Warrior: Riposte (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Two): BattleTech Legends, #58

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Chapter 8

  NASHIRA

  DIERON MILITARY DISTRICT

  DRACONIS COMBINE

  23 OCTOBER 3027

  Chu-sa Narimasa Asano and Sho-sa Tarukito Niiro bowed deeply toward their leader. “Konnichi wa, Tai-sa Kurita Yorinaga-sama,” said Narimasa as he led his subordinate toward the white satin cushions opposite the low desk. Each man had removed his shoes at the door to pad silently across the polished wooden floor.

  With a wave of his hand, Yorinaga Kurita wordlessly invited his junior officers to be seated. Setting aside the report he had been reading, he respectfully bowed his graying head toward them. Folding his hands into his lap, he waited for Narimasa to begin the briefing.

  Having been raised to be polite, Narimasa avoided staring at Yorinaga. “The Genyosha is now up to the full level of strength you have requested, Tai-sa, with the exception of one staff officer. We have replaced the men and machines lost in the battle against the Kell Hounds on Styx, and additional recruiting has brought us to forty-eight individual MechWarriors. This fulfills the Coordinator’s desire for us to be a reinforced battalion of four companies.”

  Sho-sa Tarukito nodded as Narimasa turned toward him. “The Azami company is fully operational, though some friction exists between them and the two mainline companies. The Azami jealously cling to their Islamic beliefs, which has led to some misunderstandings with our own citizens. I believe, however, that this reaction to the Azami is based on the superior scores they have achieved in all exercises.”

  Narimasa nodded at Yorinaga. “I have instructed our officers to let their MechWarriors know that we should all strive to equal or best the Azami scores. Perhaps it was this that brought a marked improvement in performances by the two Kurita companies, and even from the Rasalhague company. Still, the Azami commander, Chu-sa Saladin Bey, believes that the situation would calm down if you would consent to dine in his company’s area from time to time.”

  Yorinaga nodded, then looked to Tarukito. The sho-sa cleared his throat. “The Rasalhague company is shaping up well, but the lack of leadership hurts them in two ways. Obviously, they have no one to direct them, and so their training lags. Those of chu-i rank are, however, working hard with their men.”

  Tarukito paused for a moment and looked around the paper-latticed walls of the room. He stared at a waterfall that Yorinaga had created with a few brilliant strokes of a brush, and seemed to drink in peace and strength from it. Smiling self-consciously, he shot a glance at Narimasa, then continued.

  “Worse yet, Tai-sa, those of Rasalhague believe themselves somehow diminished because they do not have a chu-sa to put them on equal footing with the Azami or mainline companies.”

  Narimasa picked up the discussion as Tarukito’s voice failed. “We know that you are as concerned about this situation as are we. All our companies consist of elite MechWarriors, and along with their incredible skill, we get their fragile egos. Though disciplinary measures have spurred the Rasalhagian MechWarriors on to greater efforts, the lack of leadership has left them behind the other three companies.”

  Narimasa allowed himself to return the sly grin with which Yorinaga honored him, and then went on. “Tarukito and I have interviewed a young man whom we believe is well suited to the slot open in the command structure. His is a rather remarkable story. Despite a lack of formal training and the best efforts of the ISF to destroy his career, he has succeeded incredibly.”

  Tarukito nodded nervously at Narimasa’s accounting of the new Genyosha recruit.

  “Because of his mixed blood, the ISF deemed him unworthy of any MechWarrior schooling. In spite of their wishes, however, he was determined to learn how to pilot a ’Mech. He got a job driving ’Mechs off an assembly line on Alshain. That job enabled him to learn to operate a ’Mech, and within a year, he became a test pilot for running ’Mechs through their paces. Some say his skill at piloting the machines is intuitive because he understands the machines with his soul and can coax them into performances that confound even the designers.”

  Narimasa looked toward the door. “He waits without.”

  Yorinaga clapped his hands once, sharply, and a silhouette framed itself against the wood and paper door. The huge figure knelt and slowly, respectfully, slid the door open. Still on his knees, he levered himself into the room and closed the door. Cloaked and hidden in a green silk robe with a cavernous hood, the newcomer bowed deeply to Yorinaga, then walked over to kneel between Tarukito and Narimasa.

