Yung-Te reigned back his associate with a raised hand. “No marks,” he reminded the other man, who stepped forward and kicked Mai Wa’s bowl against the wall, splattering reddish-brown stain along the lowest cinderblocks. Several large spatters smeared across the ideogram for “loyalty.”

“An untidy end,” Mai said softly.

Oh, yes. This was something different.

Mai Uhn Wa limped into the Chamber of the Celestial Throne with head bowed and ankles shackled together by a short length of polymer chain. His bare feet whispered against teak flooring, the black wood lacquered so heavily that it reflected the entire room like a dark mirror. Heady incense lingered in the air. Sandalwood, he tasted. And jasmine. His prison dungarees rubbed roughly against his skin, but at least they were freshly laundered and pressed with military creases.

One did not appear before the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation, Soul of the People and God Incarnate of Sian, in anything less than the best their station allowed.

His Maskirovka escorts paused awkwardly at the threshold, unbidden to enter but uneasy with leaving their charge alone. A half dozen shuffle steps into the chamber, Mai Wa stopped as well. The Mask agents finally bowed and retreated, closing the large, bronze-faced doors behind him.

Still, he waited.

“Approach me, Mai Uhn Wa.” The command was subtle, shadowed, but no less forceful for being spoken barely above a whisper.

Mai raised his head and took in the austere beauty of Daoshen Liao’s throne room. The walls were paneled with red-grained bamboo, suggesting a ring of flames around the entire chamber. A carved frieze ran down the left-hand wall, depicting ancient warriors on an eternal march. On the right only a few simple charcoal sketches hung as decoration, drawn by the hand of The Ascendant Sun-Tzu Liao, Daoshen’s father, if stories were to be believed.

A runner of red carpeting shot through with gold threads led from the bronze-faced doors to the foot of the dais. Gold: the prerogative of the emperor in ancient China. Mai avoided it, keeping to the right-hand side as he approached the Celestial Dais with all due humility.

His life, and purpose, might very well hang by such a thread.

A suit of Chinese armor, from the Nán Bei Cháo dynasties of ancient Terra, stood on display at the corner of the dais, a beautiful piece of physical history, as was the chair at the center of the dais, the Celestial Throne itself. The Chinese zodiac wheel formed its upper backrest, a reminder of the diverse nature of mankind, and each leg ended in a dragon’s claw. Carved from one solid piece of mahogany, the red and brown wood grain promised both strength and character.

And on that throne, half hidden in shadow, sat Daoshen Liao.

For the third time in his life Mai Wa looked upon the Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation. Although he had mentally prepared himself for this interview a hundred times over, it still surprised Mai that his eyes found the Chancellor only when it seemed that Daoshen wanted to be noticed.

Sian’s living God rested back into his throne with arms draped over each massive rest. Coiled. Ready to strike. The Chancellor’s head was shaved clean. His mustaches were long and jet black, braided at each end and weighted with a tiny golden bead where they came even with his shoulders. He wore a golden Nehru jacket with a green mantle fastened across his shoulders, and green silk pants decorated with red and gold serpents along the outside seam. Nearly two meters tall, and reaching past gaunt for emaciated, the Capellan leader was anything but frail. He …radiated.

Truly invested with Divine Will or simply secure in his own power, that was for Him to know.

Mai Wa went down to his knees, then stretched full length onto the floor of the Celestial Chamber, prostrating himself before the Chancellor. “I serve the Confederation,” he said.

“Attend, Mai Uhn Wa. Set your feet beneath you, and stand once more as a man.”

Mai’s hair, damp but clean, fell into his face as he slowly climbed back to his feet. He pulled it back over his shoulders, untangling ropy strands from the wispy beard prison had given him.

Daoshen Liao hunched forward slightly, peering intently at Mai Wa, green eyes burning with an inner fire. Mai could never know what the Great Soul was searching for, and so stood up under the scrutiny with as much military bearing as he could muster. Daoshen smiled, thin and without humor. “It is Heaven’s Way to conquer without striving, to get responses without speaking.”

“To induce the people to come without summoning,” Mai quoted automatically, then realizing that he had just interrupted the Chancellor. Daoshen might have been making a private joke. And the passage… but there was no path left to him but to finish it. “To act according to plans without haste,” he finished softly.

“You have studied Lao Tse and his Tao Teh Ching. Recently?” Daoshen’s voice was nearly devoid of inflection. But his words, at least, conveyed a sense of interest.

Picking his words, and his tone, with great care, Mai nodded and said, “I have been fortunate to enjoy the hospitality of the State for many months, Illustrious One. We are granted the magnificent benefit of two recreations. One is the study of proper Capellan philosophies.”

“The other?” asked the Chancellor.

A glance at the suit of ancient armor. “The study of history. I have availed myself of both.”

“But have you learned anything?” Daoshen asked, and his question was very obviously rhetorical. “On your return to the Confederation,” he continued, “I declared you a traitor to the realm. You offered no defense. The Maskirovka, finally, would like to set your trial date.”

Daoshen paused, waiting for a denial. “I am a traitor,” Mai said. “I serve the Confederation.” He was guilty the moment the Chancellor declared it. A trial was mere formality.

“How do you serve the Confederation?” the Chancellor asked. “How did you serve me?”

“Majestic Wisdom, I have always sought to further the Capellan nation. When I strayed, when I did not return to the Confederation as ordered, I did so only for the chance of bringing you greater glory.”

“When you first served on the world of Liao, you obeyed my father without fault.” Daoshen did not sound as if he were cross-examining Mai. He went on carefully and methodically. “You were instrumental in the new rise of pro-Capellan sentiment.”

That had been nearly thirty years before, just after the new century. Mai Wa’s first mission to the birthworld of House Liao. Chancellor Sun-Tzu had ordered a number of young officers to foment unrest within The Republic. Mai Wa’s successes saved a lackluster military career, earning him a promotion. His future suddenly looked bright.

That had all come crashing down, however, the next year.

“I was not there for the Night of Fury,” Mai said, ashamed. He’d been pulled back for specialized training. Had he been there when the first assault wave landed on Liao, he believed he could have—would have–made the difference. Instead, The Republic rallied, and so began a violent, two-year conflict.

“Later, I was attached to the Fifth Confederation Reserves. We saw action on Wei, Hunan, Styk. I was not called on to accompany your father.”

His plans ruined, Sun-Tzu traveled to Liao in an attempt to broker peace, a rare expedition from Sian for the aging Chancellor. His arrival did little to calm the angry sea of resentment harbored by Republic stormtroopers, though. They attacked. And Sun-Tzu fell. Capellan forces rallied long enough to effect a full retreat, but they did not come away with the Chancellor’s mortal body for there was none left to claim. By all accounts Sun-Tzu ascended that day, becoming a divine being. Charged by His spirit, Confederation forces struck back hard enough to force a new peace with The Republic.