Текст книги "Coupe"

Автор книги: Michael A. Stackpole

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

46

Inbound, Sian

Sian Commonality, Capellan Confederation

22 October 3029

 

Andrew Redburn, lost in thought as he stared out the Drop-Ship's viewport, nearly jumped out of his skin when Morgan Hasek-Davion slapped him heavily on the back. "Dammit, Morgan! Don't do that to me!"

The larger Mech Warrior smiled warmly. "Sorry, Andy. I really didn't mean to startle you." He rested his huge right hand on Andrew's left shoulder. "You've been preoccupied ever since we jumped to Sian and started our trip insystem."

Andrew stared out at the second planet orbiting the star called Sian. Still two days out, despite arriving at a non-standard jump point and heading in at just over two gravities, the world was nothing more than a white ball in the distance. You're down there, Justin. I can feel it. Have you figured out what we’re doing or are we going to trick you this time?

Andrew forced a smile. "Don't mind me, Highness. I'm not worried about the plan. It's flawless. They appear to believe wholeheartedly that we're remnants of the Fourth Tau Ceti Rangers returning in triumph with Prince Hanse's heir in tow." His smile grew a bit more genuine. "I can't wait to see the expression on Maximilian Liao's face when our DropShip opens up, and we drop out a battalion ready for a fight. The First Kathil Uhlans should build quite a reputation in this action."

Morgan chucked softly. "Yes, I believe you are correct. Our JumpShip will be recharging the KF drive from its ion engine in preparation for our return trip. All we have to do is find Hanse's agent and get him out."

Turning his back to the viewport, Andrew frowned. "I don't like not knowing who the agent is."

Morgan shrugged. "That can't be helped. We just have to listen for the countersign. He's got half an hour to make contact with us. If we knew who he was, it would be information that we could reveal if captured. We're to find the agent, give him the packet of stuff our Intelligence Liaison Officer issued yesterday, and then cover his back as he gets out."

Andrew nodded slowly. "What if they've already captured him and he misses the pickup?"

Morgan frowned. "In that case, I guess we'll just have to take the Palace apart and find him." He narrowed his green eyes. "Somehow, Andy, I don't think that's what's been bothering you. I can read your uneasiness like a book. You're telegraphing like you telegraphed your punches in our first boxing match back at Warrior's Hall."

"That obvious, huh?" Andrew sighed heavily. "Somewhere down there on Sian, I'm going to run into Justin Xiang. I know that if I see him, I'll have to try to kill him." Andrew looked up at his friend. "I know he's the enemy, and my face still burns when I think of how easily he dealt with me on Bethel, but there's still part of me ..."

Morgan held up a hand to stop Andrew. "I know exactly what you're saying. You're angry at him not so much because he's the enemy but because you feel he betrayed you. He taught you a great deal while you served under him in the Kittery training battalion, and you stuck by him during his treason trial. But then he tried to have you assassinated on Kittery, and he defeated you in a 'Mech battle on Bethel. Part of you wants to fight him and beat him, but part of you doesn't want to lose the friendship you felt for him."

Andrew saw sadness in Morgan's eyes. "Yes, that sums it up almost perfectly. How did you know?"

Morgan folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned back against the DropShip's hull. "When I was a boy, my father taught me to play chess. We'd play once a week or so, and those games became very important to me. No matter what problems my father had to deal with at court, he refused to miss our game. He always encouraged me and told me that when I could finally beat him, I would become a man. Yet, try as I might, I could not win and felt myself smaller in his eyes for my failure."

Morgan glanced away, focusing his malachite eyes beyond the ship's metal shell. "Finally, when I turned fourteen, I took to studying chess. It became an avocation for me, and was sufficiently martial for my tutors to indulge my desires. During this time, my father was called to New Avalon, so we did not play for three months. But when he returned, the first thing we did was to face off across a chess board."

Morgan lapsed into silence for a moment as pain and confusion passed fleetingly over his face. "It was no contest, really. I had become very good in his absence, and I beat him even before I knew it. When I announced, 'Checkmate!' I expected congratulations from him, and to be seen in a new role as an adult."

Andrew moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. "What happened?"

