Heir to the Dragon

by Robert N. Charrette

  14 February 3033

  Theodore watched the screen relaying the main viewer signal from the bridge of the DropShip. The stars disappeared as the ship's bow entered the docking tunnel. The channel monitoring the ship's progress switched to the debarking bay as the DropShip shuddered to a halt, gripped in the rotation of the asteroid.

  The long trail through the Kurita underworld was coming to an end. The nearly two years of tricks and traps and bluffs were over. He and Michi had come to the asteroid belt of the Corsica Nueva system, having finally engineered a meeting with the kuromaku, the fixer who could accept their proposals and act as their contact to the federation of gangs, the Seimeiyoshi-rengo.

  Theodore unstrapped and readied himself. His rough soldier's garb was no longer appropriate. Today, he wore a fashionable business suit of dark cashmere. His silken cravat was held in place with a stick pin of onyx and gold depicting the Kurita Dragon. He checked his appearance in the silvered foil mirror of the tiny washroom, and then keyed open the compartment's door. Michi Noketsuna awaited him in the corridor. Michi, too, was immaculately dressed, though his white-irised eye lent him a sinister air. Without a word, they walked to the hatch.

  Three men in dark suits met them as they exited the docking bay. Theodore was pleased to see that each wore a different lapel pin. The years of groundwork had paid off; a coalition of gangs was forming.

  Though no names or ranks were mentioned, the three men were unfailingly polite as they led Theodore and Michi through the arrivals complex. Theodore disrupted the smooth march as he stopped to take in his first view of the almost legendary Mizutoshi.

  In the center of the hollowed asteroid was the great solarsphere, a Star League-vintage artifact that lit the day cycle of the hidden city. Under its soft glow, Mizutoshi sprawled in a blaze of attractions. All manner of vices were catered to by the yakuza who ran the asteroid. Theodore could see the first emissaries of the city's flesh trade notice his hesitation. Extravagantly dressed men led scantily clad women toward the new arrivals, each group eyeing the others competitively. The nearest began to extol the virtues of his merchandise, but the man went silent at a head shake from the leader of their escort. The others followed his example. The panderers stood restlessly, their greed warring with their fear of approaching the group around Theodore.

  Theodore allowed himself to be urged forward. Three more men, with three varied lapel pins, waited by a huge, black turbofan car. Its manufacturer's plates indicated an origin in the Lyran Commonwealth. The model was only a year old, a blatant sign of yakuza power and influence. There had been little trade with the Commonwealth since '28, even less in such luxury goods.

  Their escort entered the car, brushing down the main seats as they settled in the waiting jump seats. At their urging, Theodore got in, with Michi thumping down beside him. Two of the three men who were waiting with the car took seats on either side of the visitors, closing the doors behind them and shutting off the sounds of the busy city. The last seated himself in the enclosed compartment with the driver. At his signal, the driver engaged the fans. Dust rose sluggishly around the vehicle as it lifted. Though the whine of the lifting fans went unheard, their thrumming vibration could be felt slightly through the vibration dampers of the Steiner luxury vehicle.

  The aircar cut through the clear, recycled air of Mizutoshi, the driver expertly compensating for the effects of the asteroid's tight rotation. As they slowed for their landing on a private platform of what was obviously a luxury hotel, Theodore's practiced eyes noted the bulges and panel lines that marked concealed sensor and weapon ports distributed around the landing area.

  The car settled gently, and the waiting groundcrew had the doors open before the fans had stopped. Theodore stepped out, suddenly reminded of his location by the noticeably lighter gravity here on the upper story of the building. He was given little time to admire the view before he and Michi were ushered inside to the executive suite, an elegant room paneled with mirrors and fine-grained wood. One of the mirrors had a control console indicating that it doubled as a viewscreen. Before that wall stood a table on which an antique samovar gurgled as it performed its function. The outer wall of the room consisted of a single window, offering a superb view of Mizutoshi.

