Текст книги "Wolf Pack"
Автор книги: Robert N. Charette
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Part 3
CRUCIBLE
32
"Michi –sama!"The path back from the edge of the abyss was long. "Michi -sama!"
Insistent and demanding, the familiar voice burrowed through to Michi Noketsuna's awareness. There was no physical contact. There wouldn't be. For all his impropriety, the caller knew better.
"Michi -sama!"
Letting go of the cold embrace of the dark, Michi opened his eyes. Head bowed, his gaze fell naturally upon the honor sword on the ground before him. The gleam of its half-unsheathed blade promised release from the voice, from the burdens of the world, but for as yet unknowable reasons, he had taken a step back from the edge.
He raised his head, composing himself before bowing an apology to the memorial tablet. He thought to see the other sword of the pair held in the firm grip of a tall black man, but the katanalay where he had placed it, the gentle curve of its scuffed black scabbard stark against the sand. There was no samurai there, only the dull white stone. Absurdly, Michi was both surprised and relieved.
It is your son who calls, Minobu-sensei, but is it your voice I hear?
"Michi -sama?"
"Hai,Kiyomasa -san. I hear you."
"I was afraid I would be too late." Kiyomasa Tetsuhara stepped closer, moving around to face Michi. The young man wore a Kurita Mech Warrior's dark gray uniform, the heavyweight material that served to protect him from the chill of the cavern making him look stout and clumsy. Despite the cold, sweat beaded on his smooth black skin. "I thought you would take this path, and I wanted to talk you out of it."
"Did you expect to have more luck with me than I had with your father?"
"I hoped to."
A smile flashed on Kiyomasa's face. With its easy promise of familiarity, that grin had undoubtedly made the young man many friends. Michi looked past it to the child he had known and, further, to the long-dead father of the child. Minobu's smiles had been rare. Shrugging off the memories, Michi spoke.
"Did you think they would help your argument?"
Kiyomasa's startled eyes flicked over Michi's shoulder, darting to those who had accompanied him. They offered him no verbal encouragement, but Michi sensed their agitation.
Nervous, Kiyomasa wet his lips and said, "I persuaded them that there are alternatives. So the least you could do is give us a chance. Talk with us. If we can't make you see that this is not the course for you, we will not interfere. Any one of us would be honored to be your kaishaku-nin."
"Very well."
Michi settled himself, drawing on his kito strengthen himself for this last trial. Standing, he turned to face the small crowd whose breaths steamed in the frigid air. He bowed to them.
"Konichiwa."
The group's return greeting was ragged, in keeping with their nature. Most wore Kurita military uniforms, although there was a wide array of unit patches. A few wore the uniforms of mercenaries, and one the white uniform of a ComStar Guardsman. The rest wore bits and pieces of military gear with no obvious antecedents.
They were of all ages. Some were young, too young to have been a part of the old battles. They would be the newest generation of warriors, raised on the tales of Theodore's revitalized Combine army. Others he recognized from his time in Dieron. Still others from the old Ryuken. He bowed to one of those.
"Kumban -san."
"Michi -sama." The man took a step forward and returned his bow. "I saw the stone for the old man. You?"
" Hai."
"He cannot thank you, so I will."
"Unnecessary. I was honored."
Kumban bowed again and retreated a step.
"You are the one we honor, Michi -sama," Kiyomasa said. "We know of your vendetta and what you did to uphold the honor of my father. Lord Takashi is dead, freeing us from our oaths. Before we could be bound to another Kurita, we decided to come to you. If you permit, we will join you. You are a man of great honor; we want you to lead us in what it means to be honorable warriors."
Michi gazed at the gathered Kuritans. He saw hope and fear and eagerness for glory in their eyes. His heightened senses let him feel the color of their ki.They were warriors, all of them, and embarked on a bold and daring course. Steeling themselves against the scorn of their fellows, they had run off to join a half-mad vagabond, no doubt believing him to be some sort of warrior saint. Yet they remained restive, troubled.
The great cavern and its eerie echoes was an unnerving place, but it should not cause a true warrior's heart to flutter. He considered the possibility that he was the cause of their nervousness.
