“When can I expect an update?” His tone of voice said there should be only one more time that he’d need to speak with Petr.

“Before the rain’s end.”

A slight tightening around the eyes betrayed anger—or levity—at such an evasive answer. Petr’s instincts said the latter. But mirth only took you so far with saKhan Sennet.

“Why have you come?”

“saKhan Sennet, I felt I needed to bring certain events to your attention.”

Petr might as well be talking to a wall. He took a deep breath—always best to be short and direct with the saKhan—and continued. “I believe ovKhan Clarke is attempting to break away Beta Aimag, or even Spina Khanate, from the Clan.”

Not a flicker crossed those features. Though he was trained to spot tells, to use them ruthlessly to acquire any edge in negotiation, to his scrutiny Mikel gave away nothing. Then again, Mikel excelled in such matters as well; he was saKhan, after all.

Still, such a statement should have elicited something. Anything. Did he read the situation wrong?

Questions tumbled rapid-fire through his mind as the silence stretched. Petr shifted, once more felt the loss of his braid and squashed the regret as unClanlike, felt the hard plastic chair dig uncomfortably into his back and left side. At least it was not on the right.

“Why?” Not a change in tone, simply a question.

He dreaded this part. Even though he had no answers to the inevitable questions, he knew that to speculate on Sha’s actions would get him in more trouble. “I do not know.”

“How?”

Petr licked his lips, and stopped himself again from speculation. You provided the facts and saKhan Sennet sifted them through his own perception. Not your own. Mikel allowed his ovKhans exceptional latitude, but when you approached him with a problem, you did so on his terms.

“I do not know.”

“When?”

“I do not know.”

“What, ovKhan, do you know?” The accent fell, stinging—a slapping rebuke.

“I do not have specifics. But my instincts tell me I am right. I have dealt with him for years and he has always had only the best interests of his Aimag at heart.”

“Is this not how it should be, quiaff?”

“Neg, saKhan. Not when it excludes the Clan. Always Clan Sea Fox above everything else.” No response. “His current actions on Adhafera, our conversations”—Petr paused, examined his memories and sifted for a final analysis, continued—“I know it. He is moving to try to split Clan Sea Fox. He must be stopped.”

“His latest actions?” Mikel said, leaning forward slightly, moving his hand to the smooth blue tabletop; he looked down at it. “Are your new badges attributed to such actions?” He looked up once more and the meaning sang clear; Petr’s back stiffened.

“If you think I would cast such accusations simply due to my disfigurement,” he began hotly, “then—”

saKhan cut him off with a raised hand; the tightening around the eyes recurred. This time Petr felt confident it was mirth. Laughing at me? The anger began to mount.

“ovKhan Petr, I would never think such a thing. After all, no ovKhan of mine could possibly be so petty.” The tone did not match his words, adding fuel to the growing warmth within. “Or jealous.” The last struck like a Gauss slug, shattering firmly held bands around his rage.

“If you believe that, then you must believe that no ovKhan of yours could rise to his position without the instincts to let him know when to seize the deal, when to walk away, when to sweeten the deal and when a Trial is the only way forward. I tell you now, you must keep an eye on Sha. He is dangerous.”

For the first time, real emotion transfigured Mikel’s face; too late, Petr realized his mistake.

“I must,” Mikel said in a soft voice, discordant from such a mound of flesh.

Petr could see the harm had already been done, but nevertheless tried damage control. “saKhan, my choice of words… was poor. In my desire to safeguard our Clan, I overstepped my bounds.” That was as close to sucking up as Petr had ever come in his life. Despite the necessity, it made him feel unclean.

“Aff. Especially considering your proof.” Two slabs of meat lightly smacked the table. “You come to me with nothing. I know your record. I know my ovKhans, and I trust your instincts. But you cannot expect me to take action based only on your words.”

“But the things he has said, about removing those from power who will not be removed by our traditions,” Petr replied, desperate to keep the meeting going—a meeting already ended. If Mikel respected his instincts, why did he ignore them? More questions kept falling, one after the other, quicker than he could assimilate. Why?

“We all say things at times we do not mean, quiaff?”

Petr stiffened at the reminder of his own mistake committed only moments ago. “I traveled here because I felt I could make a case that a simple message would fail to convey.”

Suddenly Mikel leaned across the table, a hard expression falling into place like a sheet of armor moved into position over a ’Mech’s chest, ready for welding. “Then you have wasted your time, when you could have finalized the issues on Adhafera. The Khan is nearing this region, and I want it on a platter in front of him.” The implied rebuke that Petr also had wasted his time hung between them. Mikel rose from his chair and moved toward the hatch. The meeting was terminated.

But why! I do not understand. He knew saKhan Sennet well enough to know that once he had reached a decision, you might as well try to shift a star’s orbit with the thrust from an aerospace fighter.

Confused and angry, Petr slunk toward the hatch. Mikel’s voice followed him out. “ovKhan, next time do not be so foolish as to assume I am not aware of what my ovKhans are doing. They are mine, after all.”

The hatch swung home with a bang, a scrape of metal as it cycled.

What did he mean by that? That he knew I was coming and what I would say? Or that he already knew about the events on Adhafera? With the HPG down, it did not seem likely. But he had learned never to underestimate the crafty saKhan.

As he traveled the corridors back toward his ship, a new thought surfaced, shocking him so that he stopped abruptly and sent a passing civilian careening into the wall.

He knew about Sha. About his plans to try to break away Spina Khanate.

Though he tried to shake the feeling, his instincts sunk their teeth into it and locked their jaws. Not only was he aware of it, but he allowed it to continue.

Why?

He hesitated, felt compelled to return and confront him over this revelation, but knew a trial would be the only result. He would suffer defeat in such a hand-to-hand conflict, especially with Petr still less than one hundred percent.

As he launched himself back into the stream of humanity, his spirits sank further. Not only did he have to stop Sha, but the possibility existed he would have to stop saKhan Sennet as well.

His anger washed away in the cool waters of despair.