by Victor Milán
She came back from her momentary distraction to hear Uncle Chandy saying, "—your impressions of what you observed, Lieutenant Suthorn."
She looked at him. He smiled, almost shyly. "You are surprised that I know your name? I wish I could claim to know the name of everyone in your Regiment, indeed I do. Just as I wish I could recognize each of my employees by sight. Alas, such is beyond my modest capabilities. The Mirza has briefed me about you. And, indeed, your own Colonel spoke of you to my agents, during our contract negotiations. Your talents as a scout were a significant selling point."
"You expected something like this." The words tumbled out before she could think about the ramifications of saying them.
He smiled benignly. "I expected something. One acquires certain instincts—spending years at Court, spending years in business, being born a Kurita."
So much for our easy ride. She could not bring herself to feel cheated; Uncle Chandy had never promised that he was hiring the Caballeros purely for show and without any risk of danger. For an outfit as little-known as it was, the Seventeenth charged steeply for its services. It was a lot to expect any man to pay out that much on a whim, even someone as allegedly rich and foolish as Chandrasekhar Kurita.
And while the rich part was beyond dispute, it was coming to Cassie that she had yet to see anything of the fool about Uncle Chandy.
She felt a tingling, a spreading sensation that was part fear and part welcoming a challenge. This game might prove to be as exacting as 'Mech-hunting—and perhaps even more dangerous.
"Sumiyama doesn't like you, Lord Kurita," she said, scanning his face for a flicker of the impulse to slay the bearer of bad tidings. The vast wheat-colored expanse of skin remained placid as a wind-sheltered pond. "For him to be holding a secret meet with the Smiling One's heir ..."
She paused. "That looks like the ISF may be mounting an operation against you." The conclusion shook her like the concussion of a long-range missile.
Kurita raised one thin eyebrow. "Not simply interested in keeping an eye on my humble self?"
Cassie shook her head. "No." Absorbed as she was, she omitted an honorific. Uncle Chandy did not remind her. "Maybe I've gotten too many of my ideas about how the ISF works from the holo and Steiner and Davion propaganda, but it seems to me that the Dragon's Breath would have all the spies it needs without having to put the touch on the local yakuzas. I—I think they must be looking for a local base, and support, for a covert operation."
As she spoke, it was occurring to Cassie that here was a very unorthodox Kurita indeed. Uncle Chandy was not just consenting to listen to, but actually soliciting the opinion of an underling—and a woman at that. Maybe that's why everybody thinks he's such a fool, because he pays attention to people who're supposed to be inferior.
She suspected that tolerance endured only so long as the supposed inferior—or anyone else, for that matter—had something worthwhile to say.
He was nodding, still showing no sign of surprise or concern. "Why do you suppose the ISF does not move against me directly, then?"
Cassie may have lacked tact, but her survival instincts were more than active enough to take up the slack in time of need. This jolly fat man was a Kurita, after all. She bowed her head.
"Might your humble servant inquires as to why your Radiance deigns to listen to her opinions?"
Uncle Chandy threw back his head and laughed. Like the Mirza, his was not the high-pitched titter common among the Masakko, but a gusty roar. "Isn't it a little late to play the servile underling, Lieutenant?"
"Did not a wise man once say, 'Better late than never,' Lord?"
More laughter. "Undoubtedly. I've said it myself, not infrequently. But come, child, your gaijin impertinence is part of your charm. Even though you were born a daughter of the Dragon."
Her blood temperature dropped a few degrees. He really had taken an interest in her. She hoped that wouldn't have unfortunate ramifications.
"Besides," he went on, "you were the person on the scene. And the very fact that you were able to turn the tables on the cagey Ninyu and live to tell about it reveals how good you are. Or that you're very lucky—probably both. That is a fortuitous combination indeed, and renders what you have to say of interest to my corpulent self."
It occurred to Cassie that her employer was something of an old windbag—and also something of a self-parodist, another trait she wouldn't have expected in a Kurita. Despite the fact that she had grown up with little love for the Combine or its ruling family, or authority figures of any stripe, she was tempted to like the fat old fraud.
