Heir to the Dragon

by Robert N. Charrette

  Theodore burned with anger. If the Coordinator had been allowed to control the DCMS during this war, the Combine would have been devastated. Takashi did not understand the new army Theodore had built. If Theodore's agents had not prevented Takashi's orders from going beyond the palace on Luthien, the Combine would have been crippled, if not destroyed. All save the order to hold fast in Dieron had been inappropriate to the vital strategy Theodore was pursuing— and even the Dieron order had been given for the wrong reasons.

  Theodore had acted to save the Combine, and his face flushed with anger that his father could question that dedication. Feeling the warmth on his cheeks, Theodore was ashamed that he had let the emotion show. He was angrier still when he saw satisfaction flash into his father's eyes.

  "At least you have the grace to be embarrassed by your conduct," Takashi said harshly. "It is of little comfort. By ignoring me, you threw away a chance to rip out Hanse Davion's throat. Your retreat from Exeter was far too premature. Some have called it cowardly."

  The Coordinator continued to berate a silent Theodore. Takashi expressed his contempt for the Kanrei's strategic sense as demonstrated by his conduct of the war, detailing each and every military decision with accuracy that could only mean that the Coordinator had eyes and ears in Theodore's command staff. Takashi was too well-informed to have pieced the material together from individual officers, even if the Warlords had been his spies. Theodore was sure that Constance and her O5P would not have leaked such sensitive material. It could only mean that, in spite of the Director's assurances to the contrary, Subhash Indrahar continued to play his double game, balancing father and son to his own advantage and charting his own course for the survival of the Dragon.

  Takashi ranted on. The Coordinator's topic shifted from the poor military decisions to the failure of his son as a warrior. Takashi found Theodore's abandonment of the thrust into the Federated Suns particularly cowardly.

  After all these years, the man still did not understand. Theodore tried to push the emotion from his mind, to sink into the calm that would sustain him through what was to come. He was distracted by a sparkle of light from the crystal decanter. His eyes fastened on the convoluted patterns, following their angles. He studied their intricate precision, seeking regularity and pattern to slow his racing mind and to soothe his spirit. Perversely, his discomfort grew. Theodore started again to trace the flow of incisions in the surface of the bottle. A shape emerged amid the abstract angles of the pattern. He drew in his breath, his mind blazingly clarified. Takashi's words continued to hammer on Theodore's ears, but their pounding rhythm lost coherency. Takashi's surface sheen of contempt and disappointment slid away under Theodore's enhanced perception, laying bare the Coordinator's underlying, long-nurtured hatred and jealousy.

  Theodore's hand slid down to the holster at his side. The hard, cool ivory of the handgrip snugged firmly into his palm as he slipped the flap open and gripped the Nambu.

  Takashi stopped speaking. Their eyes locked. Theodore read pure contempt in his father's ice blue eyes.

  "So ka," Takashi said quietly. He straightened his shoulders, the years and faint signs of infirmity left by his stroke vanishing. He lifted his glass to his lips.

  Theodore drew his pistol, firing as the gun rose.

  Takashi fell over backwards, rolling toward the tall chair of state. He lay still. Glass shards stood like icebergs in a spreading sea of amber fluid. Time ceased to flow for Theodore, the instant frozen and he with it.

  From the gloomy upper rafters, a black shadow dropped to the floor, entering Theodore's consciousness before it reached his field of vision. The form crouched to absorb the force of its drop, then straightened smoothly, resolving into a human figure. The soft light of the room was absorbed by the dark clothing, obscuring all details save the hard, narrow shape of the sword hilt thrusting out over the shoulder. The apparition's face was masked, only the eyes visible: dark, lustrous, and utterly calm. Between them was a small black tattoo of a cat, its pose exactly like that of the one Theodore had seen hidden in the abstract design of the decanter's decoration. This person was a nekogami, a superb and implacable assassin, skilled at innumerable forms of death and at one with the darkness.

  "Iie, Tono," the shadow said in a soft, feminine voice. "You have given this into our hands. Your presence and participation are unnecessary and unwise."

  Theodore swallowed. His calm was cracking, leaving him too aware of the danger he faced. He turned his gun on the nekogami.

