Текст книги "Heir To The Dragon "

Автор книги: Robert N. Charette

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

66

Breed System

Raman PDZ, Draconis March, Federated Suns

31 October 3039

 

Marshal James Sandoval took the crumpled fax out of his pocket. Straightening it, he stared again at the bitter order. Recall.

All the forces under his command that had been tagged for the second wave were assigned new targets. His own First Robinson Rangers were to lead the attack to recover Breed. The second wave was indefinitely postponed, with all assigned resources being diverted to meet the threat from the Kurita counterattack. Postponed? More likely canceled. The chance had slipped by.

Only six months ago, they had struck the Combine, catching the Snakes unaware. Initial progress had been good. The lack of BattleMech support and counterattacks had only confirmed his belief that the Kuritans had not had time to rebuild those very expensive forces. What they did have was tied up in Dieron resisting the combined attacks that threatened to cut the Combine off from Terra.

It had all looked so good.

Then the Combine's resistance had stiffened. Even though the Davion forces were facing armies light on 'Mechs, the Kuritans held. Planets didn't fall when they were supposed to. The timetable of the invasion had begun to slip. Even then, Sandoval had not been especially worried. The Snakes might have been unprepared, but no one in his right mind would expect them to give up as easily as the Capellans had in the last war.

Then had come the assassinations against the officers of the Steiner front. It had thrown the Lyran thrust into turmoil. The Steiner advances had stopped almost instantly. The no-guts cowards had even gotten themselves kicked off Vega. He had heard a rumor that Katrina Steiner had panicked when she found an origami cat in the Royal Throne Room on Tharkad. James shook his head. An army had to be bigger than its leadership, stronger than its machines. While the Steiner troops had lots of heavy equipment, they seemed lightly equipped with determination. James felt betrayed. He knew that his father would be feeling even more so after all he had done to foster the alliance with those faint-hearted Lyran fancy-dressers.

He had never expected the Davion High Command to crumble, too. Sortek must have overrated the opposition on An Ting. It was the only explanation for the abandonment of the Galedon thrust. James knew better. From all he had seen, the Snakes had to be on the ropes. They were certainly ready to collapse all along his own front. Another push, and they would have.

Then the word had come that the thrice-damned Theodore Kurita had engineered a massive counterattack. Combine units had thrust deep into Federated Suns space, endangering Robinson. James stared sullenly at the faxes littering the small desk of his cubicle. He knew them too well. Supply bases gone. Militia units crushed. Combine planets retaken by the Dragon. AFFS units in danger of being cut off. New Kurita BattleMech units identified. Unexpected forces assaulting Davion worlds.

Everything was coming apart.

The door buzzed, and he tapped the switch to open it. Sir Michael Hallbrock stepped through. He flashed James a brief, apologetic smile. "Time for the approach briefing, Jimmy boy."

"I'll be there in a minute."

Hallbrock started to leave, but stopped halfway through the doorway.

"You done good, Jimmy. The Old Duke will be proud."

James didn't bother to look at him. "We're turning our backs on our last chance to crush the Combine. They've got to be weak, too spread out. If we could just keep pushing."

"Ain't a war ever been fought without a soldier carrying a politician on his back, Jimmy."

James sighed. "Sir Michael, you and my father fed me history when I was growing up. You told me tales of how warriors saved the day, rescued the maiden .. . slew the dragon. The Mech Warrior always pulled it out when everybody else had lost hope."

"And you're wondering what's wrong with you that you're not the hero?"

James bit his lip. The old Colonel knew him too well.

"A good soldier follows orders," Hallbrock said softly.

"Even when he knows they're wrong?"

"Are you so sure that they are? Are you willing to bet the lives of millions that you are right about how weak the Kuritans are?"

After a moment of silence, James shook his head.

"I figure Hanse Davion feels the same way." Hallbrock straightened up. "Weak or not, them Snakes are holding Breed and we've got orders to take it back. The men are waiting, Marshal."

James forced a shallow smile. "Go on. I'll be along in a minute."

Hallbrock nodded. The door hissed softly as it cut off James's view of the lanky old Colonel. James sat, glumly staring at the clutter on his table. He felt the frustration building until it burst forth, and his arm swept out to knock all the fax sheets and data disks to the floor.

Drained of emotion, he stood slowly and walked through the mess to the door. He had an assault briefing to run.

67

Kirkwood Manor, Conqueror's Pride, Proserpina

Benjamin Military District, Draconis Combine

12 December 3039

 

The night was scented with the heavy, sweet odor of yoruhanablossoms. Occasionally, insects blundered through the light pools thrown by the stone lanterns, whirring gems of iridescent chitin. The garden was an island of serenity.