  He bowed again deeply, and the hood fell away from his head as he raised himself. The man’s face was strong-boned and handsome, his brown eyes flecked with gold, and his hair was only a shade lighter than his bronzed skin. His eyes showed the barest hint of almond shape, but his features clearly announced his Rasalhagian-Scandinavian heritage.

  The man smiled coldly. “Konnichi wa, Tai-sa Kurita Yorinaga-sama. It has been a long time, Father.”

  Yorinaga looked sharply at his two junior officers. “Leave us.”

  Yorinaga’s son shook his head. “No, please do not make them leave. I do not ask this as your son, but as Chu-i Akira Brahe. I have formally applied to enter your service, and I wish these two officers to be present during my interview, as they would during any other interview.” Akira’s glance flicked toward the floor. “I will not embarrass you, sosen.”

  Yorinaga nodded solemnly. “I will take you at your word, Chu-i Brahe.” He set his face into an impassive mask.

  Akira Brahe swallowed hard. You have changed much on the outside, Father, but have you changed inside as well? “I am Chu-i Akira Brahe of the Eleventh Legion of Vega.” Akira saw his father recoil as he heard the name of the unit that had accepted his son. Yes, Father. I belong to the lowest of the low.

  Akira straightened up and held his head proudly. “I was born in the Year of the Dog, 3001, to Sula Brahe Kurita on Rasalhague. Because of my father’s skill as a MechWarrior and military commander, I was destined for admission to Sun Zhang and had enrolled in a preparatory school to ensure my acceptance. In 3016, however, I was expelled as unworthy and dishonorable.”

  Akira’s eyes met his father’s, then he politely looked away. Yes, Father, after your disgrace on Mallory’s World in 3016, I suffered. I know you only did your duty, and so it is that I have done my duty: I have survived.

  Akira’s rich voice again filled the office. “I was sent to Alshain and there obtained a job in a ’Mech factory. I avoided all contacts with the dissident elements and concentrated on learning how to pilot a ’Mech. In the course of this training, I also learned how to repair and maintain the machines. Eventually, after three years, I was allowed to become a testing pilot and to operate a fully armed ’Mech.

  “Yakuza came to raid the plant and steal several ’Mechs. Working with traitors, the rebel bandits obtained the operation codes for the ’Mechs so that they could march them off the lot. It just so happened that I was in the factory complex and that the Grand Dragon I piloted had just been armed in preparation for a run the next morning.”

  The young MechWarrior closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. “I have no need to tell you, Tai-sa, of battle. This was my first engagement. The yakuza had only poorly trained pilots and were relying on stealth to succeed in stealing the four Panthers they wanted. I listened to them over the radio, but gave no indication they had been overheard. It was not until they moved toward the factory gate that I opposed them.

  “I struck their flank from the darkened alley between two office buildings. I loosed a flight of LRMs at the farthest Panther, which seemed to do an awkward dance in the explosions. With pieces of armor whirling away on fiery jets, it staggered like a drunkard and fell to its knees. The pilot screamed some garbled words about an ambush, and the other three Panthers turned to defend their fallen comrade. They mistakenly believed that the attack had come from their rear, and so their defensive maneuver exposed their backs to me.”

  Akira opened his eyes and looked down. “They paid the price for the
ir audacity, and I paid for mine as well. The ISF, embarrassed at the success of one whom they had deemed unworthy for MechWarrior training, rewarded me with a transfer directly into the Eleventh Legion of Vega. They even mocked me further by assigning me a broken, half-operational Dragon.”

  Yorinaga narrowed his eyes. “The Eleventh Legion’s commander is Theodore Kurita, the Coordinator’s son.”

  Hai. The ISF gathers disgraced sons into one spot so that they may watch them easily. Akira nodded slowly. “He is a good commander, despite his disgrace. The unit is riddled with ISF informers, and Theodore at first took me for one. He decided that my history was too good to be true, but he soon discovered I was not a mole sent to spy. Though he never trusted me fully, he respected me for my skill. Were he not as secretive about some of his dealings, I believe that we could have been friends.

