Heir to the Dragon

by Robert N. Charrette

  SUDDENLY, THEODORE SENSED THE PRESENCE OF A BLACK-CLAD FIGURE.

  It was very near and he cursed himself for having missed it till now. Soon a hand snaked out of the gutter to snare his ankle. Before he could react, he was toppling to the pavement. Rolling as soon as he hit the ground, he caught a glimpse of a manhole cover blowing into the air. A shadow followed the disk, erupting like a demon from the nether hells. The dark figure landed lightly on the street and snaked by, turning in a rustle of black fabric and the glint of polished steel.

  As he faced his opponent, Theodore realized he had been hit because there was blood on the other's blade. The wound felt small, a tiny cut just above the left hip. He. hoped his body was not lying to him, concealing the awful truth of a mortal wound. He had no more time to wonder. The other was moving and Theodore must defend himself. ...

  BATTLETECH

  08618

  HEIR TO THE DRAGON

  Robert N. Charrette

  ROC

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books USA Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,

  London W8 STZ, England

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood,

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  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Totonto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England

  Published by Roc, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc. Previously appearedin a fasa edition.

  First Roc Printing, September, 1996 10 987654321

  Copyright © fasa Corporation, 1989 All rights reserved

  Series Editor: Donna Ippolito Cover art by Bruce Jensen registered trademark—marca registrada battletech, fasa, and the distinctive battletech and fasa logos are trademarks of the fasa Corporation, 1100 W. Cermak, Suite B305, Chicago, II 60608.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. books are available at quantity discounts when used to promote products or services. for information please write to premium marketing division, penguin books usa inc., 375 hudson street, new york, new york 10014.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  This one's just for you, ERJ

  The author wishes to thank all of those who helped in their varying ways and degrees, especially Donna Ippolito, Jim Musser, Boy F. Petersen, Julie Guthrie, Eric Johnson, and Anthony Pryor.

  Prologue

  Unity Palace, Imperial City, Luthien

  Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

  3 February 3004

  Subhash Indrahar seemed a solidification of the night as he stepped between his minions and into the bedchamber. His black ISF duty uniform was immaculate from the high collar to the soft, split-toed boots. Unlike the men who preceded him, he had made no sound while crossing the nightingale flooring of the porch between the room and the private gardens.

  The Assistant Director of the ISF swept the room with his eyes, swiftly filing away a mental picture for later reference. His own Internal Security Force men took up strategic positions, discreetly covering all exits. None of the five showed any reaction to the blood-spattered corpse sprawled on the sleeping mats at the center of the chamber. Four of the other five men in the room were Otomo, the vaunted bodyguards of the Coordinator. They shifted nervously, showing the proper amount of fear and respect at Subhash's entrance. The fifth man was Takashi Kurita, his long-time friend.

  Takashi stood still, his back to Subhash. The younger man was looking down at the body lying at his feet, the corpse of Hohiro Kurita, Takashi's father and Coordinator of the Draconis Combine. With the murder of Hohiro, Takashi succeeded him as the head of House Kurita and ruler of the star-spanning Draconis Combine.

  Indrahar found Takashi's lack of emotion mildly disturbing. Briefly, he wondered how much more the Otomo must fear this calm acceptance of death. The bodyguards, having failed in their duty to protect their master, waited anxiously for Takashi's reaction. They had been entrusted with protecting the life of the Coordinator. Indrahar's arrival was a reminder that they would have to answer for their failure when the ISF questioning began. No one kept secrets from the watchdogs of Kurita society, save by taking those secrets to the -grave. Some of the bodyguards were doubtless contemplating suicide to expiate their shame, assuming they were not executed for the failure.

  Silently, Takashi knelt by the body, heedless of the pool of congealing blood that began to soak sluggishly into the knees of his tan military fatigues. He reached out his right hand to lay gentle fingers on the cheek of the face ravaged by the sword stroke that had split Hohiro's skull. Takashi remained so for several minutes, ignoring Indrahar, who stepped closer.

  "The circumstances surrounding my death will not matter to me, for I will be on my way to heaven," Takashi said softly. Subhash recognized the words as Hohiro's own, spoken by the arrogant lord just two years ago. "Is it so, Father?"

  Subhash remembered something further the late Coordinator had said. "It is only those I leave behind who will discuss the matter." Subhash knew that discussion of this night's "matter" would soon begin, for the murder of the Coordinator would shake the Combine.

  Abruptly, Takashi seemed aware of Subhash's presence. The ISF man bowed and said, "The Otomo have captured the assassin near the tea house, Takashi-sama."

  Takashi grunted acknowledgement. Starting to rise, he slipped on the fouled mats. As he reached out his left hand to steady himself, it fell into a puddle of blood, splashing his sleeve and sliming his hand. Takashi stood without further incident, oblivious to the bloody picture he presented.

  Subhash fell in behind his friend and they headed for the garden. Throughout the room, Otomo and ISF men bowed to the new Coordinator.

