TEXT: BATTLECORPS
  Destiny’s Call
  By Loren L. Coleman
  Part II
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  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 2
  Tharkad, 2721
  Alek sat on the fro-
  zen ground, his winter 
  gear safeguarding him 
  from snowmelt, and 
  leaned back against a 
  massive cedar. A plas-
  ticized poster calling 
  students to a pro-Skye 
  rally protected his un-
  covered 
  head 
  from 
  the tree’s scaly bark. It 
  was one of his favorite 
  spots. Camped on the 
  university commons right out in front of the main administra-
  tion building, few bothered him here. Right now that was what 
  he needed.
  His breath frosted in front of his face, and he blew out a long, 
  misty cloud of exasperation. Tension knotted behind his shoul-
  ders. His left ear still burned from being slammed hard with a 
  lacrosse stick and his knuckles bled where he’d skinned them 
  against the door on his way out of the dorms.
  Served him right for letting the torments get to him.
  He expected the hostile behavior from Elias Luvon and his cadet 
  cronies, but what shocked Alek was how fast other students joined 
  in after learning that he’d turned down a post at the Nagelring.
  “Too good for a non-Terran academy,” Elias spun it.
  Patently absurd. Alek attended a non-Terran university after all. 
  But still the feet thrust into his way and snowballs with rocks in 
  them increased. Students took to kicking his dorm room door as 
  they passed, making it hard to study for the preliminary exams be-
  ing given this week. It finally drove him outside, hauling along his 
  notes and data wafers, with a few hours in which to relax.
  With his ‘corder tucked safely away inside his carry-all pack, Alek 
  untangled the wires and stuck plugs into each ear. Musical strains 
  filled his head with deep viola and soft, whimsical flute, then the 
  melodies faded into the background and Professor Kleppinger’s 
  monotone filtered in to explain the latest political fallout on Terra. 
  A compilation of his own design: the soothing melodies helped 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 3
  him focus, allowing him to replay his Political Science lectures 
  over and over.
  This month’s political dialog centered around two JumpShips 
  which had been interdicted and destroyed by the Terran 
  Hegemony’s new Space Defense System. A problem with their 
  IFF codes, by all reports. This was Alek’s third time listening to 
  the recording, but he couldn’t help the way his heart pounded at 
  the news. His parents had been outbound from Terra around the 
  same dates, planning an early visit to Tharkad. The SDS wasn’t 
  supposed to challenge outgoing vessels, but the new technology 
  was obviously unreliable.
  Several of the House Lords were already positioning themselves 
  politically following the disaster. Liao and Davion complained—
  loudly—that the defense system was unsafe and that its early 
  deployment violated common sense as well as long-standing re-
  strictions. Takiro Kurita took a longer view, and simply wanted to 
  know when the technology would be shared with militaries of the 
  Great Houses. All three were stirring a strong public outcry.
  “Of course,” Kleppinger droned on, “it is unlikely that even such 
  a tragedy as this will do more than spur local debate inside the 
  separate Houses. Such is the absolute power enjoyed by First 
  Lord Cameron.”
  “No power is absolute,” Alek whispered to himself, closing his 
  eyes. “Only corruption.”
  Though paraphrasing the nineteenth century Lord Acton, he 
  decided it was original enough to lead a paper on the subject and 
  began to order his thoughts into a rough mental outline. Michael 
  would give him a spot of grief over the non-Russian source, but 
  the simple truth followed that Alek also studied in English, en 
  Français, and was quickly learning Deutsch.
  The musical composition had run into its third variation and Alek 
  into his second page of mental notes. He couldn’t say how he de-
  tected the presence: A shadow against the back of his eyelids or 
  a heavy footfall crunching down through the icy snow crust. All 
  he could say for certain was that he suddenly knew that someone 
  stood over him, and he startled to full alertness.
  Gabriella Bailey stood there in parka, draped pants and snow 
  boots. Her hazel eyes reflected back a measure of uncertainty. “I 
  didn’t mean to scare you,” she said.