"Now kindly answer my question, daughter," Uncle Chandy said, an ever so slight note of command coming into his voice. She had to admire his technique. He had subtly established himself as an indulgent, appreciative master—but a master withal.
"I don't know much of substance about the Internal Security Force," she said, "but it seems to me that they don't have more than suspicion to work on. If they had the goods, they'd just up and arrest you, no matter who you were. As it is"—she shrugged—"simple suspicion should be enough to get you disappeared or killed, just as if you were a laborer or sarariman. But because you're Kurita, they feel they have to be sneaky about it."
She looked at him, then, her gray eyes large and questioning. He returned the gaze for a moment. His substantial brows drew together like thunderheads gathering above the Western Sea Range, and then he chuckled.
"You have an amusing way of asking an impertinent question by not saying anything at all," he said. "I am sufficiently amused to answer. No, I am not engaged in any activity prejudicial to the interests of the Draconis Combine, House Kurita, or my beloved cousin Theodore."
She bowed her head to the carpet. "Forgive me, Lord. But I had to know. My Regiment—"
"Is your family. And the matter has bearing upon its survival. I understand. But you already seem to have grasped the key element, that innocence makes no difference to the Dragon's Breath unless it can be conclusively demonstrated. Until that time, suspicion is a natural supposition of guilt. Even the guilt of one such as myself."
He gestured. A panel slid open, and a young woman with deep red hair piled atop her head and dressed in a diaphanous robe came in carrying a tray. She set it down between Cassie and Uncle Chandy, poured pale wine from a carven black lacquer bottle into beaten-bronze cups. She smiled at Cassie and glided out.
"So the vultures gather," Uncle Chandy murmured. "One thing you would likely not know, child, is that the warehouse where the meeting took place is owned by a subsidiary of Tanadi Computers."
She looked at him. This was, indeed, new information, but she couldn't say she was surprised.
"They're jealous of your success?"
He nodded. "And the esteemed Kazuo-sama of Sumiyama-kai hates me because I use my own cargo handlers instead of the ones provided by his alleged union, and do not permit him to shake down my people or the occupants of the properties I own for protection money."
He chuckled. "Actually, I think he finds it harder to forgive me for shortening my workers' hours, and otherwise behaving in a non-traditional way. Great preservers of the Dragon's holy tradition, our Combine criminals. And the Earl of Hachiman, who doubtless is involved, has probably perceived at last the true extent of the financial network I have constructed, and feels his power compromised—not to mention the powerful urge to cut himself in on a share of the proceeds."
"But the ISF," Cassie blurted. "If you're innocent, Lord, why are they—?"
"Suspicious of me? Dear child, it is the Smiling One's nature to be suspicious, as it is the nature of the tiger eels of the Great Bodhisattva Reef to bite and hold tenaciously. I am of the Blood, after all. Though I am distant from the line of succession, I would not be the first Kurita to regard that as a small barrier to ambition."
He shook his head, causing his jowls to wobble like gelatin glaciers. "The Combine has lived too long for the Pillar of Steel alone, and neglected the Pillar of Jade. House Stein
er and House Davion are stronger than we, yet the Steiners are merchants first and foremost, and the Davions, while warriors of note, have never neglected trade. We are strong but poor.
"I have built what I have through my own wits and effort; I have never traded upon my name. That is perhaps the main factor exciting old Subhash's suspicion, his beginning to discover just how much I have built, using proxies and dummy corporations to hide my personal involvement."
He looked at her, the anthracite eyes shining with such earnestness that Cassie was instantly on her guard. "The Combine's weakness has always been that we viewed trade as an adjunct to war, all too often practicing it in a way nearly indistinguishable from conflict. Our reputation for double-dealing and outright piracy is appalling. What is the result? Our people suffer, our realm scrabbles for resources, while smugglers from the Federated Commonwealth carry on the bulk of interstellar commerce within the Combine— and reap most of the rewards.