Yasir Nezumi was at ease here, despite the kimono that clung to the sweat brought out by the warmth and humidity. The manor belonged to a yakuza leader, a minor official of the Boshi-gumiclan. It was a near-perfect replica of a Muromachi shoen complex and a sign of the progressive changes made under the enlightened rule of the Dragon. Each day, more of the war-ravaged world was returned to productivity. One day, the Amerigo continent would be reclaimed as well. When that day came, the Boshi-gumiclan would be strong; they owned much of its land. The future was bright for those of the clans.

A kagetaka called from the bushes.

Nezumi started, and a nervous anticipation filled him. The kagetaka was not native to Proserpina, and though common on worlds across the Inner Sphere, it was a species not yet reintroduced to this planet. He cleared his throat. He wished his voice to be heard clearly. It was important to make a good impression. He was not dealing with the ordinary here.

"The war against the Davion and Steiner tekiis going well. Our enemies retreat, cowed and chastened for their temerity. Lord Theodore is triumphant in arms.

"Now that the danger to the Combine is past, it is time to consider the proper ordering of things. The long years of waiting for an appropriate moment are over, and we must turn our eyes to the future. With the invader returned to his own space, we can now attend to internal matters.

"For years, Takashi Kurita has hindered our lord. Unjustly. Unwisely. The mantle of the Dragon has passed from Takashi -sama. Men of vision have seen this for some time, but they thought it prudent to refrain from action. Now the truth must be recognized. All loyal citizens must do what they can to see that an orderly transition proceeds, that the old and faltering give way to the strong and vital."

He paused, letting the garden's silence engulf him.

"It is Kanrei Theodore's desire," he added.

Having stated his case, he relaxed. A beetle buzzed by his ear and down past his shoulder to bump into a lantern at his side. Its gossamer wings folded under its carapace as it landed. Concerned with matters knowable only to an insect, it crawled off into the darkness. "Is there anything else to be said?" Nezumi asked the night. The silent serenity of the garden went undisturbed. He waited a minute, but there was no answer from the bushes or the trees. He repeated his question. Nezumi sat quietly for another two minutes.

Had he been wrong?

He would not know any time soon. Resigned, he stood up, groaning as he straightened. The price of advancing age, he lamented. His knees and back were painfully stiff as he walked the path of carefully chosen and placed stones. As he neared the bushes at the edge of the garden, his concern over his aches vanished. A speck of white arrested his passage, a folded rice-paper figure standing on one of the path's stones. It was an origami cat.

He smiled with pleasure. He had served the Kanrei, and he knew the Kanrei rewarded those who served him well.

68

Temujin Starport, Conqueror's Pride, Proserpina

Benjamin Military District, Draconis Combine

14 December 3039

 

Yasir Nezumi was waiting just inside the roped-off area of the Temujin Starport receiving area, standing prim and straight in his dark businessman's jacket. Behind the yakuza oyabun,the crowd milled in sudden excitement as Theodore walked down the ramp from the DropShip Tetsuwashi.A chant of "Banzai!"arose, and Fuhito held back Theodore's aides. Alone, the Kanrei walked into the acclamation, acknowledging it graciously. As he reached the oyabun,the man made a formal bow. "Welcome back, Kanrei."

"Domo,Nezumi -san." Theodore smiled as he rose from his bow. He thrust out his hand, and the stocky oyabuntook it firmly and pumped it vigorously. "I'm pleased that you could take time from your business to be here to meet me. Tomoe has spoken highly of your patriotic organization's outstanding aid. I'm honored."

"Iie, Tono.It is my honor to take part in welcoming home the victorious Dragon."

"Hardly victorious, Oyabun.We're still at war with the Federated Suns and the Lyran Commonwealth."

Nezumi shrugged away the significance of that remark. "They have almost completely withdrawn from our planets. The teki'sassault is finished."

"As is ours," Theodore confided. "You know as well as anyone how thinly spread we were within our wedge into Davion space. We couldn't have continued much longer, but they did not know that. It doesn't matter. We achieved our aim and impressed our determination on Hanse Davion."

Theodore stepped away from the oyabun,intent on clearing the receiving area. Over his shoulder, he added, "There's still the hornet's nest in Dieron that needs my attention. I will be heading there tomorrow."

"Your generals are well-trained and efficient, Tono.They can handle the minor operations in that district," Nezumi called aloud. Then he lowered his voice so that it carried no further than Theodore's ears. The oyabun'smanner shifted to that of friendly conspirator. "Wouldn't Luthien be a better choice for your next destination? It is your due."