  
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  Destiny's Call • Page 4
  Kleppinger warned the class against accepting the media’s anal-
  ysis. Alek straightened up into a better posture, finger-combed 
  blonde hair back from his forehead. “No,” he said. “I mean, 
  it’s okay.”
  Nodding, Gabriella sank down into the snow next to him, rest-
  ing on her knees and the toes of her boots, settling back onto her 
  calves. She wore her hair down around her ears today, and neole-
  ather gloves protected her hands. “Quite the spot you’ve picked 
  out. Needed a break from studying?”
  “What makes you think I’m not studying?”
  She grinned. “You had a relaxed smile on your face. I don’t know 
  anyone who smiles like that when plugged into a lecture. Not even 
  you, Alek.”
  It was the most she’d ever said to him in one sitting. Alek certain-
  ly did not want to argue with her. But... “Here,” he offered, pulling 
  out his right ear plug. He passed it over, stretching the wire out of 
  his pack. “Take a listen.”
  More for the sake of politeness than any real desire it seemed, 
  Gabriella cupped the plug to her ear. Her eyes widened into doe-
  like pools. “Kepplinger...and Wolfgang?”
  “Ulysses Rozz. Twenty-sixth century composer. He based his 
  work off Mozart, yes. I mixed this myself.”
  She laughed, handed him back the plug. “That is so wrong.”
  Alek shrugged, pulled out his left ear plug with great care and a 
  sharp intake of breath, and tucked both into the pack. “I can listen 
  to it dozens of times, though. It makes it easier to...what?”
  She cocked her head to one side, looking at him. “Your ear.”
  “My...? Oh. Yeah. Is it purpling up yet?” She nodded, glanced 
  around uneasily. He tried to keep his tone easy, though the mem-
  ory of the lacrosse stick lashing out at him in the corridor, driving 
  him into the wall, was kind of hard to make light of. “It’s not 
  so bad.”
  Gabriella mimicked his lighthearted approach. “Don’t you ever 
  win a fight, Alek?”
  “No one wins a fight.”
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 5
  “Is that another of your dead Russians?” Even she knew of his 
  penchant for quotations, though Alek would have bet she hardly 
  knew anything about him.
  “A live one. Me.”
  That brought the smile back to her face. “You’re very…compli-
  cated. For being such a straight-forward person, I mean.”
  He shrugged. “Blame my father,” he said, and she glanced 
  askance at him. “I was very young, and...not always in good 
  health. He would take me to the museums in Moscow. Russia had 
  a very,” he reached for the right word, “fractious history. There 
  were purges. Massive oppression. And there were rebellions. But 
  the strongest traits came from when the people endured. Seven 
  hundred years later, you can still see it. That is a heritage.”
  Gabriella nodded. “He sounds like a man who would be interest-
  ing to meet.”
  “He will be here,” Alek said. “He—and my mother—are travel-
  ing to Tharkad. They will vacation on some nearby worlds, and 
  then return in time for my graduation. Perhaps you will meet 
  him then.”
  “Perhaps I will.”
  Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that. The si-
  lence stretched between them, and then snapped like cold taffy. 
  “Well,” Gabriella said, “I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re all 
  right. After your collapse in class last week.” Rising to her feet in 
  graceful motion, she brushed away snow caked to the knees of 
  her pants. Almost as an afterthought, she asked, “Are you going 
  to the spring reception?”
  A university tradition, hosting the Nagelring cadets in a large 
  ballroom event. Archon Steiner would make an appearance. It 
  was the largest social event of every year. “I don’t know.” Dark 
  thoughts flitted through Alek’s mind, knowing that Elias Luvon 
  and his friends would be there in force. “You?”
  “I was thinking about it.”
  Alek blinked his surprise. “You mean no one has asked 
  you yet?”
