His plan seemed to be working. He had neither seen nor heard any sign of them for half an hour. That meant nothing, of course. They wore sneaksuits like his, standard-issue for the Combine's Elite Strike Teams and the storm troops of the Internal Security Force. That meant that whoever was behind this attack had powerful forces at his disposal, men expert in "black" operations. Such men would be relentless. And very dangerous.
Such considerations made his decision to run justifiable.
The need to open the suit had strong justification as well, but it annoyed him all the same. He needed to stop the fire in his muscles, needed the air. So Theodore took another risk on top of the risky run, and stopped before being sure he was in the clear. He expected better of himself. He wanted to cover three kilometers before resting, but his body betrayed him. Too much easy living at the academy, he concluded.
As his breathing steadied, he considered how differently the night had begun. He was not expecting any trouble on the eve of his graduation from Wisdom of the Dragon School. Four long years of advanced strategy and combat training were over. He had thought that a tryst with his current paramour, Kathleen Palmer, would be an ideal tension-reliever before the ceremonies tomorrow. Kathleen had been a breath of fresh air when they first met four months ago while Theodore was on holiday from the school. She had seemed so far from the taint of political intrigue, uninterested in talk of war and warriors. She had been truly an anodyne after his years of study and training. In her arms, he could forget his obligations and duty.
One way or another, that was over now. Theodore had seen the assassin's image reflected in her eyes as the black-clad figure approached. That warning allowed him the fraction of a second he needed to avoid the knife-hand the man aimed at his neck. His sudden reaction had thrown the assailant off balance. While Kathleen fled screaming from the room, Theodore counterattacked and struck the man down with a well-placed kick. She had been aware of the intruder's presence, but she had not warned her lover. That was something Theodore could not, would not, forget.
He had wanted to follow and force an answer from her, but decided that questioning Kathleen would have to wait. Instead, he had stripped the man of his sneaksuit. Assuming that the failed assassin had back-up, Theodore knew that his sneaksuit would be far more useful than his own fancy dress clothes, strewn about the room with abandon. He had taken the man's gear as well, not having armed himself before a peaceful lark in the old town. Except for the traditional katana, a blackened steel blade with black braiding and non-reflective fittings, the man carried no lethal weapons.
Presumably, his master wanted Theodore alive, perhaps to be used as a bargaining chip. If they wanted him alive, Theodore reasoned, they would be holding back, careful of harming him seriously. He had no such qualms regarding their health. His first priority was to escape and survive. He had no desire to be anyone's prisoner.
Once outfitted, Theodore had exited the building, rappelling down the side with the man's utility line. Thus had he avoided the doors, which must surely be under close watch. His short cut had allowed him to elude the mesh of their net. When he hit the ground, only one black-clad figure opposed him. He took the man down without needing the sword, and started directly back toward the academy. Then he noticed three more assassins on his trail.
Fearing that they would catch him, or worse, call in reinforcements to intercept him, he cut away and headed for the Desolation. There, amid the ruined buildings and rubble of that long-abandoned quarter of Kuroda, he hoped to throw them off his trail. The academy often conducted city-fighting exercises in the Desolation. To improve his scores, Theodore had memorized maps of the region and made a regular effort to keep up on the changes the exercises wrought in the cityscape. He hoped that such knowledge would give him the advantage he needed to elude the pursuit.
As soon as he had lost sight of them, he began to run. Now he stood here, less than a kilometer from the academy. His panting had almost stopped, but his breathing was still ragged. Concentrating on his hara, he willed himself to center. Slowly his breathing became regular. He accepted the fatigue in his limbs and banished it. Calmness suffused him, and in that calmness, he found another presence.
He snapped his head up, eyes working to pierce the darkness. There, standing still on the roof of the gutted shell across the road, was a silent, black-clad figure, starlight glinting from the circlevision visor. The figure bowed to him. Theodore snapped his own visor down, only to find that the slim figure had vanished. One has found me.
