"Always looking to get into the action, To-chan," Theodore said with a smile. He had no doubt her skills could replace those of his nekogami-trained friend. Their workouts left him with no doubt that she retained all her finesse, though she had borne him two children. But he needed something else from her now. She had valuable assets far beyond her dark-night talents.
"You know I have a greater need of you in the sunlight. While I am trying to gain these allies, someone must cover my absences and handle the day-to-day business. Someone must oversee the reconstruction plans and guide the development of the regiments as we rebuild."
"What about Asano and Earnst?" she protested. "Armstrong?"
"All good officers, but I trust no one as much as you to see that the old, wild attitudes do not corrupt the rebuilt army. Those you suggest are vital to our future, but they do not yet have the vision. Only you have the strength to guide my plans when I am elsewhere." Theodore reached across the table toward the hands she held tightly clenched before her. At the tentative touch of his fingers, her tension relaxed. He felt her surrender to his argument, submitting to necessity, though her heart wished otherwise. For all her teasing that he was unreasonably bound by giri, she, too, understood the iron call of duty.
"Trust Fuhito-kun before the others, though," he said. "He's matured into an excellent officer with a superior tactical sense. More important, he understands our goals and has a firm grasp of my intent.". Theodore ignored the look of surprise that washed over Fuhito's features. "Dechan-kun and his lady Jenette will help you as well. You cannot trust them with everything, of course, but I believe you can rely on them to train soldiers. Their Dragoon experience will be invaluable.
"I cannot be in two places at once. While I search for new soldiers, someone must guide the old. I need you to do that, To-chan."
She nodded. He sensed the fear that she felt for him. That was understandable. He certainly wasn't blind to the danger. The criminal underworld of the Combine was a dangerous place, a world unto itself whose rules he didn't understand. From what Michi had told him, his position as Heir-Designate might not be sufficient armor. The yakuza, or some other underworld denizens, might be just as happy to see Theodore die as talk to him. But this was a job that only he could do, for only he had any hope of commanding allegiance from the outlaw yakuza. He wanted to hold Tomoe, to kiss away her fear and thereby lose his own. He could not. Even here among his closest friends, propriety forbade it.
Michi stirred. "Time to go," he announced.
42
Pleasure Quarter, Deber City, Benjamin
Benjamin Military District, Draconis Combine
15 January 3031
Sound struck Theodore with almost physical force as Michi opened the door into the bar. The pounding, cardiac beat overwhelmed all noise from the milling inhabitants of the dim chamber, which was darker by far than the neon-strobed night of the street. Spotlit on platforms suspended by gossamer threads above the crowded floor, scantily clad dancers gyrated provocatively. Not until one of the women misstepped and nearly plunged from her platform did he realize that the dancers were not holographic projections, but were real. Of course. Live entertainers cost much less and had other capabilities no holo ever would.
Theodore started down the five steps to the main floor, following his companion. While Michi paused at the bottom to scan for a path through the milling bodies and crowded gambling tables, Theodore observed the grim-faced pair of rogues reflected in the mirror-like metal wall just opposite where they stood. One was significantly taller than the other, but their garb was almost identical. They could have been any two of the thousands of restless soldiers who roamed the Combine, unwilling or unable to return to their homeworlds after their regiments were shattered in the recent war. No one would guess that these two were the Heir-Designate and a former officer of the Ryuken.
Michi's faded tan overcoat swathed his body from neck to ankle. The caped shoulders flared out, widening his silhouette at chest level. The Kurita dragon dyed into the leather of the right shoulder padding was a pale serpent, almost invisible. The battered disk clasping the coat rode somewhat higher than on Theodore's, allowing an observer a clearer look at the distressed battle jacket and heavy sidearm belted on it. While Theodore carried his own two swords, Michi had a single, long sword slung on his back, the grip protruding over his left shoulder. The hilts of all three weapons had scuffed, nondescript fittings and braid.