Theodore was puzzled by Nezumi's obsequious behavior, but he had no time to ponder it. As they broke through the cordon, well-wishers, anxious officers, and toadying courtiers surrounded him, cheering and calling. Smiling, Theodore turned to the task of greeting his subjects.

Working his way through the crowd with an ease he wouldn't have been capable of two years ago, he spotted two familiar faces, Dechan Fraser and Jenette Rand. They stood aloof from the others, private and separate, despite rubbing shoulders with Kuritans. He greeted them, surprised but pleased that they were here. They were concerned about something and desirous of a private meeting. Assuring them of his attention as soon as possible, he arranged a meeting for that evening. Theodore turned, looking for an aide. None was in sight, but he saw Nezumi still standing at the fringes of the crowd. "Nezumi -san," he called. "Can you arrange an escort for my friends?"

"Hai,Coordinator," Nezumi responded with a sharp bow.

Theodore froze.

"I'm not the Coordinator."

Nezumi smiled broadly. "Is it not time for the cat to strike?"

Theodore's eyes went wide, his composure gone as dread flooded him. "What have you done?" he said softly.

Fearing that he already knew the answer only too well, Theodore pushed his way through the crowd. He did not head for Nezumi or for the limousine that awaited him. He ran back toward the DropShip, calling out orders for lift-off.

69

Unity Palace, Imperial City, Luthien

Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

9 January 3040

 

His footsteps echoed from the walls as Theodore pounded down the corridor. Otomo guards moved to defensive positions as he approached, readying their heavy-barreled stun rifles. They relaxed as soon as they recognized him, slapping their weapons against the hard plasteel of their cuirasses and bowing their helmeted heads. Theodore paid them no heed.

The last door loomed before him, its brass fittings gleaming in the soft radiance of the glow panels. Theodore hit it hard, jarring to a stop when the door remained firmly in place. His palm had slipped from the handle before he could turn it far enough to disengage the latch. With a curse, he twisted it savagely. Flinging the door wide, he entered the Peony Room, coming to an abrupt halt as he found the man he sought.

Takashi Kurita stood with his back to the door, apparently halted in mid-motion. The Coordinator wore his tan DCMS uniform. Its spotless surface glistened in the soft glow from the paper-shielded glow bulbs scattered throughout the chamber on black lacquered stands. The uniform's creases and folds were barely disturbed by Takashi's motions as he lifted an exquisite, cut-glass decanter in his left hand and poured dark amber fluid into the ice-filled tumbler in his right hand. Takashi returned the decanter to its place among the trays of food and rack of bottles on the table. He stoppered it before turning slowly to face his visitor.

"A very dramatic entrance," he observed wryly. He lifted his glass in mock salute, but did not drink. "Come to boast of your successes?"

Theodore sensed the waves of hostility rolling toward him from the Coordinator. Just like old times,he thought. "They are not mine alone. The Combine has drawn together to do this."

"Without me."

"Without you."

Takashi stepped away from the table of refreshments, walking slowly across the room. The soft light threw diffuse and enormous shadows against the gleaming, gold-framed paintings on the walls and the low beams of the elaborately raftered ceiling, as though some hunched giant were walking past. Takashi stopped when he reached the small elevated platform that held the carved chair of state. The Coordinator turned to face his son. "Am I such a useless old man that I must be confined here, surrounded by your lackeys?"

"I did what seemed best. You charged me with the military affairs of the realm. This invasion was one such affair. I didn't wish to disturb your serenity."

"I am not a blind dodderer," Takashi snapped. "Save your courtly excuses for the masses and the fawning toadies of the court. Iam the Dragon, you insolent pup! This is myrealm still. Not yours!"

Theodore burned with anger. If the Coordinator had been allowed to control the DCMS during this war, the Combine would have been devastated. Takashi did not understand the new army Theodore had built. If Theodore's agents had not prevented Takashi's orders from going beyond the palace on Luthien, the Combine would have been crippled, if not destroyed. All save the order to hold fast in Dieron had been inappropriate to the vital strategy Theodore was pursuing– and even the Dieron order had been given for the wrong reasons.

Theodore had acted to save the Combine, and his face flushed with anger that his father could question that dedication. Feeling the warmth on his cheeks, Theodore was ashamed that he had let the emotion show. He was angrier still when he saw satisfaction flash into his father's eyes.

