Dragon Rising

by Ilsa J. Bick

  M . . . I . . .

  He was on the down stroke of the k when, all of a sudden, he felt something hard and round press into his neck, right below his left ear. Startled, Miki jerked. His k slashed an exclamation in the snow. In his surprise, he also lost his grip. Warm urine splashed onto his boots and around his crotch until his bladder seized, and his dick ducked for cover.

  A woman’s voice: “Well, would you look at that? Things really do contract in the cold.”

  46

  3 November 3136

  0245 hours

  The tongue was warm and still drippy. Its hapless owner, gargling blood bubbles, was dragged away to be rendered, bit by bit, into fish food. (His koi positively thrived.) Eddie Alzubadai dropped the pulpy flesh into a massive aquarium that occupied an entire wall of his office. Instantly, the water boiled as razor-mouthed piranhas thrashed in a feeding frenzy.

  Ever the perfect host, Alzubadai crossed to the maple sideboard and poured a cup of strong black tea. Alzubadai was lean, with long fingers, a pair of soulful sable-colored eyes, and a full head of hair black as a raven’s wing. He took pride in the fact that his nose—aquiline and perfectly proportioned to his angular features—had never been broken, despite his line of work. He turned, and proffered the teapot. “Tea?”

  “Iie.” Matsuro Kamikuro sat in a wingback upholstered in jade-green silk opposite Alzubadai’s desk. The oyabun’s eyes were puffy with fatigue, his hair mussed and suit rumpled. “I do not take tea with men of no honor.”

  “Stop, stop, you’re killing me, you and this honor shtick. You’ve got to learn a different tune.” Alzubadai plucked a cube of sugar from a matching canister with a pair of gold tongs. Sliding into a rosewood chair at his desk, Alzubadai sipped tea. The liquid was smoky and sweet. Replacing the cup on its saucer—china touching china with a tiny chime—Alzubadai turned his attention to a bowl of fresh fruit squared on his desk. Succulent fresh figs, luscious pears, fat brown dates . . . He selected a pear and began to skin the fruit with his favorite, wickedly long dagger.

  “You keep talking about honor,” Alzubadai said. He carefully sliced skin from the mellow ivory fruit, the length of unbroken peel scrolling like a curlicue. A little game, trying to peel the skin in one go. “Here it’s been almost two months, and no word from your people and nothing from Tormark’s command. What’s up with that?”

  Kamikuro said nothing. Humming, Alzubadai worked the dagger, nipping off the last bit of peel. He sectioned a wedge, delicately grasped the fruit between his thumb and the blade, and popped the morsel into his mouth. The ripe, wine-like flavor of the fruit exploded on his tongue, and he groaned with pleasure. “So,” he said, swallowing, “now you need them, and where are they, hunh? You’re yesterday’s news.”

  “If so, then why am I still alive?” Kamikuro asked. “Clearly, you think I’m still of value. What, you are waiting for Ito to give in, perhaps?”

  Yeah, what about Ito? Alzubadai popped another bit of pear into his mouth to milk the moment. Yeah, make the old guy wait for it. He shook out a cloth and began cleaning his dagger. “I’m hoping your guy Ito makes contact, and you know why? That little stunt he pulled getting off Ludwig, stealing my DropShip. So now, instead of being a DropShip richer, I’m down two, if you count his. Pretty smart guy, the way he locked out his DropShip’s computer. But, you know, win some, lose some.” Alzubadai gave a good-natured shrug and replaced the cleaned dagger on his desk. “Can’t win you don’t take chances.”

  “And what game of chance are we playing?”

  “Life and death aren’t enough?”

  “I am a realist. There are many more days behind than ahead for me, Alzubadai. I’ll not beg, nor is my life for sale.” Kamikuro paused, scrutinizing the younger man more carefully. “I think . . . Katana Tormark is alive, isn’t she? That’s why you’ve kept me alive. A swap: me for Tormark. Ah, I begin to see how it is. You’re afraid, aren’t you? Of your master, I suppose. Did you seize Katana Tormark first, or did you steal her from someone else?”

  Suddenly, Eddie Alzubadai found his tea less tasty than before. “Pretty fast for an old guy. You got all the answers, you tell me.”