No, he admonished himself. I have seen one. I might hope only one is there, but I cannot assume so. Never underestimate an enemy.
He checked the street and found it deserted. Deserted of people, that was. The derelicts and criminals who occasionally hid among the ruins had gone to roost. Only the night vermin prowled on their own life-and-death hunts. Theodore decided that the small scurryings were a good sign, for it meant that no human presence disturbed their ground-level hunts. Perhaps there was only the one. That thought set him to scanning the roof again, but he found no sign of his pursuer. While checking the ground level, he had left himself open to a long-range attack from above.
No attack had come. He did not know why, but he did know that he was lucky. He presumed that the other was on his way to street level. By heading up, Theodore hoped to confound that maneuver and recover the moments he had lost.
Peeling back the leather palms of his gloves, he uncovered the microhooks set there. A swift crouch and spring started his climb up the side of the building that sheltered him. Fingers and toes sought the minute purchase offered by the crumbling mortar between bricks. Where there were no useful cracks, the microhooks penetrated and took hold of the porous surface of the brick, the barbs offering a secure grip. A flexed palm released tension from the hooks and they slid free, allowing him to reach for a new, higher grip.
All the way up the wall, Theodore berated himself for his foolish lapse. In his mind, he heard the voices of his teachers. Two were most insistent. Brian Comerford, his Special Operations tutor, had nothing good to say about his delays or his physical stamina. Tetsuhara-sensei nagged him to reach for and trust his center, promising him all the strength he needed if his hara control were strong. While listening to those inner voices, he climbed the fifteen-meter wall in less than half a minute.
On the roof, Theodore checked his surroundings again, but found no sign of the other. He set out across the roofs at a pace that would not overtax the sneaksuit. Eventually, the deteriorating quality of the buildings he crossed forced him to abandon his aerial path and return to the ground. His speed increased when he was no longer concerned that a misstep might send him plummeting through a rotted roof.
Theodore knew that he was not alone, but none of his tricks succeeded in forcing the other to show himself. Discarding the attempt to confront this lone hunter, he resumed the effort to lose his dogged pursuer.
Suddenly, Theodore sensed the other's presence very near and cursed himself for having missed its brief absence. Another mistake, chided the ghostly voice of Comerford-sensei. This time a costly one, Theodore agreed.
A hand snaked out of the gutter to snare his ankle. Before he could react, he was toppling to the pavement. He tucked to minimize the shock and realized that the hand was gone. That's bad, he told himself, feeling the agreement from Comerford-sensei's spirit.
Rolling as soon as he hit, he caught a glimpse of a manhole cover blowing into the air, impelled by a near-silent huff of compressed gas. A shadow followed the disk, erupting like a demon from the nether hells. The dark figure landed lightly on the street and ran toward him.
Theodore regained his feet and cleared his sword in time to parry a passing cut as the other snaked by, turning in a rustle of black fabric and the glint of polished steel.
The two stood frozen for a moment, the other in muniken, Theodore in tensetsu. He recognized the other's command of the ancient Yagyu sword technique and shifted to katsuninken. The other hesita
ted a moment, then started a shift to kojo that was never completed. At that instant, the manhole cover returned to the street with a ringing clatter, startling Theodore. The other, clearly expecting the clamor, converted the shift of stance into a lightning attack. Theodore's counter was too slow. The other flashed past.
As he turned to face his opponent, Theodore knew he had been hit because there was blood on his opponent's blade. The sword was so sharp that he had not felt its touch. He felt for the pain as he readied himself. The wound felt small, a tiny cut just above the left hip. He hoped his body was not lying to him, concealing the awful truth of a mortal wound. He had no more time to wonder. The other was moving and Theodore must defend himself.
The next exchange was no passing attack. Each black-clad figure stood its ground, trading attack for counter. Unexpectedly, in the middle of Theodore's attack pattern, the other crumpled to the ground. Theodore's stroke whistled through the air above the falling body, pulling him off balance when it did not meet the expected resistance.
