by Victor Milán
"Apologies," Migaki said. "There were problems with the day's shoot. I had to take charge myself."
"Andjiere I thought you were in charge of making propaganda for the Draconis Combine," Jojira said, "instead of for its long-time enemies."
Migaki looked at her. A corner of his mouth quirked up. He was a handsome man who appeared much younger than he was; as usual he wore his long black hair gathered in a topknot so large that it hung down over his left shoulder.
"Dragon Phoenix is propaganda for the Combine, and very effective it will be," he said. "It is also, incidentally, propaganda on behalf of our current allies in the fight against the Clans. And it will earn the Dragon goodwill among the billions in the Capellan Confederation who still idolize Johnny Tchang despite his defection to the Federated Commonwealth. In the meantime, our allies are also proving generous enough to pay some eighty percent of production costs, thereby freeing vital ISF resources for operations against the Clans. I'd say that's worthwhile, Constance, wouldn't you?"
"Such transactions reek of the purely mercantile," Ki-guri said.
Migaki laughed. "Ah, Hohiro-sama, and can an assemblage of spies, torturers, terrorists, and professional liars really look down upon even the merchant class? We're closer to eta than samurai, and even you know it."
The General's one eye flashed in the starlight. His hatred and contempt for the propaganda boss were among the ISF's less closely guarded secrets. And his pride was stung by the comparison to the lowest class of Unproductives, whose very name meant filth. But Migaki was right. The ISF was descended from the ancient ninja as truly as the Combine's nekogami clans, and the ninja were eta themselves.
"What Takura-san is doing, he does with my approval," Subhash Indrahar said. "If he feels his duties are more pressing than arriving at meetings on time, that lies within his discretion." The Director thought Migaki had too wide a frivolous streak, too, and he hated a lack of punctuality. But if Subhash hadn't been willing to overlook character flaws in favor of sheer ability, Migaki's matinee-idol face was not the only one that would be missing from this gathering. And the Smiling One hadn't thought the gathering necessary to begin with. He felt doing things was more useful than talking about doing them.
"Since you've chosen to grace us with your presence, then," General Kiguri said, "perhaps you can answer a question for us: is all this puffing-up of these gaijin money-soldiers necessary?"
"Yes." The propaganda boss spoke the single word and then stood there, face composed, smiling faintly in the moonlight, as if that answer was a sufficiency. In spite, or perhaps because, of his mastery of words, he used bluntness well.
The one-eyed DEST chieftain wasn't going to be defleeted so simply. "Why?" Kiguri demanded, as if unwilling to let this glib fop outdo a soldier in terseness.
"First, they have done the Combine a service. The key factor there is that it's a service that might have some controversial components among certain sectors of our society."
"Controversial," murmured Jojira. "Your talent for understatement outshines the moons tonight, Takura-kun. They killed Combine soldiers on Towne."
Migaki ignored the sarcastic use of the honorific, which was one a teacher might employ to a favored male student. He shrugged. "Theodore himself did as much during the first Ronin War," he said. "Still, it has the potential to stir ill feelings, so we have chosen to promote the heroism—the rightness—of their actions aggressively. At the same time, of course, the Coordinator retains his usual distance, and can be dissociated from the affair on Towne if that for some reason becomes necessary."
In "his usual distance" the propaganda expert was alluding to a cultural paradox inherited from the Japanese: Combine culture admired a man of action, and a strong leader; yet the proper leader, be he the head of a family or the empire as a whole, was expected to actually do very little. His job was to serve as center, a rock of calm dignity, while others served him. The use of the word oyabun, or father figure, for the head of a yakuza gang was not originally facetious, but descriptive. A leader who did too much was liable to be regarded as rambunctious, and while no one was likely to criticize him openly, even to themselves, such demeanor made people uncomfortable and promoted disharmony. That had been one of the late Takashi Kurita's more signal failings, from the viewpoint of the Voice of the Dragon as well as ISF as a whole: he wouldn't behave.