  Three more men in black suits were waiting for them. Theodore recognized all of them from previous dealings. They were all oyabun, gang leaders, of considerable stature in the underworld. Theodore was surprised that one of them was Yasir Nezumi, the man who had refused to see them at the start of their odyssey. The yakuza chiefs and their guests bowed formally to each other.

  "It was great kindness to allow us to visit today," Theodore said, offering a small, rice-paper wrapped package. It contained nine thousand K-bills, but the yakuza who accepted the package did not bother to look at the contents before placing it in the drawer of a table by the door.

  "Please be seated," another oyabun said, indicating a pair of plush chairs separated from an arc of nine straight-backed chairs by a glass-topped table. A tenth chair, an overstuffed monstrosity of garish upholstery and crudely carved wood, sat between the arc and the table. As he and Michi took their places, Theodore observed that none of the oyabun sat in the armchair.

  "You have no complaints of your reception?" one of the oyabun asked, beginning an interview that covered most of Theodore's interaction with the yakuza during the time he was seeking this meeting. The atmosphere alternated between tense hostility and relaxed friendliness. He was grateful for Michi's coaching in the proper attitude to take. He was careful to note which of the oyabun spoke often and which rarely. Michi had warned him that a paucity of speech would mark the more highly placed chiefs, though they, as guests, would not be expected to show the same restraint. Yasir Nezumi only asked one question. Finally, Theodore and Michi's answers seemed to satisfy the group.

  Though Theodore had seen no signal, the nine yakuza stood up simultaneously. Theodore and Michi also rose when the kuromaku entered the room. A short, blocky man with a bull neck, he walked with a slight limp.

  "Green tea for our guests," he said, settling into the overstuffed armchair across the glass-topped table from Theodore and Michi. He motioned for them to take their own seats. Behind him, the nine yakuza oyabun remained standing. Small talk about the trials of interstellar travel and life in a large city occupied them until the first cup of tea was drunk and a tray of sweets brought.

  The kuromaku settled back. Theodore placed his tea cup on the table, prepared to listen.

  "I grew up poor," his host began. "My family had little, often only pickles and rice to eat. My father was an educated man, a teacher at Luthien University, but he lost all to gambling. I do not have the education he had, but I've done the reverse.

  "I started as a strong-arm. Life was simple then. Very simple. I was simple, too. An acquaintance introduced me to the yakuza. When I agreed to join, I had no idea what it would be like. I started by cleaning floors. Soon I progressed. Every day at five in the morning I would wash windows. Cold water, cold weather. It was very severe training. It's not so hard these days.

  "My gang is old. Its lineage goes all the way back to Terra. It is a proud heritage. Pride is something you understand, my friend." The kuromaku sipped his tea. "I don't require you to tell me your story."

  Theodore's immediate reaction was relief. He felt uncomfortable with the tale he and Michi had developed. Then something in his host's tone registered, and suspicions suddenly flared in Theodore's mind. "Do you know who I am?"

  "Of course," the kuromaku said, nibbling at a sweet roll. "Courtesy of the Kereikiri-gumi out of Marfik. They are very enamored of you. Others think that you should be ignored, that you have no real claim on us. If I thought you were who you pretend to be rather than who you are, there never would have been a meeting. But I was satisfied, and impressed, by your persistence. Thus we meet today to talk about what can be done to our mutual advantage."

  The kuromaku wiped his hand on a napkin. Raising a finger,
he sent one of the oyabun to the ancient samovar to draw tea for his guests and himself.

  "You see, we are in trying times. Young men are less loyal these days, harder to control. I try to take in many, to show them the right path. It is my hope that they will do the same with the next generation. Beyond that, a man can have little expectation of affecting the future.

  "I am a traditionalist, a firm believer in the old ways of giri and chivalry. Ah, I knew you would approve. But these are difficult times, and we do have to adjust. Sometimes we do things that will make a bad impression, but we are trying to fulfill our role. We would like to be appreciated for the vital part we play in our community."

  "Kuromaku-sama is a gentleman," Nezumi interrupted. The elder yakuza smiled indulgently.

  "He certainly is," Theodore agreed. At least on the surface. He is a fine dresser with polite manners and an excellent sense of hospitality.

