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“But didn’t those people lose their basic freedom of choice?” Only Hahn would ask that question with the dean’s man sitting two tables in front of him. “Liao did not wish to join The Republic. It was thrust upon the Capellan people, for the common good.” The way he phrased it, Hahn could be playing devil’s advocate and leading the discussion into the merits of Republic occupation of Liao.
Always the politician.
“One point two billion dead,” Mai reminded them all. “That was the price Liao paid for never capitulating to the Word of Blake fanatics. The continent of Anderia was rendered nearly uninhabitable. Two of the Confederation’s fabled Warrior Houses died here. And still the people rose up time and again, flooding the streets and the battlefields with live bodies, often wielding nothing more than a pistol, or a club. They formed a living shield and forced the Blakists to march over them. Enemy Mech Warriors were never safe outside of their cockpits. Infantry could never hold on to gains made by the ’Mechs and tanks.
“Does this sound like a people who would meekly accept anything?”
It was a refined approach to the same arguments which had given birth to the Ijori Dè Guāng. Mai was not given to extravagant gestures or boisterous speech, as Hahn used in rallies. He put the information to you in reasonable tones, and let you decide for yourself. But Mai Wa was a master at leading you to the conclusion he wanted you to find.
It was a skill he demonstrated as another student stood, waited to be acknowledged. “Some books suggest that our suicidal behavior only fueled the Word of Blake’s anger.” Cynthia Raddle. Evan recognized her haughty tone. “We allowed them no safe refuge, so they razed cities to the ground rather than leave enemy strongholds at their back. In the conduct of civilized warfare—”
Mai Wa let her get no farther. “Warfare is never civilized,” he said tersely. “It is the focused use of power to gain a specific objective. Focused… use.” He repeated those two words slowly.
“The Word of Blake was not interested in warfare, civilized or otherwise. They were wanton and malicious. They reveled in destruction as only agents of chaos can. Look at their actions on Tikonov, on Northwind, where the public did not as strenuously oppose them. When you make excuses for the Word of Blake, Raddle– xi ă o-jie, you weaken The Republic’s authority and you cheapen the cost to Liao.”
Ouch! Turning Cynthia’s pro-Republic leanings back onto her was a method Evan had not considered. It was no off-the-cuff remark. Mai had been prepared with her name. Evan fought through the reasoning, trying to see what Mai gained by promoting Stone’s efforts. He did not have far to go, as the other man quickly returned to his point.
“One point two billion dead. That is what we gave up in the struggle. And Liao, in ten years, did not fall. This was the strength of your grandfathers and grandmothers. This is why our Chung Yeung Festival, the Autumn Remembrance where we feast for the dead, is a larger festivity on Liao than even the New Year’s holiday. This is what it means to be Capellan.”
Never give up. Never bend your neck—not when you know you are right. These were the lessons Mai Wa attempted to instill in the young minds.
Evan tried to hold himself in his seat, unwilling to leap to Mai Wa’s assistance yet unable to pass up the opportunity. Someone had to bring the topic back around, and Hahn was apparently not going to stick his neck out a second time in one class. Evan rose, felt eyes turn on him as his chair scrapped against the floor. Mai’s curt nod was no more than he had given the other students.
“The earlier question, Mai sifu. If our ancestors were so strong, why did they embrace The Republic when, according to most scholars, they wanted to resist?”
No doubt that added Evan’s name to the proctor’s report.
Mai Wa allowed the question to hang over the class for several long heartbeats. “Shock,” he finally said. “Grief. Liao had suffered through ten long and traumatic years. And on no world was Devlin Stone more celebrated than he was on Liao during the day of liberation. People trusted in the future, and few truly believed then that the Confederation could be pressured into giving up this world. Throughout the entire Jihad, House Liao never once turned away from its birthworld, and that as much as anything empowered the people.
“Remember that word, young sir. Empowered. The people never threw their lives away without some meaning attached. Not once.”
Evan sat back down, a warm flush burning his ears. Mai did not wait for a new question.
“But in a political decision made on a distant planet by powers far removed from the people of this world, Liao was suddenly stripped away from the Confederation with assurances that its Capellan roots would never be forgotten. Would be celebrated, in fact. And it was like that, for a time. The problem that crept up on the population, though, was that it was no longer empowered. Citizenship, once earned under the Confederation flag, had to be earned again in support of The Republic. Add to that Stone’s relocation programs, which flooded many non-Capellan communities onto Liao, and you can see why some would say that we were given no choice. But we were.”
Was it a good choice, though? The question was there, whether Mai Wa voiced it himself, or not.
“Now, there is a subtler context to your question, which you did not mean, but I will also try to answer. You asked why the people embraced The Republic. I ask you, did they?” Silence. He let his gaze travel the entire breadth of the class. “Have you?” he asked.
“How many of you have truly embraced The Republic and all the good it has brought? How many of you continue to resist, each in your own way, when you can? I put it to you, to answer for yourself, what it means to be Capellan.
“And that,” he said with a shrug, very animated coming from him, “is a debate for another day. Thank you for your attention.”
Evan stayed seated as most of the class stood to applaud. A few dozen students crowded around the guest lecturer while most filed out, eagerly debating today’s lesson and ready to share it with their less enthusiastic friends around campus. Evan noticed that Hahn made a point of introducing himself to Mai Wa, and slipped the elder man a card. Je
Eventually, his friends joined the tail end of students leaving the room, and Evan nodded them onward as he remained behind. Mai came up the aisle, as self-effacing as only he could be.
“What do you think?”
Evan held back outright approval, but still felt he owed his teacher some warning. “I think you’ll have people looking into your past by tomorrow.”
“Let them look. They will end up ru
“Yes, but for how long?”
“Long enough.”
There it was again, that unvoiced promise for the future. Evan remembered it from before. He also remembered how it had turned out, with Mai abandoning them when they needed a strong leader most. “I still do not trust you,” he said.
“And you shouldn’t. I have not given you reason to.” Yet. He left that unvoiced as well, but Evan heard it in his head.
“If you lead the authorities to us…” He did not have to finish. The necessary threat was understood. After all, hadn’t Mai taught him the rules?
“A truce, Evan. That is all I am asking of you. If you need to contact me…” His eyes slid sideways, back down toward Professor Rogers. “I think you know how to go about that.” He offered his hand.
Evan took it. Slowly. The handshake was no warm greeting, but it was an understanding. A truce, as Mai Uhn Wa had said. Evan did not want the older man’s help, and Mai, whatever he wanted, would ask for nothing more. For now.