On the other hand, he really needed to return to Fuyūyōsai, his ancestral home on Taiumikai. It was about more than burying his father and formally taking the mantle of Uchū Shōgun and the barony of the Shiragawa Zaibatsu. If Baron Zhào was coming after them—as he would be once his spies discovered whatever this Fukuro Project was—then they would have two enormously powerful enemies instead of one. Aunt Aki was right, if he didn’t do all of these things and rebuild the coalition his father had, then Mitsugawa Ichiro would be the last head of his House. It was a shame he could not bear, yet his heart and his desire for revenge cried out to follow it to Elmorus.
Why hadn’t he heard from her? Not since the day after his father died, in fact, had they had any contact. What if she was hurt? What if she needed him? Could he live with the knowledge that he let his obligations kill the woman he loved? Discounting his personal feelings, could he let her mission fail?
“You look troubled,” his aunt said.
“I am.”
“Your troubles are multiplying, true, but you must steel yourself against them. The retainers will only accept me as Reagent, they will not follow my lead as long as the heir to Mitsugawa Yoji lives. Do you understand? Your place is here, must be here. You must return.” Her eyes burned with force, unforgiving as she stared at him.
“I—” he hesitated, something stopping him from committing himself to the return trip. Had she just said she could not rule in his stead while he lived? Did he have to worry about his own aunt now as well as Zalor and Zhào?
That’s ridiculous, he thought. Aunt Aki had always been a hard-ass and a stickler for the rules of tradition, but she’d never want to overthrow the Mitsugawa line. She was married, with children of her own—his cousins—and was as loyal as anyone could ask for. Obligation, both familial and feudal, demanded her loyalty. She would never go against her traditional nature like that.
I must be tired, overwhelmed, to think such a thing, he decided. He had to go home, he had to—yet the words would not come from his mouth to commit him to that course. It felt wrong.
“Aunt,” he said. “I will make it to Taiumikai as soon as it is feasible to do so. I promise.” It was a non-committal answer. He hoped Aunt Aki, as sharp as she was, couldn’t see through his obfuscation.
“Very well,” she said after regarding him for an uncomfortable time. She bowed deep, but not as deeply as Mizushima and Hamazaki had, and vanished.
They were waiting for him when he emerged from the q-comm chamber.
“My lord?” Mizushima-Taisa said.
He took a deep breath and looked at Mamiya-san. His red-black eyes had the same expectant stare as the other two. They were all looking to him to decide, to set their course.
“I need to review that athenaeum, and I need—” he hesitated, not wanting to admit he was exhausted from his talk with Aunt Aki and required time to think; to weigh things out. It was so much easier on Kosfanter. Cylus was usually the one who thought and worried too much. It wasn’t a role he was comfortable with, but he refused to be cawed by it.
“There is an athenaeum reader in your quarters, Mitsugawa-uesama,” Mamiya replied.
“Show me.” Had he read him that easily? If so, he could see why his father recommended this man so highly.
“With your leave, Mitsugawa-uesama,” Mizushima said.
Ichiro gave him a nod. Both he and Hamazaki-san bowed to the waist and headed off at a brisk pace.
“I take it Mitsugawa Aki was the same as she always is,” Mamiya-san said.
“Yes.” He frowned.
Mamiya nodded, thoughtfully. “This way, my lord.”
Ichiro’s “quarters” consisted of a central meeting room large enough to host twenty in comfort, six adjoining rooms of varying purpose, six bedrooms down a short hall, a private bathroom, a proper bathing room with a 360-degree shower ring and tub, a private kitchen, and a private washroom for the family laundry, and a study with a low desk and a comfortable floor pillow before it. In essence, it was a large apartment set in the fore section of the ship. He had never thought of it before, but as he walked around it now dressed in his black-silk happi it occurred to him that the private apartments of his House were a bit on the large side for a star ship, especially since the family on board consisted of only himself.
Mamiya had abandoned him to himself, insisting on staying in the meeting hall while he went about viewing the athenaeum crystal matrix with the reader in the study. It had given Ichiro the impression that there wasn’t much on it to review, an impression that proved to be a mistaken one after he pushed the crystal slide into the fitted slot in the box of the faux-wooden covered reader on the desk. It linked with his implant, and three hours later he made it through the text, audio, and holographic recordings housed within the crystal. Each one revealed a little more of his father’s world and secrets he had, at most, hinted at but never revealed to his son. At the end of it all, Ichiro leaned back on his folded legs and took a deep, calming breath.
There was so much going on. He felt as if every time he grasped one part of the web his father had spun to catch and destroy Zalor Revenant, he lost another part to the dark recesses of his mind. That was bad enough, but the plans went far beyond simply eliminating their life-long rival. His father was going to change the galaxy with the Fukuro Project and other things like it. Once Zalor was out of the way, it seemed, a whole new future would be open to the Confederation. His father was going to make a better galaxy—until Zalor had cut all of that off and denied all of them the future by killing his father.