  She laughed. “Well of course he asked. But I said...it doesn’t 
  matter what I said. I simply thought...” Gabriella laughed again, 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 6
  more quietly, at herself. “Oh, hell. Alek, I was hoping you’d like to 
  go. Together. With me.”
  A flush crawled over the back of his scalp, and Alek climbed up 
  onto his feet. He didn’t notice how his left ear burned anymore. He 
  worried more about his dry mouth and a suddenly thick tongue. 
  “I would—very much—like to escort you to the reception,” he 
  said formally.
  “That won’t create too much trouble for you?” she asked.
  “No. Why should it?”
  “Never mind.” She shook her head—but her hazel eyes, they still 
  worried. “I forget you’re not part of the gossip underground. It 
  should be fine.” She shrugged. “So, it’s a date. I’ll leave you to 
  your studies, and we’ll talk later.”
  Alek might have left it at that. His brain was already working the 
  problem, after all. He could have checked it out quietly. But the 
  thought was only half-formed when he caught Gabriella turning 
  away to leave, and he blurted out the question: “Who else asked 
  you?” But he knew, he knew.
  Gabriella flashed a glance at the ground. “Elias Luvon.”
  And then she shrugged it off, leaving him standing in the snow 
  beneath the tall evergreen, reminding himself over and over again 
  the value of enduring.
  Michael Steiner was far less sanguine, especially after hearing 
  about it through staff gossip and not from Alek directly. The sum-
  mons came as an invite to join Michael for lunch—not an order, 
  but with Alek it carried the same weight.
  He did not have so many friends on Tharkad that he could afford 
  to refuse them casually.
  So he sat on a stool in Michael’s research library, feet tucked 
  back, watching his friend pace the narrow aisle running between 
  bookshelves and workstation. A forgotten manual lay open 
  on Michael’s glass-topped desk, its pages weighed down by a 
  unique assortment of data crystals developed by the university 
  in cooperation with a Lyran Commonwealth corporation—going 
  to replace disk wafers across the entire Inner Sphere, Michael 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 7
  claimed. The crystals were lined up on both pages by color and, 
  presumably, content.
  All forgotten now, as the Archon’s brother speared Alek with an 
  unblinking stare.
  “Do you like drinking your food through a straw?” he asked, a 
  flush showing through his meticulous beard.
  Alek rubbed at his jaw, massaging the dark yellow bruise he’d 
  picked up this morning. He had seen the cyclist coming, but not 
  the elbow. “I was careless.”
  “Ja. I would say you were.” Michael plucked at his starched cuffs, 
  tugging them out of his suit jacket sleeves. “Careless even to talk 
  with Gabriella Bailey.”
  “I don’t think this is so bad.”
  “Worse, Alek. Elias Luvon asked her to the reception, and she 
  spurned him. If you think this will sit well with any Nagelring cadet 
  once Luvon is through, you are sadly mistaken. For a history and 
  PoliSci student, you can be remarkably short-sighted. Have you 
  ever noticed that?”
  “’How is it that little children are so intelligent and men so 
  stupid?’” Alek asked back. He looked at the studying professor, 
  grinned. “’It must be education that does it.’”
  Michael froze, his face tightening down until his gray eyes disap-
  peared behind narrow slits. Then he could not contain it anymore. 
  A smile split through his beard, and a tight chuckle rolled out into 
  a real laugh. “English lords and now French authors. Alek, you will 
  mar your reputation if you keep this up.”
  “Do not worry. I’m not finished with dead Russians.”
  Stepping over to Alek, Michael placed a hand on his shoulder. 
  “Just see that you do not become one. All right?” Alek nodded, and 
  Michael took that as a guarantee. “So, your parents make planet-
  fall yet?”
  He smiled. “Tomorrow. And I have three more prelims to get 
  through before they arrive.” Alek checked his watch. “Including 
  the third part of Kleppinger’s four-day miniseries. I should go.”
  “It’s forty minutes until Gerald starts his...ah. All right. Liebeskrank, 
  ja? You hope to find an empty seat next to your date for the recep-
  tion.” He exhaled a short, sharp sigh. “Very well. Go on with you. 
