Wolves on the Border

by Robert N. Charrette

  During Minobu's last leave from the regiment on Misery, Tomiko had put aside her distaste for the artificial arm and leg and returned to his bed. She had avoided touching the replacements, but that was understandable. She had not had as long as he to get used to their dry, unyielding surfaces.

  From her tearful account, Minobu had learned that Marisha Dandridge was instrumental in Tomiko's turnabout. The sage counsel of Wolf's lady had helped his wife accept that Minobu had not changed, that he was still her husband, no matter what. Tomiko realized finally that the man, the essence she loved, was still there.

  Despite the relief of his wife's return, Minobu was struck by the cosmic jest of it. She had come back because she believed him the same. He knew only too well that he was not.

  Certainly, he still loved Tomiko. Without a thought, he could forgive her foolishness over his artificial limbs. Such a reaction was to be expected of a woman, especially one like Tomiko, so concerned with appearance. His love for her remained strong, but he was not the same man she had married sixteen years before. These last five years had changed him.

  The roots of that change went back to Dromini VI, where he had committed an action that resulted in his being relieved of his command. Minobu had never understood why, but he had not questioned it. It was a samurai's duty to obey, not to question. Indeed, it was that belief in duty that kept him from despair. But the messages he had received—the dismissal from command and the promotion that accompanied it—were contradictory. And then another promotion followed, this one accompanied by a warning that it was only a sham. When assigned to the Dragoons, Minobu had been a very confused man.

  He knew now that the assignment had been a turning point. His confusion began to clear as he began to realize that many of his long-held assumptions were false. Against the falsehoods, he had held to his honor, which had sustained him through those times. Honor was, after all, the foundation of a samurai's existence.

  Standing on that bedrock of honor, he had met Jaime Wolf, a man with the name of a ravening beast but the heart of a true warrior. Another contradiction, but Minobu had been curious enough to look below the surface. Beyond the exterior of the driven mercenary Colonel, Minobu had found a man who believed in honor, and that man looked at those around him, the way he dealt with others. When he had changed Minobu could not guess, but the transformation continued even now to affect his life.

  Oh no, he was not the same man Tomiko had married.

  Yet, he was still Minobu Tetsuhara, loyal Kurita samurai and even stronger than before he had encountered Jaime Wolf and his Dragoons. After Lord Kurita had removed him from the Second Sword of Light, Minobu had lost his inner peace and with it, his ki. His years of loyal service as PSL Officer and the confidence fostered by Jaime's friendship had helped him to regain his balance and to renew his inner strength. After the crippling accident on Barlow's End, he had been able to call upon his ki to fortify himself through the trials of recovery. This time, he had not lost muga. Its peace fueled his ki and that gave him more from his prosthetic limbs than the doctors had ever thought possible. They did not believe in ki and scoffed at his explanations, but that did not alter the truth.

  His ki told him that something was not right here in the mansion today. Nothing more than a sense of unease ... a sense of deception ... came to him. There was no warning of immediate danger, no focus to the disturbance.

  Headed down the corridor toward the garden, a servant bustled by, carrying a wrapped package. So busy was his tasks, the servant made no more than a brief bow to his master. The move, Minobu thought, is very disruptive to the patterns of everyday life.

  He decided that it could be the only explanation for his feeling of unrest. This was, after all, more than a simple translocation. Tomiko and the children would not be joining him on Misery, but would go to the family estates on Awano, where they would be safe. Given the state of relations between Wolf's Dragoons and House Kurita, he could not allow them to accompany him to Misery. To protect all involved, Minobu had resolved to keep the destination secret even from Tomiko. Though his deception was based in good intentions, its disharmony with the universe would add to his feeling of disturbance.

  Minobu walked down the passageway to the bed chamber. From the doorway, he could see Tomiko and Marisha busily rearranging piles of carefully folded garments. They moved the clothes from one chest to another, all the while debating the best way to pack the wardrobe. From their talk, Minobu could tell that Tomiko was assuming she would accompany him to Misery, as should any dutiful wife. He had stood there only a few moments before she looked up to see him watching. Tomiko smiled at him, but the smile faded slightly as she discerned his troubled state of mind.

