Текст книги "Wolves On The Border"

Автор книги: Robert N. Charette

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

36

An Ting Orbital Station

Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

2 January 3028

 

“DropShip Wolf Pack Onehas docked at Bay Twenty-Seven,” the voice repeated for those who might not have understood the first announcement in Japanese. The words of the announcer were clipped as though it annoyed the speaker to repeat the obvious.

“See. I told you that was about the Colonel's ship.” Susan Lean looked like her name, and seemed far too youthful to be wearing a Captain's star. She was pleased at the small intelligence victory over her three fellow Captains. Lean was especially pleased that she had caught something that Anton Shadd had missed. She considered the hot shots in the Seventh Kommando entirely too cocky.

“But when we boarded, they said it would be Bay Twenty-Two,” Dechan Fraser complained.

“Whether they lied or just made a mistake don't matter, kid,” drawled Shadd, a compact, muscular commando. His large hands, marked with an astonishing number of scars, fidgeted with an unlit cigarette. He wore a dress uniform that looked too new for someone who had served so long in the Dragoons, and his twitches and shrugs showed that he was uncomfortable in the uniform's restrictive tailoring. The announcement of Wolf's imminent arrival had awakened Shadd from the mood of sullen preoccupation that had dominated him ever since shuttling over from the Hephaestus.“What matters is that we meet the Colonel when he comes aboard.”

With that, the commando tossed his cigarette away and headed for the corridor. The fourth member of their group was a step ahead. William Cameron's long legs put him in the lead and kept him there as the Dragoons trotted along the curve of the wheel. Passengers awaiting transport and gray-and-tan uniformed station crew all dodged out of the way of the purposeful quartet. They passed occasional station monitors, whose pendant chestplates distinguished them from regular crew, but none questioned their haste.

Cameron turned the corner into the waiting area for Bay 27 and pulled up to a sudden halt. Dechan and Lean piled into him, almost knocking him down. Stepping to one side of the tangled Dragoons, Shadd reached for his sidearm. He stopped when he saw why Cameron had stalled.

Lounging at his ease in the reception area was Chu-saJerry Akuma. Dressed in his Ryuken duty uniform, the man was immaculate, as always. The chain that proclaimed his position as PSL officer glinted coldly on his chest. Akuma removed his polished boots from where he'd propped them on a table, and rose to his feet, adopting a nonchalant pose. He seemed not at all surprised by the Dragoons' sudden appearance.

Shadd assessed Akuma's half-smile and the look in his eyes as amusement over something that had turned out exactly as expected. It was a petty victory that would cost the Dragoons nothing, and so the commando relaxed. Akuma wasn't the kind of threat he could deal with using a laser pistol. Not yet, at least. Shadd let his contempt of Akuma's petty maneuvering show in his face.

This fellow is a small surprise,Akuma thought. He does not wear the designation of a ‘MechWarrior. Yet he carries himself as one, not like some half-trained support trooper or out-of-tone staffer. His reactions are quick, attuned to the world in a way that a ‘MechWarrior is not.– He is almost as sharp as Quinn, standing quietly in the corner. This Dragoon has none of the cocky air of invulnerability that is such a pitiably common flaw in 'Mech pilots. He is a man who relies on himself and what he can hold in his hands. An interesting find among the Dragoons. Is he an anomaly,Akuma wondered, or do the Dragoons have assets not listed on their personnel rosters?

When Akuma saw Shadd relax, lowering his guard before noticing Quinn, he decided that perhaps the man was not so dangerous after all. Even an entire battalion of Dragoons like this Captain could do little to halt the inevitable. Those who slackened their attention in the presence of potential danger were no threat.

“Come in, officers,” Akuma invited. “I expect you are here to meet Colonel Wolf. The boarding locks are completing their cycle now, so you won't have long to wait.”

The Dragoon officers stepped cautiously into the chamber, spreading out around the padded benches of the waiting area. Akuma noticed the sharp turn of the head when Shadd became aware of the tall, blond man in the comer. Though Akuma knew the black-clad Quinn was acutely aware of his surroundings, the man moved not a muscle in reaction to the Dragoons. Shadd pretended the Kuritan was not there, a detente that amused Akuma.