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 8
  Just remember to duck now and then, and if Gabriella is wear-
  ing anything nice today, don’t forget to say something about 
  her shoes.”
  “Her shoes?”
  With a shove, Michael propelled him from the stool and toward 
  the door. “I’m beginning to side with Colonel Baumgarten. Maybe 
  we are teaching you the wrong things. Or at least, not enough of 
  the right things.”
  Alek shuffled toward the door, grabbing up his carry-all pack 
  from a small end table. “There’s nothing for me to learn from 
  Baumgarten.”
  “If you really believe that, then you are most certainly right. ‘A 
  closed mind never errs, nor learns.’ Tracial Steiner.”
  “Family’s not fair,” Alek called back, then pushed out into the cor-
  ridor. He let Michael have that one. The prerogative of being part 
  of a ruling House, you did get to win once in awhile.
  And the truth was always hard to refute.
  The thought hung at the back of Alek’s mind for his brisk walk 
  over to the social sciences wing, haunting him, dredging up the 
  ghosts of Colonel Baumgarten’s offer and his father’s commen-
  taries, which had been delivered while the two of them explored 
  Terra’s violent past at museums and battlefield memorials. Was 
  he being close-minded with regard to Baumgarten’s offer? 
  Perhaps. But then he had never been one to put muscle (or metal) 
  over mind.
  Those most capable of wielding power were those least likely to 
  desire it. To Alek, this was a self-evident truth. An article of faith. 
  And faith was the force by which people lived.
  At the same time, also according to Tolstoi, the sole meaning 
  of life was to serve humanity. Did that mean Alek had to serve 
  it in the most self-sacrificing method available? Or simply that 
  he should always hold in mind his debt to the greater good? He 
  sighed. The mills of philosophy could grind exceedingly fine.
  “But safe from the worm, my spirit will survive.”
  At least through Kepplinger’s Political Science class. Or so Alek 
  thought at the time.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 9
  The lecture hall was only half-full, with most early arrivals doing 
  some last minute cramming from books, noteputers, or ‘corders. 
  The room smelled of flavored coffees, mulled cider, and nervous 
  sweat. Styluses danced over paper, over screens, as timelines and 
  tables were practiced again, and again, and again. This kind of 
  frantic energy would not be seen again until final exams, though 
  prelims were no easy slouch as here students set a baseline for 
  their finals grade. One could not improve better than a full letter 
  grade over prelims, and the weighted average made it hard—but 
  not impossible—to fail if one pulled an average grade now.
  Gabriella Bailey already had a seat halfway up the stair-step ris-
  ers, right on the aisle as she normally preferred. Elias Luvon sat 
  next to her, straddling the chair backward with large hands grip-
  ping the backrest posts as if they were control yokes. Elias wore 
  full dress uniform for today’s occasion, including gloves and saber. 
  A bit prissy, but he wasn’t the only cadet who thought a strong 
  show of military devotion might win points from an instructor. 
  Gabriella saw Alek’s approach and nodded to Elias, who stepped 
  back up from the chair without so much as looking around. Alek 
  stepped to one side, giving Elias room to pass.
  Elias stopped in the aisle next to him, smiled when he saw the 
  bruise darkening Alek’s jaw. “I’d wish you luck, but you won’t have 
  any problems with a Commonwealth-level exam, will you?” Elias 
  asked the question loudly, sharing it with the rest of the class.
  His jaw ached for the first time since leaving Michael’s office. 
  “Commonwealth or Star League, I’d expect to have no trouble tak-
  ing an exam for which I studied.”
  “Right. Studying. I forgot, thinking is beyond us dumb grunts, 
  right?”
  “I never said that.” Alek saw several faces turn their way. Some 
  curious. Some hostile. All right. A debate he could handle. “I ap-
  preciate your sacrifices, made for State and for Star League. Why 
  do you feel my choices lessen yours?”
