Lethal heritage

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Miraborg's eyes narrowed to black slits in a pinched face. "That's right, Kell. I cannot do the stepping and crushing, but it's the fault of your kind that I cannot! I did not hire you mercenaries to protect us from the Periphery pirates, nor did I welcome your presence on my world!"

  "Ha!" Phelan's explosive laugh echoed off the glass wall behind Miraborg. "You wanted us here, all right. You wanted us right here on your world so you could torment us. You could have given us the liquid helium we needed to repair the Cucamulus the second we showed up in your system and blew that seal. I stood here in this office when Captain Wilson made her request, but you said that you couldn't give us the helium because it was a strategic stockpile—even though we offered to pay for it and replace it!"

  Miraborg's chest swelled with outrage. "Who are you to question me? Your history of disrespect for authority and lack of responsibility is disgraceful. You were thrown out of the Nagelring for dereliction of duty and you have logged more violations of the curfew and quarantine restrictions on this planet than everyone else in your unit combined."

  Miraborg leaned back, steepling his fingers. "I'm glad you liked teaching cockroaches tricks, Kell, because you'll have plenty of time to do it."

  Phelan scoffed at the older man. "We're leaving today."

  The Varldherre shook his head. "The Kell Hounds are leaving today, but you'll not be with them. You'll be bound over for trial."

  "No!" Tyra's voice filled the room and shocked both men to silence. "No, you will not bind Phelan over for trial."

  Betrayal threaded through Miraborg's voice. "How dare you speak to me in that tone?"

  Tyra took a deep breath and approached the man in the wheelchair. "I dare, Father, to prevent you from doing something that would disgrace you and Gunzburg."

  Muscles bunched at Miraborg's jaws. "How could I be more disgraced than to have my daughter sleeping with the same scum that crippled me?"

  Tyra's slap rocked Tor Miraborg's head back, and she stood staring down at her father. How could you? How could you imagine that I would intentionally do anything to hurt you? She turned and walked away from him, immediately aware that Phelan had taken several steps in her direction. Though she desperately wanted to feel his arms around her, she held out a hand to keep him back.

  Her father's voice, softer and uncertain, reached out to her. "I'm sorry, truly sorry, Tyra. I didn't think."

  Inside her, it was as if a dam broke, but somehow she held back the torrent of emotions. "Phelan, please leave us." She did nothing to keep the strain from her voice.

  Her father's tone had regained its edge, too. "Yes, Kell, leave us. The charges against you will be dropped," he said, reaching into a desk drawer. "Oh, and I believe these are yours." The clatter of plastic and metal bouncing across the desktop brought Tyra around to see Phelan's sunglasses roll to a stop beside the monitor.

  Phelan's hands convulsed into fists. "You bastard! The people who attacked me took those from me last night. You know who they are."

  Miraborg shook his head nonchalantly in a sham denial of the charge. "I know nothing about that. These were turned in to me by a good citizen wanting to make sure you left nothing behind here on Gunzburg." He gave the glasses a push in Phelan's direction.

  Phelan glanced at Tyra, then shook his head. "No, Miraborg. You keep them. To the victor go the spoils. You've won this round, but someday I'll come back for them."

  Miraborg laughed harshly. "You do that."

  The mercenary turned, then rested his hands on Tyra's shoulders. "I'm sorry the way things turned out, but I'll never regret what we had." He kissed her on the forehead and then was gone.

  As the door shut behind Phelan, her father smiled coldly. "Good. Now things can return to normal around here."

  Despite her pain and hurt, Tyra kept her voice even. "I don't think so, Father." She felt a great sense of relief, knowing she was doing this for herself, not to hurt him. "I will be leaving Gunzburg."

  "What!" He shot a horrified glance at the door. "I thought ... You cannot go with them, Tyra. I will not allow it! How could you do this to me?"

  With each word, she saw her father growing smaller and smaller. You've been living with hatred for so long, Father, that it's become part of you, like something in your blood that rules you. "Not to worry, Father, the great Tor Miraborg did not lose a contest of wills with a mere mercenary. I am not joining the Kell Hounds, though their offer did sorely tempt me. I am too much your daughter to do that."

