Heir to the Dragon

by Robert N. Charrette

  Florimel's manner suggested that nothing existed outside the garden where they sat. Caught in her spell, the two younger Kuritas found themselves immersed in the moment. The smell of the shower-soaked earth. A tatsugonchu flitting and hovering over a puddle. The cool air in the shade.

  Florimel herself broke the enchantment, nudging the crumpled rice paper with her toe. "There is a problem with your orders," she said.

  Theodore looked down at the ground as though ashamed.

  "It is unworthy, but I am unhappy with the BattleMech that Father has assigned for me."

  "And what is it?" Florimel asked, though Constance was quite sure she already knew. Theodore's quick glance at his cousin showed that he thought the same. "A DRG-1N Dragon."

  "A noble choice and most symbolic. The Dragon is the symbol of our House and of the whole Combine."

  "And Father is very keen on symbols," Theodore said, shifting uncomfortably where he sat. "A Dragon is at the bottom of the heavy class of BattleMechs. I have little doubt that it was the least he felt he could give me and still maintain appearances. He probably wished he could have given me a light 'Mech, perhaps a Locust. After all, I am such a plague to him. Never good enough."

  Florimel quietly cut off Theodore's increasingly bitter speech. "You don't have to fight in it."

  Thrown off stride, Theodore paused with his mouth open.

  "Of course I do," he said, recovering a little.

  "Nonsense! A Kurita samurai has the privilege of fighting in any BattleMech he owns."

  "But I don't ..." Theodore began, puzzled.

  "It seems that this is registered on the rolls of the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery in your name." Florimel held out the hardcopy that Constance had printed for her. Attached to the cover was a pocket containing an iridescent data disk on which was emblazoned in black the alphanumeric code "ON1-K".

  "This is the technical manual for an Orion 'Mech," Theodore said in surprise.

  "I know what it is," Florimel conceded indulgently. "I had hoped to present it to you on a more auspicious occasion, such as your twenty-fifth birthday."

  She started to say more, but refrained when it was obvious Theodore had no attention for anything beyond what he held in his hands. While he paged through the manual, she exchanged amused glances with Constance.

  "This was General Kerensky's 'Mech!" Theodore blurted, eyes wide.

  "An amazing discovery, wasn't it?" Florimel inquired nonchalantly. "It was found on an asteroid during the course of a minor investigation I ran several years ago in the New Samarkand system."

  "You found a Star League depot and kept it secret?" Theodore's voice was full of disbelief.

  "Really more of a Star League junkyard. Nothing was functional. The 'Mechs and other equipment we found there were most likely cast off by General Kerensky and his loyal troops, jettisoned before they exited the Inner Sphere for parts unknown and left us to the Succession Wars. Likely they only had space for a limited amount of materiel.

  "The Orion was practically a shell, all its important parts removed or ruined. I could not offer such an empty gift, however. The 'Mech has been refitted by the finest technicians in the Combine and with the best equipment, including some brought from the Free Worlds League factory that is the last one in the Sphere producing Orions."

  "This is too great a gift," Theodore said, holding the manual out to Florimel. "I cannot accept it."

  Florimel ignored his outstretched hand. "In my eyes, you have earned it."

  Theodore dropped his arm. Constance could see through his show of humility that he was pleased with Florimel's gift and even more pleased to have her acknowledge his achievements.

  "You show greater concern for the heir than the Dragon himself," Theodore said, accepting the gift. His tone revealed a trace of bitterness.

  A slight frown crossed Florimel's face. "Try to understand him, Theodore. He has great concerns."

  "Too great to be concerned about his son."

  "Not too concerned to give you a good assignment," Constance interjected.

  Florimel glanced at her sharply, and Constance realized that she had revealed knowledge of Theodore's orders, which he had not yet given to them.

  Theodore showed no sign of having noticed. "Perhaps," he admitted grudgingly. "A command lance of my own choosing is an honor, and a posting to the Steiner border is certainly better than the tour of the Periphery border that I expected. Surely, with a battalion to command, I can win some honor for the Dragon against our hereditary foes in the Lyran Commonwealth."