  The two friends entered the garden, stepping out into the starlight and shattered peace. Around them, the palace churned with reaction to news of the night's disaster. Handheld lanterns bobbed among the cryptomeria trees as servants and minor officials scurried about asking each other for information concerning the disturbance. More Otomo and ISF agents stood scattered among the bushes and rocks, silent and still as the stone and bronze statues that graced the gardens.

  Before the two men were halfway to the teahouse, the slap of bare feet on the wood of the garden's drum bridge caught Subhash's attention. He turned to speak to Takashi, but found him already looking in that direction. Coming toward them was Takashi's wife, Jasmine. She wore a hastily wrapped evening kimono and her long black hair was still tangled from sleep.

  "Husband!" she cried, relief flooding her voice as she recognized Takashi's familiar, stocky silhouette. She slowed her run to a more sedate walk. "I awoke to find you gone and heard the guards running. I feared something had happened."

  "Something has happened," Takashi stated in a quiet voice. As he turned to face her, the lights from the house caught the dark stains on his uniform and hands. Jasmine halted. Her fist rose, covering her mouth and masking all of her face save the horrified eyes. Comprehending her reaction, Takashi said quickly, "I am uninjured, but Hohiro is dead."r />
  Subhash watched Jasmine's face as relief at her husband's safety struggled with grief at the passing of his father. The ISF man noted that she came no closer to her husband, her fastidiousness seeming stronger than her need to confirm Takashi's words with more than her eyes. She was a delicate flower to be wed to a samurai like Takashi, a man who would soon take the reins of controlling the destiny of billions of loyal citizens.

  A slight movement in the crowd caught Subhash's attention. Forcing his way between the legs of an ISF man, a small figure burst through the assembled servants and courtiers. Subhash memorized the agent's face. He was lax to let a child past his guard, even if that child was Takashi's son and a member of the ruling Kurita clan. The agent did stop the taller figure toiling in the wake of the scrambling boy. The boy's pursuer was the portly old monk Zeshin, an initiate of the Order of the Five Pillars and the man charged with watching over the nights of Takashi's child. Subhash observed the chagrin on the monk's face as his struggles with the guard drew the attention of the exalted personages in the center of the garden. Subhash could see that the monk expected punishment for the failure to control his charge.

  Jasmine stooped and held out her arms to her son as he ran across the garden. She gathered him close and hushed his excited questions with shushes and soft promises of explanations to come in the morning. She rose, lifting the gangly weight of the six-year-old with a mother's quiet strength. Their way was blocked by a stocky shadow that raised a bloody hand to seize the boy's arm.

  The boy looked down at the hand gripping his left arm and saw the blood that slicked it. His head jerked up to find the owner of the hand was his own father. Subhash could see the child's eyes go wide, not with fear but with anticipation.

  "Has there been a war?" the boy asked, voice full of excitement. "Have you been killing Fedrats, Father?"

  "Hush, child," Jasmine admonished. "Children should not be out this late at night."

  The boy frowned at his mother, making clear his opinion that mothers always spoiled the fun. Before he could reply, Jasmine continued, "You are going back to bed. Tomorrow. ..."

  "No!" Takashi's forceful interruption startled Jasmine. "You have shielded the boy long enough, woman. I have humored you until now, but tonight that must end. Let him see the world as it is."

  Takashi pulled the boy from his wife's arms and into his own. The boy went gladly, ignoring his mother's protests.

  "My son," Takashi said, "this blood you see on my hands is not that of the enemies of our clan. It is not that of a Fedrat, not that of House Davion. Nor does it belong to any weak-spirited popinjay of House Steiner, nor of any other House who shares the Inner Sphere with us. This is the blood of our clan and our House, the blood of the Dragon."

  "Do not do this," Jasmine protested, light glinting from the tears in her eyes. "He is too young."

  She started to take the boy back, but Subhash reached out to grasp her arms. She turned to him. "You are his friend. Tell him. The boy is too young to be frightened by the death that surrounds us."

  "Takashi-sawa does what he must, Lady Jasmine."

  Facing such adamant will, she slumped in surrender. Takashi turned away as Subhash gave Jasmine over to the care of her maids hovering at the edge of the crowd, fearful of intruding until summoned. Now they came forward to escort her back to her own chamber.

  With Jasmine cared for, Subhash again became a shadow at Takashi's back. Still holding his son, the new Coordinator strode into Hohiro's bedchamber. Subhash stepped up in time to see the boy's eyes go wide at the carnage in the room.

  "Grandfather?" asked a young and tentative voice.

  "Yes," Takashi answered, leaving no room for pity in that single word. "That was your grandfather. He was also the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine. That is your future if you are not strong.

  "I am Coordinator now, and you are my heir. We are Clan Kurita. We must have the strength to rule, the strength to avoid such an end. We must always do what is necessary for the survival of our House and of the domain that we rule. It is a trust we must never betray. Not for any man or woman, nor for any personal feelings or weakness of spirit. If we are weak, this is the fate that awaits—ignominious death. Wakarimasu-ka!"

  The boy said nothing. Wide blue eyes still riveted to the corpse of his grandfather, he swallowed, then nodded.

