Assumption of risk

by Michael A. Stackpole

  As if reading his mind, Omi nodded slightly in the direction of the old man. "Jiro Ishiyama is a tea master who has served the Coordinator since before the time of my grandfather."

  Kai absorbed that information and felt himself relax. A cha-no-yu, and in zero gravity no less! Omi honors me, or her nation honors mine, beyond anything that has gone before. He allowed himself the barest ghost of a smile, which he killed before Omi could be certain she had seen it but which, because of the ties that bound their cultures, she would have glimpsed.

  Forcing himself to watch through Asian eyes as the tea master set up, Kai began to notice subtle nuances that would have escaped him otherwise. The paper of the shoji panels, for example, had a watermark that looked like a dragon. And the old man's robe was shiny at the elbows and knees, an indication of how long he must have been using it. The fact that Kai could see the man's knees meant the tea master was not wearing velcro, and his ability to remain in place told Kai why the man had maintained his rank for so long.

  Kai had never actually attended a tea ceremony before, but those he had seen in holovid dramas or documentaries had not been held in zero gravity. In all those he had seen the ceremony centered around a table, but this room did not contain one. How is he going to lay out his tools?

  The tea master pulled two bright blue bowls from the chest and set each one out as if placing them on an invisible table. When he withdrew his gnarled, age-spotted hands, the bowls remained floating in the air ten centimeters or so above the tatami while he turned back to the chest. The bowls remained in place, wobbling only slightly and out of sync with each other in a pattern that Kai found almost hypnotic.

  The trance imploded when Ishiyama freed the next item from the chest, handling the thick glass sphere as if it were a fragile soap bubble. Kai noticed that two sealed openings marred the ball's perfection, but at the same time he marveled at how nearly perfect an item produced by the hand of man could be. One opening on the ball appeared as a black dot chased with stainless steel approximately a quarter of the circumference from the larger latched opening. The second opening actually appeared to be a section of the ball connected to a clear cylinder that reached to the center of the sphere.

  This, too, the tea master brought out of the chest and left hanging in the air. It hovered above the two bowls, and as Kai watched it slowly rotate, he saw that what he had taken for one thick wall of glass actually was two, with an open space between them. Insulated, like a Thermos bottle. He suppressed a smile. That, then, is where the tea will be brewed.

  Ishiyama turned to the casket one last time and withdrew a small tea chest and a silver cylinder with a needle-shaped nozzle at the upper end. The tea chest was pressed into place on the floor, while the silver cylinder hung in space like a blimp. Ishiyama grasped it firmly, twisted the bottom, and then pushed it up toward the top. The cylinder contracted about three centimeters and Kai heard a faint crunch.

  The tea master released the cylinder with it hanging perpendicular to the floor. Turning his attention to the tea chest he pulled the top off the little octagonal box with more force than was really necessary. That formed a vacuum, and small pieces of dried tea leaves began to shoot into the air as he lifted the lid up and away from the chest. If not for the understated grace and gravity of Ishiyama's movements, Kai might have assumed he'd made a mistake.

  He had not. With a feather-light touch, the old man flipped open the latch on the brewing sphere, then sent it spinning up to drift along the line of the escaping tea particles. As if the opening were the southern pole of some plaqet, the sphere positioned itself perfectly to accept the tea leaves. Slowly and delicately, fluttering against each other as they filled the glass cylinder, the tea leaves fell upward and were trapped.

  Almost playfully Ishiyama watched the glass sphere out of the corner of his eye. He brought the lid back down onto the tea chest, then with a flick of his wrist summoned just a pinch more tea. It flew upward, faster than the rest had, but still remaining on target. Kai did not doubt that all of it made it into the receptacle—the white shop panels would not have hidden a single particle of any that might escape— and he felt no need to dishonor the tea master by looking for errors in his ritual.

  The older man snapped the tea sphere shut, then recapped the tea chest. The latter he returned to the casket while the glass ball slowly drifted down toward the tatami mats. Before it could hit, the tea master firmly grasped the cylinder and inserted the needle into the small nipple on the sphere. With a touch to the lever at the needle's base, he sent steaming water spraying into the sphere.