  "And you will be near your fiancee," Constance added.

  "Soka," Theodore snorted. "That must be the old man's reason. He is so concerned that there be heirs. He must feel that if I am near the woman, I cannot but act as a rutting stallion." Theodore shook his head sadly. "As if he could take care of any heirs I produced. He cannot even handle his own."

  "His concern for heirs is valid," Florimel stated firmly.

  "Well, he needn't be so concerned," Theodore said, a wide grin beginning to show on his face. "I probably have many already. And I'm sure the ISF will keep him informed."

  "It is their duty," Florimel reminded.

  Theodore was silent for a moment, then he nodded. Whether in recognition or resignation, Constance could not tell. "Wakarimas. As it is my duty to carry on the seed of the Dragon."

  Theodore rose, loose-limbed and relaxed.

  "I have recently had what I believe is an offer in that department, so perhaps I'll do something about it." Consulting the timepiece in his ring, he added impishly, "And it seems I'm late."

  When Theodore had excused himself and left the garden, Constance stood and helped Florimel to her feet.

  "His spirits are lifted and he seems once more in control of himself," she offered.

  Florimel nodded. "As much as one in his position can be."

  7

  Lotus Theatre, Munich, Radstadt

  Rasalhague Military District, Draconis Combine

  29 July 3019

  The bearded man known as Diamond frowned, waiting for the last arrival. Opal was late, and the fat merchant was usually early. That might mean trouble if Opal had run afoul of the ISF. Diamond considered dispersing the gathered conspirators; the abandoned theatre might be a good place to hold a clandestine meeting, but they could not defend it if the ISF came calling.

  The banging of an open door caught by the wind announced Opal's arrival. He forced the battered door closed, shutting out the dismal, wet gloom. His feet made a squishing sound as he hustled through the lobby and seating area to join the others in the orchestra pit. Murmuring his apologies, the latecomer shook oily water from the slick surface of his foul-weather coat.

  At least the fool didn't wear that damning uniform this time, Diamond thought. The group humored the eccentricity when meeting on the merchant's home world, but here, in the shadow of the Black Tower, it was too dangerous. It was one thing to hold the meeting under the tyrant's noses, and quite another to flaunt it. If the authorities spotted such a blatant tie to the Free Rasalhague Underground, no amount of explanation would suffice. The merchant and anyone found with him would be tossed summarily into the Tower to join others who dared openly oppose the Combine government. Anyone who entered that grim, windowless concrete monstrosity never saw the light of day again, not even that of the dismal, cloud-shrouded local star.

  " 'Bout time you got here, Armandu," snarled a man in a military issue jumpsuit whose identifying rank and unit insignia had been carefully removed. The lack of markings did not disguise the fact that the hostile speaker came by his outfit legitimately.

  "Must I remind you about names again, Colonel?" the bearded man snapped. Over the past year, the Colonel had become increasingly intolerant of the need for secrecy. It was just one more sign that he considered himself vital to the cabal and that he expected much power in the new order.

  "No need to get testy, oh most noble leader," the Colonel replied sarcastically. "The
ISF goons would never think of listening for treason within earshot of the hell they built for political prisoners."

  "We must always be cautious," Diamond said.

  The Colonel shrugged his indifference and went back to scanning the summary brief that Diamond had provided earlier. Diamond decided not to press the issue.

  "Now that we are gathered ..."

  "Where is Ricol, uh, I mean Ruby," the soggy newcomer nervously interrupted.

  Diamond scowled. If it were not for the fool's money ....

  "As I told the others before you arrived, Opal, Ruby has business elsewhere."

  "Damned convenient," the Colonel growled.

  "Ruby has provided valuable assistance to us in certain ventures," Diamond said, more to remind and reassure the others than to placate the Colonel. The hard-faced military man and the aloof Duke Hassid Ricol had been at odds from the first.

  "Ruby's presence is unnecessary," Diamond declared. "So let us not descend to squabbling so early. I have good news."

