by Victor Milán
* * *
Robert Begay took a step back from the shattered hulk of the enemy 'Mech. He raised his hatchet, dripping his enemy's blood, in salute.
"Dah itsdd," he declared: death occurs. Then he punched out, half a heartbeat before his fusion engine suffered catastrophic decontainment and consumed the upper half of his machine in a blue-white flash.
* * *
The Guillotine's jump had not served to win the 'Mech free of Kali's attentions, but they did give the pilot the opportunity to turn his machine in midair and, finally, return her fire. Her 'Mech's fuselage rang and groaned under the impact of a rocket salvo.
"You're brave and good," Kali acknowledged as his large laser caused molten armor plate to stream down the Mad Cat's right flank. "But it's not enough."
Because Terry Carrington's Blackjack, after giving the fallen Jav a quick dose of laser fire as it struggled to rise, was ignoring the damaged smaller machine to concentrate its own battery on the jumping Guillotine. Its two large lasers drew lines on the Guillotine's body that glowed sullen red against the leaden sky, even as a hit from her PPC burned the armor-plate and myomer pseudomusculature completely away from its right thigh, exposing the endo steel skeleton beneath.
The Black Dragon heavy began to descend—right for Kali's canopy. Suicide plunge. "All right," she said. "We'll play it your way."
She flayed him with her entire arsenal at once, sending the heat-indicators soaring past the red line and making alarms scream in her ears. The cockpit became a tight, claustrophobic oven. Her sweat seemed to boil away from her skin.
The Guillotine's large laser sheared away her 'Mech's right arm. Its huge split spatulate feet filled her windscreen.
She pirouetted the 75-ton Mad Cat clockwise with the grace of a ballerina. The Guillotine's disabled right leg buckled as it slammed the packed ground where Kali's 'Mech had stood an instant before. Terry's Blackjack joined Kali in blasting open the Guillotine's back as it crumpled forward into a tangle of smoking metal ruin.
* * *
Terence O'Hanrahan was a skillful MechWarrior and a good commander. His MechWarriors were a mixed bag but not far off the mark of a DCMS regular unit. But demon circumstance had just flat caught them out.
They were never supposed to fight. They had been ordered into this op to show the flag for Kokuryu-kai and keep the always-arrogant DEST commandos from deciding they had done everything themselves. Everybody, including Kig-uri and his commander on the scene Daw, had expected the Caballeros to be surprised and overcome as they slept—to simply roll over.
They hadn't counted on Cassie—nor good old Southwestern cussedness.
That the gaijin had mounted any resistance at all caught the Black Dragons by surprise, and their DEST allies no less. And their prejudices had left them unprepared for the crazy savagery of the Caballero response.
Kashira Bates' medium lance had been frozen, uncertain which way to turn as gaijin 'Mechs struck out from both sides of the compound. A single Valkyrie sniping from among the parked' 'Mechs, and the sporadic SRMs fired by dismounted Caballeros out among the weeds, had added to their indecision.
Bates had no sooner decided to support his commander, and ordered his lance to the west side of the compound, than Gavilan Camacho led his 'Mechs—who had routed the Black Dragon light lance without loss—right into their rear. Though Bobby the Wolfs Nightsky was a write-off, and Kali's reactor shut down with her final blast at Soldaco's Guillotine, Terry Carrington's undamaged Blackjack was an ample anvil for Cabby's hammer to smash the Black Dragon lance against.
* * *
His gas mask pushed up on his curly red hair, the Rooster briefly gripped Cassie's right biceps. The left was unavailable, being firmly pressed against Johnny Tchang's side. "Good job," the Scout Platoon boss said.
Both ducked and winced to the crack of a medium laser going off nearby. Buck's Orion had literally blasted apart the nests of commandos dug into the clutter of the hangar with his shotgun-like LB-10X. Now he was neutralizing— that was a nice way to put it—individual holdouts one by one.
"We sprang the Voice of the Dragon security staff," the Rooster went on. "The DEST boys were holding 'em captive in their own barracks. They had our host Migaki locked up in his apartment, too."