  “The packing is going slowly, husband. I hope we shall be finished in time,” she said, wondering if his concern was about that. “When do we leave for Misery?”

  “I return to the regiment tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow! Then we had best get fin . . .” Tomiko stopped in mid-sentence when she realized what he had said. “You? If it is just you, why have you had me packing my things and those of the children?”

  “Because you are leaving An Ting.”

  Tomiko glanced at Marisha. Not a word passed between them, but Marisha understood the wordless request. She excused herself to check on Tomoe's progress. With Dandridge gone, Tomiko gave Minobu a stern look. “You have an explanation, husband?”

  “Only I am going to Misery. It is no world for women and children.” He stilled her objections by putting a finger to her lips. “I understand your devotion, wife. But I will hear no protests. You are going to Awano with the children.”

  “Awano.” Tomiko turned her back to him and hung her head forlornly. “There is more to this than the living conditions on Misery.”

  “No, it is only that.”

  When Minobu reached out to take her shoulders in his hands, she shrugged clear of his embrace. She had heard the lie in his voice. He lowered his hands and stared helplessly out the open panel at the archery range. At the far end of the range, he saw the servant who had passed him in the corridor disappear into the shadows of the tower. Minobu wished he could disappear as easily.

  Tomiko turned toward her husband and reached up to touch his face, fingers carefully avoiding the pale scars of the reconstructive surgery. The faint pressure of her touch turned his face to hers.

  “Can you look at me and say that it is only the conditions on Misery?”

  Minobu's eyes searched hers. He saw that he could not tell her all that he feared. She had her own fears. Lost in his concerns, he did not speak, and his silence gave her the answer she was expecting.

  “You have put me aside. That is why I have seen so little of you.”

  “That is not so,” he said, wiping away the tear that wet her cheek.

  “Do not do this, husband. I have changed. Truly, I have. I can accept it now,” she said, touching his artificial arm. There was need in her voice. It warred with the revulsion that she still tried to hide.

  “We can return to what we had,” she added in a tiny voice.

  “You have indeed changed. Now you no longer understand me. I wish no gulf between us, Miko-chan, but you cannot come to Misery.”

  “Then, at least, let me be with you now,” she sobbed, throwing her arms around him.

  He returned the embrace with his natural arm, then, carefully, with the artificial one. She did not flinch. Instead, she held him closer with a fierceness she had never shown before. They kissed, each responding to the other's desire. Their passion led them to the futon, with their clothes scattered behind them.

  As they lay quietly after their lovemaking, Minobu felt the return of the day's nagging tension. It was a siren call, a message that he could neither understand nor ignore. It prodded him to action, but did not tell him what that action should be or what should be its target. He only knew he could not remain still.

  Tomiko dozed against his right side, the replacement parts of his ravag
ed left side away from her touch. He was reluctant to disturb her, but he must rise. As gently as he could, he slipped his arm from beneath her head. Half-asleep, the motion barely disturbed her. When she rolled over, he was free to stand up and began to pull on his kimono. Just as he was reaching for his sash, Minobu caught his wife watching him with eyes wide and full of worry. “What is the matter, husband?”

  He wrapped the sash around his waist. “Something is wrong,” he said. “With me?”

  Minobu shook his head. “Never. I do not know what it is, but it is not a problem between us. That, at least, is at rest.”

  “Then you should rest. Come back under the covers,” she said, holding out her arms. The gentle light that came through the shoji panels made her flesh shine with an alabaster radiance.

  Minobu was tempted. Very strongly tempted. “I think I would find little rest under those covers.”

  Her smile confirmed his suspicions.

  “No, Miko-chan, I cannot. Much as I wish to, I cannot.” It was the truth. His unease had grown and began to pull strongly at him. He could not lose himself in her arms now.

  “Shigata go nai. Do what you must. I will understand.”