The sound of the inner airlock door cycling preempted any further interactions. Pneumatic cylinders whined as they released the locks that sealed the waiting area from the passageway to the docked DropShip. The heavy metal door slid back into the wall, revealing seven figures moving down the jointed tunnel. They were backlit shadows, unrecognizable until they reached the light spill from the waiting room. Shadows became people as Wolf and his five officers stepped onto An Ting orbital station. The seventh person was a Kurita officer who bowed stiffly to Akuma and then to Wolf before striding from the chamber without a word.

Wolf's face was grim, and it did not need a kimaster to see that he was upset. Akuma knew that it was probably because of Kurita Space Command's refusal to allow the DropShip to proceed from the JumpShip to the Hephaestusstation until they had placed an escort officer aboard. These were, he decided, more well-placed irritants.

Wolf took in Akuma and his man in the corner, then deliberately snubbed them by turning his back. “What's going on here?” he said to his own officers.

Cameron cleared his throat to focus Wolf's attention on himself. He threw a glance at Akuma. “Ah ... Colonel,” he began.

Wolf held up a hand to stop him, then turned with a frown toward Akuma, the hand still elevated. The Kuritan stood his ground even when Wolf jerked his head in the direction of the corridor.

Akuma pretended to take Wolf's gesture as an invitation to speak. “I do not understand the reluctance of your officers to speak. They seemed anxious to see you when they arrived.” Then he feigned a look of sudden revelation. “Ah, perhaps, they have unkind things to say about the Combine. Let them be frank. I am your Professional Soldiery Liaison, after all. If there are complaints, you should be able to air them in my presence. There might be something I could do.”

“Doesn't matter whether he stays or not, Colonel. I expect there isn't anyplace on this station where we won't be overheard,” Major Stanford Blake said as he stepped up. His hostility was evident in his scornful tone.

Wolf nodded.

“All right, William. Let's have it.”

Cameron began almost reluctantly “Well, Colonel, it's like this. There's been a lot of friction with the Draconians since you left. Our reputation among the civilians is being undermined by constant misrepresentation in the Kuritan media. And we're getting the same raw treatment on all the garrison worlds. The result has been demonstrations, protests, brawls, and strikes, but nothing we haven't been able to handle. So far. The troops are getting itchy, Colonel. I think we have trouble brewing.”

“Brewing!” burst in Dechan Fraser. He had been impatient throughout Cameron's speech. “Boiled over, more like! Quit dancing around it, Cameron.”

“At ease, Captain Fraser,” Blake cautioned.

“What are you talking about, son?” Wolf asked quietly, his eyes showing deep concern.”

“There was a fight last night. Some Dracs got themselves hurt.”

“How bad?”

Dechan's eyes were on the floor. “They got themselves hurt dead.”

Wolf's tone was calm, but it was now a glacial calm. “Exactly what happened?”

Dechan hesitated and Shadd stepped in. “Five members of Fraser's company, three of Lean's, and two of my ... er ... friends, were taking their off-duty in a bar called Munnen's. It's an O.K. hole. Ever since our people started to frequent it, the crowd has become all Dragoons or friends. The locals knew it. The bar was crowded last night, some kind of festival, I guess. Lotsa out-of-towners, some Ryuken Jocks and a few of the former regulars, but mostly strangers. Things got a bit noisy, and some of the strangers had some things to say about the Dragoons. Our people took it unkindly and answered with their fists. When the smoke cleared, we had five of ours for medevac, one critical. There were three Dracs for the bag. All wearing civvies.”

“This is most disturbing, Colonel Wolf,” Akuma said indignantly. “I am appalled at your Dragoons' lack of restraint.”

“Those troublemakers only got what they asked for,” Dechan insisted.

Shadd put a hand on Dechan's shoulder as he cut him off. The pressure calmed Dechan in a way that the commando's words couldn't. “Take it easy, kid.”