  Kai smiled. That must have been a chemical heating tab. It heated up the water, which expanded and created the pressure needed to propel itself into the sphere. It occurred to him that he should probably have been able to figure out the whole procedure from the nature of the teapot itself, but Kai set those thoughts aside. That's science. This is art.

  The hot water collected in the bottom of the sphere and fountained up inside as more water shot in. Satisfied that he had filled it sufficiently, Ishiyama pulled the cylinder free of the sphere and returned it to the casket. Holding the sphere in both hands, he began to gently swirl the water so that it collected on the walls of the sphere. The tea had been moistened by the water spraying into the sphere, giving the transparent liquid just the hint of color.

  Once the water covered the interior of the globe, Ishiyama immediately rotated the sphere ninety degrees. Turbulence whipped silvery highlights through the water. Impact with the tea-leaf cylinder created a froth that came away a pale green. As the water washed over it, the liquid became darker and darker.

  Whenever the water's motion began to slow, Ishiyama tipped the globe or gave it a spin. Each time he changed the sphere's attitude and position, the water broke in new and wonderful patterns. Kai found himself seeing symbols and creatures in it, the faces of old friends and fragments of long-forgotten nightmares. He made no attempt to catalog what he saw, but instead lost himself in the experience of seeing.

  After a time that seemed too brief and yet like forever, Ishiyama let the water slow. Through a gentle and controlled rocking cradling motion, the tea master collected the water in the bottom of the sphere and turned the globe so the nipple stood at the north pole. Like a magician, the tea master suddenly produced another object from the sleeve of his kimono; a slender silver needle nearly thirty centimeters long and containing a fat plastic cylinder with a spring in one end. He inserted the needle into the nipple, sinking its far end into the green tea.

  Ishiyama grasped the first blue bowl and pressed it down on the plastic cylinder. His right hand steadying the globe against the floor, he used his left hand to gently push the bowl down. Kai heard the hiss of liquid and saw steam form and pour out of the bowl, but he remained far enough from the tea master that he could not see down into the bowl to figure out what he was doing.

  The tea master pressed down twice, then waited and pressed down twice more. He freed the first bowl and, bowing deeply, extended it to Omi. She accepted it with a bow of the head, then held the drinking bowl as if it were fragile enough to crumble at a moment's notice. The tea master then repeated his double pumps and presented the other bowl to Kai.

  He accepted it as gingerly as if someone were handing him a live grenade with the pin pulled. In truth, it could have been just that, he decided. Only the very adventurous or curious would try to drink freestanding liquid in zero gravity. He found it remarkable enough that the tea master had managed to brew and serve the tea without any globules floating free. Drinking it could prove more difficult than his last championship defense.

  Ishiyama bowed deeply to Omi and Kai, then reached into the casket one last time. From out of the box he lifted a white rose. He shielded the blossom with his hand as if it were a candle flame, then let it drift out from his hand and float between them. As it did so, heading out blossom-first, the air pressure stripped away the petals one by one. They spun away in the flower's wake. Kai watched
it go, then turned back to nod his appreciation to the tea master, only to find that Ishiyama had silently left the chamber.

  Kai glanced down at his tea bowl, feeling the warmth bleed out through the sides, and he smiled. Sitting in the bottom was something that looked like a small ceramic mushroom. Through it the tea had been pumped up into the cup through countless little holes in the stem and under the cap. Around the interior of the cup, about a third of the way up— roughly the level of the top of the mushroom—a little ledge kept the tea from rolling up and out over the sides of the bowl. Extending up from the ledge in a flowing clockwise spiral was a little tube that emerged near the lip of the cup.

  Using as little movement as possible, he started the tea flowing clockwise, then raised the cup to his mouth just in time for the warm liquid to flow into his mouth. Its warmth and the sweet taste took him back to his childhood and to simpler times before the coming of the Clans, the death of his father, and his flight to Solaris. It is good to have the memories because I can never go back, can I?