  “I started in a lance of other Rasalhagians of mixed birth and deposed the corporal leading it. I made a rough agreement with the others in my lance that we would try to work together, and they accepted the wisdom of such an approach. I know they meant to get rid of me the first time the whim struck, and so I worked hard to make sure they would never feel so inclined. Soon, by salvage, trading, and outright theft, our lance’s ’Mechs were fully operational.”

  Akira shrugged wearily. “During my assignment with the Eleventh Vega, I manipulated ISF informers and other MechWarriors to solidify power. I never refused an order to doom a rival, but I did not hesitate to act whenever I could rescue someone from a dangerous situation and profit in that manner.”

  Muscles bunched at Akira’s jaws. “During a raid on the Lyran world of Ryde, I did directly disobey a suicidal order by my chu-i, but I did so because the order made no tactical sense. Instead, my lance hit the advancing enemy on the flank and opened a line of retreat for the rest of the company. The chu-i died during the retreat and I was elected to replace him.”

  Akira exhaled slowly. “My career is not one that will be held up as an example to cadets at Sun Zhang, unless it is to note how an officer must be careful of ambitious subordinates. Perhaps my career would seem more spectacular today if the Combine did not ignore recommendations for awards from the Legion of Vega or if the Legion was able to procure anywhere near the level of supplies needed to keep a regiment working. All I know is that I am no more and no less than a MechWarrior. I come to serve you, House Kurita, and the Draconis Combine.”

  Yorinaga glanced idly at his desk. “As you have said, yours is not a shining example of a military career. What would you do, Chu-i Brahe, if your commander were to give you an order that conflicted with what you felt was best for the Draconis Combine in a particular situation?”

  Akira brought up his head. “I would obey instantly, though I would also stand ready to obey another order if my commander chose to reconsider.”

  Yorinaga nodded. “And if your commander asked you to commit seppuku, here, now?”

  Akira stripped his robe back to bare his chest and abdomen. “I would only ask that my father stand as my second to ease my pain so that I would not dishonor myself or my family.”

  Yorinaga smiled. “It is clear you would dishonor neither.” He looked up at Narimasa and Tarukito. “Please prepare a place for Chu-sa Akira Brahe in the officer’s quarters. He will join you shortly.” Yorinaga bowed as his subordinates left his office, then turned back to his son.

  “How is it, Akira, that you bear your mother’s name?”

  Akira paled and glanced at the matted floor. “You do not wish to know.”

  Yorinaga passed his right hand back over his closely cropped gray hair. “I would not ask the question if I did not want the answer.”

  Akira swallowed hard. “It is the name of my ‘legal’ father, Gustav Brahe.”

  Yorinaga frowned. “But he is your grandfather…”

  Akira nodded. “When you fell from grace, your wife asked if she could commit seppuku to redeem the family’s honor. Mies Kurita, acting on direct orders from the Coordinator, refused her request and had her sold into slavery. She threatened to kill herself anyway, but she was told that a slave who did such a thing without the permission of her master was defective, and that her child—me—would suffer for it. Then they set a price of twenty thousand ComStar bills for her.”

  Yorinaga shook his head. “But it is impossible for a citizen to adopt a slave’s child.”

  Akira shook his head slowly. “Not if the child is an orphan.” As tears filled his eyes, one drop escaped to roll slowly down along his nose. “You had been declared a nonperson and exiled. My mother could not live with the thought of you suffering in disgrace. Her master allowed her to kill herself.”

  Yorinaga swallowed hard. “It takes an extraordinary man to allow so valuable a slave such release. Her master must have been very special.”

  Akira nodded. “He is. And after he watched his daughter die, he adopted me and saved me from following her into death.”

  Chapter 9

  KITTERY

  CAPELLAN MARCH

  FEDERATED SUNS

  20 NOVEMBER 3027

  Captain Andrew Redburn smiled gratefully at the Capellan waiter who was pouring more tea into Redburn’s cup. “Thank you, xiexie. The dinner was excellent.” The Capellan bowed and retreated through the beaded curtain that cut off the small alcove from the rest of the restaurant. As Redburn watched light flash from the beads, he enjoyed the gentle tinkling against the buzz of conversation from the larger dining room.

