“You accuse me of not knowing a thing about you, ovKhan.” Sha began again; if Petr had scored, it didn’t show in his voice. “I would return the sentiment.”

“You would destroy Clan leaders. What more is there to know?”

Sha took a single step toward him, the soft soles of his boots whispering on the cool tiles as he stopped again, right hand upraised slightly, as though entreating. Not Sha.

“ovKhan, if I feel you have violated Clan law or traditions, I can call you out in a Trial of Grievance, quiaff?”

“Aff… though not exactly.”

“Ah, you see. Not so cut and dried. I can call you out by strict adherence to Clan law, but that is never really the case. Your own subordinates would call you out. And generally, you do not have a cadet calling out too far above his station, or an ovKhan too high above his own.”

Petr nodded his head. Why were they having a discussion about something they both knew all too well?

“Not to mention, if I do move too far above my station or too far out of my purview, in all likelihood a newly acquired subordinate will rise to challenge me and I will not survive the sheer numbers, quiaff?”

“Aff. That is so a warrior cannot challenge his Khan for a decision he simply cannot fathom—it would bog down the Clan in pettiness.” Petr explained.

“Exactly. So what do you do when you see that exact situation occurring? Leaders who do not lead all to glory, but sit like fat House Leaders, piling up the glories others reap.” Sha’s gaze was becoming more intent.

“Are you discussing a hypothetical situation?”

“Whatever way you wish to think about it. Real, hypothetical, I want an answer. If you see such injustice, but know that our traditions actually hold us to certain behaviors in this situation, what do you do?”

“Nothing.”

Sha lowered his hand and leaned forward slightly, as though attempting to gaze into Petr’s soul; for a moment Petr felt sure a cold breeze scratched his face and made him swallow reflexively with the inability to breathe such cold air.

“You see an injustice you feel cannot be addressed in the standard Clan way and you do nothing?”

“Exactly.”

“Then what about our fight? Was that the standard way?”

Anger finally boiled to the surface. He violently shook his head and winced painfully at the jabs of fire in his shoulder and the pinpricks ignited along his skull. He closed his eyes, felt sweat spring out along his brow and quickly begin to slide down his shaven scalp to his neck.

Wished for a drink of water as he rubbed his tongue, rough as sandpaper, along his lips (refused to ask for a glass; no weakness in front of Sha!) and spoke, slowly, with great deliberation; he could not afford to be angry right now. “I did not fire on you after you took my ’Mech’s arm. I took yours.”

“If that is the way you wish to remember it, so be it. But I would wager you are lying to yourself. You are not the type to sit back and allow something you do not agree with to occur if you can do something about it.”

Petr opened his mouth to voice flat denial and the sound died unborn. If he truly saw injustice, would he do nothing? Would he stand back and say it did not concern him? He hated to admit it, but Sha was right. Aff. He would do something.

He tried to not look directly at Sha, but the man knew his thoughts. Oh, he knew, though he kept his surat face as impenetrable as ’Mech armor.

“Why did we originally change our name to Clan Diamond Shark?”

Petr’s head swirled with such a strange segue. “Um, what?” He hated sounding so stupid; he suddenly couldn’t seem to wrangle his thoughts. Were the meds wearing off?

“Why did we change our original name, the name the Founder himself chose, to Clan Diamond Shark?”

“Um, every Fox Clansman knows this history. After the hated Snow Raven Clan introduced a genetically altered shark—”

“Those are just facts,” Sha interrupted. “Tidbits of history. Floating pieces of information which do not, cannot, convey what occurred. We changed our name for one reason and one reason only.”

Petr began to feel like a student and hated Sha for the feeling. Nevertheless, he fought to think through the haze. Why did we change our name? He ran headlong into an endless field of giant cotton balls; nothing hurt, but at every turn something moved into his path, slowing him down, stopping forward movement. Forward thought. Finally, after what felt an eternity, he found an answer. “To survive.”

“Exactly,” Sha said, with more passion in his voice than Petr could ever remember. “To survive, we adapted to the new situation. When so many Clans lie broken and destroyed along the path of history, Clan Sea Fox has adapted and changed. And now we among all the Clans have one of the most powerful and influential positions in the Inner Sphere.” He took another step toward Petr, once again, a look of pleading. Or almost pleading. Not in his features, but more in his posture, the slightly upraised arm again. It did not seem possible that Sha would plead. For what?

Sha opened his mouth again but his voice came as though muffled by the endless field of cotton. “Why did we change our name back again?”

Petr thought about this. Time began to trickle one grain of sand at a time through existence’s hourglass. Finally found what he needed, though it barely came out as a word: “Sur.” The rest lost to mumbling.

“To survive. To adapt. So we morphed into our current Khanates and Aimags. We have always adapted, Petr. We have never shirked doing what we must. To ensure our survival, we have done what we must. Can you not see?”

Petr found himself lying back on the bed without knowing how he got there. A soft glow smeared everything into a haze of slow-moving shapes and dulled sounds. He tried to concentrate on Sha’s words, vaguely saw the nurse talking to Sha, her voice almost strident. Gesturing. To Petr. To the door. She drugged me. The thought should have brought anger, but instead brought only warmth.

His vision began tunneling, but he focused on Sha’s face. On his mouth, which suddenly encompassed the universe. Fingers sunk into words to keep him from his own abyss.

“We have always done what we must to survive,” Sha continued. “We make the decisions necessary to ensure our survival, regardless of the consequences. Too many Clans have been destroyed because they could not adapt. We adapt. We survive. We must continue to adapt. Petr, we must adapt. You can aid me. What we could not accomplish…

Existence washed away.

Beta Aimag Hospice, Near Halifax

Vanderfox, Adhafera

Prefecture VII, The Republic

22 July 3134

The exercise felt good.

Sweat poured from his body as though from an open faucet. A cleansing feeling, washing away his hurt, his frustration, his darkness; keeping unwanted words at bay. The small exercise room might as well not have existed, its only two other occupants beyond his perception; their own determination to overcome their injuries a pale candle to his own, which burned as bright as a DropShip drive plume in a moonless black night.

Amazing what hating an enemy could do.

Petr redoubled his efforts. Knew the witch would likely be by soon to scold him. Tell him to slow down. To pace himself. How could he? He felt as though the universe were passing him by. As though great events for his Clan, and possibly for the rest of the Inner Sphere, were in motion and he’d been sidelined. Stuck on the bench.

He could not accept that.

Almost twenty minutes passed; dehydration and exhaustion clawed at him. Finally, satisfied that he had pushed his body and spirit to the very edge, he relented. Stepped off the machine and stood panting, breathing in the stuffy air, breathing in the smell of his own sweat. Slowly, he became aware of another person in the room, realized dimly that she had spoken to him twice already, and he had not responded. He tried to decide what he should feel about that. Shrugged—felt only a dull echo of the pain only three days past—and walked the four steps to his water bottle—a talisman to be grasped only after a straight thirty minutes of work. Such concentration, his ability to simply push away existence in his need to be reborn, should be lauded. A warrior’s concentration. An ovKhan’s concentration. He nodded his head.