Theodore recovered, returning to a cautious guard-posture as he looked down at the unmoving figure. He was puzzled. He had not thought that he had pierced the other's guard.
There was no time to consider. In the distance, he heard the soft slap of running feet. Whether it was his pursuers or local inhabitants drawn by the clamor of the manhole cover, he did not know. Either was more trouble than he wanted. Turning, he ran down a narrow alley, risking a look back just before he rounded the corner. Three black-clad figures pounded down the street toward the alley, but of his recent opponent, there was no sign.
Knowing that the shadows offered no protection from the light-amplification equipment of his pursuers, Theodore ran on.
2
Streets of Kuroda, Kagoshima
Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
17 May 3018
By the time Theodore recognized from the echoes that he had entered a dead end, his pursuers had rounded the corner and entered the alley. There was no time to climb away from them unless he could delay them somehow. Reaching for his pouch of flash grenades, he found it gone, cut away in the sword fight. He steeled himself to turn and fight for his life as a stirring in the gloom told him the situation had just gotten more complicated.
From the darkness at the alley's end stepped another black-clad figure. The hood of this one's sneaksuit was pulled down around his neck and his faceplate swung from a loop on his belt. Apparently, he disdained the advantage of night vision to face his cornered quarry. His face was hard, its flesh glistening with a light sheen of sweat. The redheaded man held a katana in his right hand. With his left, he reached into a pocket set into the sleeve of his sword arm and laughed confidently.
Theodore skidded to a halt, his own hand snaking behind his back. Arrogance has no place in a warrior's heart, reminded Tetsuhara-sensei's voice. Quite right, Theodore agreed. And this man shall pay for his arrogance.
He drew a packet from his pocket and squeezed it hard before flinging it at the new opponent. Simultaneously, he dove to his right, using the momentum of his throw to pull himself into a roll.
The sudden move saved him from the redhead's missile, which whizzed past Theodore to strike with meaty thunk at one of the other pursuers. Hearing a clatter of debris and a whuffing sigh, he reckoned that one of the three behind him was out of the fight.
Theodore's own missile disintegrated in flight as the chemicals released by his squeeze ate through the thin walls of the bag and released the contents. A fine mist wreathed the head of the bare-faced man. He collapsed in a fit of coughing, temporarily incapacitated.
Coming out of his roll, Theodore was beset by the remaining two. They circled him, maneuvering as a team. Every time Theodore tried to draw his sword, one or the other would press an attack, forcing Theodore to abandon his attempt and concentrate on blocking or avoiding their blows.
They were cautious, having seen how well Theodore fared against their comrades. They took their time, contriving to set him up for a decisive attack that would not expose either of them to a crippling counterattack.
Watch the pattern, Comerford-sensei's ghostly voice advised.
Control the ma-ai, Tetsuhara-sensei's spectral tones demanded. A true warrior is always in control of the distance of engagement.
"Hai!" Theodore shouted as he caught the pattern and acted. He spun on his heel and launched a flying kick at the shorter of his two attackers. Thinking himself safely out of range, the man failed to counter completely and tumbled backward into the grime-smeared bricks of the alley wall.
Theodore's rebound dropped him to the ground, where he lay loose-limbed and sprawling. The tall one dove on him to take advantage of his disorientation from the bad fall, only to find Theodore's helplessness was a sham. Rolling away from the attack, Theodore let the man slam into the refuse-strewn ground. His own kick at the man's head was weak, but did serve to further daze his opponent.
Heedless of proper form, Theodore scrambled on top of the man. The man struggled to avoid his grip as Theodore slipped a choke-hold around the assassin's windpipe. Not trusting his strength at this point, Theodore went for a steady choke rather than trying to snap the man's neck. His opponent's struggles were slowing when a hand gripped Theodore's shoulder. "Enough."