  Miraborg's eyes narrowed. "If that were true, my daughter, you'd not have taken up with him in the first place."

  She stared at him in disbelief. "You still don't understand, do you? I met Phelan at the Allt Ingar the night Lars Pehkonin played there. Neither of us knew anything about the other. And if we had, our prejudices would have made us bitter enemies from the start. How could a mercenary let himself be attracted to the daughter of Gunzburg's Iron Jarl? Especially someone like Phelan? He and Lars talked about music and about building synthesizers and whole universes of things that being here on Gunzburg denies me. I only learned his first name that night, but I thought of him often until we met again.

  "It wasn't until two weeks later, when the Kell Hounds were formally introduced to the Eagles, that I learned Phelan's real identity. Neither one of us expected things to develop the way they did, but neither did we try to prevent it. When Captain Wilson offered me a place in the Kell Hounds, I knew that I couldn't accept it. What surprised me, though, was the intensity of my desire to leave Gunzburg."

  Her father's face had gone ashen. "Why? I've always tried to make things good for you."

  Tyra looked at her father sympathetically. "Yes, Father, you have, especially after mother died. You've been loving and considerate, but you've also changed."

  Miraborg caressed the steel chair that served as his legs. "I had to adapt after the incident."

  Tyra nodded. "I know, but that was only the beginning of the change. You became stronger, accepted more authority and responsibility."

  "Someone had to do it." He turned to look out the glass wall behind him. "Chaos came with independence. With the Kurita administrators gone, every half-wit with a vision of Utopia staked out a new nation and declared himself emperor for life." He took in all of Stortalar City with a wave of his left hand. "There were constant food shortages and riots. I had to do something."

  "I remember, Father. I remember being proud of you when you went out one morning saying you would restore order. People rallied around you, as well they should have, and you reestablished order ..."

  Miraborg cringed and said the next word for her: "But ..."

  "Yes, but," Tyra repeated. "You became a symbol. People looked to you to lead them and they adopted your cares and concerns. Because they thought you hated mercenaries, they hate mercenaries. No, don't look away. I remember, Father. I remember that you didn't blame all mercenaries for your wounding, and once you even told me that Colonel Vinson had been right to pull his Vigilantes out when the terms of his contract had been met. There was once a time when you recognized that fact."

  Tyra shook his head. "You're smart enough to know that a leader must be attuned to his people, but you let their feelings and impressions affect you. Because of their hatred of mercenaries, your own hate seemed to become even greater. You championed the necessity of sacrifice in the name of our fledgling nation and you became a model anyone would be proud to follow. Unfortunately, you also revel in perversions of that symbol."

  She pointed to the scar on the left side of his face. "Young men and women maim themselves to look like you and proclaim their willingness to sacrifice themselves for Gunzburg as you did." Her right hand brushed a tear from her unblemished left cheek. "I have never done it because I hoped you already knew how much our world and our nation mean to me without any melodramatic display."

  An air of defeat hung over Tor Miraborg as he nodded slowly. "I did think that before all of this." He turned his chair and faced her. "Now yo
u say you are leaving. How will it look to the people that my daughter has deserted me?"

  "Fear not, Father. I will make you proud." She straightened up. "I have requested and been granted a transfer to the First Rasalhague Drakøns."

  The hint of a smile graced her father's lips. "The Prince's Honor Guard ..."

  Tyra nodded solemnly. "Yes, a promotion that should make you proud. Again you sacrifice part of your life for the greater good of Free Rasalhague. Anika Janssen is going with me." She glanced at the mirrored sunglasses on his desk. "I imagine you will promote Hanson Kuusik to replace me.

  Tor Miraborg looked at the glasses, then lowered his eyes in shame. "Will you ever come home?"

  Home is where the heart is, Tyra thought and winced to realize she no longer considered Gunzburg her home. "I don't know. I have much to think about, much to see. Perhaps someday you'll understand."

  Tyra waited for her father to speak, but the emotions playing across his face seemed too much. He stared up at her, then closed his eyes and turned his chair away so she could not see him weep.