Morgan shook his head ruefully. "He swept the board and pieces from the table. He demanded to know who had conspired with me to humiliate him. He grabbed me and tried to look into my ears to see if I was wearing a radio earpiece because he couldn't believe he'd been bested by 'a half-grown whelp.' "

The Lion of Davion met Andrew's stare. "I've not played chess since because even the idea of a game reminds me of what that last match cost me in the loss of intimacy between me and my father. For years, I thought I'd done something wrong. I beat him, and he hated me for it. After a while, I realized this conflict would probably have developed one way or another, no matter what either of us would have chosen to do about it. My father had become a different person, and I had to deal with him on that basis."

Andrew thought for a moment, then nodded grimly. "What you're saying is that Justin's responsible for the changes in his life. I've got to make sure to keep the past in the past, because dwelling on it will get me killed in the here and now."

"Yeah," Morgan said with a grin. "That's what I'm saying. I don't know what sort of a reception we're going to get down there, but I don't want anyone thinking about anything other than the mission. We get our man and get out."

Andrew nodded. "Get our man and get out. Right." That means, Justin Xiang, that I'm looking for someone different than everyone else. When I settle with you, I'll consider my mission accomplished.

47

Castle Lestrade, Mount Curitiba

Summer, Isle of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth

23 October 3029

 

Clovis Holstein eased himself from the shadowed corner of Aldo Lestrade's library and moved into the light as the Duke made his way toward the crystal service on the sideboard. Clovis made no noise, but the Duke, as though sensing the emotions raging in the dwarf's breast, whirled unsteadily. Clovis stopped. "I have come for you, Duke Aldo Lestrade."

Lestrade jammed both fists onto his hips and screwed his face into a grimace that looked like the prelude to a furious outburst. Then his eyebrows tipped up in a mocking expression. The short, squat Duke threw back his head and laughed raucously. "Does Morgan Kell hold me in such contempt that he sends you to kill me? Be off with you before I find a stick and beat you to death as I would any other vermin."

"He doesn't even know I'm here," Clovis said. "If Morgan Kell truly wished you dead, he'd have crushed you beneath the hell of his Archermonths ago. He would gladly have killed you for any of your attempts against the life of the Archon. With Duke Frederick gone, Morgan assumes you are no longer a threat."

Lestrade's jovial expression grew darker, and Clovis took secret pleasure in the change. Yes, Duke Lestrade. I know of Duke Frederick's demise. I am privy to highly secret information. This makes me an unknown quantity in your eyes, doesn't it? I am a mystery to be unraveled before you destroy me.

Lestrade frowned, then crossed to a massive wooden sideboard and poured himself a brandy. "Duke Frederick's loss is a blow to my plans, but it matters little. Alessandro Steiner is dying, and Ryan, his heir apparent, will still need a political mentor to wrest control from Melissa. It may take ten or twenty years, but I will be there to see my plans come to fruition."

Clovis unzipped the Kell Hound flight jacket he wore. "All your planning will be for naught," he said, a cruel smile tugging at his mouth. "The same raid that killed your father, the raid that took your left arm and destroyed your left hip, maimed you in another way. Reconstructive surgery is wonderful, but even the best in the Successor States could not give you back the ability to sire a dynasty, could it?"

Lestrade's face drained of color. He swirled the brandy in his snifter, then gulped down the amber liquid. It restored sanguinity to his cheeks, but the haunted look in his brown eyes remained. "How do you know that? Who are you?"

Clovis's laughter clearly irritated the Duke, so the dwarf lashed him with it mercilessly. "How did I know you were castrated in that raid? I've been in your castle for two days now, and I've sorted through every piece of data in your computer system. What other conclusion could I draw from the fact that one of the greatest womanizers in the Lyran Commonwealth has testosterone derms sent to him from a dozen different sources? You've never had an heir and never even been involved in a paternity suit. As I suggested before, reconstructive surgery can be wonderful, but some things it cannot rebuild."

Lestrade, slightly unsteady, eased himself into a green leather wingback chair. He stared at Clovis, appearing almost mesmerized. "You broke my security? The computer security system I created?"

Clovis nodded patronizingly. "I've a knack for that sort of thing. Some say I inherited it." The dwarf's smile grew as he looked around the dark, cavernous room filled from floor to ceiling with shelves of valuable, leather-bound books. "As for your other question, I am offended that you do not recognize me. I didn't think I had that much of my mother in me."