  “Oh, I don’t have to answer to anybody for anything. That’s your problem. But you must’ve had help, only there are layers insulating the prime mover. You’ll take the fall, and there will be no way to connect you with Warlord Toranaga.” Kamikuro gave a satisfied grin. “What an unpleasant end you shall meet, Alzubadai, because Tormark will not forget.”

  “Yeah, right, you got all the answers. Well, wanna know why I rousted you from your beauty sleep? Tormark’s coming for you, old man. We caught our JumpShip coming in and let it pass, made it all cool. Same for the DropShip. Now, anyone who does night ops, they strike between three and four. So when she comes, I’ll be waiting.”

  “She’ll have help from my waka-gashira, Ito. You can’t win.”

  Yeah, you think you’re so smart? Suck on this, old man.

  “No? Well, Ito and me, we’re like this,” Alzubadai said, crossing his fingers. He enjoyed the way Kamikuro’s smile dribbled away. “He’s mine, old man, and has been for months,” Alzubadai said. “He’s mine.”

  47

  0315 hours

  Her hip was killing her, her body felt like a wobbly gelatin mold that hadn’t had time to set, and now Viki was ticked off beyond all reason.

  “Leaving me here? That wasn’t the plan,” she said. They were clustered just inside the cave’s entrance. Viki made a sweeping gesture that took in the mountain redoubt and the valley floor that glimmered like a white damask tablecloth below. “You need every experienced troop you can muster, and that’s me. I can see leaving Lance behind. . . .”

  “Hey,” Lance said. In his snow camis, he looked like an advertisement for a Terran tire company. “I ain’t no virgin, you know.”

  Viki ignored him. “Lance and Ito’s guys, they make sense. But I’ve got combat experience and . . .”

  “And that makes you an asset here,” Katana said. Pulling back on her pistol’s slide, she jacked a shell into the barrel, clicked on the safety and then holstered the weapon. Reaching around, she withdrew a needler from a concealed carry holster snugged at the small of her back. Checked to make sure the safety was on, the flechette cartridge cube good to go. “With this view, you’ll have a greater tactical advantage if things spin out of control.”

  “But you’re changing things. You change things, things screw up. This is our only shot . . .”

  “Negative that,” Katana said. She reholstered the needler. Like the rest, she wore snow camos: an irregularly patterned white and black parka, and insulated pants. The stretch acrylic of the matching face mask was bunched up like a watch cap, and NVGs perched on her forehead. Ito, clad in a matching suit, stood alongside Katana, the butt of his laser rifle resting on his hip. Katana said, “I watched you on the hike up here. You’re better, but that hip isn’t anywhere near a hundred percent. When this goes down, it’s going to go down fast, and that means we’ll have to move fast. Your hip can’t cut it, and that means you stay here. Lance, too, because however good you are, you also need backup, and Lance is it. Besides, I need someone on site with combat experience, especially if we have to call in a strike, and as you’ve so nicely pointed out, that’s you.”

  Defeated, Viki pulled in a breath. “Okay. But I don’t like it.”

  Lance came to stand at her elbow. “Cheer up, kid. Think how happy your old man McCain’s gonna be to see you again. Me, we walk in with Katana and Kamikuro and the whole shebang, and that jerk-off Parks, he’s gonna have to eat it. Man, that’ll be good.”

  “Yeah, but only if we get out of this,” Viki pointed out.

  “Hey,” Lance said. “Don’t jinx it.”

  * * *

  Tormark. Miki sat cross-legged, fingers laced behind his head, his back pressed against naked rock, and the business end of a laser staring him down. He was dry, but his pants smelled like a latrine. When he thoug
ht back to the moment when Tormark caught him out, his cheeks burned. His dislike had been organizational before, something expected. Now it was personal. Just give him an excuse . . .

  He went analytical. Like someone threw a switch in his head, and he clicked into observation mode. He was low level in Ghost Clan, kind of a fuck-up, but this was his chance to get a leg up in the organization. He did this right—say, take out Tormark—he’d be golden.

  The big guy with the laser looked like yakuza. This guy had tough and smart in his face, big as life as his tatts. Miki watched as Tormark and the yakuza came his way. When Tormark stood over him, those dark eyes of hers lasering his skull, he didn’t look away.

  Wanna read something loud and clear? Then get this, baby. Give me an excuse, just give me the chance, and I’ll splatter your brains to . . .