  “Nothing you say or do lessens our honor!” Elias dropped one 
  hand to the hilt of his saber, as if he might draw it to avenge his 
  honor. Alek’s carry-all was heavy on his shoulder. If he swung it 
  hard enough... “The Inner Sphere does not revolve around Terra, 
  you know.” He stormed off, stomping up the risers to his usual 
  seat near the top of the hall.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 10
  All a pose, Alek realized, never a threat. And Elias had got in the 
  last word. He dropped heavily into the seat next to Gabriella. “I 
  never said that,” he complained softly.
  “Why do you continue to fight with him?” Gabriella asked, never 
  taking her eyes off the amber screen of her noteputer.
  “It’s a dialog. Maybe some day he will actually hear it.”
  “I’m not so certain. But while you’re waiting, you can quiz me.” 
  She shoved over her noteputer. “Political ramifications of the 
  Periphery Unilateral Freedoms Act, as jointly proposed by the 
  Capellan Confederation and Free Worlds League.”
  Which ate up the rest of their free time before Kleppinger closed 
  the hall doors as his assistants paced the two main aisles hand-
  ing out SAT-panels. The large green-screen display would be their 
  only interface with the professor’s testing program. Answers 
  were shot wireless into the mainframe, to be analyzed and graded 
  later. Alek tore through page after page of questions, providing 
  dates and names and, when called for, a political analysis of 
  the situation.
  So engrossed in the process was he, that at the first ringing 
  tones he slapped his stylus down on the table thinking time was 
  up. Then he realized it couldn’t be. He was only half done with 
  the test.
  Another series of tinny rings. Like a pager. A kind of warning 
  tone. Alek looked at Gabriella who stared back at him. Students at 
  nearby tables were also staring his direction.
  “What is this interruption?” Kleppinger shuffled up from the 
  stage, his droning monotone actually holding a touch of irritation. 
  He smoothed back a thinning spray of white hair. “Alek. Turn off 
  your wireless. No pagers, no comms. You know the rules.”
  “Professor. I don’t have a wireless.”
  Three electronic bleats argued, and Kleppinger frowned. “I’d like 
  to think I hear the truth ringing in your words, Alek, but I doubt 
  that very much. Stand up from your chair please.” The professor 
  checked Alek’s seat, bending down on one knee. Another betray-
  ing chirrup. Kleppinger glanced beneath the table, reached under 
  and pulled a slender noteputer free of its magnetic clamp.
  Alek’s stomach hardened into a fist of cold lead when he recog-
  nized the small device. His. The low-power light flashed in time 
  with the next ringing alarm.
  
  BATTLECORPS
  Destiny's Call • Page 11
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  “I see,” Kleppinger nodded. His pate flushed a dangerous scarlet 
  beneath his thinning hair. “Can you explain this?” Alek opened his 
  mouth, but nothing came out. He had no breath to form the words. 
  “No matter. Let us save it for Dean Albrecht, shall we?” He caught 
  Alek’s slender arm in a grip that was strong for an aging academic, 
  turned him away from the table and marched him up the risers.
  Elias Luvon glowered from his seat near the door. “Studying, 
  huh?” His voice was a little too loud. A little too pleased. “’Bout 
  time someone found you out.”
  Alek had never felt an urge to physically hurt another person 
  until now. His hands clenched into fists so tight that his nails dug 
  painfully into the soft bed of flesh in each palm. He considered 
  launching himself across the table at Elias, sure that righteous-
  ness would prevail over academy training. Before he could 
  decide, Professor Kleppinger was dragging him toward the door, 
  through it.
  The elder man paused in the threshold. “The rest of you still 
  have fifty minutes. SAT-panels will be collected on the hour by 
  my assistants.” Then he stepped into the corridor and gestured. 
  “After you,” he said coldly.
  The door to the lecture hall closed with a heavy weight while 
  Alek was only a few meters away.
  The sound of finality. 
  
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