Ichiro squeezed his hands into fists, resting them on his thighs while he fought back the wet sting in his eyes. His throat constricted as images of his father lying broken and bloody in the Cronus’ fountain flashed into his mind. He fought the surge of emotion threatening to explode out of his chest in a long, wailing scream. He couldn’t allow it, not as the Mitsugawa’s son, and certainly not as the Mitsugawa. He had to be the pillar that held up his House—had to be—there was no one else. It was the ultimate obligation, and as such he had to obey its dictates; but what were they? Did they tell him to go home and assume his responsibilities from there? Or did they tell him to go to Elmorus and help to avenge his father’s death?
He turned each possibility over in his mind again and again. He had to protect the zaibatsu, it was the fount from which his House drew its strength. He had to ward off whatever Zhào was doing, and fight Zalor as well. Now that he’d reviewed the crystal, he knew the tools his father had left him, just not how to use them. Thinking about it started the tide of fire in his gut rising again, and once more he had to spend time tamping it down, keeping the surface of his being calm lest he lose control and bring shame on his House. It fought back, but after a time he was certain he had the writhing emotion under control again.
He found Mamiya in the meeting room exactly as he left him, standing by its long, low table with his hands held behind his back and feet shoulder-width apart.
“It’s been hours, did you stand like that the whole time?”
“It is easier for me to do than unaltered humans.” Mamiya-san bowed. “Mitsugawa-uesama, how can I serve you?”
He frowned, but did not make an issue of his discomfort with the use of the formal title in private. “I have reviewed the crystal. Did you read the whole thing?”
“No, there were sections marked for your eyes only, lord.”
He nodded. “My father was a busy man.”
“He was, my lord.”
“Mamiya-san, I have a problem. There are things Aunt Aki said that seem to indicate we need to return home, right now. But I still feel a need to go to Elmorus.”
The cybernetic man nodded. When it became apparent he was not going to say anything, Ichiro decided to continue. “But from what I’ve just learned, and from what father said to me, what is going on out on Elmorus is critical to bringing Baron Revenant down. We’re going to need the weapon Elmorus will give us, especially since Baron Zhào is
another threat to us, now, and since Zalor could use Siren against us at any time.”
“She always has been a threat,” Mamiya-san said.
“Zhào is a she? I assumed she was a he. I’ve never met her.”
“Empress Zhào Lan Daiyu will make quite an impression on you when you do.”
“When?”
Mamiya nodded his head in thought. “You will meet her at some point now that you are what you are. You’re going to have to deal with the fallout from Fukuro once she finds out about it. It will be serious enough to her that she’s going to want a face to face about it.”
“I thought you didn’t read the part of the athenaeum meant for me.”
“I knew about Fukuro before,” he said with a bit of an edge to his voice.
“I’m sorry, Mamiya-san. I should have guessed. Shitsureishimasu.”
“No need to apologize. I should have briefed you.” The edge was gone. “As your father’s confidant I am privy to many things he planned and was doing. Not everything, though.”
Ichiro nodded. “What do you mean by quite an impression?”
Mamiya smiled.
Ichiro’s eyes grew wide. “You’re—I’ve never seen a smile on your face before. That much of an impression?”
“Yes, that much.”
He almost laughed. When the spell passed and the corners of his mouth tugged towards his feet he took a deep breath.
“Mamiya-san, what would you do in my place?”
“Home or the war zone? If we were normal people that would be no choice at all.”
“But we are not normal people.”
“No, we are Taiumijin. Home is the battlefield.”
“Most of us have never seen a battle. When was the last war? Savorcha? When before that?”
Mamiya-san stiffened. “There are not many living that have seen a real war, but soon, all of us will.”
Ichiro’s lips finished their journey to a frown. “Soon?”
“Where do you think this is headed? Do you think Zalor is the type to go down quietly once we have something on him? How many people has he killed so far?” Mamiya’s red-black eyes glanced down. “I meant no offense. I am trying to speak truth.”
Ichiro licked his lips, and became aware of his hand on the hilt of Hoshinagi. He released it, letting the arm drop to his side.
“I—” he bowed and held it.
“Stop that.” Mamiya waited three seconds. “Stop that, now. You are the Mitsugawa. You never apologize to me, or anyone ever again. Do you understand?”
He stood up straight. It felt like he was lifting a thousand pounds as he did. “I don’t? What if I do something wrong?”
“You don’t.”
“Apologize or do something wrong?”
“You don’t.”
“That’s impossible.”
“No. Everything you do you cannot apologize for. Right or wrong, you don’t apologize. That is the way of it.”
“That’s—what if I make a mistake?”
“You already asked that, my lord.”
“I’m not allowed to make a mistake?” His eyes bulged.
Mamiya sighed. “Allowed is not the right word.”
“What do you mean? What is the right word?”
“If I tell you, you learn nothing.”
“I could order you to,” Ichiro said.
“And I would say the word, and you still would learn nothing.” Mamiya put his hands behind his back.
Ichiro thought for a moment, and nodded. His father had done the same thing, played games with words, spoken in riddles. He said it was how the mind was sharpened, how he would learn to be what he had to be one day.
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” he said.
Mamiya nodded. “Mizushima-Taisa is anxious for a destination. He mentioned something about Kosfanter Space-Traffic Control giving him a hard time in the last burst transmission.”