  Taking a sip of tea, he let its warmth radiate out to relax his body. I think I begin to understand why this was one of Justin’s favorite haunts. Redburn breathed in through his nose and smiled. Though he was pleasantly full, the scents of the many dishes being served to other patrons were appetizing.

  The auburn-haired MechWarrior returned his attention to the seven other men sitting at his table. He set his teacup down on the table and then hoisted a glass of beer into the air. “To Walter de Mesnil, the best sergeant the First Kittery Training Battalion ever had. Without you, this unit would have fallen apart long ago.”

  De Mesnil chuckled to himself as his fellow noncommissioned officers raised their glasses in a salute. “I remind you, Captain, that I was the only sergeant in the First Kittery.” He smiled and mirth gleamed in his single brown eye.

  Redburn chuckled. “Hell, if the unit had been in real trouble, we’d have gotten a sergeant with two eyes. We’ll miss you, Walter. Sure you won’t reconsider leaving the unit?”

  De Mesnil shook his black and gray-maned head, his left hand straying up to touch the patch over his left eye. “Sorry, Captain. I gave my word.” The sergeant looked around at the rest of his comrades. “I promised Morgan Kell I’d ship out and rejoin the Kell Hounds whenever he gave the word.” De Mesnil smiled and nodded at the lanky, fair-haired man sitting across from him. “Besides, you’ll not miss me. You’ve got Robert Craon to take my place. He’ll be enough to get you guys into trouble.”

  Craon smiled. “I believe that’s what they’re afraid of, Sarge.”

  De Mesnil shook his head. “It’s Walter now, Robert.” De Mesnil took in the other NCOs with his glance. “We all knew a couple of you recruits would make leftenant and assume command of lances, and we all hoped you’d be one of them.”

  A maudlin silence settled over the MechWarriors for a moment, until Andrew Montbard, the brown-haired corporal at the far end of the rectangular table, shattered the stillness with a loud belch. He blushed in embarrassment, then lowered his head like an angry bull, silently challenging anyone to comment. In his own defense, he said, “Well, consider that a compliment to the chef.” He pushed himself back from the table and rested his chair against the alcove’s dark wooden wall. “All right, Captain, now that we’ve wet-nursed these recruits through two years of training, what’s next? I know you’ve got our assignments. Spill it.”

  Next to him, Archie St. Agnan frowned and nervously twisted his black mustache. “Drew, is that wise? We’re sitting in a resta
urant run by the Yizhi tong in the middle of Shaoshan. The place is probably riddled with spies for House Liao. Technically, according to CID directives, we’re not even supposed to be here.”

  Redburn shook his head. “Don’t worry about that, Archie. We won’t be on Kittery long enough for disciplinary action to come down the line if we get caught. The word’s already on the street. My houseboy, Li Chung, has already presented me with a blanket his grandmother embroidered. It contains the emblem for our new unit. I often think our orders are sent via House Liao before they come to us.” A wry grin spread across Redburn’s broad features. “You’ve got a pool riding on this, don’t you?”

  Drew nodded his head enthusiastically. “Well, yes, sir, but don’t worry. We all chipped in and bought you a unit just so you’d not be left out.”’

  Redburn shook his head. I’ll bet you did cover me, you fiends. No way to write you up if I’m in on it, eh? “What did you get me—Kurita’s Second Sword of Light or Count Vitios’s personal bodyguard regiment?”

  Archie chuckled. “Well, sir, strictly speaking, neither of those units were considered fair. We restricted the pool to regiments we consider on our side.”

  Drew nodded solemnly. “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll let you know if you won. So, what is it?”

  Corporal Payen Montdidier, seated between de Mesnil and Archie, glared at Drew. “Can’t wait to lose your money, can you?”

  Before Drew could answer, however, the MechWarrior with gray-streaked hair sitting across from him grinned like a fox. “Nor can I wait to win it.” Hugh de Payens looked back at Redburn. “Do you care to tell us what the verdict is?”

  Sandwiched between Drew and de Payens, Geoffrey St. Omer shook his head. “No, Captain. Don’t. If one of us wins, he’ll have to pick up the tab for this dinner.” St. Omer smiled broadly and raked fingers back through his shock of blond hair. “Not that I’d begrudge paying for a fine meal with such fine company, but…”