  “You,” Tormark said. With the rifle and snow camos, she looked like some kind of crazy woman out of a bad horror flick. “You got a name? I didn’t quite catch it when we sort of interrupted things.”

  Heat flooded his face. “Miki.” She waited for more, but he just stared. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  Finally, she said, “Okay, Miki. You’re coming along for a little ride. Just in case we need some kind of pass codes to get into the compound.”

  He perked up. If he could stick close, he might get his chance. “Yeah, there are codes.”

  “We’re going to need those. We’re also going to need information on what’ll be waiting for us on the other side.”

  “Yeah? What’s in it for me?”

  “Living. And maybe I’ll remember your name without you having to spell it out. Let me clue you in on something, sport. When you’re pulling guard duty and need to take a leak? Bring a bottle. Fresh pee on snow? On infrared? Might as well take out an ad. You copy?”

  Yeah, and when I blow your brains out, you just copy that, toots.

  “Uh-huh,” Miki said. “I copy.”

  * * *

  The hover bay was a rough cavern of hollowed-out rock just high enough to clear a grown man standing upright on a fully operational sled, and it smelled like rubber from the sleds’ skirts. There were two sleds lined up in single file, each with its stand deployed. Neither sled, which essentially looked like a modified Tamerlane, was tricked out with weapons. Miki could see Tormark didn’t like that, but she could suck on it.

  Tormark waved him onto the lead sled. There were only two seats. The big guy slid into the driver’s seat, and Tormark pointed Miki to the second seat. As the big guy cranked the engine, Tormark said, “Good thing about these sleds. Sure beats walking.”

  Miki was so surprised, he almost gave it away. Walking. “Yeah,” he said, “sure does.” He saw the big guy half-turn as Tormark opened her mouth, probably to say something else really snide. Never got the chance.

  The big guy moved fast, real fast. Right arm whipping round, POW. Tormark went down.

  The big guy grinned. “Okay, Miki. Change of plans.”

  0355 hours

  Eddie Alzubadai looked up as his office door slid to one side. Beaming, he spread his arms wide. “Ito, buddy! Come on in!”

  Alzubadai got a real charge out of the way Kamikuro sort of crumpled. Lower jaw unhinging as Tormark stumbled through, hands behind her head, a thick sludge of blood smeared over her chin. Her parka was unzipped, the hood bunched along her neck. Ito followed right behind, prodding her along with a pistol between the shoulder blades. Then one of his guys, Miki? Bicki? Alzubadai couldn’t remember. A lookout, though, meaning that Ito had come over the mountains the way he said he would and had gotten Alzubadai’s guy to ease them through into the compound. Alzubadai jerked his head left, and his guy got the message, fading to stand in front of the aquarium. Then Alzubadai said, “Hey, Tormark, you don’t look so good. Someone mess you up?”

  “Yeah, yeah, Eddie.” Ito was brisk. He stepped out from behind Tormark, his weapon still drawn. “Cut the crap. You wanted her, I got her.”

  “Not so fast, not so fast,” Alzubadai said. He made a gimme motion with his fingers. “Let’s have the weapon.”

  “What the hell? I thought . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, you thought, you thought. Thank Christ, I do the thinking. Gun first, talk later.” He watched as Ito struggled with his training. Alzubadai understood. He’d have felt the same way. Only it’s my show now. He waited, hand outstretched, and saw the moment Ito crossed the line: the way his forehead smoothed.

  Ito proffered the weapon, butt first. “Take the damn thing.”

  “Thanks,” Alzubadai said. He hefted the weapon. “Nice piece. A Glock 88. I am impressed! Always wanted one of these.”

  “It’s mine,” Tormark said. Her voice dripped hate. “Bastard took it.”

  “Yeah?” Alzubadai gave her one of his best, most winning smiles—and was just plain tickled when she looked mad enough to scratch his eyes out. “Well,” he said, turning the gun on Ito, “now it’s mine, just like you.” He looked at Ito, and his manner turned brisk, all business. “Parka, too. Let’s see what you got under there, big guy, and while you’re at it, show me your ankles, nice and slow.” He waited as Ito shucked his parka, did a three-sixty and then teased up his trousers.

  Alzubadai nodded, satisfied. “Okay,” he said, turning to deposit the gun on his desk, “let’s talk a deal here.”