  Expectant faces turned toward him.

  "Last week, final negotiations were completed for the marriage of Theodore Kurita and Anastasi Sjovold. The wedding is to take place in Palace Hall in the city of Reykjavik, former capital of the Principality of Rasalhague."

  Murmurs of jubilation and congratulations burst from the conspirators. They all knew the difficulty the negotiator had faced in gaining this concession. The agreement to hold the marriage in the Rasalhague District, rather than at the traditional site of Imperial City on Luthien, was crucial to their scheme. It meant that the highest nobles of the court would be traveling into the District, and if all went according to plan, many would never leave. Takashi Kurita had agreed to enter their trap.

  "Takashi," Diamond said. By uttering the name of the man they most despised, he seized his fellow conspirators' attention. "Takashi Kurita has agreed to the request of his cousin, our benevolent Warlord Marcus Kurita, to conduct an inspection of the District's military forces. The tour will take place immediately after the wedding and is to be conducted by the notable Tai-sho Vladimir 'Ivan' Sorenson, may ravens feast on the traitor's eyes.

  "By activating a sleeper agent in Sorenson's entourage, we can kill two Snakes with one blow. Our cause has been handed a most pleasing gift."

  "But when is this to happen?" someone asked insistently.

  "Soon. Now that arrangements have been completed satisfactorily, the Coordinator wishes no delays." Diamond paused to pick up a datapad. "We shall have to step up our timetable."

  An uncomfortable silence followed Diamond's announcement, and the conspirators looked nervously at one another. Opal broke the silence.

  "How soon?"

  "In two months," Diamond said softly.

  Agitated voices expressed alarm, just as he had expected. Unlike him, most of the group would not be able to return to their homeworlds to oversee final preparations and still get to the Rasalhague system in the time remaining. Individual components of their plan might be jeopardized by the need for haste. But, he believed, not dashed to ruin. The main portion of the plan remained sound.

  Out of the chaos came a voice, that of the fat plotter Opal. "I will provide funds for everyone to send priority messages through the ComStar communications system. We cannot allow the delays of interstellar travel to halt our divinely ordained mission."

  Diamond was surprised at the conviction in Opal's voice. Now that action was near, the man seemed possessed of an unexpected inner fire. Even as he began to wonder how to put this new fervor to use, the Colonel interrupted his thoughts.

  "What about the Heir Designate?" the man demanded. "Has there been time to ascertain the pup's stand?"

  "Not as well as I would like," Diamond admitted. He knew he had to distract their attention from the problems and refocus it on the possibilities of success. This was no time for defeatism. "But all the signs are positive. He has met Anastasi and raises no objections to the match. He even pays her formal court on his furloughs to Rasalhague. Most interesting is that he seems to be finding a favorable reaction among the general public. The people seem to take his estrangement from his father as a sign that he will be favorable to them."

  "The people are fools who don't understand what happens around them," sneered the Colonel, who obviously considered himself no fool.

  "Regardless, my friend," Diamond said quietly, not wanting to lose the thread he was weaving. "Theodore's estrangement is something we, ourselves, should find encouraging. The latest news may not be favorable for the people, but it certainly augurs well for us.

  "Our agents report that he has had another major argument with his father, this time over military matters along our border with the Lyran Commonwealth. Theodore believes that he discerns a weakness in House Steiner's troop distributions, one that could provide the opportunity to take the Tamar system and break the stalemate in that sector. The Coordinator explicitly forbids his son to take action and refuses to authorize any major incursions. I think it likely that Takashi remembers his own father's failed attempts to take that system. They were very costly to the Dragon. Our Coordinator shows little faith in his son's abilities, and seems skeptical that Theodore could better the efforts of the redoubtable Hohiro.

  "That leaves us with one very frustrated fellow. Our Theodore may be an astute military man, but he is a child when it comes to politics. I feel sure that he will welcome the removal of obstructions to his ambitions and will reward those who aid him. He will believe that our actions and support free him to pursue his military ambitions."