Lestrade squinted through the room's dim light at the dwarf. He pulled back for a second, then looked closely at his visitor again. Finally he settled back in his chair, an astonished smile spreading across his wide face. "My God, is it possible? I thought she died in the raid. Someone told me afterward that she'd been pregnant... I couldn't have cared before. .. ." The Duke looked at the plastic left hand he wore as a result of the Kurita raid twenty-four years before. "Afterward, I would have given my rightarm for her child. What was her name?"

Clovis threw back his long black hair with a proud shake of his head. "Danica. Her name is Danica Holstein. I am Clovis."

A chuckle began deep in Lestrade's barrel chest and grew to fill the room. "Clovis. That's a good name, a strong name. It means illustrious battler. Yes, yes . . . Clovis Lestrade." The Duke's eyes flashed with unadulterated joy. "Clovis Lestrade .. . That's as good a name as I would have chosen for you myself."

The dwarf rested his hands on his hips. "Now I have come for you."

Lestrade nodded enthusiastically. "Of course you have, my boy. You've come for what I can give you, what we can share. The Lyran Commonwealth is a ripe plum, just waiting to be plucked by someone with the courage and knowledge to take it." The Duke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Of course you broke through my computer's security—by the gods, you've got to be brilliant. Now my people will have someone to lead them when I have passed on."

Clovis smiled easily. "I have people as well, father."

The Duke heard his words, but placed different emphasis on them. "Father," he said, musing over the sound of the word. "How often have I been jealous of other men who have children? There I was, a strategist without equal, a political leader who is a god in his own realm, yet I had no heir, no future on which to build. I would look at some halfwit peasant toiling on an agro-combine, with a dozen wailing brats surrounding him like a pack of mongrels. I could not understand my fate because I knew God had chosen me for great things."

Lestrade smiled at his son. "Now I see that it makes sense. It does not surprise me that you have followers of your own. That would only be natural. I can see it in you, the Lestrade fire. You can speak passionately and make people listen. You can inflame them and direct them. How many are your followers? What is your power base?"

Clovis's dark eyes hardened. "It was a small community on Lyons. It was called New Freedom and it died when you ordered the Kell Hounds to abandon the world."

The Duke frowned for a moment as the pain in Clovis's voice confused him, but his dreams of empire carried him away again. "It was too bad about that. But the important thing is that you survived." The horror of losing the son he'd not known sent a tremor through him. "Do you have a son? Am I a grandfather?"

Clovis shook his head. "Not yet."

The Duke laughed aloud. "But you will, Clovis. You will. I will arrange for you a marriage that will strengthen our ties with the Tamar Pact. When your son assumes the throne, he will rule a realm a third the size of the Lyran Commonwealth."

Clovis shook his head. "I'm afraid you don't understand why I am here. Just as you killed your father, I will kill you. First, I wanted you to know who I am, and that your foul line ends with you."

The joy on Lestrade's face melted into outrage, then changed to calculated pity. With his right hand, the Duke tugged on his artificial left hand, bending it all the way back against his forearm. At his wrist, the barrel of a laser pistol popped out and pointed directly at Clovis.

The Duke shook his head. "I am not as stupid as my father. I am never without a weapon."

Clovis laughed at him. "As I told you before, I've been in this castle for two days. I learned about your little trick from the computer and I drained the battery cell last night after you removed the arm to sleep."

Lestrade stabbed the laser at Clovis, but no beam shot from it to impale him. The Duke levered himself out of the chair and raised the plastic and steel limb. "It does not matter! You are nothing! I will crush you!" He took one step toward the dwarf, then clutched at his chest. The Duke sank heavily to his knees before pitching forward onto his face.

Clovis approached him, pleased to see his father's breath moistening the cold marble floor. "I'm a Lestrade, father. I've been here two days and you never saw me. I would have remained here a week or a month or a year if I had to."

Clovis lifted the Duke's head just enough so the man could see the sideboard. "Were I acting just for myself, or the people you caused to be murdered at New Freedom, I would have killed you cleanly. But in your attempt to kill the Archon, you had my best friend's lover killed. You gave Daniel Allard untold pain—pain he does not deserve—and for that, I decided to break you. The only reason you saw me tonight, Father,is because you were moving to drink from the brandy I poisoned when I first got here. I just wanted to see your face when you realized that you would die a complete and utter failure."

