, Duchess,” David was saying as he limped toward her. 
  He held the needler in his hand. The first guard’s weapon. “I prom-
  ise I’ll make it up to you.” 
  Isis pushed herself up, her back against the wall. Her legs felt 
  wobbly beneath her as she lurched forward and took the other 
  
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  needler from her dead assailant’s hand. “Yes—you will. But first 
  let’s get the hell out of here.” She frowned at him. The way he was 
  standing—or not quite standing. “You okay?”
  “Oh yeah, fine. I do this all the time.” He gave her a lopsided grin 
  through his new beard. “Was this what you had in mind?”
  “No,” she grumbled. “but it worked. I’m not looking a gift Liao in 
  the mouth. Let’s find a way out.”
  And the two of them moved through the door and down the ee-
  rily quiet hall outside. 
  
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  Mako Warehouse, Choi Bay, 11:52 p.m. 
  Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation 
  20 October 3060
  Aris lay flat on his front atop one of the warehouses two build-
  ings east of the target. The night was quiet—not even the sound 
  of ’Mech battles penetrated the cold. It was all winding down—so 
  little left of the Blackwind Lancers. 
  So many desperate moves to anticipate. 
  And to stop.
  He held the night goggles to his eyes, watching the few Fan-K’uei 
  guards outside the side and back doors. 
  Damn-strange few. And loaded only with semi-automatic weap-
  ons. He narrowed his eyes as he zeroed in the right dial—drawing 
  the image closer and focusing on the patch sewn to the left arm 
  of a leather jacket. 
  If he were in a better mood, Aris might have laughed outright at 
  the absurdity of what he saw. 
  Those were not true Fan K’uei. The emblem was authentic—and 
  he was sure the jacket had belonged to one of Awun’s men. 
  Once. 
  It did not fit the current wearer. Nor did the jacket of the other 
  guard. 
  They were not Fan K’uei. 
  The air behind him changed pressure, and because of the noise 
  he knew it was—
  “You see anything?” came the voice, pitched a little too loud. 
  Jade. 
  Aris kept his focus on what he was seeing through the goggles 
  but raised his right hand in hopes she would know it meant si-
  lence. Where was Raven?
  Jade lowered herself onto her elbows to his right. He handed her 
  the goggles and pointed subtly. “Look there—and there. Do you 
  recognize any of them?”
  
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  He waited as she adjusted the scope—as if she were accustomed 
  to such stealth devices. Perhaps she was. She’d already shown 
  she could handle herself with a weapon. 
  “Two? There are only—wait—” she adjusted the scope again. 
  “This isn’t right.”
  “What?” But he already knew the answer. 
  “I know the taller one—he’s a member of the Yins.”
  Aris frowned. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. He had met 
  a few Yins on his first foray into the city when he rescued Robert 
  Cheng. Nearly a third of the gang had arrived at the mountain to 
  help him and Robert rescue Jade and Isis; why were Yins here?
  “How well do you know him?”
  Jade shrugged and pulled the goggles away from her face. The 
  light from the warehouse below illuminated her profile and cut 
  deep shadows along the contours of her face when she looked at 
  him. “I only know him through David. They had some business 
  last year—I didn’t really care what.” She looked back to the two 
  men. “But that’s him. I thought Richardson said there were Fan 
  K’uei. What are the Yins doing here?”
  And where are the Ch’in-Shu-Pao Richardson boasted he’d done 
  business with? 
  Aris took the goggles back from Jade and looked through them 
  once again. He refocused his sights on the roofs of the buildings 
  opposite. If Richardson’s men were there—in the positions their 
  leader was so eager to give him, a warrior of House Hiritsu—then 
  they were indeed a credit to their name of Shadow. 
  They are not there.
  He lowered the goggles. “Where is Raven?”
  “Here.”
  Again she came upon him with no warning. He was going to 
  have to be more on his toes with her. She moved to his left side, 
  keeping low and out of sight of the men below. She nodded to the 
  two men. “You see the problem?”
  “That they’re not Fan K’uei? Yes.” He pursed his lips as he ran 
  his gloved hand over them. The gloves were worn from years of 
  use—mostly in the cockpit of his ’Mech. The leather was flaking 
  
