Niohuru Tie stood at the panoramic window, looking up at the cloud-striped curve of the Earth above him. For the hundredth time, his fingers traced the image of the sea-horse embroidered on the chest of his long dark surcoat, insignia of a ninth-rank military officer. He had only received his Eight Banners dress uniform two days before, and though it was tailored to his exact measurements, fitting him like a glove, he was still having difficulty growing accustomed to it. Perhaps it was not the weight of the surcoat that was on his mind, but the weight of responsibility and duty that it represented. No longer a cadet, he was now a full-fledged bannerman, slave to the emperor.

The orbital city of Diamond Summit rotated to provide the semblance of gravity, its axis the tether of the Bridge of Heaven, stretching down to Gold Mountain in Fragrant Harbor, far below. Rotating at right-angles to the orbital elevator, Diamond Summit’s orientation to the Earth was forever unchanged, and so while the stars slid by the wide window, in their slow and stately dance, the Earth slowly turned overhead. Looking up Niohuru could see the coastline of Annam, and beyond that the Bengali Bay and the arc of Hind. If he stood here long enough, he knew, he would see the eastern shore of the Middle Kingdom and the mountains of Nippon far beyond, or perhaps the unbroken arc of the broad ocean, blue as sapphires.

Every element of the scene—stars, Earth, tether, and station—moved in perfect unity, as though following the precise choreography of some celestial dance.

When the page called his name, Niohuru destroyed the perfect image by stumbling over his own feet as he turned, only narrowly avoiding sprawling face first onto the tiled floor.

The page gave him a sympathetic smile. “I take it you’ve been up there, Bannerman Niohuru?” The page pointed down between his feet, an incongruous gesture, but one Niohuru immediately understood.

He nodded, righting himself.

“I find it helps closing my eyes when looking away from the window,” the page said, stepping over to the door and holding it open for him. “I reorient quicker that way.”

Niohuru took a deep breath through his nostrils before it occurred to him to nod. “My thanks,” he said absently, “I’ll remember that.”

The page shrugged, unconcerned whether Niohuru remembered or not. “Bannerman Magiya will see you now.”

When civilians or those serving in other military branches spoke to or of a member of the Eight Banners, it was customary to address them simply as “bannerman.” Within the Banners themselves, though, ranks and titles were typically employed, as a sign of respect. So while the civilian page, an imperial servant of Diamond Summit, might refer to the man within simply as a bannerman, Niohuru addressed him with considerably more formality.

“Colonel Magiya,” he said, bowing low as he stood at the threshold. “This one, Niohuru Tie, presents himself for inspection.”

“Come in,” the man within said. “At your ease, Private Niohuru.”

Niohuru rose and entered the room. The man behind the aluminum desk was dressed in the long surcoat of the Eight Banners dress uniform, but unlike Niohuru’s, his was emblazoned with a tiger rampant, insignia of a fourth-rank military officer.

When he still served in active combat, Colonel Magiya had been in command of an entire brigade, a strength of four battalions, more than four thousand men in all. Now, he supervised recruits to the Eight Banners in microgravity combat maneuvers, the final stages of bannerman training.

“Have a seat, private,” Magiya said, indicating the chair opposite his. “You’ll forgive me not rising, I trust.”

Niohuru nodded eagerly, and slid gracelessly into the chair. Since arriving at Diamond Summit, he’d held Magiya is something approaching awe. The colonel was a scion of one of the Great Houses, a Manchu like himself, but more than that he was a hero of the Second Mexic War, his story repeated time and again in the news of the day, about how he valiantly led his men personally in a charge against the enemy on the high plains of Fire Star, until a mortar shell shattered his left leg beneath the hip. With only one leg, the other ending a few centimeters from the hip joint, Magiya had evident trouble maneuvering when under gravity, whether on the Earth’s surface or simulated by rotation as on Diamond Summit. But in microgravity, such as in the training facilities out near the shipyards at the far end of the orbital tether, he moved as well or better than any man, making him perfectly suited to his present training post.

“You received the highest marks in microgravity combat I’ve seen in my tenure here, Niohuru,” Magiya said. “Or should I instead call you ‘Iron Wolf’?”