Clovis laid the Duke's head back down on the cold floor, then walked away, leaving Aldo Lestrade to die very, very much alone.

48

Nusakan

Isle of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth

24 October 3029

 

Chu-saAkira Brahe left his company under the command of Jack Seaborg to pace his way through the Genyoshacolumn. Pulling parallel to his father's Warhammer,he keyed up a radio link. Sumimasen, Tai-sa Yorinaga.Please speak with me on our private channel."

His father's voice came after a moment's hesitation. "Hai."After a short buzz of static, Yorinaga Kurita's voice again filled Akira's neurohelmet. "As you asked for this conference by addressing me by rank, I shall assume we will speak only of military matters?"

Akira winced at the anxiety mixed with an uncharacteristic eagerness in his father's voice. What we are to face both worries and exhilarates him. The calm that seemed the core of his being erodes as he draws closer to his meeting with Morgan Kell.He drew in a deep breath in a weak attempt to allay his own anxiety. "Hai, sosen.My primary concern is military, but it does not smother all else that I feel. But the Way of the Sword enables me to put aside personal concerns to consider the military necessities of a situation."

Yorinaga's laughter brought a smile to Akira's lips as the Mech-Warrior stepped his Orionaround a wind-carved dolmen. "Well put, Chu-saBrahe. I am rebuked for placing my personal concerns ahead of military ones, though, in actuality, I have not done so."

Akira frowned. A desert wind swirled red dust up into a bloody dervish that coated both lead 'Mechs with a layer of ochre. He glanced at his heat monitor and noticed that because of the external temperature, his 'Mech's monitor lights were already creeping into the yellow cautionary zone.

"Forgive me, Tai-sa,if your statement confuses me. Ever since you learned that Palmer Conti—at loose ends because of the attack on Dromini VI—jumped his Fifth Sword of Light Regiment in here to destroy the Kell Hounds ahead of us, you have driven us hard in a race you knew we could not win. You've heard the reports of combat communications. You know they joined in battle twenty hours ago, and you know it will be over by the time we get there."

In the silence that greeted his words, Akira visualized his father slowly shaking his head. "Chu-saBrahe, I think you have made an error. Do you mean to suggest that I have pushed the Genyoshaacross this sandstone and lava-rock desert because I fear Conti will kill Morgan Kell?"

Akira swallowed against the fear gnawing at his stomach. "I think you have become wrapped up in personal rivalries. You even ignored a priority transmission from the Coordinator himself, directing you to break off this personal vendetta."

The strength in Yorinaga's voice reassured his son that his father had not abandoned reason. "You will learn, Akira, that there are times when your masters do not know what is right and proper in the world. The message from the Coordinator had obviously been garbled in transmission, for he would never deny me this battle with Morgan Kell. As for my haste in reaching the Kell Hounds, it is not based on any fear that the Fifth Sword of Light will rob me of my battle, or out of a desire to kill Palmer Conti. He is insignificant, and his quarrel with me is a war waged on his side alone. Indeed, I hurry us along because I merely wish to save the Dragon the embarrassment of their total destruction at the hands of the Kell Hounds."

Anger flared up in Akira. "Why is it you concern yourself with the Coordinator's honor? He denied you release while you waited in exile, then promised you the Kell Hounds' destruction as part of the price for your cooperation and leadership in the Genyosha.He has vacillated in his treatment of us, supporting us one moment, then leaving us like orphans to be spat on by units like the Fifth Sword. Even this last message, the one you choose to see as garbled, is meant to deny you vindication. You guard his honor, yet he gives you nothing but shame."

The anger in Yorinaga's voice told Akira he had struck a nerve, but the reply cut off all chance of further discussion. "I guard his honor because he is the Dragon. That is enough. My life, and the life of every person in the Draconis Combine, is his to play with, to use or to warp in any way he sees fit. He is the Dragon, and I live to serve him."

Yorinaga's voice lost some of its intensity. "We will not speak of this again, my son, for some might consider the conversation treasonous. There is no more time. We have arrived and must, once again, become warriors and serve the Way of the Sword."

Akira shifted his radio back to the tactical frequency he shared with his company. "Jack, I'm back, but I'll stay up here. If we get hit, we'll form up as the left flank. Have Korasulance keep their eyes open on our back-trail."