"My goal is to change that. Not through force of arms— the Dragon knows we have tried, and it is like trying to push back the tide with our hands. Instead, my aim is to strengthen our economy by providing goods people are actually willing to pay for, at a reasonable price; and by always dealing honorably with my trading partners."
Cassie eyed him narrowly. This all sounded subversive to her.
"Not everyone in the Combine is in accord with such aims. I don't doubt that our Coordinator would be, but he was raised to concern himself first and foremost with war, and he is preoccupied with the threat of the Clans. Indeed, it seems he alone in all the Inner Sphere concerns himself with the great menace we all face, the Sword of Damocles that hangs over our heads by a hair fraying with the passage of each year. Meanwhile all the other princes scuttle and scrap for dynastic advantage that will become as meaningless as last year's cherry blossoms in a mere eleven years unless we find some means of countering Clan might.
"But others—Marquis Hosoya, the yakuza, perhaps even the Planetary Chairman—feel threatened by what I am attempting. They prefer the old days, when treachery, corruption, and outright force were the media of exchange. The concept of giving value for value undermines their whole existence. They will stop at nothing to stop me."
"Do you believe the Smiling One is in league with them, Lord?"
"He is cooperating with them through his alter ego Nin-yu, that much we know—thanks to your own courage and skill, my dear." His eyes twinkled as he sipped his wine. Cassie had not yet decided whether he was trying to seduce her or not. That in itself was unusual; Kuritas did not seduce, historically. They took.
Of course, Cassie had never been relieved of Blood-drinker, either. She assumed that meant Uncle Chandy had snipers hidden somewhere behind those exquisite tapestries. In any event, she would not be easy to rape, alive.
"But I fear my own innocuousness has come, in a way, to work against me. In all my years I have done nothing that would indicate the slightest interest in the Coordinatorship. I have upheld Theodore, publicly and privately, even in the face of poor dead Takashi's displeasure—as did Subhash himself. Now the Smiling One learns of the power base I have built, on a foundation of money, not blood. And that arouses his suspicion. Why should I be so self-effacing, build such a shadow empire, if I did not intend to seize ultimate power? Such is the way the mind of Subhash works. But sometimes he is a man too devious for his own good."
"For that matter, why hasn't the Smiling One seized power, Lord?"
"Because his ambition does not extend beyond serving the Dragon. He is a monk, with a monk's devotion and self-denial, even as I am myself—I see you trying to hide a smile. I deny myself few pleasure of the flesh, child. But I deny myself ultimate ambition, and that for a Kurita is the greatest sacrifice of all. I indulge in those pleasures that it is traditional for a Kurita to spurn, but resist the craving for power to which so many of my kindred are enslaved. Like Subhash, my only desire is to serve."
He sighed volcanically. "But, alas, the Smiling One cannot believe that of any but himself. And perhaps his adopted son, who has graced our planet with his presence."
Chandrasekhar fingered his topmost chin and his gaze went to some faraway place. Cassie settled back onto her haunches to wait. Patience did not come naturally to her, but she had practiced until she could fake it.
Circumstances, however, were not making it easy for her to cool her heels. She felt a surging need to jump up and run out to warn Don Carlos and the rest of her comrades of the danger they faced. Had she not dedicated herself to the Regiment's safety with the fanaticism of an acolyte of the Order of Five Pillars? This was the greatest threat to the Caballeros since they had escaped the Smoke Jaguars.
Just as she was about to start fidgeting, Uncle Chandy came back and blinked at her with amphibian eyes. "You are as resourceful as your Colonel claimed," he said. "And, as adept as are the Mirza and his operatives, I fear that the ISF has long since compiled fat dossiers on all of them. They will not have had time to learn much about you, however. You must continue to investigate this matter. From now on you will work for me directly."
Cassie bowed her head to the floor again. "Your pardon, Lord, but I must keep my Colonel informed of everything I learn."
His face clouded up impressively this time. Indulgent Uncle Chandy though he was, no Kurita expected to be contradicted. Especially by a female junior officer of gaijin mercenaries.
