“Twenty-five decks and a crew of one thousand,” Itosu said. “Two hundred Seimer energy canons, one hundred and twenty Piper volt torpedo launch stations, and a full complement of DeWolfe Shatterworld lasers. That’s just the offensive weaponry.”
Admiral Brin got to his feet. He chewed his lip again—it seemed to be a habit of his. As he stared at the screen his expression hardened. “This is the ship that destroyed the Germanicus,” he said through clenched teeth.
“And the Oberon and the Grendel,” Michael added as he rose to stand beside his superior officer. “All in the same battle. Three against one, and the Katana was unscathed.”
Admiral Brin put a hand on the butt of his pistol as he glared at Itosu. “You wiped out both our bases on the Viper Moon.” Venom filled his voice. “I lost a sister and a nephew there!”
Itosu turned her back to the admiral and watched the Katana as it orbited out of view again. “Then we’re even,” she answered without emotion. “Tindarans killed my mother and father in the sneak attack on Catullus twenty years ago. They weren’t even military. Just a pair of teachers on a university world.”
“Then why do you want to join us?” Brin demanded. Though he kept his voice calm, tension and anger showed on his face. He pinched his brows together; a muscle showed at the edge of his clenched jaw; the veins in his neck stood out against his tight collar. “Why do you want to betray your own kind?”
Itosu sighed, and her breasts swelled against the black fabric of her uniform. With ritual care, she picked up her sword and cradled it in the crook of her right arm. Her gaze fell upon the Buddha as she bent down, and for a brief moment, its eyes seemed to follow her movements.
“This war has to end,” she said flatly. “Tindar has the upper hand and the best chance of winning. Earth’s military resources are stretched too thin, and morale is at a nadir. They’re tired of fighting, and the colonies are exhausted, too. They’re vulnerable.”
Admiral Brin sneered. “Captain Cade has nothing to do with it?”
Itosu and Michael exchanged glances and then moved to each other’s sides. “He has everything to do with it,” Itosu answered. “It may not make sense to you, but I love him. I couldn’t turn him to my side. So I’ve turned to his.”
Brin sneered again. “You love him—so you cut off his hands?”
Michael spoke before Itosu could. “Until we finish what we’ve started we have to keep up certain appearances,” he explained. He held up his budding hands. “This is no worse than many of us experience at our cutting parties, and that’s just for entertainment. After our performance in Café Mas Mundos nobody will suspect there’s anything between us, except animosity.”
“If anyone thought otherwise, I might lose my command,” Itosu said. “I might lose the Katana.”
Brin rubbed his chin and looked suspicious. “Your crew will follow you to our side?”
Itosu lifted her head a bit higher. “My crew will obey me,” she snapped. “In three days’ time, the bulk of our fleet will gather at Epsilon Eridani. Earth’s president will be there, too, for a conference with his admirals and advisors. A contingent of Star Samurai will serve as honor guard. I’ll give you the code frequencies so you can verify everything I’m saying.”
“I assume the Katana will be at this gathering?” Brin said as he began to pace near the altar. The suspicion faded from his face as he began to consider the possibilities.
She touched the small gold insignia on her collar, crossed sai, the emblem of the Star Samurai. “We leave for the rendezvous point day after tomorrow.”
Admiral Brin ceased his pacing and stared toward the viewscreen, at Oxala floating serenely in slow rotation against the field of stars. Itosu watched him, noting his movements, the minute changes in his expression. Brin was an important leader among the Tindarans and, despite his outward bluster, a warrior worthy of respect.
“Then tonight you will join us on the Surtur as my guest,” Brin said as he folded his arms over his broad chest. “Consider it a diplomatic dinner with a party to follow.”
“I’ll have to clear it with Fleet Command,” Itosu answered. “My assignment here at Ymanja is diplomatic, but we are still at war.”
Michael moved closer to Itosu as he nodded to his superior. “She’s right,” he said. “We don’t want to do anything to arouse suspicion.”