The commando addressed his next words to Wolf. “The fight was fair enough. Those Dracs were playing with fire and got burned.”

“There will be repercussions,” Blake pointed out. “I'm sure we'll be hearing from eyewitnesses who'll say that the Dragoons provoked the confrontation.”

Akuma ignored the intel officer's stare. He shifted his own eyes to Wolf's face, trying to gauge how the mercenary Colonel was taking the situation. Wolf's expression gave no hint.

“Perhaps,” Akuma prodded, “that was the case. Perhaps your troopers thought that they could use the opportunity of the New Year Festival to hide their criminal actions. Perhaps they provoked innocent citizens to create violence that would soothe their own savage souls. Deliberate provocation by a trained warrior against an untrained civilian might be considered murder.”

“Murder! Those malking Snakes weren't civilian or untrained! They put five good soldiers into hospital. We're being set up!”

“Fraser!” Wolf snapped. “Damp it!”

Akuma's tone was ominous. “This incident could lead to worse things.”

Wolf glared indignantly at Akuma. “Such as the DCMS stepping in?”

“Military intervention would be a most drastic course, Colonel. It is certainly not one I would recommend in this matter. Your own officers report that the troops were off-duty. By the terms of contract, they fall under civilian legal jurisdiction if they leave designated military enclaves while off-duty. It would seem, therefore, to be a civil matter—one suited to the Civilian Guidance Corps and under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Justice. If an investigation shows guilt, your soldiers will most assuredly pay for their crimes. Until that time, I expect that the troopers in question and any others involved in the case, as witnesses or peripheral participants, will remain on planet.”

Several of the Dragoons grumbled at that, which pleased Akuma, though he hid it well. His face was smooth and his voice bland. “I assure you, Colonel Wolf, that there will be no military involvement in civil problems.”

“You're not going to make it easy, are you?”

“Whatever do you mean, Colonel?” Akuma asked, pretending puzzlement he did not feel.

“All right. We'll play it your way for now.”

Wolf turned to Cameron. “William, set up your shuttle to take Kormenski and her crew back to Hephaestus.”

“What about us, Colonel?” Shadd spoke for the assembled captains.

“I want the four of you to go planetside with Blake and me on Pack-One.Let's move it.” As the Dragoons moved to follow orders, Wolf turned back to Akuma as though struck by sudden thought.

“As our liaison,will you answer some questions concerning our interaction with your Draconis Combine?”

“Of course, Colonel. That is my job.”

“Why didn't I hear anything about these problems on the way from Luthien?”

Akuma spread his hands to indicate helplessness. “I have no knowledge of this lack of information. My office forwarded regular reports to the systems on your route. They should have been waiting for you. Did you not receive them?”

A frown was Wolf's only reply.

“I am a simple soldier, Colonel Wolf, not a ComStar Adept. Perhaps you should speak with them, for it is they who handle all interstellar communications. Perhaps you should question your officers as well. If you have received no reports from them, it may be because they fear to report their own negligence and incompetence.”

Wolf raised his head at the last allegation. Akuma knew it was false, but was once again gratified to have raised the Dragoon's hackles. Wolf would not believe it, but once voiced, the hint that he could not trust his own would always rankle. It would be a worm to gnaw at the mercenary's belief in his subordinates, a seed to be nurtured.

“Why have Dragoon communications been jammed insystem?” Wolf asked, ignoring Akuma's thrust.

“Do not be paranoid, Colonel. The jamming is part of a duly scheduled exercise by my Ryuken– ichi, whose maneuvers should be concluded in a few hours. Until then, you are not the only ones affected. You will soon be able to do all the talking you wish.” In a performance calculated to further agitate Wolf, Akuma added patronizingly, “I look forward to seeing how you handle this.”

Akuma started for the tunnel to the DropShip, Quinn falling in behind. Wolf was left standing. “Shall we go downstairs?” Akuma called back.

Wolf answered him with a cold stare, but then set his jaw and followed along.