The passion subsided. His face smoothed again to pudding blandness.
"You risk much, daughter," he said, a trifle huskily. "Perhaps you should meditate upon the distinction between bravery and folly."
"As your Excellency said, my Regiment is my family," she told him, raising up to look him in the eye. "Surely Chandrasekhar Kurita can appreciate risking all for family."
Again he laughed, his great belly shaking. "I like you— may the Smiling One dip me in acid if I don't. We shall accomplish much together, Lieutenant, if I'm not compelled to kill you."
Or I you, Cassie thought, bowing again as the big man gestured permission to withdraw. Despite his parting shot, she felt unaccustomed warmth in the pit of her belly as she stepped into the elevator, which slid open at her approach.
She trusted the old man. Within sharp limitations, to be sure—but still, she trusted him.
Trust wasn't something that came easy for her. Since Guru Johann died, she had trusted few people—the Colonel, Patsy Camacho, and now, grudgingly, that smooth blonde bitch of an Atlas pilot.
Take care, a voice inside her warned. Trust makes you vulnerable.
Cassie shuddered as the elevator bore her upward. She had spent a lifetime struggling to armor herself against all imaginable weaknesses. Yet she was unwilling to give up her trust, in Don Carlos, or Lady K, or Uncle Chandy.
Am I losing my edge? she wondered.
* * *
The ComStar acolyte who handed Ninyu Kerai the message sheaf bowed as deferentially as the Dictum Honorium might prescribe. Nonetheless, she seemed distracted, and almost rushed away.
Ninyu Kerai Indrahar could not have been described exactly as an understanding man, but he knew what the acolyte's problem was: technological advances were breaking up ComStar's monopoly on faster-than-light interstellar communications, while the dissident Word of Blake sect— with Free Worlds League ruler Thomas Marik as their main supporter—was threatening to destroy them as heretics. So far the schismatics relied mainly on sporadic terrorism, but like ComStar itself, they had a powerful modern army. An army that might soon be backed by Free Worlds 'Mechs—if not the forces of Marik's son-in-law to be, Sun-Tzu Liao.
Presumably the acolyte's concern was more abstract than immediate; the Combine had a longstanding concordance with ComStar. Both Marik and Liao were being extremely conciliatory of House Kurita at the moment, hoping to forge an alliance against the troubled Federated Commonwealth. And Captain-General Marik had recently received the heads of some seven Word of Blake terrorists, packed in canisters of dry ice, men who had been impertinent e
nough to try to conduct operations within the Combine. At least in the heart of Kurita space, ComStar was secure.
Ninyu smiled thinly. It might have occurred to the acolyte not to trust in Combine goodwill too implicitly. And that was wise.
Never forget who we are, his adoptive father was fond of telling him, nor what we are. Leave honor to the samurai, in their perpetual adolescence. Our only honor is what best serves the Dragon.
Ninyu was about to ascertain whether he might best serve the Dragon by committing seppuku. He opened the folded slip with steady fingers.
The message was written in a private code known only to him and Subhash Indrahar. It read, Do not be concerned, adoptive son. Even if an intruder penetrated your meeting with Sumiyama, it is of small consequence.
In the meantime, I am sending an asset which I believe will prove useful.
There was no salutation or farewell. Ninyu nodded as he crumpled the thin yellow paper. He approved of his adoptive father's lack of sentiment. The old man was weak in body, but he still breathed with the spirit of the Dragon.
That Ninyu was not deemed to have failed significantly— and so could go on living—he took note of without elation or relief. Had he not long since learned to live as one already dead, the Smiling One would never have chosen him as son and heir.
As he stepped into the muggy night to burn the message slip, he wondered briefly just what useful item Subhash Indrahar might be sending him. Except for the matter of the unexplained death of agent Collins in the warehouse, he thought he had the situation well in hand.
* * *
Blood-drinker in hand, Cassie moved as if underwater through the movements of a fighting form. Her quarters were dark, the curtains drawn against the light of the blue moon, Benkei. It was good discipline to practice without sight, and it helped to focus her mind.