  He pressed his tongue against the tube opening, then swirled the bowl counterclockwise to evacuate the tube. He smiled and lowered the bowl. Across from him, returning his smile through a thin screen of rose petals, Omi likewise lowered her bowl.

  "You are quite perceptive, Kai. Very often the tea will jet into the air when one has not done this before."

  "I would rather die than spoil this ceremony." Kai blinked as a white petal brushed near his right eye. "It was beautiful. Domo arigato."

  "You are welcome. It is my gift to you, on this eve of your Christmas."

  Kai hesitated for a moment and felt the heat rising to his cheeks. "You are most gracious. Forgive me, but I had not thought ... I mean I have nothing for you ..."

  Omi dismissed his concerns with a slight shake of her head. "Do not feel embarrassed, for I am the one playing at deceit here. I have trapped you and I have no desire to do this. You are a friend."

  "As are you. Perhaps the nations we represent have a need to lay traps for each other, but you have merely to ask and if it is within my power, I would grant anything you desire."

  Omi's expression lightened. "You know, of course, that I am bound for Solaris."

  "I do."

  "And you are doubtless aware of the Combine's general view of the warriors who fight on Solaris." Kai nodded. "I am."

  "And you can imagine the dishonor attendant to being sent there by the Coordinator."

  The MechWarrior's eyes narrowed. Are you in trouble? Some rift between you and your father? "You are a friend, Omi-sama. What others might see as dishonor I would not."

  She smiled. "Good, then you should have no problem granting my request."

  Kai raised an eyebrow.

  "I wish, Kai Allard-Liao, to be seen in your box when you defend your title."

  Kai's jaw shot open. "Gladly, Omi, happily. Had you not asked I would have demanded it" He recovered himself and frowned. "But why? You know as well as I do that holovids of that fight will be bootlegged throughout the Combine. If your visit to Solaris is a dishonor back home, you are guaranteeing that trillions of people will witness the disgrace."

  "That I know, Kai, and only too well—better than you, in fact." Omi smiled cautiously. "You see, this fight of yours is the first that will ever be permitted for viewing across the whole of the Combine."

  "What?" Kai shook his head in amazement. "I don't understand."

  "It is simple. This mission to Solaris is one I suggested to my father." Omi dropped her gaze, staring unseeing into the depths of her bowl. "If it fails, all blame will be mine and, as befits a crime of some magnitude, I will be destroyed."

  4

  Porrima

  Isle of Skye, Federated Commonwealth

  24 December 3055

  Duke Ryan Steiner never thought of anger as a hot emotion. For him it was always something else, an iciness, a calm, cool clarity. Revenge is a dish best served cold, he often mused.

  He knew that many of his subordinates—and even his wife—found his bloodlessness in matters political and personal disturbing. For him heat was synonymous with disaster because of his days as a fighter pilot for the Lyran Commonwealth. Any pilot who let his aerospace fighter overheat would surely die in space or by crashing into the planet. Hot-blooded passions, so common among the fighter jocks he'd known, often led to fights and the needless injury or death of others.

  Emotions make for mistakes. As that thought echoed through his brain with the force of a biblical commandment, he clamped down hard on lingering traces of irritation that threatened to raise his emotional temperature. He tensed his jaw, glancing again at the glowing green neon numbers hovering in the air above his desk, then beyond them at the two advisors in his office.

  "You are correct, gentleman, and I commend your vision. It does appear that the Isle of Skye news media is increasing its coverage of people who are less than sympathetic to our goals." Ryan stabbed a slender finger at the numbers reporting the expanding coverage of Peter Davion. "The slope of Peter's rise is rather steep, is it not? Reasons?"

  David Hanau, the shorter, stockier of the two advisors, shrugged uneasily. "Peter forged an alliance between hunting and conservation groups that got the Lyons gold panther reintroduced to its natural habitat. As he has done for years, he is supporting the breeding, conservation, and reintroduction of wild animals to worlds where war has depopulated them."