  “I know.”

  Minobu moved toward the veranda. He walked as though on another plane, Tomiko forgotten behind him. Whatever disturbed him was not in this house. With the cool breeze blowing through his light kimono, the feeling intensified. Yes, the source was somewhere out here.

  The unease crystallized into a clear warning of danger, a sensation Minobu had never experienced before except on the battlefield. His head jerked up, eyes settling on the corner tower. There, crouched on the balcony of the third level, was a figure. The shadowy shape was manipulating a long object that glinted coldly in the afternoon light. A rifle.

  Trusting his ki, Minobu acted.

  A shrug and a twist of his torso freed the left side of his body from the confines of the garment. Dark skin and darker plastic drank the late afternoon sunlight. Minobu threw open the cabinet that held his archery equipment and snatched a bow. Muscles bunched and coiled as he bent it and slipped the string into place. Arrow in hand, he turned to face the tower once more.

  The figure was leaning against the railing, the rifleman steadying his weapon on the rail as he sighted at some target in the city. Minobu's sense of danger peaked.

  He fitted the arrow to the string and rested the shaft against the plastic of his artificial hand. In a smooth, continuous motion, he raised the bow above his head, lowered in the draw, and loosed. The arrow sped true, striking the target just as the other man squeezed off his shot.

  The weapon twinkled in the light as it fell from the tower.

  The dark figure crumpled.

  It was too late.

  38

  Central Square, Cerant, An Ting

  Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

  2 January 3028

  Akuma's staff car had slowed progressively as it moved through the city of Cerant. At the edge of the central square, the driver brought the vehicle to a halt. For the moment, its bulk, even reinforced by the Draconis Combine ensigns flying from its fenders, could gain it no headway. The square and the streets leading to it were choked with people. Angry people.

  “It seems you have a reception committee, Colonel Wolf,” Akuma commented, indicating the crush of bodies beyond the one-way windows of the vehicle. Wolf and Blake watched the throng but said nothing. Quinn seemed oblivious to his surroundings.

  Wolf glanced through the back window to be sure that the second car was still behind them. It had stopped with its bumper nearly touching Akuma's car.

  “Checking to see if your hotheads are about to get into trouble, Colonel?”

  “Just making sure your driver didn't take a wrong turn.”

  “Hardly necessary,” Akuma harrumphed. “Driver, take the car as close as you can to the Dragoon headquarters. We don't want to make our passengers walk too far.”

  The car crept forward. Progress was slow, but relatively steady. Even the most vociferous and obstinate members of the crowd eventually gave way when it became clear that the vehicle was going to proceed whether they moved or not.

  The mob's attention was directed toward the administrative HQ, where a cordon of Dragoon soldiers stood at the base of the steps. They wore combat armor and full helmets, their faces invisible behind the visors. Each trooper held a Ceres Arms M-22 Crowdbuster, a formidable stun rifle. The weapon's bulky appearance made it intimidating, and it was well-balanced for use as a bludgeon.

  Halfway up the stairs, a pair of Dragoon officers divided their attention between the mob and a detail of Dragoons erecting barricades to link the columns of the portico into a defensible perimeter. Two sandbag emplacements flanked the main doors, each with a semi-portable laser and crew. The heavy weapons were a statement to the mob that the Dragoons were ready to answer serious violence with serious firepower.

  Outside the cordon, the crowd roared as a straw effigy in a mocked-up Dragoon uniform burst into flame. It burned with the fierce heat of gasoline-fed flames, and people came forward to spit on it. Every time the breeze fanned the flames, the mob's cries peaked. The red-and-white striped uniforms of the Civilian Guidance Corps were nowhere to be seen.

  The staff car came to a halt at the ruins of a festival wagon. In the press, there was no room to maneuver the vehicle. The car following had pulled close again, and that prevented the driver from backing up. They were still twenty meters from the steps to the Dragoon HQ. “We're not getting any closer, Chu-sa-sama,” the driver told Akuma.

  Wolf reached for the door handle.