Turning from their reflection, Theodore observed a woman weaving toward them through the crowd. Deftly avoiding or countering hands that snaked out to grope her or delay her passage, she was clearly used to receiving such attention. Michi stepped into her path, blocking Theodore's view of the woman's red-sheathed form. Unable to hear their conversation, Theodore was surprised to see Michi pull out a folded piece of paper. A large denomination C-bill was held to its underside. The woman smiled at Michi and took a step back. His offering vanished into the soft crevice between her breasts, which heaved visibly in the circular cutout of her dress. The woman waved a nonchalant hand toward the bar and turned away.
Michi nudged his companion with an elbow and tilted his head in the direction of the bar. Theodore nodded and followed willingly. Two stools emptied as they approached.
Michi slid onto one, pointed at the dirty cups already present, and held up a hand with the last three fingers extended. The paunchy ugly behind the bar nodded and poured two cups, holding them in one greasy paw until Michi slipped several C-bills into his other, outstretched hand. Theodore sat next to Michi and picked up his drink. His nose wrinkled at the foul stink of the booze, but he downed it, for the sake of his disguise. They waited.
The bartender had just extracted the payment for a third round when Theodore felt a familiar unease. He scanned the room for the source until his eyes settled on five men emerging from a doorway that led to the inner reaches of the building. Soft light emanated from concealed fixtures beyond the doorway, backlighting the men and making it hard to distinguish their features.
The first two were clearly kobun, soldiers of the yakuza.
They were big, muscular men with hard faces. Both wore jackets of shegila leather, the iridescent scales glittering in the light from the inner room. The next two were dressed in dark business jackets over the open-necked plaid shirts popular with corporate types in the inner Combine. But one look at their faces told Theodore that these were no simple businessmen. Their hard eyes and scarred visages pronounced them as much kobun as the first pair.
The fifth man was different, though he wore a businessman's jacket as well. The other kobun showed such deference to the older man that Theodore was certain it was Yasir Nezumi, the oyabun. He was the gang boss they had come to meet.
The kobun nodded and bowed to acknowledge their instructions from the oyabun. As they started around the bar, their leader took a half-step back and leaned against the door frame. The light from the inner chamber now illuminated his face. Theodore noted the thin-lipped mouth, relaxed expression, and perfectly trimmed gray hair, not a strand out of place. Theodore was surprised to find him so distinguished-looking. Despite what Michi had told him, he had been expecting someone more like the classic Lobinsonu, whose coarse mug had inhabited many a gangster holoflick.
The four kobun walked the length of the bar, stopping when they reached Theodore and Michi. As they did, the music cut off, making the room seem suddenly silent despite the continued noise of gambling and bawdiness throughout the chamber.
The shorter of the two in business jackets rolled his shoulders, then tugged at his lapels to settle the garment into a straighter line. His rough voice grated on Theodore's ears. "Nezumi-sama can't see you. He is very busy."
"That is unfortunate, friend," Theodore said, slowly revolving on his stool to face the man. "Opportunity is passing you by."
"Don't need no soldiers," the man said, with a plastic grin that never touched the steel in his eyes. "If you really want to join the family, we got toilets
that need cleaning."
Theodore recognized the insult. Traditionally, new members of a gang did menial and trivial work, including housekeeping chores for the boss. Often it would be years before a new yakuza was allowed to participate in the real work of the gang. But toilets! This kobun was offering them work reserved for women.
"Wouldn't dream of taking your job, Jokan."
The yakuza soldier's nostrils went wide with rage. He snarled and reached out to grab Theodore's lapels, but Theodore deflected it with his forearm. Converting his own motion into an attack, he brought the rigid edge of his hand down hard on the man's sternum. The kobun staggered back, coughing.
Michi had swiveled his stool and stood up as soon as the kobun moved on Theodore. He drove his fists into the bellies of the two brawny toughs. They doubled over, wide-eyed expressions of shock on their faces. Michi pulled his hands back, blood dripping from the blades that protruded from his vambraces. As the yakuza crumpled to the floor, Michi rotated his forearms with a snap, flicking the blood from his weapons. The wet slaps of the drops, spattering the floor and fallen kobun, were loud in the suddenly silent room.