  Having burned her last bridge on Gunzburg, the Iron Jarl's daughter left the world of her birth.

  5

  Edo, Turtle Bay

  Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

  1 June 3049

  Tai-i Shin Yodama heaved his duffelbag from his shoulder and tossed it onto the rickety, iron-framed cot, whose springs squealed and creaked in protest. Kashira Kenji Yamashima looked up in dismay.

  "Sumimasen, Yodama-san," he said. "Tai-i Buford preferred the cot ..." He shrugged, indicating distaste for the previous occupant of the cinderblock-walled room. "If you desire, I will obtain proper bedding for you."

  Shin smiled to himself and bowed slightly. "Yes, tatami, please, Yamashima-san. When the rest of my things are offloaded from the DropShip, you will see that they are brought up here?"

  Yamashima bowed his graying head. "Hai. Shall this unworthy servant have your things unpacked for you?"

  Shin smiled. Your mouthing the old courtesies is music to my ears after the weeks spent traveling here in that independent freighter. Shin noticed the absence of several joints on the man's little fingers and the multi-colored head of a snake against the yellow flesh of his neck. But I should not have expected anything less of you, should I?

  "That will not be necessary," Shin said, "but I am honored by your concern. I will see to the unpacking later." Glancing at the full-length mirror on the back of the door, he straightened up, trying to shake off the slump of weariness left from a week traveling to Turtle Bay from the system jump point. There were slight discolorations beneath his eyes, too, but no one else would notice them. He combed his short black hair with his fingers, then smiled at Yamashima. "I think I should pay my respects."

  Yamashima smiled like a tutor pleased with a pupil who has learned his lessons well. "Tai-sa Tarukito Niiro asked that you join him for cha once you were settled. While you are meeting with him, I shall arrange your visit with the Old Man."

  Shin cocked his head inquiringly. "Old Man?"

  Yamashima began to speak, then caught himself. His dark eyes darted from Shin's unblemished hands to the lapel of his black service tunic. "Excuse me, Tai-i. I presumed knowledge where I had only rumors. I meant no offense."

  Shin returned the sergeant's deep bow. "You were not rude, Yamashima-san. You were not in error. I was not aware that the yakuza in Edo used that title for their lord." Yamashima straightened up, relief clearly visible on his seamed face. "So, after you take me to the Tai-sa," Shin said, smiling, "please do arrange my visit to the Old Man."

  ***

  Shin Yodama entered Tai-sa Tarukito Niiro's office and knelt on the tatami mats before sliding the shoji-paneled door closed. The translucent panels of lacquered paper, especially those forming the southern wall opposite the door, let in enough light to brighten the entire room. He keeps his sanctuary uncluttered and simple. He draws his strength from this room. I can feel it.

  Shin bowed first to Tarukito Niiro. Easily twenty-five years Shin's senior, the Tai-sa had not let vanity get the better of him. Instead of dyeing his salt-and-pepper hair black, as another might have, he wore it short and shaved back away from his temples for better contact with the neuroreceptors in his BattleMech's neurohelmet. His dark eyes met Shin's direcdy and without judgment, then he lowered his gaze so that his subordinate would not think him illmannered. Though the Tai-sa did not smile, Shin felt instinctively that he appreciated the depth of his bow and the respect it implied. Tarukito returned the bow fully and gracefully.

  Shin men bowed to the other man in the room. It was slightly disturbing to Shin that this man, who was obviously his junior, should hold the rank of Sho-sa, making him a superior. The only reason he would be here is because he is my commanding officer. I thought the reforms had done away with commissions being awarded on the basis of social rank alone. All I need is this kid giving me orders inspired by flower arrangements or using plans concocted as a result of consultation with the entrails of a teyexta. Despite his misgivings, Shin took comfort in the grace and respect in the younger man's return bow.

  Tarukito spoke in a low voice, but one resonant with power and self-control. "I trust your journey in-system was not too difficult."

  "No, Tai-sa. The pilot was most skilled and successfully threaded the needle between two bad storm systems."