“So I need to decide.”
“You do.”
“And there is no wrong answer?”
“There is an answer that increases harmony with your aunt, and one that does so with your conscience. There is no wrong answer. It is for you to weigh them.”
“That’s going to get infuriating.”
“Probably.” The ghost of a smile played across Mamiya’s face.
Ichiro took in a deep breath. “Aki says I need to be home to bury my father and deal with Zhào and Revenant. My father told me about Elmorus, and says it is the key to bringing down Revenant. We have an agent there—” he hesitated for a moment, “—but I have not heard from her in too long.”
Mamiya cocked an eyebrow upward, but said nothing.
“And now you tell me we are going to war soon.” He took a deep breath, this was it. Now he set the course for them all. “And on top of all of it, my sister thinks she is clever enough to take on the Big Bad Wolf without us.” Poor Cylus, he thought.
“I wouldn’t know much about that, lord.”
“I’ll fill you in.” He clenched his jaw. Father, I hope I’m doing you proud. “Wars are not won from behind castle walls. Tell Mizushima to set our course for Elmorus.”
Mamiya bowed deeply. “As my lord commands.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ikuzlu City, Kosfanter
41:1:9 CST (J2400:3070)
Cygni watched a crescent of linked, fast-crete structures punctuated with three, tall cylindrical towers pass by beneath them. Their white walls blazed in the bright light of morning. She was not displeased to see the Nyangari Diplomatic air-limo cruise past Ikuzlu City’s spaceport terminal building, but it was a surprise.
“Don’t we have to go through security?” she asked her companions within the broad expanse of the limo’s passenger compartment.
The leather seat creaked as she shifted her weight to better view the four Nyangari seated around her. They were dressed in their full military finery—black suits with squared shoulders and red epaulets, buttons, and cuffs. Each one had a collection of metals and pins over both breasts indicating distinguished services and bravery in combat. She felt a swell of pride knowing that Shkur, seated to her left, was counted among the elite filling the compartment with their dry, musky scent.
All four Nyangari tongues flopped out of the sides of their mouths at her question. She felt her face grow hot.
“Stupid question?” She fingered the hem of her gold dress resting just shy of her knees.
“This is her first diplomatic envoy,” Shkur said in his native tongue. The other three warriors nodded. “Diplomatic envoys don’t go through security. They are pre-cleared by your Confederate Space Authority for travel,” he said.
“Oh.” She felt foolish and wondered how she didn’t know that. She had covered envoys for the Spur Herald before, but always after they landed on the spaceport tarmac, or at state functions.
Shkur put a hand on her knee. The contact of his waxy-caramel skin helped with the nervous tension in her bones. In order to fool Ax’Xoa Iai into thinking she was diligently working on her assignment, she spent the last six days sending him updates on her attempts to get in touch with the Cronus and Keltan families for an interview. In truth she had made contact with the public relations departments of both houses, but found excuses to cancel the appointments the day after. If her editor knew her true intentions she would probably be unemployed right now. Her only hope of redemption after screwing up the Mitsugawa thing and sabotaging her current assignment, was for something really good to come of this escapade—especially since Mister Iai was going to know of her disobedience the moment Pawqlan saw her. The Galaenean gossip columnist would, no doubt, report her within seconds. Mister Iai would likely fire her on the spot, making success her only hope of being able to pay her rent.
“You smell nervous,” Shkur said in a low voice. He gripped her knee more firmly.
She noted the petals of his nose and those of the others were undulating in the air. There was no hiding her mental state from them. They could smel
l what her expressions hid with ease.
“I’ll be all right.” She shifted her gaze back to the window and crossed her arms over her chest, feeling cold despite the warmth of the compartment.
Rows of aerospace vessels rested on the broad, gray expanse of tarmac before the terminal building like a large flock of birds with their wings tucked tight against their bodies. Kosfanter was the Cosmos Corporation’s hub, and the silver comet of the Revenant barony was displayed prominently on the vast majority of tail-fins in her line of vision. In the distance beyond the last row, a white plane extended its wings and started rolling backwards on its way to its launch point.
One of the warriors snorted, bringing her attention to him. “We know you will be all right, Miss Aragón. Guror Ithros picks strong mates.”
“Thank you,” she said. Being called a strong mate was a high complement to a Nyangari female, though to a human one like herself it felt a little hollow. The Nyangari idea of gender equality was allowing females the chance to prove themselves equal to males. She was going to have to do something worthy of their respect before they stopped reducing her to “Shkur’s mate.” It angered her, but she stuffed the emotion into the back of her mind. She wasn’t going to be able to change a whole species’ outlook on her own. She resisted her natural reaction with the knowledge that Shkur didn’t treat her that way, and she knew what she was getting into when she got involved with him.
Her stomach leapt in her body when the limo descended and came to rest beside an onion-shaped craft ten-meters wide at its base. It bore the red-clawed hand of the Nyangari Protectorate on its silver-gray hull. Three other limos like theirs were already resting on the tarmac around a short ramp extending from a small portal. Nyangari warriors stood around it in a cluster, their small eyes in constant motion as though they expected an attack to materialize out of the air around them.
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