  "Domo," the kuromaku said. "You must understand that the Seimeiyoshi-rengo is loyal to the Dragon. Our connections let us see much, and we are well aware of the dangerous waters where the Dragon now swims. The powers in Luthien scorn our aid. So we are most pleased that you are receptive.

  "We shall drink on it."

  He nodded to Nezumi, who left the room briefly and returned with a lacquered tray bearing a steaming sake flask and a single cup. A towel was draped over each of Nezumi's arms. As he placed the tray on the table, Michi removed a small wooden box from his jacket. He took out the ceramic cup it held and passed it to Theodore, who placed it on the tray. The kuromaku smiled benignly as he poured sake into the cups. Theodore noted that he was careful to ensure that the amount of rice wine in each cup was exactly equal, the sign of equality between gang bosses when they drank to seal treaties.

  "We drink," the kuromaku said, lifting the cup Michi had produced. "I from your cup and you from mine, affirming our loyalty to the spiritual family that is our homeland."

  He tossed back his cup. Theodore did likewise.

  The kuwmaku refilled the cups for a second round. This time, he poured slightly more into Theodore's cup than into his own.

  "Now we drink to show our loyalty and devotion to the Dragon." They drank.

  The kuromaku took the cloth offered by Nezumi and carefully wrapped his cup inside it. He tucked the package inside his kimono. Theodore followed his host's example, wrapping his cup in the offered cloth and placing it in a pocket.

  The kuromaku settled back in his chair. "Now let us talk business."

  BOOK 3

  Audacity

  47

  Unity Palace, Imperial City, Luthien

  Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

  18 August 3033

  Theodore raised his eyes to the ceiling of the great chamber. Even lit with hundreds of globular paper lanterns, the dark wood rafters held their shadows and secrets. Like the Combine itself, he thought. Like myself

  Beneath those rafters, a throng milled. In the traditional fashion, one side of the room was predominantly filled by men, some in formal dress and some in ancient Japanese style. The garments were radically different in cut, but the colors were much the same, blacks and grays and black-striped grays, a stark and formal patterning that offset the varied skin colors of the nobles, officers, and courtiers gathered for the occasion. Across the hall, the women gathered in constantly reforming clumps. With most dressed in formal kimono, they were like a bouquet of summer flowers, far outshining the masses of sunflowers set about for decoration.

  The mood was happy and celebratory. Understandably so, for the Coordinator's birthday remembrance was the most lavish festival on the Combine calendar. Even in the worst moments of his feud with Takashi, Theodore had received a perfunctory invitation. There had never been a personal message, but his father could not ignore the importance of the Prince and Heir-Designate's appearance at the function. The three-day-long festivities were one of the few occasions when Theodore was invited to the Combine capital. Even his own birthday celebrations were often held without him. He did not mind overly; in fact, he had preferred to avoid Luthien since that painful occasion of his banishment to the Legion of Vega.

  There was little Theodore regretted about his absence from the Court. His foremost sorrow was that he saw little of his mother. Even on those occasions that he visited the capital world, Takashi's shadow always seemed to come between them. He also missed his favorite cousin Constance, but at least they kept in contact through letters, holo-messages, and couriers. His mother wrote, too, but Theodore suspected that Takashi edited all such communications.

  Since his appointment as Kanrei three years ago, Theodore had not attended the Coordinator's birthday festivities. He knew that his absence fueled the talk of division within the clan and further incensed his father, but he had more important things to do than pander to his father's vanity. He had, of course, sent appropriate presents and the formal poem wishing the Coordinator good health and long life. They had not been well-received. Constance had described how Takashi ordered the Lord Chamberlain to burn the poems and send the presents to the most remote storehouses. Theodore didn't understand the excessive reaction, but then, Takashi had been given to excesses since the war.

  This year was to be different. Previously, he had chosen to be occupied elsewhere, but now, of his own choice and in his own strength, Theodore had come. With his plans progressing so well, he had reached a turning point that made his presence on Luthien the best way to advance the situation. It was time to take a step out of the shadows.