He shook his head and grinned. "Our handsome friend Tak's mad enough to chew up Durallex and spit out bullets, let me tell you."
Cassie's grin of response bore only a passing resemblance to a pleasant expression. "He's not the only one."
"Jimmy Skowron tried to pass the word to the Dracs about what happened. Got somebody from Otomo who brushed him off."
"What about Uncle Chandy?"
The Rooster shrugged. "He's already off at the big dance with Teddy. Parade's already started."
"I guess you're going to be late," Johnny Tchang said. Cassie shot him a poison glare, then caught herself, smoothed the furrows out of her brow, and smiled. "Yeah," she said. "I guess we are."
Maccabee Bar-Kochba came limping by, supported by Sharon Omizuki. Both had taken part in the hangar attack, since Bar-Kochba wasn't spry enough to go climbing up the front of his Warhammer, and Sharon's Shilone was parked on an apron at Takashi Kurita Memorial Spaceport. The right leg of the Second Battalion commander's trousers were dark with blood. Still, Cassie had the impression maybe he didn't need quite as much help as Sharon was giving him. On the other hand, he didn't seem at all bothered by the fact.
"What happened?" Cassie asked.
"Grenade fragment got me in the ass," Bar-Kochba said in his gruff twang. "Reckon it's my fault for letting it get to be such a large target. But then, it's pretty well padded, too, so I guess it all evens out."
"So that's it," Sharon said, shaking her head in wonder. "We won. We actually took on DEST commandos and beat them."
"We've done it before," said a passing Caballero with studied nonchalance.
"Not only that," Johnny said. "You beat the Black Dragon Society—and saved the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine."
Bar-Kochba shook his balding sunburned head. "Who'd've thought it? Us saving the lord of all Snakes. Strange damn world we live in."
"I guess it doesn't matter now," Cassie said to Johnny as the injured officer and his helper continued on, "but I don't understand how what that metsuke woman told me fits with all this. What the hell was 'sadat?' "
Bar-Kochba stopped, turned. "Sadat, you said?"
For a moment Cassie thought he was trying to make a play on words. "Yeah. That agent the DEST hunters killed. She told me the code-word 'sadat' as if it was the key to the whole damn scam. Sub—that is, Drac intelligence turned up like three thousand references to the word when they ran a search on it, and if they ever figured out what its significance was, nobody ever told me about it."
The grizzled Mech Warrior frowned thoughtfully. "Well, that name's got a certain significance in our history—Jewboys, that is, not Southwesterners as a whole."
"What's that?"
"Guy named Sadat was the first Arab leader to make his peace with Israel, away back before the Big Sell-Out and the Second Diaspora." He chuckled and shook his head. "He was actually a real ring-tailed bastard, but you still got to give him credit for the courage it took to do that thing. And for a reward, his own bodyguard turned on him while they were passing in review one fine day and blew him straight into Allah's arms."
"Cassie," Sharon said. "What's the matter? Are you all right?"
"No." She felt as if she'd been simultaneously punched in the stomach and dipped in ice water. She waved at Rooster, who was a few steps away talking to Risky Savage in undertones.
"Call Billy Skowron, tell him to roust out Takura Migaki. We need that chopper of his."
"You need a pilot?" Sharon asked.
"Can you fly a helicopter?'
"Well—I never have. But flying's flying."
"Sharon, you're a Sierra Hotel aerospace jock, but this is no time for OJT. We need to get to Impy City now, even if we have t
o get Tak himself to fly us there."
"What's going on, Cass?" Bar-Kochba asked.
She turned him a face gone the color of rice paper. "It isn't over yet. Theodore Kurita's still in danger!"
31
Unity Square, Imperial City
Luthien
Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
1 July 3058
"
"Vono," an aide said, his head near Theodore Kurita's ear so that the Coordinator could hear his soft words over the constant susurration from the crowd and the rumble of the BattleMechs of the Seventh Imperial City Militia, proud veterans of savage street fighting against the Nova Cats during the Clan invasion, passing in review before the Imperial stands. "There has been some disturbance at Eiga-toshi. The Seventeenth Reconnaissance Regiment's appearance has been unavoidably delayed."