"As a secondary consideration, the Clan invasion made it necessary for us to rely more and more on mercenaries, and the policy directives we have received indicate no change. Indeed, as the rulers of the other Successor States become increasingly distracted by their own ambitions, it seems likely that the Dragon will have to recruit huge numbers of mercenaries to effectively oppose the Clans once the Truce expires—in the ever-more-unlikely event the Clans honor the Truce to its expiration. We have a long legacy of disdain for doitsujin yohei to overcome, and the late Coordinator's obsessive hatred for Wolfs Dragoons didn't help."
He grinned. "Finally, it's good drama. An exciting adventure story. People enjoy that. And any glory we shine upon these mercenaries can only reflect upon our Coordinator."
"Is it wise to glorify the killing of the Dragon's servants?" Daniel Ramaka asked.
"The gaijin killed rebels, in the Coordinator's service," Kiguri said gruffly. "And they killed many of them, I'll give them that."
"If there is no more business, then," Subhash Indrahar said, in tones which indicated there had better be no more, "let me remind you all that rest serves action better than talk does. And I for one need rest."
The Division heads withdrew. Ninyu Kerai remained behind. "Adoptive father, we have received a communication from Chandrasekhar Kurita's DropShip," he said. "Abdul-sattah, his head of security, inquires as to whether we have fresh intelligence concerning possible Black Dragon plans to take advantage of the Coordinator's birthday."
Subhash rubbed the side of his face. "Ah, the fat fool Chandrasekhar," he said. "Who turned out not to be such a fool after all. He's proven himself wise enough to engage that looming skeleton the Mirza Abdulsattah—and that formidable young mercenary woman who got the better of you when they were assigned to Hachiman."
His adoptive son stiffened. Subhash waved it off. "He got the better of all of us on Hachiman, as it turned out. And proved us wrong about the Black Dragons on Towne."
"I have been guilty of underestimating the Coordinator's cousin," Ninyu said, hanging his head.
"As have we all. And I bid you remember that the missteps that have been called to mind tonight constitute most of the mistakes you've made throughout your long service to the Dragon: hardly a disgraceful record."
He folded his hands in his lap. "I only hope misreading this gross fat hedonist doesn't prove the single worst mistake of my tenure as ISF Director. Fortunate indeed that all we can learn of his actions indicates that, if he does have a potential for subversion, it lies in excessive devotion to the person of Theodore, rather than to the Dragon."
"How should I respond to Abdulsattah's query?" Ever since concluding their truce on Hachiman, the ISF and Uncle Chandy, as he was known among the gaijin, had been cooperating to a limited extent. Even Ninyu Kerai, who would never be an admirer of the Coordinator's obese and self-indulgent "uncle," had to acknowledge it went further than indulging the whims of a member of the Imperial family—the ISF had derived useful information from Uncle Chandy's huge organization.
More, in fact, than it had made proper use of—as the recent Towne fiasco showed.
"What's your assessment of the situation?"
"Kokuryu-kai showed much greater resources than we suspected they possessed in the Towne invasion," Ninyu Kerai said. "They also lost every man, machine, and cartridge they committed to that operation. Not even a Great House could absorb such a catastrophe without feeling ill effects. The Coordinator is enormously popular among all levels of Combine society. I believe that the Black Dragons have shot their bolt."
Subhash gave him a level gaze. "Are you sure?"
"Hai," Ninyu affirmed without hesitation.
"Be wary of certainty, adoptive son," Subhash said, raising an admonitory finger. "The decisiveness that enabled you to render the Dragon such service as a field operative is not always optimal in an administrator—although mind, I'm not counseling you to indecision. But except in the most pressing emergency it is good to think twice before deciding—even though, as Confucius tells us, thinking three times is unnecessary luxury."
"I thank you for your instruction, Subhash-sama."
"It is probably unnecessary itself; you really have learned all you need to know. As I grow older, I grow fonder of hearing myself talk. A peculiarly unattractive vice."
"I agree with Ninyu Kerai," Kiguri said. "Surely the yakuza dogs will never dare trouble the Coordinator."
The Smiling One raised a thin brow at him. "Not yakuza alone, by any means, General. Kokuryu-kai also enjoys support among the Middle classes, business executives, and even the DCMS. It's risky to dismiss them too readily. Ah, well, Ramaka also concurs, and Dashani's metsuke report that the Black Dragons have become almost completely dormant since their surrender on Towne."