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  off at the finger tips, and the hanging edges pulled at his chapped 
  lips. He was allowing himself to become dehydrated. “What I’m 
  trying to puzzle out is why.”
  “Richardson claims he dealt with the Ch’in-Shu-Pao.”
  Aris gave a single nod. 
  “And the Yins were not a part of this.”
  Another noise behind Aris raised the hairs on the back of his 
  neck. He, Jade and Raven turned to see Robert’s silhouette appear 
  on the staircase that emerged onto the roof. He crouched low as 
  he came quickly toward them. “Li Wynn is with my sister—she’ll 
  look after him until it is time for you to return.” 
  Aris felt a slight lifting in his heart: he knew Li Wynn wanted to 
  fight, wanted revenge on the man who had tortured him. 
  As did Aris. 
  And that time would come—very soon. 
  “Robert,” Aris motioned him closer and Raven moved away, giv-
  ing Robert her spot. Aris handed him the goggles. “Please look 
  down there and tell me what you see.”
  Robert did as he was asked. He’d changed his clothing, donning 
  black jeans, tee-shirt, leather jacket and gloves. His thick, glossy 
  hair moved in the chilly air. 
  “Go se,” Robert hissed. “That’s a Yin.”
  Aris made a small noise of acknowledgement. “Do you know 
  why a Yin would be here? And do you recognize the other?”
  “No—he’s not familiar. I assume he is Fan K’uei. What is going 
  on?”
  Aris looked through the goggles again and adjusted the night 
  scope. He glanced at the lime-green information feed of distance, 
  range, temperature and infra-red option. “I suspect Richardson 
  is being played for a fool, as he believes he has played Awun 
  as such. He boasted he’d made a compact with the Ch’in to as-
  sist in his acquisition of Isis while still holding talks with the Fan 
  K’uei—and he’s probably promised both sides guns. Something 
  they would value. But now I suspect the Fan K’uei have allied 
  with the Yins.”
  
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  Jade spoke up. “So… Richardson thinks he’s in with Awun—that 
  he’ll be able to trade for Isis—but he’s also made a deal with the 
  Ch’in, and Awun has hired the Yins?”
  Aris nodded. “It’s a good tactic—set the two strongest parties 
  against one another and keep them engaged. The Ch’in are not 
  here alone—of that I am sure.”
  “So there are technically four parties sneaking around here—us, 
  the Fan K’uei, the Ch’in-Shu-Pao and the Yins?” Jade shook her 
  head. “All this to find Isis? I am so confused.” 
  “I somehow think the only group out here really looking 
  for Isis is us. The others are here for selfish reasons.” Aris 
  breathed deep. “I’m sure Richardson doesn’t understand there 
  are sometimes stronger bonds between rival gangs than those 
  of family.” 
  “Like the Fan K’uei and the Ch’in-Shu,” Robert snickered. “As 
  in—the Ch’in’s leader is Awun’s sister?”
  Aris, Jade and Raven looked at Robert. 
  The young Zeng looked at each of them. “What? It’s true.”
  Jade leaned forward as she sat up, far enough back from the 
  roof’s edge that she could not be seen by the men below. “They’re 
  related? By blood?”
  Robert nodded.
  “Well—that explains a lot. I wonder if David knows that.”
  “Yeah, he told me.” Robert smiled. “They fight for a while 
  and the two gangs go at each other. Then they’ll make up 
  and they’re having Sunday picnics.” He shook his head. 
  “There’s something really weird between them. Some old 
  argument.”
  Aris glanced at Raven, a smile playing on his lips. “Any relation 
  to the Yins?”
  Robert smiled as his eyebrows danced up and down. “Oh yeah—
  one of the reasons we Zengs hate the Yins. Their leader is Awun’s 
  nephew.”
  Aris’ smile widened. “Blood fights blood. Do you know if they’re 
  fighting or picnicking?”
  