Standing near enough on the other side of the aide to hear, Shigeru Yoshida twisted his thin features in a sneer. He longed to be piloting his Cyclops at the head of his elite First Sword of Light regiment, which he still commanded, on this day of pride. The ritual obligation that forced him as chief Military Minister to be standing here passively in the stands while his 'Mechs marched past visibly chafed him.
"The turbulent yohei are making waves again," he said. "They're more trouble than they're worth. You should never have invited them."
Uncle Chandy lolled at ease among silken cushions— protocol be damned, though he pleaded arthritis of the knees—none too close on the other side of Theodore from the aide and Yoshida. He had a parasol shading him from the spring sun, which was already hot at this early hour. A pair of striking young women whom he swore to be his personal bodyguards stood flanking him and ministering to his wishes. They were clad in smart uniforms of gray and gold-trimmed maroon, with little short-billed caps. Somehow Theodore doubted that their purpose was militant.
"My loyal employees from the Southwestern worlds," Chandy said, sipping at a cool rum punch, "seldom start trouble, friend Yoshida. Yet I find them quite adept at stopping it."
Yoshida grunted and held his head up higher. He held the Coordinator's cousin in greater contempt than he held even foreign money-troopers. And that was great enough; he would only unbend for Wolfs Dragoons, and them only because their 'Mechs had fought beside his, saving the Black Pearl from the Clans.
Theodore looked around the grandstand, which was erected on the western edge of vast Unity Square, with the high east wall of the Palace grounds at its back and Otomo BattleMechs standing attentively at either end. It was comparatively small, meant to accommodate only a few hundred persons out of the vast crush attending the Coordinator's Birthday festivities: members of the Imperial household, high-ranking officials, various other dignitaries—including, to Theodore's vast distaste, Benjamin Inagawa, the prominent, ah, industrialist. At least his wizened little reptile of a partner Toyama isn 't on hand.
Though Voice of the Dragon sound and holo crews were everywhere, there was no sign of their master. That was unusual. While the propaganda chief tended to keep his own hours, as he did his own counsel, and punctuality wasn't the foremost of his virtues, Theodore seldom knew him to be tardy when there was a spectacle to capture with his holo-cameras, and later recast into something far grander and purer and more stirring than it actually had been.
The absence of Migaki's boss was less problematical. Ill health and the lower profile Subhash Indrahar had been keeping since rapprochement had been achieved with the Federated Commonwealth had kept the Smiling One away from these occasions for several years.
The militia 'Mechs passed, followed by a unit of conventional armored vehicles, track-laying and hovercraft, from Galedon V, which had been chosen by lot to receive the honor of taking part in this year's grand review. Beyond them two million exultant faces gazed at the war machines and the single man, still tall and slim, who ruled them all, the millions more packed along both sides of the parade route through the streets of Imperial City, and billions of souls beyond across a world and a vast volume of space.
Like a high-urban counterpart to Unity Park on the west side of the palace, with its birch trees and magisterial sequoias around Siriwan's Peace Pool, Unity Square was a patch of cement a kilometer on a side for holding massive rallies and ceremonies such as this one, to foster the collective spirit of the Combine people, to overawe the Dragon's enemies, and—most of all, Theodore suspected—to gratify the more-than-incipient megalomania that formed such a common component of Kurita character.
It took great force of will to ace all that adulation—far more than it took to pilot a BattleMech into combat against apparently hopeless odds. Despite his nightmares, and his fears that he was falling prey to the madness that sometimes seemed endemic among rulers of the Inner Sphere, one thing Theodore Kurita conspicuously lacked was megalomania. He derived no pleasure from having life-or-death power over billions of subjects—only a crushing sense of the responsibility he bore in trying to steer them safely through these increasingly desperate days. As for the adulation that emanated from the throng and washed over him more palpably than the stinging light of the sun, it made his skin creep with embarrassment.
This is my duty, he thought: to stand and be a symbol, a rock to anchor his people's hopes and buttress them against their fears. He must stand straight and display nothing but serene, composed confidence, no matter how he felt. Ninjo over giri, again.