He sat a moment, then picked up his scroll again. Then he looked up at Ninyu. "Was there something further, adoptive son?"
"As you say, it is not our duty to make policy, nor to question it. Still: the Way of the Dragon has always been the way of the sword. Might Kokuryu-kai not have a point, that in making common cause with our enemies we risk straying too far from the path of our ancestors?"
"Hakko-ichi-u," the Smiling One said. "The Eight Corners of the World Under One Roof. The motto of the Black Dragon Society. I believe that the Dragon's destiny is to rule over all the Inner Sphere, and one day the whole galaxy, as that slogan suggests. Yet, as our friend Chandrasekhar Kurita perceives, there are many paths by which that end might be attained. I believe our Coordinator goes too far in accommodating the Davions, yet all things considered, his feet are on the proper path."
Ninyu stiffened. "I had no intention of criticizing the Coordinator's conduct in this matter."
"Of course not. And I am pleased to see you practicing reflection."
Ninyu looked puzzled. "The way of the warrior is to act, not reflect."
The Smiling One sighed. "The final and most difficult part of your education," he said, "consists in convincing you that you are not a warrior. You are a sneak-thief, an assassin, and a spy, just as Migaki-san reminded us. More to the point, you are a commander and director of same. Our honor lies in service to the Dragon, not adherence to the nineteenth-century counterfeit called bushido."
Ninyu stiffened at his adoptive father's unwonted vehemence. Subhash waved his fingers at him again. "It's late. Even though sleep holds little virtue for me, you still require yours. Go to bed."
Ninyu Kerai bowed and withdrew. Subhash fumbled with his scroll, steeling himself against the agony the incompetence of what had once been a master swordsman's hands caused him.
You must find your own rest, a voice inside his shaven skull said. Soon.
3
DropShip Uyeshiba, Approach Vector
Luthien
Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
18 June 3058
"Regard the vastness of outer space, granddaughter," said Chandrasekhar Kurita, waving a chubby hand at the huge transpex viewport set into the bulkhead of his stateroom aboard the DropShip Uyeshiba, now on approach vector for the planet Luthien. "Is it not splendid?"
"It's very pretty, Chandrasekhar-sama," Cassie replied.
He swiveled his great shaven Buddha head on its chins and gazed at her with soft reproach. "I understand how you might feel a desire to resist the constraints Combine society places upon feminine demeanor," he said. "But you should make at least the occasional concession to softness and beauty. A warrior without due regard for yin is like a broken wheel."
"Did Confucius say that?"
"No, child; I did, just now. And it's not really the sort of thing the esteemed sage would have said, in between those bouts of moaning about not being able to get a government job that make up the bulk of his Analects. It's more of a medieval Japanese sentiment, something he probably took for granted. The warlord Oda Nobunaga used to astound and delight his troops with the delicacy of the ritual dances he performed before going into battle, and, truth to tell, I'm afraid he was pretty much of a frightful thug. On the other hand, if he could express his yin side, I daresay you can make a go of it."
Cassie looked out the viewport. Certainly the stars splashed across it were impressive in their number and brilliance.
"I'm sorry, grandfather," she said, shaking her head. Chandrasekhar Kurita was not her literal grandfather, of course; it was a term of affectionate respect in Japanese, and delighted Chandy when she used it to him. Actually, he was no more old enough to be her grandfather than he was actually Theodore Kurita's uncle—he was in fact the Coordinator's cousin, his senior by no more than a year or so. While Chandrasekhar Kurita could be a supreme realist—and sometimes hard enough to truly live up to the name Kurita, hard enough to startle Cassie, Drac-born and Capellan-raised though she was—he was a man who tended to make up reality to his own satisfaction as he went along. And he had the force of personality to pull it off.
At least so far. But then, Cassie knew, that was the most you could say about being alive, too: at least so far.
"When I look at the stars," she admitted, "all I see are a lot of little lights."
"And I suppose, when you beheld the legendary grandeur of the Eiglophian Mountains on storm-haunted Towne, all you saw was potential battleground?"