"At least you have the grace to be embarrassed by your conduct," Takashi said harshly. "It is of little comfort. By ignoring me, you threw away a chance to rip out Hanse Davion's throat. Your retreat from Exeter was far too premature. Some have called it cowardly."

The Coordinator continued to berate a silent Theodore. Takashi expressed his contempt for the Kanrei's strategic sense as demonstrated by his conduct of the war, detailing each and every military decision with accuracy that could only mean that the Coordinator had eyes and ears in Theodore's command staff. Takashi was too well-informed to have pieced the material together from individual officers, even if the Warlords had been his spies. Theodore was sure that Constance and her O5P would not have leaked such sensitive material. It could only mean that, in spite of the Director's assurances to the contrary, Subhash Indrahar continued to play his double game, balancing father and son to his own advantage and charting his own course for the survival of the Dragon.

Takashi ranted on. The Coordinator's topic shifted from the poor military decisions to the failure of his son as a warrior. Takashi found Theodore's abandonment of the thrust into the Federated Suns particularly cowardly.

After all these years, the man still did not understand. Theodore tried to push the emotion from his mind, to sink into the calm that would sustain him through what was to come. He was distracted by a sparkle of light from the crystal decanter. His eyes fastened on the convoluted patterns, following their angles. He studied their intricate precision, seeking regularity and pattern to slow his racing mind and to soothe his spirit. Perversely, his discomfort grew. Theodore started again to trace the flow of incisions in the surface of the bottle. A shape emerged amid the abstract angles of the pattern. He drew in his breath, his mind blazingly clarified. Takashi's words continued to hammer on Theodore's ears, but their pounding rhythm lost coherency. Takashi's surface sheen of contempt and disappointment slid away under Theodore's enhanced perception, laying bare the Coordinator's underlying, long-nurtured hatred and jealousy.

Theodore's hand slid down to the holster at his side. The hard, cool ivory of the handgrip snugged firmly into his palm as he slipped the flap open and gripped the Nambu.

Takashi stopped speaking. Their eyes locked. Theodore read pure contempt in his father's ice blue eyes.

"So ka,"Takashi said quietly. He straightened his shoulders, the years and faint signs of infirmity left by his stroke vanishing. He lifted his glass to his lips.

Theodore drew his pistol, firing as the gun rose.

Takashi fell over backwards, rolling toward the tall chair of state. He lay still. Glass shards stood like icebergs in a spreading sea of amber fluid. Time ceased to flow for Theodore, the instant frozen and he with it.

From the gloomy upper rafters, a black shadow dropped to the floor, entering Theodore's consciousness before it reached his field of vision. The form crouched to absorb the force of its drop, then straightened smoothly, resolving into a human figure. The soft light of the room was absorbed by the dark clothing, obscuring all details save the hard, narrow shape of the sword hilt thrusting out over the shoulder. The apparition's face was masked, only the eyes visible: dark, lustrous, and utterly calm. Between them was a small black tattoo of a cat, its pose exactly like that of the one Theodore had seen hidden in the abstract design of the decanter's decoration. This person was a nekogami, a superb and implacable assassin, skilled at innumerable forms of death and at one with the darkness.

"Iie, Tono,"the shadow said in a soft, feminine voice. "You have given this into our hands. Your presence and participation are unnecessary and unwise."

Theodore swallowed. His calm was cracking, leaving him too aware of the danger he faced. He turned his gun on the nekogami.

"This is not my wish."

The shadow stood silent, unmoving. By the dais, Takashi groaned.

As if prompted by the sound, the nekogami said, "I do not understand, Tono."

"There's been a misunderstanding. A well-meaning man took an initiative that was not welcome. He misread my intentions."

"I have been contracted," the voice stated flatly. "The nekogami honor is bound to the completion of the contract. My death is bound to that of the man Takashi Kurita."

"I will not be a party to his murder."

The black-suited figure stiffened. Theodore tensed, then relaxed, sensing no impending attack. She bowed.

"I believe I understand now," she affirmed in a voice so soft that Theodore almost missed the words. "It is most regrettable."

The woman bowed again, deep and long. As she straightened, she tugged on something within her hood. She made no further movement.

Theodore watched her eyes. They were pools of the night in which she had been nurtured. Her utter, unattached calm was gone, replaced by a strange sort of peace. Then the life was gone from those dark eyes, and her body started to crumple to the floor. Before the corpse hit the polished parquet, there was a flare from within the hood. The mask that had concealed her face dissolved, taking her features with it. None would ever know what face she had worn when she was not creeping among the shadows.

The stench of burnt flesh filled Theodore's nostrils, nauseating and vastly out of place in the elegant Peony Room.