Rubbing his chin as he continued to watch Oxala, Brin nodded. “Tell your Fleet Command that ambassadors from seven other colony worlds will be attending, and that I will be making a proposal regarding the Kwan Yin insurrection.”
Kwan Yin was one of Humanity’s most distant outposts, a world once shared by Humans and Tindarans. For the last fifty years, however, the two factions had been at each other’s throats, and the planet’s ecology had paid the price. Kwan Yin was a microcosm for the greater conflict.
“I’ll inform them,” Itosu replied, “and I’m sure you may expect me.”
“Excellent,” Brin said, turning once more to face Itosu. His dark-eyed gaze raked over her again as if he were trying to peel away her layers and see what lay beneath. “Then Captain Cade and I will return to the Surtur. We have preparations to make—and menus to plan.” He forced a smile. It was a strange thing to see on his hard face. Beckoning to Michael, he turned and strode to the door. Then, he turned once again.
Looking straight at Itosu, he executed a deep, formal bow. “Shitzurei shimasu, Itosu-san,” he said in flawless Japanese. He turned to face the door once more and waited.
Michael kissed her lips and brushed her cheek with a newly forming finger. His fresh skin felt hot enough to leave a brand on her face, and yet she leaned into his touch, wishing it wouldn’t end. But Michael stepped away to follow his admiral.
“Open,” Itosu said. The door reacted only to her voice. As soon as the two Tindarans were gone it closed again, leaving her alone.
Setting her sword upon the altar, she knelt down and contemplated the Buddha. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she chewed the upper one, unconsciously imitating Admiral Brin’s habit.
It had surprised her when he’d spoken her ancestral language. Shitzurei shimasu. Good-bye. It was a common enough expression, one of several ways to say good-bye. But this particular expression also had a more literal meaning. I’m sorry for what I am about to do.
So am I, she thought to herself.
Itosu took a few moments to reflect on the entire conversation, considering every word, every nuance. An oppressive sadness descended upon her as she considered the path she had chosen for herself. But then a half-hearted smile turned up the corners of her mouth as she remembered Michael’s kiss, his touch upon her cheek, the futon where they had made love earlier.
She touched the insignia on her collar, the small crossed sai. Shaara Itosu didn’t know where her path led, to honor or to shame, but she knew this: for Michael Cade she would lie and betray, even kill. For him, she would destroy stars.
On the viewscreen, the Katana swung around in its orbit. Her ship. Her weapon. As much a part of her as the sword on the altar. She wondered what life would be like when there was no more war, but then she put the thought aside. That was the future. A Samurai lived only in the present.
Rising, she went into another room, showered, and dressed in a fresh uniform. She had much to do and preparations to make. Fleet Command must be contacted about the dinner, and new orders must be sent to her crew. It wouldn’t hurt, either, to take a few moments to brush up on the Kwan Yin situation just in case Brin had been serious about that.
Picking up her sword and strapping it over her back, Itosu glanced at the viewscreen once more. “Show me the Surtur,” she said.
The planet Oxala faded and was replaced by a view of several ships at anchor off Station Ymanja. The Surtur was the nearest of them. It was a large, powerful battlewagon, the best in Tindar’s fleet, and yet she found it unremarkable, utilitarian, even ugly. Like much of Tindar itself.
The Surtur’s stateroom sparkled with
polished steel bulkheads and high intensity lighting, and the noise of music and celebration swept from the room into the corridors, but as Itosu entered on the arm of Michael Cade, everyone fell silent.
The Surtur’s captain led the commander of the Katana to a place at the head table and pulled back her chair. As Itosu removed her sword and took her seat, he bent close and kissed the top of her shaved head, a gesture that surprised and pleased her.
She found herself between her lover and Admiral Brin. Scattered around the table were other ambassadors and dignitaries, minor functionaries, and officers. She exchanged a few polite words with those nearest and nodded to others. On the far side of the stateroom, a group of musicians resumed their playing.
“It’s a beautiful piece of workmanship.” Brin gazed at her sword, which she had leaned against the table near her right side. “Is it old?”