Seaborg replied quickly and positively as Akira brought his Orionaround the last bend in the canyon they had traveled to the heart of Nusakan's equatorial desert. Opening out away and down from his position, framed by canyon walls that widened out and vanished at the horizon, Akira saw a flat scarlet plain dotted with purplish succulent plants sprouting golden spikes. In the center of the plains rose up one massive mesa, shaped by eons of harsh desert winds. Like lesser Acolytes surrounding a Precentor, smaller outcroppings of purplish lava-rock rose up from the desert floor to surround the centerpiece.

Dragon's Blood! It's incredible!Mechanically, Akira directed his 'Mech forward into the desert valley, seeing but disbelieving everything. Can anything be left, or has my father been cheated after all?

Beginning at the valley entrance, the shattered bodies of Battle-Mechs lay scattered about. At first, Akira saw them as toys smashed in anger by a child, but he rejected that analogy. The destruction here is too complete. A child would have been careless in lashing out. This is deliberate.

'Mechs from the Fifth Sword of Light lay staring up at Nusakan's twin suns, the desert heat rising in blurry waves from their shapes. All had gaping rents in their armor. Limbs, broken and maimed beyond recognition, covered the sandy surface chaotically. In several places, one or two legs stood as monuments to the 'Mechs they had carried into battle, though no sign of their torsos remained.

Mixed among them, but too few in number for Akira's ease of mind, were 'Mechs with the black legs and red body color scheme favored by the Kell Hounds. Those 'Mechs, though equally as dead as the Draconian machines around them, had not been as savaged in battle. With the exception of two 'Mechs whose heads had been crushed, the Kell Hound war machines were uniformly missing their faceplates. All this carnage, yet the Kell Hound pilots still managed to escaped their doomed 'Mechs. They value their lives over their honor and their machines.

A shiver ran down Akira's spine. The Coordinator directed us to destroy all the mercenaries on Northwind because he claimed mercenaries had no honor. When I faced Team Banzai on North-wind, I saw mercenaries fighting to save people not even in their company. Here these "dishonorable " Kell Hounds have managed to rip up one of our best units and still save their pilots. I fear we too often die for honor in our 'Mechs rather than fight as best we can and escape to fight again.

Catching sight of movement in the distance, Akira added magnification to his forward sensor readout and directed his attention to the large mesa. Before it, in an arena-like, bowl-shaped depression, two 'Mechs squared off. At the north side of the arena were several ranks of 'Mechs with their backs to the large mesa. Akira recognized their colors as those of the Kell Hounds. Opposite them, in the black and gold of the Fifth Sword of Light, a half dozen Kurita Mechs also watched the battle in the pit.

The Kell Hound 'Mech, a humanoid Cyclops,looked tired and battered. Armor hung from it in broken sheets. Its left leg, which had been virtually stripped of armor, had been fused at the knee. Despite its injuries, however, the 'Mech triggered a staggering burst from the autocannon mounted at its right hip, then drove in at its foe.

The Bansheeit faced took the hail of slugs in the chest and rocked backward. Armor, the first it had lost in battle, streaked away in smoking shards. The crater in the armor looked like a raw wound over the Banshee'sheart, but still showed evidence of yet more armor between the hole and the 'Mech's insides.

A transmission from one of a half-dozen other Fifth Sword 'Mechs watching the battle from close up crackled through Akira's neurohelmet. "Praise be to the Dragon! You have come. Now we can complete the destruction of the mercenary dogs. Hurry! When Tai-shoConti destroys this Bradley, the Kell Hounds will kill him."

Yorinaga's sharp reply came quickly, "lie.It is an even battle. The mercenaries will respect it."

The name "Bradley" rang a bell in Akira's mind. Bradley... Scott Bradley. He commanded the mercenaries on Northwind. Conti's Fifth Sword used us to destroy Bradley's command while Conti ripped up the Davion garrison, the Fifth Deneb Light Cavalry. Bradley wants to avenge the warriors who died there.Akira's tawny eyes narrowed. How is it that a mercenary whose 'Mech has obviously seen battle can demand satisfaction of the Fifth Sword's leader and not know honor?

The Cyclop'srush forward seemed to surprise the Banshee'spilot. As the Combine 'Mech twisted to avoid the brunt of the charge, the Cyclops'sballed left fist smashed into the Banshee'sright shoulder. With a sound like a thundercrack, the mechanical fist pulverized ceramic armor plates into dust.