The fourth yakuza saw that he had the undivided attention of the two men his group had outnumbered a moment before. He took several halting steps backward, nearly stumbling to the floor when he hit a patron too slow in clearing the way. Theodore reached back toward his sword, and the man turned, running for the door. Theodore changed his reach for the sword into a motion to scratch his left ear.
Michi tapped him on the shoulder, then pointed a thumb toward the back of the room. "Our host has vanished."
Theodore noted that Michi's blade had vanished as well, as he turned to confirm that the doorway was, indeed, vacant. The light was gone and only the dark wooden panels faced the barroom. "Shall we let ourselves in?" he asked.
"Iie. We haven't got the firepower.”
“All right. We'll at least leave him a message." Theodore tossed a folded piece of plastisheet onto the bar, and followed it with a black plastic credit key and a small wad of C-bills. Then he turned to the man he had struck. The man's face was contorted with the pain of his coughing, as he tried to breathe with a cracked sternum. Theodore hooked his hand under the kobun's jaw. The man struggled to stay on his toes to avoid choking. "Most of the stuff on the bar is for your boss. I trust you can manage to see that he gets it." Theodore dug his fingers into the flesh of the man's neck. "The C-bills are for you. Take some etiquette lessons, friend. You have very bad manners."
Theodore released the kobun, who fell into a sobbing heap. Theodore looked down at him and shook his head. Too fragile. He had expected the yakuza to produce tougher soldiers. Perhaps this plan was flawed.
"An inauspicious start."
"Perhaps less so than you think," Michi commented. "But I believe we are no longer welcome here."
Theodore let his eyes rove the room. Hard-faced men turned away, returning to their pursuits, but not before Theodore read the hostility in their eyes. "You're the guide."
Michi led the way back through the sea of tables. Behind them, voices resumed as the rattle of dice and the shuffle of cards broke the silence. Gambling was in full swing as they hit the door. The music picked up the beat again, its bass rumble expelling Theodore and Michi into the harsh neon glare of the street.
"I thought you'd given up those blades along with the Bounty Hunter armor."
Michi shrugged, a half-smile of embarrassment on his face. "Some things are harder to give up than others."
43
Unity Palace, Imperial City, Luthien
Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
10 June 3031
Takashi Kurita strode into the Black Room, and the door hissed shut behind him. The closing door signaled the start of the meeting, and no one else would be admitted until the Coordinator left. Vasily Cherenkoff, the only Warlord yet present for the council meeting, looked questioningly across the table to Subhash Indrahar. The ISF Director smiled politely. He was as puzzled by Takashi's early arrival as the fat warlord, but he would not show it. Subhash and Cherenkoff started to stand in order to make their formal bows, but Takashi waved them down. He stepped behind his chair and rested his hands on its back. "Where are Wolf's Dragoons now?" Subhash removed the archaic gold-rimmed spectacles he affected and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt tired. Was it possible the Coordinator would resume his futile fixation on those mercenaries? Takashi had already squandered precious Combine resources on his obsession with destroying the Dragoons. Why? Because Jaime Wolf had shamed him on Terra? Because the Dragoons had shamed the DCMS on Misery, then again at Harrow's Sun and on Wapakoneta, and yet again on Crossing? Takashi had taken the words and actions of Wolf's Dragoons too personally, placing his own needs and goals before those of the state. Subhash had not been able to deflect him.
Then came the disappointing verdict from the ComStar Mercenary Review Board. Declaring a no-fault, the mediators denied Takashi's demands for restitution and condemnation of the Dragoons for their actions prior to and immediately following the end of their contract with the Draconis Combine. Had the Coordinator found this decision too damaging to his honor and so returned to plotting against the Dragoons? "Regrettably, Tono, we have not been able to determine their whereabouts."
"Incompetence! I will not have it!" Takashi shouted, launching into a tirade. The taunts and imprecations were nothing new to Subhash, having become all too familiar in the last two years. Subhash drew on his hara, replenishing his serenity and strength. He settled back to let the Coordinator's irrational anger wash over him. Takashi stalked the room from one wall to the other, bellowing his outrage. Finally exhausting his vitriol, he slumped into his seat at the head of the holotable. "Perhaps you are incapable of doing your job. Will you fail me like the others?" Takashi asked, breathing heavily after his tirade.