The words caught at her heart. For a moment she was back in the rear seat of a propeller-driven Ruedel attack plane, banking above a great mountain bowl filled with clouds, and over the headset Tim Moon saying, "Welcome to the Vale of Shamballah." She'd been in love with Tim Moon, and he'd died defending his world from the cockpit of that aircraft.
She raised a forefinger to the corner of one eye to remove a drop of moisture that had somehow gotten there, and smiled a slender smile. "Not altogether, grandfather."
He beamed. "Excellent! There's hope for you yet. Have some grapes?" He gestured toward a cluster of fruit floating in a red plastic net anchored to a bracket on the bulkhead.
"No, thank you, grandfather, I just ate. I was mainly wondering why you asked to see me." You could no more hurry Uncle Chandy than you could a glacier, but it was Cassie's nature to try. As was the minor impertinence involved.
She could speak frankly to him. Magnate of the Draconis Combine though he was, and a full-blood Kurita into the bargain, Uncle Chandy took no offense at the barbarian brusqueness and crudity of his doitsujin yohei, his foreign mercenaries. In fact the Caballeros' Southwestern manners—which would have shocked most upstanding residents of the Inner Sphere, truth to tell—tickled him immensely. And he found none more delightful than this strange little tiger-girl he had all but adopted.
Also, he found that what she had to say was usually well worth hearing. "Mere woman" or not, she was the best he had ever seen at what she did. Chandrasekhar Kurita was a man to use talent as it came to him, whether in noble's silks or Unproductive rags. That trait, far more than his last name, accounted for him being the richest man in the Combine, if not the whole Inner Sphere.
He chuckled. "I see that I can hide little from you, even though I mask it with the grandeur of the stars."
"It's Luthien, isn't it? There's trouble."
"So I expect."
She sagged, though she had known it when she received her summons. Had known it since the invitation—wangled somehow by Uncle Chandy himself, she never doubted— had arrived, inviting the Seventeenth Recon Regiment to attend the Coordinator's Birthday celebration on Luthien, where they would be honored for their service to the Draconis Combine. It was the greatest holiday of the year, spreading out over three full days.
"Who?" she asked half-despairing. Then:
"The Black Dragons."
Uncle Chandy beamed. "Precisely. You are percipient as ever, granddaughter."
Slumping in zero-g wasn't very gratifying. She felt herself drifting, kicked, then floated close enough to the wall to snag a silk streamer provided for the purpose.
"I thought we'd finished them on Towne," she said.
The events on Towne were still fresh in Cassie's mind and heart. The final thrust by the Caballeros and the Popular Militia against Tai-sho Jeffrey Kusunoki in Port Howard, coordinated with resistance-force risings all across Towne, had hurt the renegade DCMS/Black Dragon troops under Kusunoki's command. But he still had five regiments of ground forces, including two BattleMech formations—one consisting of Black Dragon MechWarriors—and an aerospace regiment to throw at them. Dispersed and battered though they were, they had still outweighed, outnumbered, and outgunned the Caballeros by an uncomfortable margin even after taking a savage beating at Port Howard.
The bottom line was, as always, that a planet is a big place. Kusunoki's six regiments were not enough to pacify Towne by force, especially after the battle for Port Howard. The only thing that could have saved him would have been help from Theodore Kurita. Which created a brutal dilemma: the Coordinator must either betray his Davion ally or plunge the Draconis Combine into civil war.
To prevent Uncle Chandy's cousin Theodore from having to make that awful choice was what the Seventeenth Recon Regiment had been sent to Towne to do. And they would have failed, despite the victory bought with so much Caballero blood, had Jeffrey Kusunoki escaped to rally his scattered forces. But Cassie had blocked his way at the controls of Kali MacDougall's Atlas.
His disgraceful defeat in 'Mech-to-'Mech combat by someone who wasn't even a MechWarrior—and a mere woman at that—had been broadcast all over the planet by Mariska Savage and ISF propaganda man Enrico Katsuyama. So was Jeffrey Kusunoki's ensuing seppuku with Cassie acting as his second.