  "This is not my wish."

  The shadow stood silent, unmoving. By the dais, Takashi groaned.

  As if prompted by the sound, the nekogami said, "I do not understand, Tono."

  "There's been a misunderstanding. A well-meaning man took an initiative that was not welcome. He misread my intentions."

  "I have been contracted," the voice stated flatly. "The nekogami honor is bound to the completion of the contract. My death is bound to that of the man Takashi Kurita."

  "I will not be a party to his murder."

  The black-suited figure stiffened. Theodore tensed, then relaxed, sensing no impending attack. She bowed.

  "I believe I understand now," she affirmed in a voice so soft that Theodore almost missed the words. "It is most regrettable."

  The woman bowed again, deep and long. As she straightened, she tugged on something within her hood. She made no further movement.

  Theodore watched her eyes. They were pools of the night in which she had been nurtured. Her utter, unattached calm was gone, replaced by a strange sort of peace. Then the life was gone from those dark eyes, and her body started to crumple to the floor. Before the corpse hit the polished parquet, there was a flare from within the hood. The mask that had concealed her face dissolved, taking her features with it. None would ever know what face she had worn when she was not creeping among the shadows.

  The stench of burnt flesh filled Theodore's nostrils, nauseating and vastly out of place in the elegant Peony Room.

  70

  Unity Palace, Imperial City, Luthien

  Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

  9 January 3040

  Fuhito Tetsuhara and his dozen buso-senshi guards, the Ryu-no-tomo, or Dragon's Friends, bulled their way through the gathering of gawkers in the corridor leading to the Peony Room. Their 'Mechs and almost two dozen more waited outside the palace grounds, the piloted machines walking protective sentry. Fuhito fretted at the slow progress of his group, but was reluctant to force passage through the courtiers and functionaries. They all outranked him socially, and he had no idea what had happened in the room. He only knew that Theodore had headed there after ordering Fuhito to gather the warriors from the DropShip Tetsuwashi and follow.

  He had acted as quickly as possible, but it had taken precious time to unlimber the BattleMechs and march them from the port. The Kanrei had long outdistanced them. They had only reached the outer halls of the palace when the distance-muffled shot had reached his ears. The dismounted senshi had increased their pace, only to be slowed by the crowded corridors.

  The Otomo guards moved to refuse entrance to him and his group, but Theodore's raised hand stayed them. Relieved to see his lord safe within the room, Fuhito ordered the MechWarriors to aid the Otomo in guarding the door. He slipped between two brawny Otomo and entered the room.

  Fuhito scanned the room as he passed the guardsmen. He was shocked to see the state of the Coordinator. Takashi sat in his carved chair, bloodied and pale. A man wearing the master's insignia of the Brotherhood of Physicians and two red-robed Pillarine Adepts attended him, cleaning his cuts and dressing them with plastiflesh. Fuhito had seen enough injuries to know that at least one of those wounds was beyond the magic of the spray binding and would leave a scar.

  The obvious culprit lay sprawled near the center of the room. Two men were examining the body of the nekogami. A court functionary, his back to Fuhito, stood at the feet of the corpse, and Ninyu Kerai knelt near the body, exami
ning the gray ash near the disfigured face of the assassin. The redheaded ISF man said something to his companion that Fuhito could not hear.

  Theodore stood in conversation with his wife and his cousin Constance. As Fuhito approached, the Kanrei put down the decanter he was holding and turned to face him. He acknowledged Fuhito's bow with a nod.

  "Sho-sa Tetsuhara, I've a different task for you than I expected. I want you to take temporary command of the Otomo. Chu-sa Ii has found the attack on the Coordinator beyond his honor."

  "Hai!" Fuhito was surprised by the order. He was not surprised that the Otomo commander had committed seppuku for his failure to protect the Coordinator. That was expected. But to do so before the investigation was completed and all were certain that the Coordinator was safe? Chu-sa Ii had shown a shocking lack of sense for his duty, an unbalanced sense of honor.

  "Have the corridors cleared," Theodore continued. "Assure everyone that the Coordinator is safe. I will have a public announcement at ..." He looked at Constance with a raised eyebrow.