Niohuru smiled sheepishly, suddenly self-conscious. The other recruits had given him the nickname after he’d bested them all in practice bouts, derived from the meaning of his personal name in Official Speech and of his family name in Manchu.

“I just did my best, colonel.”

“Yes, of course.” Magiya nodded, thoughtfully. “We could use more men whose best reaches the level of yours, I should think.” He spread his hands on the table’s brushed surface. “I’ve spoken with the garrison commander about your performance, and General-in-Chief Hao reports that you’ve acquitted yourself with similar high marks in your other objectives, as well. You may be pleased to know that he has recommended you for a prized posting.”

“Sir?”

“You’ll be joining the First Raider Company, Third Battalion of the Bordered Yellow Banner’s Ninth Brigade.” He paused, and a wistful look stole over his face. “My old brigade, as it happens.” He shook his head, as if knocking loose memories. “You’re to report to Captain Hughes Falco on Zhurong in Fire Star orbit in six months’ time.”

Niohuru resisted the temptation to grin, but just barely. He inclined his head in a bow. “I am honored by this posting. I hope that I will win glory for the emperor and for the Eight Banners. I am only thankful that I’m alive and of an age at a time when men are called to prove their worth on the field of battle.”

The corners of Magiya’s mouth turned down in a frown. He let out a sigh and, with a grunt of exertion, pushed off his seat. His weight on his single leg, holding onto the desk’s edge for balance, he hopped on one foot around the corner of the desk to stand before Niohuru.

“Tell me, private,” Magiya said, his voice quiet and without a trace of bitterness, “does this look like glory to you?” He pointed to the stump of his missing leg.

Niohuru wasn’t sure how to respond. He shook his head. “No… that is, I didn’t…”

The colonel held up a hand, silencing him.

“Listen to me, Niohuru. I don’t expect you to understand this now, but perhaps you’ll remember it, and recall my words at a time more suited to understanding. I know that, like me, you have heard the voices of those who decry this war, who claim that we are engaged in nothing but the pursuit of vengeance, and the emperor would be better served to withdraw and leave the red planet to the enemy. They claim that soldiers care for nothing but blood and glory.” He paused. “You have heard such voices, yes?”

Niohuru remembered the drunken talk of the other young tearaways in the teahouses and theaters, and nodded, lips pressed together.

“And I don’t doubt that you’ve heard the proud old songs, or seen the dramas about the glorious victories, and of the heroes who win them in the emperor’s name.” The colonel didn’t wait for him to respond, but continued. “Here is what I want you to remember. Those who sing war’s praises are no less wrong than those who condemn it as sheer brutality. War is neither glorious nor blood-hungry, but is instead an unfortunate necessity. No man should march into battle reveling in the thought of combat, but neither should he shiver and quail like the craven who hides behind cover.”

The colonel stopped, and fixed Niohuru was a close look.

“Tell me, private, what is the purpose of war?”

Niohuru straightened in his seat, proudly. “We wage war to defeat our enemies, to guarantee the will of the emperor, and to protect the people.” The answer was straight out of the bannerman’s training manual, which every recruit recited until he had fairly memorized it by heart.

Magiya shook his head, sadly. “No, I’m afraid that isn’t it. Those are uses to which war is put, and the excuses offered for its existence, but none of them are the true purpose of war.”

Niohuru was confused. “Then what is war’s purpose, colonel?”

Keeping hold of the desk with one hand, Magiya leaned over, balanced on one foot, and brought his face near to Niohuru’s.

“War,” the colonel said, his expression grave, “is the coin in which men pay for peace.” He straightened. “Peace, Private Niohuru. Not blood, and certainly not glory. We fight for peace.”

---

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: Hexagram 10
Treading
Below Lake Above Heaven
Above is Heaven, and below is Lake. In the same way, the noble man makes distinction between the high and the low and so defines how the common folk shall set their goal.

NEXT CHAPTER: Hexagram 12
Obsruction
Below Earth Above Heaven
Heaven and Earth do not interact. In the same way, the noble man holds back the practice of his virtue and thus avoids disaster. He must not allow himself to be honored with rank and salary.

Return to Index.

Chapter 11 of Three Unbroken by Chris Roberson. Copyright © 2007 Monkeybrain, Inc. For more action from the Celestial Empire don't miss The Dragon's Nine Sons.

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