  He turned his gaze to where the Dragon Throne stood in splendor on the tatami-covered dais. Behind the carved teak chair was a wall of ebony bearing a four-meter disc of gold-rimmed carnelian. Flecks of ruby mapped the suns of the Draconis Combine among the pale mosaic chips of the background. On that field coiled the serpentine dragon of House Kurita, its elaborate shape picked out in scales of enameled metal, each gold-rimmed and patterned. The teeth of the Dragon's gaping jaws were flawless ivory and its eye was an amethyst, the continents of old Terra standing in carved relief above the smooth polished surface of seas. Takashi sat on his throne like the monarch he was, imperious and domineering. His black-dyed daigumo silk kimono flashed highlights from its folds whenever he shifted in his seat. The black-striped gray kataginu and hakama of his kamishimo were of a matte finish, superbly setting off the shine of his underrobe. His once-raven hair was shot through with white, and the white patches at his temples had increased. The war had worn him. The war and his stroke. Once he had scorned the chair and had knelt like a samurai lord of old. Now, with his weakened leg, he could not kneel through a whole day of ceremonies. Any attempt to do so would fail, and the failure would embarrass him. The Dragon would never allow weakness to show; always he sought to give the appearance of strength. Appearances.

  That I have learned from you, Father. Appearances are important. But you must learn that they are not everything.

  Subhash Indrahar stood on the dais near the throne.

  You, too, play with appearances, my old mentor. You have aided me in keeping secrets from my father. What secrets do you keep from me? Is there something you could tell me about Ninyu Kerai, who stands at your side? Constance says that you have recently adopted him, making him your heir. I had considered him one of my shitenno, a trusted, if headstrong, companion. Do you seek to turn him from me? Or has he always been your agent among those who stand by me?

  What is real and what illusion, master of the shadows?

  Across the room, Subhash turned. His eyes met Theodore's and he smiled. Startled, Theodore broke eye contact, suddenly finding interest in the shuffle of courtiers at the five steps leading up to the dais. The nobles had already presented their gifts to functionaries who meticulously recorded details of each gift and its value. Now, each in turn at the call of the Lord Chamberlain, they came to present the Coordinator with a poem of praise and good wishes. Most read from papers they carried with them, but some few spoke from memory, and one or two clea
rly composed their odes on the spot. The Coordinator's fondness for poetry was well-known, and Theodore knew that his father put great store in a man's ability to compose poetry extemporaneously. It was only one more area in which Theodore had failed to satisfy him. He had no talent at all for verse.

  At last, the line dwindled and the court poet finished reading the greetings of absent lords. The Lord Chamberlain nodded to Theodore. He stepped forward, well aware of the multitude of eyes following his progress across the hall. With absolute correctness, he bowed as he reached the stairs and again when he stepped onto the dais. He made a third bow halfway to the throne.

  "O-medeto, Coordinator," he said in a voice pitched to carry no further than the immediate area. "My talent for poetry is so poor that I have prepared another sort of presentation for you."

  Takashi stiffened, but Theodore ignored the reaction. "You have long hoped for a legitimate heir to carry on the clan after you and I have gone onward along the wheel. Today, I bring you that wish. I have a son for you to meet, an heir for the Dragon Throne."

  "I have known of your bastards for some time. They are not welcome here," Takashi snarled. "This is poor joke."

  "It is no joke," Theodore returned calmly. "Any bastards of mine are, indeed, of no consequence. But I have a legal heir, born of my legal wife."

  "Impossible! You are unmarried," Takashi snapped. "Indrahar would have told me."

  "It is true, Tomo." Subhash bowed so that he did not see the fury flare in Takashi's eyes, but Theodore had no doubt that the ISF Director knew what reaction his words would bring. Subhash straightened, his face and manner unperturbed. The Chamberlain and the poet padded down the steps, wisely exiting what could soon become a battleground. Takashi turned on Theodore, hard-eyed.

  "Who is this woman?"

  "Tomoe Sakade." Theodore held his head high. "You are foolish as ever," the Coordinator said to his son. "I will have this marriage annulled."