The aide materialized at Theodore's elbow again. The Coordinator inclined his head slightly to listen.
"Tono, the Grand Marshal apologizes humbly and begs to report a slight change of precedence," the aide murmured. "Tai-sa Oda Hideyoshi has decided that he will best do honor to the Coordinator by inserting his special Battle-
Mech company into the procession ahead of schedule, right behind the Twenty-third Galedon Armored Regiment. Does this meet the Coordinator's approval?"
A corner of Theodore's mouth quirked up in a not-quite suppressed smile. The loyal old war-horse is impatient to show off, he thought. The showpiece of the Coordinator's Birthday Parade was to be the unveiling of seven of Luthien Armor Works' new OmniMech designs for the first time in public, piloted by Hideyoshi and eleven select Otomo MechWarriors. Presumably the Otomo commander was unaware that Uncle Chandy's mercenaries were going to be held up, and wanted to make sure the Coordinator's eye fell upon his new machines before it got a load of the Luthien Armor Works Naga knock-off the mercenaries had tested on Towne.
The request was irregular—but as Theodore knew too well, what would really be irregular was for anything as complicated as his birthday celebration to go off altogether as planned. Despite centuries of attempted regimentation, that was how things worked in the Draconis Combine: everything was intricately and meticulously scheduled, but nothing ever happened on schedule. And the Otomo traditionally obeyed no rule but the Coordinator's welfare and the Coordinator's pleasure.
"The Colonel has earned the right to serve the Dragon as he deems best," Theodore said. "Of course I approve."
* * *
"What's our ETA?" Cassie asked from the right-hand seat as the helicopter jumped into the smoke-scented air above Eiga-toshi. When Migaki converted his Warrior from an attack ship, he'd had the armor stripped off and the cockpit changed from tandem to side-by-side configuration. She did not need to shout or use an intercom to make herself heard above the nose of the contrarotating rotors. The Voice of the Dragon chief had added insulation to his moviemaking command craft too.
"A little over six minutes," said Takura Migaki. His handsome face was impassive, but very pale, and when he wasn't speaking his lips were almost white and almost invisible. Despite that he managed to look natty in blue blazer and fashionable black hakama with white circles on it. It took more than having his holovid complex invaded and personally being captured and threatened with execution to ruffle his fashion sense.
Cassie shifted the autoloading combat shotgun between her knees, since it did seem to make Migaki uncomfortable to h
ave its cavernous black muzzle pointed at his ear. She was still kicking herself for not thinking of it before going DEST-hunting. A standard load of buckshot would stand a lot better chance of incapacitating a target than a couple of penny-ante hits from a machine pistol, body armor notwithstanding. And she also had a couple of mags loaded with discarding-sabot rounds containing sharpened iridium drill-bit penetrators that would punch through anything short of a Clan Elemental's battle armor. Beyond that she had her vibrokatana slung over one shoulder and heavy autopistols in shoulder rigs under each armpit. She was ready for serious social work.
"If traffic control at Takashi Memorial doesn't decide we're a threat to the Coordinator and have us shot down," said Johnny Tchang, who was hunkered down behind the front seats looking between Migaki and Cassie.
Migaki didn't look back, but he grinned. "Nobody's going to shoot us down. I've got my special go-anywhere IFF transmitter keyed," he said. "There is nowhere in the Draconis Combine we can't go right now. I'm not Associate Director of the Internal Security Force for nothing."
"Speaking of which—" Cassie extended the earphone from her pocket com and stuck it in her ear. Then she keyed the special direct-access code Subhash Indrahar had given her.
"Indrahar," a voice answered. It was a familiar voice— but not the one she'd been expecting.
"Ninyu Kerai?" Both Migaki and Johnny were suddenly looking at her very intently. "What are you doing on this channel?"
"I might ask the same of you."
"I've been working with your father. There's a plot against Theodore—"
"I know about that. My father is dead. He left me a message."
Cassie briefly closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. And you don't know the whole scam. Kiguri planned to steal our 'Mechs and use them to assassinate the Coordinator. We wiped out his strike force. He didn't come himself, and he's still at large."