  "Good." Tarukito turned and drew Shin's attention to the other man with a casual gesture. "Forgive my poor manners at delaying the introductions. This is your immediate superior, Sho-sa Hohiro Kurita."

  Shin's heart leaped to his throat, and he failed utterly to keep the surprise from his face. Theodore Kurita's eldest son! He looks so different from holographs I've seen. Shin bowed again, this time deepening the gesture and holding it longer. "Excuse me, Kurita-sama. I should have recognized you."

  Hohiro returned the bow, a smile beginning on his face. "There is no reason you should have known me, Yodama-san. Most of the official holographs were taken years ago and not been updated for security purposes."

  Though the smile remained, the look in Hohiro's eyes and his tone of voice shifted the conversation to a more serious level. "I should also tell you that, even as your superior officer, I would appreciate all advice and help you can give me. In addition to your skill with a BattleMech, I hope you will avail me of your vast combat experience as well."

  Shin bowed his head. "You honor me, Sho-sa, but I am not worthy of such praise. I am, after all, only two years your senior, and I have not had the benefit of a Sun Zhang Academy education."

  Tarukito Niiro smiled and opened a folder lying on the low, black-lacquered desk. "Your lack of a formal education would be considered a plus in many categories, Yodama. As Hohiro has aptly pointed out to me, your career as a warrior already spans twenty years. That means you possess a considerable storehouse of martial knowledge."

  Shin shook his head. "Again I am honored, but I think you read too much into the accounts of my early life. Yes, I was orphaned during the fighting on Marfik in 3028, but I was only seven years old at the time. I was among those who fled the advancing Steiner troops, but it was only by purest luck that a group of guerrillas found and kept me with them as an omen of luck. I will admit to planting the satchel charge that destroyed the bridge at Pawluk's Ford, but that was because I was the only person small enough to crawl through the drainage pipe."

  Hohiro shook his head slightly. "Neither of us placed much weight on the accomplishments on Marfik, because we realized that, while they required courage and cunning, they merely attested to your ability to follow orders. No, we were more impressed by the raid you organized against the stronghold of renegade units on Najha during the Ronin Wars. It was an extremely well-organized and executed 'Mech action for a leader who was only eighteen years of age."

  "Again you credit me for what was my good fortune." Shin felt the hot flush of embarrassment over his cheeks. "When the renegades tried to destroy our unit's trai
ning center because they hated us for being yakuza, it came down to giri. It was my duty to my compatriots and to those who had given us the honor of becoming MechWarriors to lead my cadet company's defense. Had the renegades known the base area as we did, or if their 'Mechs had not suffered equipment failures during the fight, I would not be here talking to you." The memory of a Centurion pointing its autocannon at the cockpit of his Panther suddenly hit Shin. If that cannon hadn't jammed I would have been killed.

  Tarukito watched Shin for a moment, then bowed his head slowly. "After so many years of soldiering with arrogant warriors who seek nothing but personal glory, your humility is as refreshing as it is undeserved. Your career since Najha has been exemplary. I look forward to your taking command of Hyo company."

  Hohiro nodded in agreement with Tarukito's assessment. "We will have it your way, then, Yodama-san. I hope, in addition to your skill and experience, you will grant me some of your good luck as well."

  Shin bowed. "I pledge all that I have and am to your service."

  Tarukito smiled broadly. "Excellent! Now we need fear no one." He clapped his hands twice. "You were summoned here for tea, and that is what we shall have. After that, Tai-i Shin Yodama, you will have the run of Edo and a chance to become acquainted with your new home."

  ***

  The rings around the world of Turtle Bay were etched across the night sky from horizon to horizon. The world's shadow slowly blackened the rings as evening wore on, but the furthest reaches still caught enough sunlight to burn brilliantly in crimson, purple, and gold. Though Shin had witnessed the effect during the DropShip trip coming insystem, it was entirely different looking up at the colors from the ground than from in space.

  Shin stopped where he was, gawking like a tourist. This world is certainly more beautiful than any other where I have lived. I hope never to lose my sense of wonder for a sight so magnificent.