He realized that he must present an appearance in accord with such fantasies. Like some ascetic defying the elements, he wore only a light kimono against the cold, and it was white, the color of death. The robe hung loosely on him and its open front and short sleeves showed the scars of a lifetime. The dead white, orb that was his left eye made many of the younger ones unable to meet his gaze for longer than a moment. Even some of those who had known him before flinched as he turned his stare on them, each in turn.
There was no doubt that his physical appearance affected them, but the flavor of their agitation could not solely be accounted for by the reality of confronting their dreams in the flesh. Something else stirred them to apprehension. Michi extended his senses, searching for the source of the disturbance and found that among those present were others who represented another factor in the Kuritans' plans for the future. The presence of these others had been masked from his kiby the Kuritans' agitation, just as their bodies had blocked Michi's sight. Once alerted to their presence, Michi could only wonder how he had missed it at the start. They were not Kuritan, but they were strong. He recognized the fit of the pattern.
Michi nodded and said, "You may come forward, Colonel Wolf."
The Kuritans parted to let the three Dragoons pass through their midst. Jaime Wolf was flanked on the right by Hans Vordel. The bodyguard's years had etched deeper lines into his hangdog face and whitened some hairs, but had not weakened his warrior tread. The Dragoon on the left looked like a frozen moment from the past. He appeared to be William Cameron, Wolf's communications specialist, but he was not. Cameron had died on Crossing. This must be a son.
Wolf was smiling, as if amused at some joke. "Who told you I was here?"
"Your kiis strong."
Wolf's smile vanished and he looked toward the memorial tablet. "He said much the same thing when we first met. If you keep it up, you may yet persuade me about Kuritan mysticism."
"You will believe as you believe, whatever I do or say."
"Maybe so."
Michi lifted an arm and waved it to encompass the rows of memorial tablets. Each was a plain white stone, engraved with the formal characters of a warrior's name and rank. "Harumito Shumagawa is responsible for this. He was the officer in command of the forces remaining here when Warlord Samsonov ordered the Dragoon dead disinterred. Samsonov wanted the bodies left to the ravages of this planet's weather, to obliterate their presence. Samsonov said the Ryuken had failed, that their dead were not to be honored. Had he been more confident in his power, he might have ordered the same fate for their bodies as he had for the Dragoons, but he commanded only that their graves go unmarked. Those orders were among the last he gave before he fled. Shumagawa had survived the battle here; he only lost a leg. He knew what had happened.
"Minobu-sensei taught us that a warrior was to be honored; the warrior's gender, the color of his skin, or the uniform he wore didn't matter. Shumagawa felt dishonored by the warlord's order but, as a samurai, he was obliged to obey. Or at least appear to. He ordered a select group of his men to move the remains of the dead, Ryuken and Dragoon, to this cavern and then he swore them to secrecy. They were all Ryuken veterans; they understood. He could not let courage and valor go unremembered. After reporting the completion of his task to the warlord, he resigned his commission. His veterans dispersed among the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery while he came to live in this cavern and began to engrave these tablets. It took him twenty years. He died here by his own hand, atoning for his lie to the warlord.
"His spirit will be pleased to know you have seen this place."
Wolf stared out over the massed ranks of the tablets. "There are those who wouldn't understand this."
"Do you understand, Colonel?"
"I'd like to think so." Wolf turned his gaze to Michi. "Do you?"
Michi was surprised at the question. To evade the flutter of disturbance in his wa,he spoke. "Why have you come here?"
"I was asked to come by those who believe that I might do some good. Perhaps even prevent one more unnecessary loss in a tragic story."
"Kiyomasa."
Wolf smiled. "He is a persuasive young man."
"You hear another voice in his call. Do not delude yourself listening to the past."
There was a sudden wariness in Wolf's eyes. "Breaks with tradition are the sort of thing I've made a habit of. I know it doesn't come easy to your sort, but your teacher wasn't exclusively a stickler for tradition."
"He knew when tradition was important."
"Mostly. But he was human. I believe he made a mistake when it came to the end here on Misery. You believed it, too, or you wouldn't have vowed vendetta. And that didn't exactly turn out like you figured. Think about that."
"I have."
Wolf bent over and picked up the honor sword. He snapped the blade into the sheath. "Maybe you haven't thought about it enough. The dead have a lot to tell the living, but you can't just listen. You've got to do something about what they tell you." Wolf stepped to Minobu's memorial tablet and took up the katana.