  "We should be finished here in an hour, Tono," she replied to his unspoken question, turning from the Pillarine jukurensha to whom she had handed the decanter.

  Theodore consulted his ringwatch before finishing the sentence he had left hanging. "Six."

  A new presence intruded on the small group, the functionary Fuhito had seen near the body. Fuhito realized with a shock that the man was Subhash Indrahar, the dreaded Director of the ISF. Behind the Director and to one side stood Ninyu, showing no sign of his usual sarcastic half-smile. "Do you think that wise, Kanrei?" Subhash queried. "The Coordinator's injuries from the shattered glass and his subsequent fall are light, but he is dazed and disoriented. He will not be ready to speak so soon."

  Fuhito watched their eyes lock, felt the play of ki energy between them. Absorbed with trying to interpret the energies, he started when Theodore spoke.

  "I'm doing what I deem necessary."

  "Very well," Subhash said quietly. He adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles, seating them more firmly. "You seem to be well-supplied with advisors whose words you heed. I will attend to the Coordinator."

  Theodore paused a moment, seeming to weigh the Director's words. "I understand," he said finally.

  Subhash bowed, brief and shallow, then turned his back on them. The Director strode directly across to the group around the Coordinator, dismissing the Pillarines. Ninyu watched, shifting his attention between the Kanrei and the Director. His face was stiff, as though he fought to control his thoughts. Reaching a decision, he cleared his throat.

  "Kanrei," he began, holding out a packet wrapped in plain white silk. "Here is something for Michi Noketsuna."

  Theodore accepted the offering and looked questioningly at Ninyu.

  "It's some information that might be of interest to him. Recordings made by one Jerry Akuma. It seems that Akuma felt it necessary to secretly record his meetings with certain persons. The recordings are quite revealing. There is, of course, a copy for you. It may tell you something about your father as well."

  "Domo, Ninyu-kun. I hadn't thought you interested in helping Michi-kun."

  "I'm not, but these recordings may encourage him to slither back under the rocks he crawled from. The Dragon will be better off without him and the bad company he keeps."

  "These are not fabricated, are they?" Constance asked. Her voice contained only curiosity, but Fuhito suspected her words held more. Once again, he was out of his depth among the subsurface meanings that seemed to fill the court and ensnare the lords of the Dragon.

  "The truth is damning enough," Ninyu snapped. He stepped back, and without bowing first, walked halfway across the room before stopping. He seemed unwilling to join those around the Coordinator, but in his covert glance back to Theodore, Fuhito saw his reluctance to return to the Kanrei's group. He stood in the middle of the room for a moment, indecisive. Then he settled his shoulders and strolled slowly out past the Otomo.

  "There is trouble brewing," Constance warned. "He is both more and less than one of your companions. Trust him with little."

  "I trust him as I must," Theodore stated. "He's completely loyal to the Dragon. As long as the Combine's survival is threatened, he will never betray it."

  "He is a small spider, learning the ways of the master weaver at the heart of the web," Constance observed. "He and his teacher may not see your interests and those of the Dragon as one and the same."

  Theodore shook his head. "I can't afford to worry about that now. Besides, he won't be a danger for some time to come."

  "Any time is too soon," Tomoe asserted.

  "That is true, To-chan. But we must deal with the present right now. The future must wait for tomorrow." Without looking at Fuhito, Theodore added, "Isn't that right, Fuhito-kun?”

  "Hai, Tono!"

  71

  Unity Palace, Imperial City, Luthien

  Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

  18 June 3040

  Piotr Hitsu, the man Theodore knew as a kuromaku of the yakuza, entered the audience chamber only after the guards had withdrawn from the room. Hitsu looked worn, aged more than the years since their last meeting could rightly claim. The kuromaku walked slowly across the floor, his limp more pronounced than when the two had met on Corsica Nueva.

  A young boy followed him into the chamber. The boy, impeccably attired in a brilliant white kataginu, was dark-complexioned and thin, clearly no relation of the stocky, pale Hitsu. Something about the boy's face reminded Theodore of one of the oyabun that Hitsu had gathered into an alliance to serve the Combine. The lad, nervous and ill-at-ease in the formal garb, carried a half-meter cube whose shiny, lacquered surface reflected the surroundings as perfectly as a silvered mirror.