37

Hoshon Mansion , Cerant, An Ting

Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

2 January 3028

 

Minobu roamed through the house, having finished packing his ceramics. All that remained was to prepare his kyudoequipment for shipment. Except for the disruption inherent in the packing for a move, things were normal. Yet a vague unease nagged at him. Something was wrong, out of place.

The Hoshon Mansion had been his home for almost five years, and those years had been full ones. His eldest son Ito had applied to the Sun Zhang Academy and been accepted, bringing pride, and secret relief, to the father. His daughter Tomoe had grown from a rowdy gawk into a beautifully mannered young lady. Little Kiyomasa, no longer so little, had become a sturdy youth who promised to outstrip his father's own two-meter height in a few years. That boy was going to find any 'Mech cockpit a tight fit.

They had been good years, and the mansion had been lit with warmth and happiness. There had been shadows, too, for business had intruded here far too often. The darkest memory that this house held for Minobu was the near-estrangement of Tomiko after his injuries on Barlow's End. At first, she had been unable to accept it, refusing to look at him unless he was clothed. Even then, her eyes would avoid the black plastic hand that protruded from his sleeve. Yet even that had eventually passed, as do all things in this universe.

During Minobu's last leave from the regiment on Misery, Tomiko had put aside her distaste for the artificial arm and leg and returned to his bed. She had avoided touching the replacements, but that was understandable. She had not had as long as he to get used to their dry, unyielding surfaces.

From her tearful account, Minobu had learned that Marisha Dandridge was instrumental in Tomiko's turnabout. The sage counsel of Wolf's lady had helped his wife accept that Minobu had not changed, that he was still her husband, no matter what. Tomiko realized finally that the man, the essence she loved, was still there.

Despite the relief of his wife's return, Minobu was struck by the cosmic jest of it. She had come back because she believed him the same. He knew only too well that he was not.

Certainly, he still loved Tomiko. Without a thought, he could forgive her foolishness over his artificial limbs. Such a reaction was to be expected of a woman, especially one like Tomiko, so concerned with appearance. His love for her remained strong, but he was not the same man she had married sixteen years before. These last five years had changed him.

The roots of that change went back to Dromini VI, where he had committed an action that resulted in his being relieved of his command. Minobu had never understood why, but he had not questioned it. It was a samurai's duty to obey, not to question. Indeed, it was that belief in duty that kept him from despair. But the messages he had received—the dismissal from command and the promotion that accompanied it—were contradictory. And then another promotion followed, this one accompanied by a warning that it was only a sham. When assigned to the Dragoons, Minobu had been a very confused man.

He knew now that the assignment had been a turning point. His confusion began to clear as he began to realize that many of his long-held assumptions were false. Against the falsehoods, he had held to his honor, which had sustained him through those times. Honor was, after all, the foundation of a samurai's existence.

Standing on that bedrock of honor, he had met Jaime Wolf, a man with the name of a ravening beast but the heart of a true warrior. Another contradiction, but Minobu had been curious enough to look below the surface. Beyond the exterior of the driven mercenary Colonel, Minobu had found a man who believed in honor, and that man looked at those around him, the way he dealt with others. When he had changed Minobu could not guess, but the transformation continued even now to affect his life.

Oh no, he was not the same man Tomiko had married.

Yet, he was still Minobu Tetsuhara, loyal Kurita samurai and even stronger than before he had encountered Jaime Wolf and his Dragoons. After Lord Kurita had removed him from the Second Sword of Light, Minobu had lost his inner peace and with it, his ki.His years of loyal service as PSL Officer and the confidence fostered by Jaime's friendship had helped him to regain his balance and to renew his inner strength. After the crippling accident on Barlow's End, he had been able to call upon his kito fortify himself through the trials of recovery. This time, he had not lost muga.Its peace fueled his kiand that gave him more from his prosthetic limbs than the doctors had ever thought possible. They did not believe in kiand scoffed at his explanations, but that did not alter the truth.