He handed the pair to Kiyomasa. "These were his swords. What do you Kuritans say about there being no future, no past? That only the present is real, and a lot can happen that can change unpleasant probabilities."
Kiyomasa looked puzzled, and Michi felt echoing confusion among the Kuritans and Wolf's aides. But the words Wolf spoke were not meant for them; they were solely between Wolf and Michi.
Wolf looked at Michi. "And what are you now, this instant, Michi Noketsuna? Alive or dead?"
"Alive."
"Think about that, too. Once, I made you the offer of a place in the Dragoons, and you said you had other things to do. I took that as a 'talk to me later.' Looks to me like all the old business is finished. If you were really going to kill yourself at the end of it, you'd have done it by now. So what is it you're looking for, Noketsuna? It isn't death."
No, Michi realized, it was not death he sought, but what it was, he didn't know.
"Well, I've got things to do," Wolf said in a sudden display of impatience. "Can't live in the past."
Wolf turned and walked away. His Dragoons gave Michi brief bows, then followed their commander.
The Kuritans watched them leave, then turned to Michi, awaiting an answer.
"Michi -sama?" Kiyomasa asked for all of them.
33
It was strange to have Kuritans aboard the Chieftain.In training I had studied their culture, perhaps a little more intensively than that of other Inner Sphere states because they were billed as high-probability opponents. But the reality was different from expectations, as it always is, I suppose. Though we were on a military ship, we were not in the midst of a military operation; perhaps that was part of the reason they did not behave as I expected them to.
Their clannishness was predictable, however. They were among strangers, some of whom had once been their enemy. Spheroids don't incorporate the losers of an operation into the winners' side like the Clans do. Well, it wasn't standard Dragoon practice, either. We had taken in Clanners, though, and in some ways they were stranger than these expatriate samurai and their families.
I wondered about those families. Not all of the Kuritans had brought theirs. Did that mean those who brought no one had no families? Might they be orphans, cast-offs, or even renegades? I didn't have the opportunity to seek out the answer because the families were billeted on the ships the Kuritans had brought with them. Since the ships were still the property of individual Kuritans, until proper transferrals could be made at Outreach, we Dragoons rarely visited them during the journey.
How many of those wives and children had voluntarily chosen to accompany their warriors? How many were forced into the journey? How did they deal with going among strangers to find a new life? I could have understood if they had all been sibkos. To see the unknown, to try new ventures together—that sort of comradeship was natural. How did families deal with it? I also wondered how similar this tiny exodus was to the departure of the oldsters from Wolf Clan.
I never worked up the courage to ask any of the officers who had regular conferences with Colonel Wolf. I just watched them come and go. Occasionally I overheard them speaking to one another of their families, but I could never be sure whether they spoke of someone on the accompanying ships or someone left behind. Maybe it was all part of the living in the present business that the Colonel had talked about with Michi Noketsuna. I didn't know.
I spent a lot of time on the bridge of the Chieftain,where I had set up my comm station to monitor Dragoon communiques and ComStar broadcast channels. The cluttered channels in space are odd: you're always having to sort out the past from the present, when it's all really the past. Since nothing arrives instantaneously, you have to put everything you get into perspective. That can be hard. Sometimes last week's news from one system is more important than today's from the system where you're sitting in a JumpShip getting its interstellar drives recharged.
Sometimes I'd look up and find Michi watching me. He never said anything, though. He'd just bow politely when I noticed him and then go wandering off about his business. I didn't really understand why he'd come aboard with the other Kuritans; he didn't seem quite the same as them. It wasn't just that he was distant and aloof—that was typical for a Kuritan. It was more that he didn't seem to be there all the time. He rarely spoke and then only when spoken to directly. There was something strange about him, something faintly dangerous. Sometimes I thought about him as an unexploded mine. An expert might handle it safely, but a green troopie would do something wrong and that would be the end of the troopie. If I was sure of only one thing when around him, it was that I was definitely a greenie. So despite my curiosity about why he watched me, I never asked. It was probably just as well.
* * *
Dechan Fraser stayed aboard the Chieftainwhen Wolf, Vordel, and Cameron accompanied the Kuritans to the surface. He had recognized the cold blue face of the planet they were orbiting the moment he saw it on the bridge monitors. He had no desire ever to set foot on its ground again.