  The kuromaku approached the platform where Theodore knelt. From three meters away, he bowed. He came forward another two steps and bowed again before kneeling.

  "I'm pleased to see you again, Hitsu-san," Theodore began affably. "It's been too long since we have talked face to face as friends should."

  "You friendship honors an undeserving old man, Kanrei."

  "Nonsense. Have you brought word from the oyabun? They have been silent and invisible these last few months."

  "Things will soon be as they were, Kanrei." Hitsu smiled weakly. "Assuming the satisfactory conclusion of today's business."

  "If not word from the oyabun, what then is today's business, Hitsu-san? Your request for this meeting was not specific."

  "The business is honor," Hitsu informed him. The kuromaku settled himself firmly, resting his palms on his legs just above his knees. He drew a deep breath, and letting some of it loose in a sigh, stared directly at Theodore. The old man's dark mahogany eyes glinted harshly. "Honor and apology."

  Hitsu waved the boy forward. With awkward movements the boy rose, padded forward softly, and placed the box on the dais, just to Theodore's right. He bowed raggedly before returning to his place behind the kuromaku's left shoulder.

  "Nezumi-san has atoned," Hitsu stated.

  Theodore didn't need to look into the softly humming box to know that it held the refrigerated head of Yasir Nezumi. The oyabun had paid for his ambitious mistake with his life. He also suddenly realized that the boy must be Nezumi's son.

  "Nezumi-san was rash," Hitsu continued. "But he was mine as oyabun of the oyabun." The old man ignored Theodore's start at his announcement.

  "Nezumi-san's shame is canceled by his act. My shame remains. As his oyabun, his actions are my actions, and his honor is mine.

  "He used your name in unknowing contravention of your will. His ignorance was, of course, no excuse. He acted without my permission or consent, which he would not have received even had I knowledge of his plans. But neither is my ignorance an excuse."

  As he spoke, Hitsu removed a pair of white handkerchiefs from an inner pocket, one silk and one cotton. He laid them on the floor in front of himself, silk to the left, cotton to the right.

  "This is unn
ecessary," Theodore protested, suddenly aware of the old man's intent. Yubitsume. The ritual finger-cutting atonement of the yakuza. Though he wished to forbid the action, he knew that it was bad form to refuse. And this man was necessary to Theodore, to the Combine. If Theodore refused his offering, the old man's sense of honor would be outraged. Hitsu would slit his belly in shame. Theodore could not allow that. Even before he had known that Hitsu was oyabun of the oyabun, he had felt that the man's resources, advice, and knowledge were immensely valuable to the Combine. "Your intent is sufficient for me, Hitsu-san."

  The old man closed his eyes briefly, but said nothing. Instead, he removed a plain, scabbarded knife from within his jacket. With deliberate slowness, he freed the shining steel from the lacquered wood. Placing the scabbard at his left side, he laid the knife down at his right knee, edge toward himself. Hitsu placed his palms flat against the tatami mats and bowed deeply. He straightened and extended his left hand, palm down and fisted except for an extended little finger, to rest on the mat. He took the knife in his right hand, reaching across to rest the edge against the first joint.

  Theodore dropped his eyes and nodded, unwilling to let the old man mutilate himself more than the minimum. He heard the crackle of cartilage as the blade bit home. When Theodore looked up again, Hitsu had wrapped the cotton cloth around his shortened finger, holding its loose ends in his fist. The old man pushed forward his offering, wrapped in the silk handkerchief.

  "Please accept my apologies."

  Theodore reached out and took the offering. He placed it by his right side, next to the lacquer box. Unsure of the proper ritual response, he bowed.

  "Domo, Tono." Hitsu bowed. "Honor is satisfied, and I have business that requires my attention. With your permission?"

  Theodore nodded. The oyabun of the oyabun stood stiffly and walked from the room clothed in his dignity, his shame washed away in blood. The boy, green-faced, followed.

  The Kanrei remained kneeling, contemplating the box and the small white package with its incarnadine stain at one end.