  “Be careful, Colonel,” Akuma warned.

  “I didn't know you cared,” Wolf replied dryly. Blake smirked at the sarcasm in his Colonel's voice.

  “I would not care to see you the victim of random violence.”

  Wolf forced the door open and stood beside the car. As soon as the Colonel had elbowed out enough space amid the milling throng, Blake followed. No longer protected by the baffled interior of the vehicle, they could now hear the jeers, taunts, and recriminations the crowd hurled at the Dragoon soldiers. “Cowards” and “turncoats” were among the milder epithets that rose above the general uproar. Then a single voice stood out above the hubbub, screaming that the Dragoons were wanton murderers of innocents, and naming them teki.

  Wolf marked the speaker as the crowd took up the chant of “Enemy! Enemy!”

  “Keep your eye on that one in the red tunic, Stan,” Wolf ordered as he started to force his way toward the rabble-rouser. Too short to see over most of the crowd, the mercenary relied on Blake's directions, correcting his course whenever their target moved.

  A sudden shift of the crowd left Wolf facing his quarry's back. Stepping up to close the distance, he threw a backhanded slap against the man's shoulder blade.

  “Hey, you!” Wolf addressed the man in his best battlefield voice, speaking Japanese for the crowd's benefit. “You've got a big mouth for somebody who needs to hide in a crowd. If you have accusations, you say them to me, to my face. I'm Jaime Wolf.”

  The man turned around. He stood a full thirty centimeters taller than Wolf and was built like a wrestler. Throwing out his chest and tensing his muscles, he frowned disdainfully at the short mercenary. The practiced ease with which the man went through those motions showed how used he was to intimidating people with his size alone, especially those smaller than him. Wolf was unimpressed.

  “Lost your taste for speeches now that someone is here to call you on your lies?” Wolf demanded.

  The man's eyes narrowed beneath his bushy eyebrows. They darted to the left as the man glanced over Wolf's shoulder.

  Trusting Blake to warn him of treachery, Wolf turned his head to follow the rabble-rouser's line of sight back toward the staff car. Akuma had gotten out and was standing on the vehicle's door frame, his tall, lanky frame visible even to Wolf. Wolf thought he saw Akuma nod, but a disturbance near the second
vehicle distracted him. The Dragoons who had been traveling in it had disembarked and were working their way through the crowd. When Wolf looked back, the Draconian bully was ready to bluster.

  “So you are the barbarian Wolf. You seem an insignificant package to have caused so much grief to the people of the Draconis Combine.”

  The mob around them had quieted.

  Wolf was getting the confrontation he had asked for and now he had to deal with it. “And you seem to have gotten away from your keepers, lackwit. I didn't come here to trade insults. You've called the Dragoons murderers and I call you a liar.”

  “I am no liar! You are the liar if you deny what the Dragoons have done. These people here have all heard of the butchery your bandits performed against the peaceful people on the planet of Kawabe. Now you have brought your violence here to An Ting.”

  “We have killed no peaceful people on this or any other world.”

  “Hear his lies, fellow Draconians! You know me. I am Albert Nitta. You know I am an honest man. I myself saw two of his men brutally attack and kill an innocent man in a bar last night. They had no cause—the poor fellow merely got in their way.” Nitta raised his arms and shouted, “Citizens, we must rid ourselves of these vermin before they decide our children are in their way!”

  “You've got your facts wrong.” Wolf's tone held a clear note of warning.

  “Now the cowardly cur wants to call facts to his defense. His kind of facts will have little truth to them,” Nitta called out. “He hopes to slip away from our justice on the grease of a facile tongue, to blind our eyes with glib lies. I can tell you the facts. The truth is that three loyal sons of the Dragon lie dead today, their blood on the hands of mercenary scum. Those are facts, villain. Can you deny them? Can you silence my voice of truth?”

  A new voice broke in before Wolf could answer. It was shrill and cut through the crowd's murmur like a laser slicing paper. “Look out, the teki has a gun!” The- words were punctuated with the report of a gunshot.