From snatches of conversation overheard among the Kuritans, he suspected he knew why they had come here, and it only gave him more reason to stay aboard. His suspicions were proven correct when the shuttle returned, bearing Michi Noketsuna alongside Wolf. Michi greeted Dechan and Jenette with a stiff formal bow, but he offered no spoken words. Though she said nothing at the time, Jenette had complained later. Dechan couldn't decide if he cared or not. Many years had gone by without words, what were a few minutes in a shuttle bay?
They saw little of Michi after that first encounter. He always seemed to be leaving a compartment just as they were entering, or vice versa. The other Kuritans were easier to talk to. After years in the Combine, Dechan found them more familiar companions than the Dragoons.
Still, it seemed strange to see Dragoon and Kurita uniforms sitting around the same conference table again. The byplay was slow at first, but the Ryuken veterans fell into it soon enough and the other Kuritans followed their lead. Dechan was reminded of the days when Iron Man Tetsuhara had sat across from Wolf. But Tetsuhara was dead and his son—well, his son wasn't the Iron Man. Michi Noketsuna had sat at the table in those days, too. He wasn't dead, but he wasn't at the table, either.
Dechan finally decided that the whole arrangement shouldn't be surprising. Things were different now. Even the Dragoons were different. That was obvious every time he saw Pilot Grane. Her overlarge head and slight build marked her instantly as a Clan-bred aerospace pilot. None of the Clans' extreme phenotypes had been a part of the Dragoons when Dechan had worn the uniform. Hellfire, he hadn't even known the Dragoons had come from the Clans. As a recruit from the Inner Sphere, he hadn't been trusted with that knowledge.
Jenette had known, though; she was one of them.
But somehow he couldn't find it in himself to hate her. She had never really lied to him, she just hadn't told him the whole story. But he knew her. And loved her. Maybe that made it different.
Jaime Wolf, on the other hand, was an enigma. He was a man who played his own game and damned to hell anyone who got in the way. Sort of like Dechan's once-friend Michi.
Dechan was through being a pawn. Now all he wanted to do was stay out of the way and keep Jenette safe. It wasn't really possible to do anything really constructive until their journey was complete anyway. Then, well, then he'd see what could be done to build a new life.
34
The honor guard, stood smartly at attention along the Chieftain'sramp. They were all Elementals, and though not all had been part of the bondsmen transfer at Luthien, they all wore Nova Cat badges as prominently as their Dragoon unit and rank insignia. Elson wondered what Wolf would make of that.
Wolf's wife and children waited at the foot of the ramp, MacKenzie's widow and daughter along with them. Marisha Dandridge had applied to the officer council for permission to be the one to tell Wolf of his son's death. Elson had seen no reason to deny that request, even though it violated the standard chain of command. It was another sign of the decadent weakness of the blood families. Wolf's family making a public display of their grief would only weaken his standing with the Clanners among the Dragoons.
The DropShip's personnel hatch hissed open to reveal a knot of black-uniformed soldiers. Elson recognized the uniforms. They would be the Kuritans Wolf was hauling home with him. They walked slowly down the ramp, backs stiff. At the foot, they all took turns bowing to Wolf's family before stepping aside. They remained clustered in the shadow of the DropShip, apparently reluctant to approach the group of Dragoon officers among whom Elson stood.
Wolf and his bodyguard were the next to exit the ship, with the commo officer Cameron following almost immediately. Wolf's reunion with his family was full of emotion. Elson checked on Alpin. The boy fidgeted, but remained where he was.
The reaction of the Elemental honor guard was just what Elson expected. They kept their eyes fixed firmly ahead, their expressions stony. The Kuritans also found it expedient to ignore the scene being played out before them. Though their culture honored the emotions, it looked down on public displays of feeling, so their distaste was only for the impropriety of the expression. Some of the officers around Elson were making comments, noting that Wolf's behavior was unbecoming a military man. Elson was pleased. His upbringing made him want to sneer at the wanton display and blatant lack of control just as the others did, but it was important that he not appear biased against Wolf today. His control was more than sufficient for the task.
Cameron slipped past the family and tapped Vordel on the shoulder. He leaned down to whisper something into the stocky bodyguard's ear, then the two of them stepped away from the ramp and headed toward Elson's group. The whispering among the officers ceased as they approached.