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  “Uh—no. I do know the last brawl between her and Awun was 
  right when the Lancers invaded. So—” he shrugged. “But when it 
  comes to a war between gangs and the local authority… “
  Aris nodded. “The gangs will band together—at least the clos-
  er ones will. Meaning all three of them will be working against 
  Richardson as much as against us.”
  Raven held up her hand. “I thought the Ch’in were the bringers 
  of peace? That they believed the only true purpose of gangs is the 
  removal of the Fan K’uei?”
  “Yeah.” 
  Raven glared at Robert. “But they are family?”
  He nodded again. “The Ch’in have always believed in peace and 
  standing up for the moral path—”
  “—but their methods are sometimes—questionable.” Aris fin-
  ished. “And Awun believes in taking what he wants, when he 
  wants it. Death and injustice fuel his fire.”
  “Creepy, if you ask me.” Jade shivered. “And every bit the wild 
  card.”
  “Do we know if the duchess is even in that building?” Raven nod-
  ded to the smaller of the warehouses.
  Robert nodded. “Our contacts on this side of the bay insist 
  she’s here. The building itself is three levels, and it’s rumored 
  Awun keeps a sort of court in the same building. The two larger 
  ones—like the one we’re on and that one across the street—are for 
  training, and bunking his members who don’t have homes. And 
  since the Lancers invaded,” he looked at Aris, “there are a lot of 
  them without homes.”
  “So they’re ripe for taking advantage of an opportunity to punish 
  the Lancers.” Jade said. 
  “Richardson is in for a rude awakening.” Aris peered through the 
  goggles again. “There are two down there that we can see—and 
  let’s suppose it’s picnic time.” 
  Robert nodded. “They’ve done this before, the Ch’in—brought 
  in a smaller gang to do their fighting. If they win, it gives them 
  higher boasting rights.” He smiled. “The Zengs already have sev-
  eral badges with the Ch’in-Shu.”
  
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  Aris moved closer to Robert. “Are the Zengs here for Tien Mu?” 
  Robert’s eyes widened and Aris feared the young man would lie. 
  That would be a pity, as he’d grown to like the boy—killing such po-
  tential would be a tragedy. But eventually he nodded and lowered 
  his shoulders. “Yes. They are here to fight for the Ch’in-Shu.”
  “And which side do you fight for?” Jade said, her attention fo-
  cused on Robert.
  He looked at Jade. “I’m here to make sure David and the duch-
  ess are returned to you unharmed. Honor is the way of the Zeng. 
  And Tien Mu knows that.” 
  “So we have the Zengs working to help us find the duchess,” 
  Aris said softly as he adjusted the goggles to zero in on the men 
  again—
  There was only one guard. The other lay on the floor, his head 
  at an odd angle. Blood pooled around him. The other guard held 
  his gun up high—his eyes wide as he searched the darkness for 
  whatever had killed his companion. “Wait—”
  He felt the others move to the building edge, keeping low. 
  “What is it?” Raven asked.
  But what he saw happened too quickly to recount in real time.
  It was impossible. 
  The air seemed to shimmer in front of the remaining guard. Then 
  it seemed that the scene blurred—or perhaps it was Aris’ eyes—
  just before the head of the guard snapped back. He dropped the 
  weapon, fell and lay still. 
  Aris pulled the binoculars away from his face and rubbed his 
  eyes. He blinked several times and looked back through the mag-
  nifying lens again. 
  There was nothing there but the unmoving men. 
  But how—
  “They—” Jade said in a soft voice. “What happened? They’re 
  both on the ground. Robert—are the Zengs nearby?”
  “I’m not sure,” Robert said as he disappeared again. “But we 
  should move.” 
  
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  Aris scanned the surrounding area, but he didn’t see any other 
  movement. Not even a slight glint of light on metal. Nothing to tell 
  him where Richardson’s people, or Awun’s people, were. 
  v v v
  Gunfire blasted the night’s quiet, setting off an avalanche of 
  shouting and dogs barking. 
  Aris heard the thrumming of a VTOL over the noise, and looked 
  up to see a single star shining brighter than all the others—and it 
  was coming closer. 
  Richardson. 
  “Idiot,” he hissed. “What is he playing at? He knew I wouldn’t 
  follow his plan, so what is he up to?” And was this part of his 
  plan all along? If the Zengs and the Yins were to be the advance 
  teams—one to thrust, the other to defend—then were these two 
  guards all there was? 
  And why leave inexperienced Yins when Awun had seasoned 
  fighters? 
  He had a very bad feeling about this. There was more going on 
  here than Richardson could possibly know or foresee. Regardless: 
  Aris’ goal was to retrieve Isis alive and unharmed. If he failed at 
  either of those conditions, then others would pay. 
  House Hiritsu would be avenged in its duty to the chancellor. 
  It nagged at Aris to see the two dead men, because he couldn’t 
  begin to speculate as to what caused their death. Not yet. 
  “Scatter,” he said to Raven and Jade. “He’s going to drop one of 
  his shadow units on the roof. We won’t be here. Meet inside the 
  small building, secondary level.”
  His instinct was to keep Jade with him—until Raven took off and 
  Jade followed. He stopped himself from calling after them. 
  Aris melted into the shadows. 
  Tonight would be the end of a very long search. Of that, Aris was 
  certain.
  
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