“Over five hundred years,” she answered.
“Perhaps more,” Michael said, leaning forward to address the admiral. “But she can document its history that far.”
Brin nodded with appreciation and might have said more, but servers interrupted them, pouring wine and bringing plates with exotic salads, plump fruits, and colorful steamed vegetables with a variety of off-world honey for dipping. Protein cakes followed, melting on the tongue and exploding with flavor, then herb-spiced tofu and gelatins and selections of nuts.
Wine and stronger liqueurs flowed freely among the guests, but Itosu tasted little of it. Neither, she noticed, did Michael or Brin. Quietly, she slid her hand across the table and touched Michael’s hand. His fingers were almost fully formed again, with pale and translucent nails. She turned his palm up, noting the soft sponginess of it, the lack of lines. No life line. No heart line or head line.
“You’d be a palm-reader’s nightmare,” she said conversationally.
“I can’t quite bend it yet,” he said, trying to make a fist. The fingers only twitched, refusing to obey. “I need some more help with my motor control.”
She kicked him under the table.
The servers cleared away the dinner dishes and brought desserts, elaborate confections of cake and cream, with selections of truffles and dark chocolates on the side with steaming hot coffee to chase it down.
“You set an elaborate table. ...” Itosu said to the admiral.
“For a Tindaran, you mean?” He grinned at her. “We’re such barbarians. Most Humans think we chew raw meat and wash it down with blood.” Careful not to touch her sword, he pushed back his chair. “If you’re finished, Commander, why don’t we take a short walk and stretch our legs. The party can do without us for a few minutes.”
Intrigued, Itosu grasped her sword and stood up. So did Michael. A few eyes followed them as they departed the stateroom, but most of the guests were too deep in the wine and desserts to notice.
It was only a short distance from the stateroom to the Surtur’s bridge. Neither Brin nor Michael spoke until they reached it. The working lights were a softer blue, more in keeping with the sunlight conditions on Tindar. The men and women at the workstations barely glanced up at the three newcomers.
“Tindarans aren’t much on formality,” Michael explained, noting her expression. “We don’t salute. The crew shows respect by doing its job.”
Admiral Brin moved across the bridge to the command console. “If you’ll step over here, Commander,” he said to Itosu, “I have something to show you.” He thumbed a control as Itosu moved to his side, and a small viewscreen on the panel flared to life.
Blue and beautiful as a jewel, with soft white clouds swirling in its atmosphere, Kwan Yin floated in space. Itosu recognized it immediately and hid her surprise. Throughout the long dinner, the Surtur must have traveled at top speed, risking its engines to cross the light-years.
As she watched the screen, two more Tindaran warships appeared and moved into a lower orbit above the planet. “The Titania and the Sif,” Michael informed her. His voice was stiff, almost flat, and the hard set of his jaw suggested that he was as surprised as she. More, that he was angry. The admiral had commandeered his ship.
“Is this your solution to the Kwan Yin situation?” Itosu asked. She didn’t bother hiding her annoyance. “Blow everything to hell?” She looked back at the screen again as the Sif fired a barrage of missiles at a communications satellite. The three Tindaran vessels possessed enough firepower to devastate the planet.
“Not everything,” Brin said coolly. “For the moment, I’m not interested in the civilian population. However, in a few moments, as Kwan Yin rotates toward us, the only Human military base will appear in our gun sites. Our batteries are already locked on the coordinates.”
Itosu nodded understanding. The Tindaran ships must have dropped out of trans-light on the planet’s blind side, and the Sif had quickly destroyed the satellite to prevent the Humans from noting their arrival. They would figure it out anyway, once they realized the satellite was gone, but that would be too late. Timing really was everything.
Brin turned a key and lifted a cover on the panel to expose a red button. “As our new ally,” he continued, “I want you to have the honor of pulling the trigger.”
Itosu turned a steel-eyed gaze on the admiral. The bridge had become silent. She didn’t need to glance around to sense the tension, or to note the hands resting on the butts of pistols or the hard glares that watched her.