  "We do not need another Kurita tyrant," the Colonel ground out.

  "No, we do not," Diamond agreed. "We will not accept such a tyrant, but Theodore need not know that. When our position has been solidified and he has given Anastasi a child to inherit the throne, we will have no further need of him. Isolated from the court on Luthien, as he has been, he will have no friends to warn him and no allies to defend him. In his isolation, he will be vulnerable. Should it come to pass that he is branded a patricide, who would object when loyal citizens rise up and dispose of him?"

  8

  Draconis Military Starport, Reykjavik, Rasalhague

  Rasalhague Military District, Draconis Combine

  20 September 3019

  Ochre light from Rasalhague's midday sun flooded the great bay of the DropShip Mukade, overwhelming the glow of the light strips on the wall of the bay. The trip in from the station at the nadir jump point had taken three-and-a-half days, even at the 1.5 G acceleration Theodore Kurita had ordered from the Mukade's captain. The crew and his own MechWarriors had griped about the extra half-gee, but Theodore ignored them. Anxious to be down, he had made the descent from orbit seated inside his BattleMech and had freed it from its travel moorings as soon as the DropShip touched down.

  Now he sat in its cockpit, waiting for the bay doors to open wide enough to clear the machine's bulk. Around him the ship's crew were busy helping the Mech Warriors power up their machines and ready them for debarkation. The rest of the lance would not be off the Mukade for many minutes yet.

  The orange light of Rasalhague's distant sun reflected in sparkles from the lubricant-shiny metal of the ramp extenders, but automatic compensators kept the glare from Theodore's eyes as he pushed down on the throttle pedal, starting the 'Mech lumbering down the metal runway. BattleMech footsteps rang in dull thunder as the seventy-five-ton mass of armor and armament strode forth from the DropShip.

  Tai-i Tomoe Sakade stood on the ferrocrete near the 'Mech hangar, waving. She had left their assignment on New Caledonia weeks ago and traveled to Rasalhague. Once onplanet, she had begun liaison work with the Twenty-second Rasalhague Regulars on Heiligendreuz, the lance's next duty stop in Theodore's shuffle through the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery. Theodore keyed up the magnification as he slid the focus point of his head-up display onto her face. The image enlarged until it filled his screen, and her smile filled his heart. Theodore raised one of the Orion's tubular
arms and swung the medium-class laser back and forth to return her wave.

  As his olive-drab Orion began its trek across the landing field, Tomoe disappeared into the hangar building. Rather than switching to IR or light-amplification circuits to follow her progress in the darkness of the structure's cavernous interior, he elected to do something more useful. He began running his checklist of monitor circuits to verify that the machine had survived its transport across the gulf of space. All circuits read green on his status board. Good. No lengthy maintenance would be necessary, and he could shut down the machine as soon as it was safely parked.

  The heat indicator showed a level slightly higher than the maintenance manuals predicted for the 'Mech's current activity level, but Theodore wasn't worried. The discrepancy was due to the dark olive paint worn by the Orion. The paint had a lower albedo than the manuals recommended, but Theodore was happy to live with the increased solar heat absorption. He had spent weeks of patient research discovering the color scheme carried when the machine had served General Kerensky. Once the colors were authenticated, he had painted the 'Mech himself. Only the insignia were different. Instead of Star League markings, the Orion now carried the serpentine dragon of House Kurita. Within the gaping jaws of the dragon, clear upon the red field of the disk, was a silver star, the cadency mark of the Heir-Designate. He was very proud of the 'Mech and had named it the "Revenant."

  The "Revenant" entered the shadows of the hangar and headed for a gantry. With the delicate touch of an expert, Theodore maneuvered the blocky, humanoid 'Mech into the waiting cradles. As soon as the 'Mech was locked in, he cracked the access hatch at the back of the machine's "head" and squeezed his lanky body down the narrow, low corridor that led to the opening. Once outside, he kept his crouch until he was sure he would not clip his head on the rearward-projecting, rectangular horn that held much of the Orion's comm gear.