"You worry unnecessarily, Tono" Subhash replied softly. Your words do not touch me, Takashi, but your lack of control is very disturbing. I have not failed in my duty to the Combine, however much you think that I have failed you. Have I not hidden your instability from our enemies? "I seek to serve the Dragon to the best of my ability, Tono.”
“Then get me that information!"
"I will try, Tono," Subhash said. He keyed the table to display a stellar map of the Draconis Combine. "Consider, please, the situation in Pesht. Warlord Marcus is gaining strength. He is strengthening his ties in what Archon Steiner has left us of the Rasalhague District, playing on the fears of our loyal subjects. And he has contacted Warlord Chi again."
"That is no threat. Chi is too canny to fall in with Marcus." Takashi laughed. Suddenly he stopped and commanded, "Put a watch on Chi. He has ordered Galedon too well."
"Quite right, Coordinator," said Cherenkoff, his jowly face bobbing in approval. "The old goat must be watched."
Subhash noted the order on his datapad. Warlord Chi was unlikely to be part of any plot to topple the throne because he was too loyal to the Combine to endanger it. Marcus was a far more dangerous threat. "Pesht, Tono?"
"Marcus is a fool and a weakling. He had years here on Luthien to overthrow me and he couldn't do it. The closest he came was that sabotage of my BattleMaster in '25. But I was too clever for him. Too strong! I hold the reins of the Combine. It is mine!"
"Quite right, Coordinator. And so it must be," Cherenkoff boomed. In a softer voice, he added, "Until the day your heir takes over."
Takashi stood and slammed his palms against the table. Reports scattered. The Coordinator glared at his Warlord. Cherenkoff gulped air, clearly afraid of his lord's reaction.
Subhash wondered what the fat fool had in mind. Certainly, Cherenkoff hated Theodore for his successful defense of the Dieron District's border with the Lyran Commonwealth while the Warlord had remained on Dieron, failing miserably to mount any effective attacks against the weakened Davion border. To make matters worse, Theodore had acted behind Cherenkoff's back to win the glory that had eclipsed th
e Warlord's efforts.
"Coordinator, I meant no disrespect. I have always been your loyal supporter." Cherenkoff's voice dripped sincerity, but he would not meet Takashi's eyes. "Prince Theodore is wily. Perhaps he is using his office as Kanrei to operate behind your back as he did mine in the war. His people are always snooping around, poking, prying. And the company he keeps! That woman of his was bad enough. Now I hear he has given shelter to two of the infamous Wolf's Dragoons."
Takashi's lips drew back from his teeth, but he said nothing. Though the Warlord seemed oblivious to Takashi's reaction, Subhash knew that Cherenkoff had gone too far. "The persons you refer to are not Dragoons, Warlord. They are rebels who left Wolf's Dragoons after Misery."
Cherenkoff waved his hand in dismissal of Subhash's words. "They are not the real issue. Prince Theodore and his ambitions are what must concern us. Though he gained little for the Combine against the womanish Lyrans, he was awarded the Order of the Dragon. Then, when the ceasefire came, he was made Deputy for Military Affairs." Cherenkoff raised his eyes to the Coordinator's. "You create your own rival, Tono. Do you not see that he plays for your throne? Daily, his popularity grows ..."
"Enough, Warlord," Takashi ordered, straightening and turning his back to the table. "I am quite aware of the doings of my son. The ISF is well-informed."
Subhash bowed his head in acknowledgement of the hand Takashi thrust in his direction. If only you knew how well, my friend, you would not care for that knowledge.
"Do not seek to question my will, Warlord. All that I have done was with a strong purpose in mind. Our realm needed a hero in the early days of the war. Thus did I award my son the Katana Cluster, though I knew he could not have destroyed as many 'Mechs as reported. This gesture also underscored the Lyrans' failure to capture him. I shamed our enemy.
"You cry about his actions in Dieron, yet I did not replace you, did I? Many thought he should have had your position as Warlord. Instead, I awarded him the Order of the Dragon. A pretty ribbon to soothe his common soldier's ego.
Heir to the Dragon Page 23