  "Good," Takashi said as he turned to leave the room. "We must see to his assassin."

  "I want to kill him," the boy declared in a small voice full of determination. His earlier excitement had turned to grim seriousness.

  "You cannot," Takashi told him, but seemed pleased at his son's response. "I know that clan honor calls out to you. I know this because it calls to me as well. Let this be your first lesson as you now step from your mother's shadow. Personal violence is not the way of the Coordinator. Our destiny requires us to work through others. This assassin must meet justice, not vengeance. It is best for the Combine. Wakarimasu-kaT

  This time the boy shook his head, a confused look on his face.

  "In time you shall, my son," Takashi assured him.

  The trio stepped back into the chill night air. Despite the dark, Takashi missed no step in the short walk to the group assembled around the teahouse.

  In the center of that gathering was an Otomo Tai-i who stood behind the huddled figure of a man. As Takashi came to a halt, the Tai-i reached down and grabbed a handful of the man's hair. He yanked the assassin's head back, letting light fall on the blood-streaked face. One eye was swollen shut and already purpling from the blows he had received.

  "Talon Sergeant Ingmar Sterenson," the Tai-i announced.

  Subhash could see that the man was nearly dead from the battering his captors had given him, but a defiant light still shone in his open eye. That eye fixed on Takashi. Subhash felt the man focus on the Kuritan lord, narrowing his world to include only himself and the Coordinator.

  The assassin started to speak. The Tai-i raised his hand to cuff the man to silence, but froze into immobility at a small shake of Takashi's head.

  "Tonight a lie comes to an end," Sterenson croaked. "For years, I served you as a trusted and valued aide. I espoused the cause of House Kurita. Tonight, no more."

  Sterenson could speak no more for the coughing that racked his whole body, but when he finally found his voice, it was stronger, tinged with the conviction of the true fanatic. "Tonight I have struck a blow for freedom in killing the tyrant. Independence for the people of Rasalhague!" he shouted. "Death to the oppressors!"

  The Tai-i slammed his fist into the side of Sterenson's head, and the bound man crumpled to the ground. He twisted and moaned as Otomo kicked and spat upon him.

  "Enough!" Takashi barked.

  The Otomo ceased instantly. Sterenson twisted around and raised his head to stare Takashi in the eyes. Subhash felt the passage of understanding between the two, each acknowledging and accepting his part in the night's drama.

  "Shoot him," Takashi said, his voice flat and dead.

  The Tai-i, eager to win the regard of the new Coordinator, drew his pistol and fired. The gunshot rang from the garden walls.

  In the dying echoes, Subhash whispered to Takashi, "My superior, the Director of the Internal Security Force, would have wanted to question him, Takashi-sama."

  Takashi looked his old friend full in-the face. "Do you question my judgment?"

  Subhash searched Takashi's blue eyes, testing the strength of the Kurita lord's ki shell. Impressed, he replied, "It is not my place, Tono."

  "A man must know his place," Takashi observed as he looked away. "I will see the Director at dawn, with questions of my own. A traitor should not have been allowed to reach such a trusted position. This is not the Free Worlds League."

  Takashi turned back to meet Subhash's eyes. "Kendo at noon, Subhash-san? We will have much to discuss."

  Subhash bowed, acknowledging and accepting the appointment.

  He straightened to watch his childhood friend, now the Coordi
nator, walk at a calm, steady pace toward his own bedchamber. Takashi held his son secure in his arms. In the darkness, the pale oval of the boy's face shone over his father's shoulder. Even in the poor light, Subhash could see that confusion and fear had taken over from the boy's initial reaction. Subhash offered the child a smile of reassurance and reached out with his ki to calm the child from his own well of tranquility and strength.

  I will guard your future, young Kurita.

  The boy managed a half-smile and Subhash sensed his relief.

  BOOK 1

  Bravery

  1

  Streets of Kuroda, Kagoshima

  Pesht District, Draconis Combine

  17 May 3018

  Breath came hard through the suit filters and sweat ran into his eyes. Rising nausea forced Theodore Kurita to take a risk. He pulled out the heat vents on his suit, cracked the seal on the faceplate, and slid the visor up over his forehead. The open vents would increase his heat signature to any observer with infrared capability. Without the light-amplification circuits and the bi-level circlevision device that made up the faceplate, he was almost blind in the oily darkness of night in Kuroda. More visible and blind he might be, but at least he could breathe again. As he struggled to keep his gulping breaths quiet, the rush of oxygen cleared his brain and fought back the nausea that had threatened to overwhelm him.

  The ISF sneaksuit he wore was not designed for the sustained exertion of his run across the warehouse district. The infrared signature-suppression fabrics and noise-deadening air filters had been overworked, becoming dangerous as they overheated his body and limited his air. Theodore's instructors had often warned him that it was hazardous to try a long-distance run while wearing such a suit. Only a fool or a desperate man would make such an attempt, they said. Theodore did not consider himself a fool, and he hoped his pursuers would not consider him desperate enough to try it. In fact, he was counting on it.