The Bansheebrought its left fist round in a murderous hook, but the Cyclopsleaned dangerously to the right, ducking beneath the blow. Bradley pushed off with his good right leg and twisted awkwardly around to slam his Mech's right fist into the Banshee'sspine. More armor evaporated into dust, opening a hole in the Banshee'sback.

Unbalanced by the missed punch and sped on by the blow to the Banshee'sspine, the ninety-five-ton 'Mech pitched forward. Conti, reacting quickly, reached out and grabbed the Cyclops'sdamaged left leg as he fell. Rolling the Banshee,he snapped the limb clean off, dropping the Cyclopsonto its back.

Gracelessly, Palmer Conti brought his 'Mech to its feet and raised the Cyclops'sleg in both arms like a club. Flat on its back, the Cyclopslifted both arms to protect its head. Conti's voice, full of victory, filled the radiowaves with a wide-beam broadcast. "That, Major Bradley," he boasted, "is why your people died on Northwind!"

A gout of red-gold flame erupted from the Cyclops'sautocannon muzzle. The stream of shells it spat out sliced into the Banshee'sright armpit like a chainsaw. Armor parted like tissue paper and rained down confetti-like over the arena. Myomer muscles snapped like rubber bands stressed beyond tolerance and the ferro-titanium ball-and-socket shoulder joint gave way. Still clutching the Cyclops'sleg in its fist, the Banshee'sarm sailed from the arena.

The impact of the autocannon's fire spun the Bansheeto the right. The Cyclopslashed out with its leg, crushing armor on the Banshee'sleft ankle and slamming that leg against the Banshee'sother leg. The Bansheeflailed madly against the air in a vain attempt to regain its balance, then toppled slowly and inexorably onto its face.

The Cyclopsflipped itself over onto its stomach, then dragged itself around to the Banshee.Resting its torso against the Banshee'sbody to pin it to the ground, the Cyclopsreached out with both hands. In one deft, savage motion, the Cyclopsripped the Banshee'shead from its shoulders and victoriously thrust it aloft in its right hand.

The Banshee'sfaceplate exploded outward, dissolving into a blizzard of glittering glass fragments. Conti's command couch blew through the smoke and fire, then slowed as the gyrojet stabilizers ignited. The MechWarrior floated gently to the desert floor, freed himself from the safety straps, then gesticulated wildly toward the mesa and the mercenaries.

One of the Fifth Sword's 'Mechs moved forward, but a jagged bolt of PPC lightning from Yorinaga Kurita's 'Mech stopped it. "No more. Your fight is done."

An excited voice replied over the radio. "But Tai-shoConti directs us to battle for the glory of the Dragon!"

"As he has done?" The biting edge in Yorinaga's voice mocked the warrior's devotion to Conti. "Stand aside, all of you. If you do not, I will order my Genyoshato destroy you."

After a moment's hesitation, the Fifth Sword's 'Mechs withdrew, opening a path from Yorinaga to the arena. The Cyclops,refusing aid, had dragged itself free of the pit. Several other Kell Hound 'Mechs moved into the depression and cleared away the Banshee'sheadless corpse. Their task complete, they resumed their places among the mercenaries.

Morgan Kell's Archerstepped from amid the Kell Hounds and slowly stalked down into the arena. The valley's red dust covered it except where the flaming exhaust of launched missiles had burned the 'Mech's shoulders black. Though showing every sign of having engaged in combat, its armor was somehow undented, untouched. The Archerstopped at the north edge of the depression's floor and waited.

Akira watched his father's Warhammeradvance like a man welcoming his destiny, but afraid he would fail in attaining it. For thirteen years he has dreamed of this battle.Akira looked over at his targeting crosshairs as he brushed them over both 'Mechs. His computer acknowledged neither of them.

As his father's Warhammerentered the arena, Akira suddenly remembered the chilling words once spoken to him by Jaime Wolf, one of the most feared MechWarriors in the Successor States. When Akira had asked Wolf to explain what his father and Morgan Kell had discussed cryptically at Hanse Davion's wedding, the mercenary had stared at him for a moment with his predator's-eyes. "It's simple, Chu-saBrahe," Wolf said. "Morgan Kell and Yorinaga Kurita both know that the next time they meet in combat, they will kill one another."