The old bastard wanted a test before he trusted her. A simple thing, really. All she had to do to win his confidence was kill a couple thousand people.
A countdown display appeared in the upper corner of the screen. It ticked down the seconds until the target was properly positioned and listed the status of the Surtur’s weapons systems. As Brin had said, all batteries were locked, the full array of missiles, cannons, and lasers, all waiting to be fired by her single touch.
She looked at Michael and wondered how a face could be both red and pale at the same time. Still, he said nothing, and he kept his stony gaze on Kwan Yin. Yet, by his posture, by the way he stood apart from her, or perhaps in the smell of his sweat, or in the way his newly forming hands seemed to tremble, she realized suddenly that her lover had known the admiral’s plan from the beginning.
Itosu reached into a pocket of her uniform and extracted a breath mint. She offered another to the admiral and shrugged when he declined. But their gazes met and locked as surely as the Surtur’s were locked on the target below.
A chime trilled across the bridge as the countdown reached zero. Time was up for the Human base. Without taking her eyes from Admiral Brin, Itosu leaned on the firing button.
Nothing happened.
The admiral broke the eye contact and flipped a switch on the console. “Retreat,” he said. “Rendezvous at Station Ymanja.” The Titania and the Sif turned away and vanished from the viewscreen.
“It was only a test,” Michael said over her shoulder.
Brin flicked off the screen. “I had to know if you were sincere,” he said. “And under other circumstances I would have let you destroy the base. But why risk a major diplomatic incident that might interrupt the event you’ve told us about? It’s enough that you were willing to press the trigger.” He made a short bow. “Welcome to the winning side, Commander.”
Itosu said nothing as they exited the bridge, but inside she seethed with anger. She didn’t like games, and she didn’t like being played with, and particularly she didn’t like Admiral Brin. She was angry, also, that Michael hadn’t contrived some way to warn her.
Back in the stateroom, the dishes had been cleared away. A wilder music filled the air, and conversation and laughter rose in volume as the guests circulated. A server appeared with a tray and glasses of ruby wine. Itosu declined, but both Brin and Michael took a glass, Michael cupping his carefully between his two palms.
A gathering on the farther side of the room caught Itosu’s attention. A pair of junior officers had opened their uniforms to expose their chests, and another officer stood close by w
ith his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. A circle of functionaries stood in a semicircle around them with rapt expressions.
Itosu moved closer as one of the junior officers slashed the other with a knife, drawing a thin red line across pale flesh. So perfect was his stroke that, for a moment, he appeared to have missed, but then, the cut opened, and blood flowed down a well-developed pectoral and into the wounded man’s waistband.
But the cut closed again swiftly and everyone laughed. Two blades flashed at the same time as the other two officers cut each other deeply, and as they bled they pressed their lips together in a passionate kiss that ended when their wounds began to close, and they laughed.
“A cutting party,” Michael explained as he sipped from his glass.
Steepling her fingers beneath her chin, Itosu watched as one of the higher-ranking ambassadors accepted an offered knife. Giggling nervously and more than a little drunk, he swiped at one of the officers, scoring him across the abdominals. Everyone laughed. Then, the ambassador’s eyes shot wide and he tried to recoil as the bleeding officer grasped his face and kissed him deeply.
“Doing your part for interstellar relations,” Itosu noted as the ambassador sputtered in the stronger Tindaran’s grip.
“For a few, there’s a certain sexual element to it,” Admiral Brin admitted as he resumed his seat beside her. “But we heal very quickly and feel little pain.” He looked at her over the rim of his wineglass. “That’s why we are superior to Humans. With the right treatments we can make you one of us.”
“Superior?” Itosu raised an eyebrow as she watched the cutting party. Another pair of Tindarans had joined the circle, stripped to the waist and brandishing their knives. Pushing back her chair, she rose.
“What are you doing, Shaara?” Michael asked. In a clumsy attempt to clutch at her hand, he knocked over his wineglass. A red stain spread across the fine white tablecloth.
Women of War Page 22