"Why aren't you with your family?" Vordel asked Alpin.
"I'm an officer," Alpin snapped. "My place is here."
Vordel eyed him suspiciously. "What's going on?"
"You'll find out soon enough, old man," Alpin said. "They will be telling him any time now."
"Telling who? What?"
Cameron looked even more concerned than Vordel sounded. He snatched a glance back over his shoulder at Wolf. A tremor ran through his body, as though he was thinking of running back to his master. The reaction told Elson that the communications blackout had been successful.
"I don't need to answer your questions," Alpin sneered at Vordel.
Hans' face screwed down tight. Elson recognized the danger sign that Alpin missed. Cameron caught it too and forestalled Vordel's response by putting a hand on the bodyguard's arm. Vordel relaxed, ever so slightly. His voice was hard when he spoke, and Elson was pleased that the bodyguard directed his question to Alicia Fancher, one of the safer officers. Colonel Fancher remembered Wolf's dismissing her from command years ago; it had taken very little for Elson to fan the coals of her resentment. She would not betray the plan.
"What about it, Alicia? What's going on? Something's up or you wouldn't be here."
It was no surprise that the bodyguard noticed Fancher. As a member of Wolf's Command Lance, Vordel would have a good knowledge of all the combat unit assignments. Fancher's Beta Regiment was supposed to be engaged on Vertabren. Since he had not heard of any reassignments, Vordel had to assume it was something pretty important to pull a regimental commander away from her troops in the field. Colonel Fancher answered coolly.
"Like Alpin Wolf said, you'll find out soon enough."
She nodded her head to indicate the approach of Jaime Wolf. While Vordel had been digging, Wolf had been learning of the death of his son. The Colonel's cheeks glistened with the tracks of tears.
Cameron looked shocked and Vordel deeply worried. Wolf gave Alpin a brief glance as he walked past him. The gathered Dragoons parted before the Colonel as if he were some massive, threatening warrior rather than a slight man shorter by a hand span than the least of them and older by a good twenty years. Wolf stopped before Elson.
"Marisha said you ordered a commo silence."
"I did."
"Why?"
"I thought it best that the word not be spread across the Inner Sphere before you could return. The Dragoons have enemies who might have taken advantage."
"That was unnecessary."
A shrug would have been too cavalier. Elson stood still. "The necessity or lack was not as clear in deep space. A courier was out of the question due to our mission guidelines. An open broadcast could have been monitored. A ComStar communique would have entrusted sensitive information to a suspect organization. Is it not Dragoon policy to avoid trusting ComStar with any important information?"
Wolf sighed. "Maybe you were right. But I would have wanted to know sooner."
"It would have changed nothing, quiaff?"
Softly the Colonel replied, "I suppose not."
"He died in combat. What warrior could ask for more?"
"He was my son."
Elson nodded. "We have withheld the Remembrance for your return."
"We knew you would want to be there, grandfather," Alpin said.
Wolf looked at him blankly for a moment, then asked, "When?"
"Tonight, if you wish it," Elson replied.
"Tonight?" Wolf stroked his beard. "No. It's . . . I want a little time to let it sink in, to prepare."
"There are a few details," Elson prompted.
"I'll handle them," Cameron said in an unsteady voice. "There's no need for you to worry, Colonel. I'll take care of the technicalities."
He jumped when Marisha touched his arm. Obviously he had not heard her approach.
"Thank you, Brian. Jaime and I both appreciate it. We all appreciate it."
She took her husband's arm in her own. He nodded to her absently, then looked around. Forcing a smile, he gathered Katherine into his free arm. She wept openly and sobbed on his shoulder.
"It'll be all right, Katherine. We'll get through this."
"Come," Marisha said. "It's time to go home."
Hand in hand, they walked away. Rachel, Joshua, and Shauna trailed their parents. Vordel, the faithful and dutiful bodyguard, followed. Cameron stayed put, gaping at Alpin.
Elson stepped between them, shielding Alpin from the commo officer's stare. Sufficient demonstration had been made for this morning. This was not the time to let anything erupt on that front.
"The Wolf's come home," he said, lifting his voice to include the gathered Dragoons. "We all have things to do, quiaff!"
"Aff," was the reply.
Elson smiled to himself. The voices might have been Clan voices.