  Ryan impatiently beckoned with his right hand, coaxing Hanau on to make his point. "Which means?"

  Hanau hesitated. "Bluntly put, my lord, fuzzy animals are cute and, therefore, popular. Pictures of Peter out on a conservation photo safari or petting panther kittens make for good media material. Peter knows it and he thrives in the spotlight. He spends so much time with the conservation forces that he seems to have no time for women."

  A frown knitted Sven Newmark's bushy blond eyebrows together. "Is he homosexual?"

  Hanau blushed at the question.

  Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Is he?"

  Hanau's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "I have no indication of that. I mean, I did a search for any possible illegitimate children he may have sired. I found a number of women he'd escorted while at the New Avalon Military Academy. None claimed to have borne him a child out of wedlock, but most were vehement concerning his heterosexual ... uh ... abilities."

  Ryan patted his blond hair into place, suppressing a shudder as his fingers passed over the growing bald spot on his crown. "An illegitimate child would be better than a same-sex scandal, in any event. People will do more for children than even for lovers—doubtless a genetic imperative of some sort."

  The duke pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. "We have decent assets on Lyons, do we not?"

  "Ja," Newmark said. "But no one in the Lyons militia. Davion's Intelligence Secretariat transferred out all questionable individuals when Peter accepted assignment to that unit. They had to transfer in so many new soldiers to fill out the ranks that the overall experience level of the unit dropped to the point the Federated Commonwealth Armed Forces now considers it a green unit. But unless something drastic happens, like a new invasion by the Clans, it's unlikely the Lyons Militia will be doing anything but training. I have people assigned to keep an eye on him, of course."

  "Of course." Ryan gave Newmark a smile. The man was one of a number of Rasalhague refugees whose flight from the Clans had led them to sanctuary in the Isle of Skye. Newmark had come to the duke's attention and into his personal service after the refugee press had published some of the man's articles highly critical of Prince Victor and his handling of the Rasalhague question.

  Ryan's dark eyes flicked up to another number in the analysis chart hovering before him. "Galen Cox's media coverage is growing at a more controlled rate, it seems."

  Newmark nodded appreciatively. "He has attracted their attention because of a number of coincidences. First and foremost, of course, is the fact that he is traveling with Kat
rina Steiner."

  "She does know how to manipulate the media, doesn't she?"

  "Yes, my lord. She attracts a great deal of attention, and everyone's curiosity about her transforms into curiosity about anyone near her. Kommandant Cox had been quite close-mouthed about their association, however. The news-hounds have been trying to dig up the facts about him and it turns out he's a wonderful subject. Born in the Isle of Skye. Orphaned during the War of Thirty Thirty-Nine. Later on he attended the War College on Tamar. In fact, it was you, Excellency, who conferred on him the Gallantry Award in the graduation ceremony for his class."

  Ryan tried to think back, for he recalled the ceremony, but not the details. To him it had been a data point, an opportunity to impress people with his presence and existence. His wife, Morasha Kelswa, was heir to the throne of the Tamar Pact, and his goal at the time had been to convince Melissa Steiner and Hanse Davion to wrest those worlds back from the Free Rasalhague Republic. Speaking to the graduating class at Tamar had presented him the opportunity to inspire and recruit those young men to the urgency of accomplishing his goals.

  Newmark continued his analysis. "Cox served with Victor Davion during the Clan wars, even saved his life on several occasions. He has been with Victor ever since, some saying he functions as Victor's conscience or reality anchor. That

  Victor asked him to escort Katrina shows how utterly the prince trusts the man. In the promotions for reruns of those holovid dramas about Prince Victor, they've been playing up Galen's role in the story, even when it's only a minor one. That probably accounts for the rise in his numbers."

  "I see. Do you think this is temporary?"

  Newmark nodded emphatically. "I do."

  Ryan shot a glance at Hanau. "I gather, from your frown, you do not agree?"