  “We already did that. We make an even trade, Tormark for Kamikuro, and then I’m out of here.”

  From behind, Alzubadai heard Kamikuro struggle to his feet. “Never,” the old man said. “Never!”

  “Kamikuro-sama.” Ito moved toward Kamikuro. “Let me help . . .”

  “Buta!” Kamikuro roared. “How dare you shame me like this! Where is your honor?”

  Alzubadai rolled his eyes. “This crap about honor . . .”

  “Shut up, Eddie,” Ito said, his eyes never leaving Kamikuro’s face. “Please, forgive me, but Tormark’s cause is not worth your life. It is . . .”

  “Be silent!” Kamikuro slapped Ito hard enough to stagger the big man. The sound cracked like a pistol shot. “Not worth my life? I have no life if you steal my honor! How can I face my people knowing my life’s been brokered by a traitor willing to betray one we have sworn to serve?”

  “Yeah, well, I hate to break up this little lovefest,” Alzubadai said. He jabbed Ito in the chest with a forefinger. “Now, listen. You just walking away is not what we agreed to, man. We agreed that you were gonna cut me in on a little action. We swap, and then Kamikuro here retires. Then we talk about how you’re going to ease us into doing you, ah, a couple favors, right? Run a couple missions, take down some of the competition?”

  Ito’s mouth was like a fissure in stone. “First, let me get Kamikuro-san out of here, and then we can . . .”

  “Naw, naw.” Alzubadai shut that down but quick. Now he was getting irritated, and you just didn’t piss off Eddie Alzubadai. “No can do. Think I’m stupid? Naw, naw, we work out the details now.”

  “No,” Kamikuro said. “No!”

  That does it. Cursing, Alzubadai pivoted, backhanding a blow to Kamikuro’s face that sent the oyabun crashing back against Alzubadai’s desk. Blood spewed from Kamikuro’s mouth, fruit plopped to the floor, and Alzubadai’s cup skittered off the desk to explode in a starburst of cold tea and jagged bone china.

  “You gonna shut up now, right?” Alzubadai advanced, his right fist cocked. He heard a faint zipping sound that didn’t really register. “Right? Because you know, old man, I’m getting really tired of your lip . . .”

  He froze as something stabbed his neck. Fist suspended in midair, guts icing with surprise. Dropped the fist. Turned around very, very slowly.

  “Yeah.” Tormark jammed a compact hand laser against Alzubadai’s forehead. A short strip of clear adhesive curled from the barrel, torn free from her neck where she’d taped the weapon out of sight beneath her parka. “My sentiments exactly.”

  * * *

  The whole thing went down in less than fi
ve seconds, but Miki saw it all happen. Saw Tormark ripping the concealed laser free. Saw Ito’s hand start for his holster, and then Miki remembered: Glock on the desk, get the gun, get the gun! Turning, he lunged for the desk, saw the old man uncoil from his slouch against the wood. Half-turning, Miki threw out his left arm, aiming for the old man’s head. Out of my way, old man, just get out . . . !

  At the last second, the old man ducked and plowed into him. Winded, Miki staggered back, and that’s when he felt the pain: sharp, like a hawk’s talon ripping his skin, and now the hawk’s beak tearing at his insides. A fresh, spiking agony sheeted his vision red. Now the old man was pushing him, driving him back. Miki tried to swat the old man away, but his arms suddenly went to water. Blood boiled into the back of his throat. Breathe, he couldn’t breathe. He had to get air! But the old man was strong; he slammed Miki against the wall. And the old man was grunting now, doing something with his hand, throwing his weight into it.

  Miki’s knees buckled. His strength fled. His throat closed down and refused to open. He was slithering down along the wall, collapsing. Something hot and wet splashed his hands, and he looked down. Saw blood.

  Knife. Miki’s vision closed down to a single, bright point. Knife, on the desk, the boss’s knife . . .

  And then he was gone.

  * * *

  Breathing hard, Kamikuro backed up then stepped away as Miki crumpled to the floor. Kamikuro’s lips were crimson, and his hands slick with fresh blood. Alzubadai’s dagger stood buried to its hilt in the center of Miki’s belly, protruding from a lake of blood. The hilt ticked in time with the last fitful spasms of Miki’s heart. And then, it stopped.