Theodore spun, awkwardly because he was straddling a body. The backfist he threw in turning was caught effortlessly by the new arrival and held in a grip of titanium. His knee, directed at the newcomer's groin as Theodore tried to straighten up, was adroitly deflected by the man's hip. The man effortlessly redirected Theodore's energy, crashing him onto his back.
"Enough, I said."
Wind gone, Theodore lay weak and vulnerable. He squinted his eyes down to a slit in an effort to steady the doubled images he perceived. Even with his blurred vision, he recognized the smiling face of Subhash Indrahar, the man his father had elevated to Director of the Internal Security Forces.
Such a highly placed traitor, Theodore lamented. My mentor, a man I had thought a friend. You always took my side against Father. Now your true colors show. Now, it seems, my life is forfeit to misplaced trust.
"Do not think me a traitor, my young friend. As ever, I stand behind you as heir to the throne of the Draconis Combine. And do not think too unkindly of poor Kathleen. She only followed my orders. These men you have faced are a final exam of sorts, a test of your mettle," Subhash said, sweeping his arm to indicate the six men gathered around them, including the teary-eyed redhead and the one wearing Theodore's own discarded finery. "You have passed quite well."
"You had me in fear for my life."
"Of course. Only at the edge of death does a man truly live, and show whether he is truly a man." Subhash extended a hand to help Theodore to his feet. "You have shown that you are a man. Rough around the edges, perhaps, but refinement will come with time.
"I have known you since childhood, and I believe that I know the sort of man you are. You see the Combine as I do, the strongest hope of unification for the Inner Sphere. You believe, as I do, that the Combine must come before all, that is must be preserved to perform its destiny of reunification.
"Now I ask you to join with these men in a society dedicated to that end. I ask you to join the Sons of the Dragon."
Subhash waited for Theodore's reply. Though his mentor smiled benevolently, Theodore sensed the taut expectancy. Around him, the other men began to shift nervously.
He was at once touched and alarmed by Subhash's offer. The ISF Director was a man he had idolized for many years. His belief in Theodore's potential was something the young heir wanted to reward after his long and difficult childhood and adolescence. Yet this secret society of Indrahar's whispered of intrigues and dark alleys, things alien to the samurai Theodore believed himself to be.
The offer lay before him. If he refused now, it would never come again. Something in Subhash's voice and the tense stance of the men around him spoke eloquently of a unique opportunity. If he did not
join, they would go their own ways and he would hear no more of it. Until he crossed them in some way. Subhash had become one of the most respected, and feared, ISF Directors in centuries. He was a good man to have as an ally and a bad one to have as an enemy.
Theodore smiled and executed a sharp bow. "I am honored."
Subhash clapped him on the shoulder. "I am pleased."
The tension in the alley evaporated. In the joking and verbal replay of the combats that followed, Theodore ventured, "Subhash-sawa, wouldn't you say that seven opponents were too many for one not well-versed in this type of nighttime activity?"
"You handed all six agents quite well, Theodore-sawa," Subhash replied with a pleased grin. "And I was no opponent at all."
Theodore was taken aback by the ISF Director's response, but said nothing. He looked carefully at the men around them, noting their height and build, the way they moved. Thinking back over his night's adventure, he was certain that he had encountered each only once. Moreover, none of the group fit the physical type of the swordsman who had wounded him. There was more going on than he understood. The words of old Zeshin, his childhood companion, came to him: A wise man listens when he has no words to speak.
Given what had happened this night, Theodore decided that was very good advice
3
Snorri's Tavern, New Samos, Kirchbach
Rasalhague Military District, Draconis Combine
17 May 3018
"Do you think he'll come?"
Of the five men and two women in the back room of Snorri's Tavern, the speaker was clearly the most nervous. Having drawn stares from the others with his question, he began to fidget with the gold braid decorating the shoulders of his tunic. His restless fingers had already unraveled one of the tassels and added to the frayed look of the ancient uniform jacket.
Heir to the Dragon Page 2