His kitold him that something was not right here in the mansion today. Nothing more than a sense of unease ... a sense of deception ... came to him. There was no warning of immediate danger, no focus to the disturbance.

Headed down the corridor toward the garden, a servant bustled by, carrying a wrapped package. So busy was his tasks, the servant made no more than a brief bow to his master. The move, Minobu thought, is very disruptive to the patterns of everyday life.

He decided that it could be the only explanation for his feeling of unrest. This was, after all, more than a simple translocation. Tomiko and the children would not be joining him on Misery, but would go to the family estates on Awano, where they would be safe. Given the state of relations between Wolf's Dragoons and House Kurita, he could not allow them to accompany him to Misery. To protect all involved, Minobu had resolved to keep the destination secret even from Tomiko. Though his deception was based in good intentions, its disharmony with the universe would add to his feeling of disturbance.

Minobu walked down the passageway to the bed chamber. From the doorway, he could see Tomiko and Marisha busily rearranging piles of carefully folded garments. They moved the clothes from one chest to another, all the while debating the best way to pack the wardrobe. From their talk, Minobu could tell that Tomiko was assuming she would accompany him to Misery, as should any dutiful wife. He had stood there only a few moments before she looked up to see him watching. Tomiko smiled at him, but the smile faded slightly as she discerned his troubled state of mind.

“The packing is going slowly, husband. I hope we shall be finished in time,” she said, wondering if his concern was about that. “When do we leave for Misery?”

“I return to the regiment tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow! Then we had best get fin . . .” Tomiko stopped in mid-sentence when she realized what he had said. “You? If it is just you, why have you had me packing my things and those of the children?”

“Because you are leaving An Ting.”

Tomiko glanced at Marisha. Not a word passed between them, but Marisha understood the wordless request. She excused herself to check on Tomoe's progress. With Dandridge gone, Tomiko gave Minobu a stern look. “You have an explanation, husband?”

“Only I am going to Misery. It is no world for women and children.” He stilled her objections by putting a finger to her lips. “I understand your devotion, wife. But I will hear no protests. You are going to Awano with the children.”

“Awano.” Tomiko turned her back to him and hung her head forlornly. “There is more to this than the living conditions on Misery.”

“No, it is only that.”

When Minobu reached out to take her shoulders in his hands, she shrugged clear of his embrace. She had heard the lie in his voice. He lowered his hands and stared helplessly out the open panel at the archery range. At the far end of the range, he saw the servant who had passed him in the corridor disappear into the shadows of the tower. Minobu wished he could disappear as easily.

Tomiko turned toward her husband and reached up to touch his face, fingers carefully avoiding the pale scars of the reconstructive surgery. The faint pressure of her touch turned his face to hers.

“Can you look at me and say that it is only the conditions on Misery?”

Minobu's eyes searched hers. He saw that he could not tell her all that he feared. She had her own fears. Lost in his concerns, he did not speak, and his silence gave her the answer she was expecting.

“You have put me aside. That is why I have seen so little of you.”

“That is not so,” he said, wiping away the tear that wet her cheek.

“Do not do this, husband. I have changed. Truly, I have. I can accept it now,” she said, touching his artificial arm. There was need in her voice. It warred with the revulsion that she still tried to hide.

“We can return to what we had,” she added in a tiny voice.

“You have indeed changed. Now you no longer understand me. I wish no gulf between us, Miko-chan,but you cannot come to Misery.”

“Then, at least, let me be with you now,” she sobbed, throwing her arms around him.

He returned the embrace with his natural arm, then, carefully, with the artificial one. She did not flinch. Instead, she held him closer with a fierceness she had never shown before. They kissed, each responding to the other's desire. Their passion led them to the futon,with their clothes scattered behind them.

As they lay quietly after their lovemaking, Minobu felt the return of the day's nagging tension. It was a siren call, a message that he could neither understand nor ignore. It prodded him to action, but did not tell him what that action should be or what should be its target. He only knew he could not remain still.

Tomiko dozed against his right side, the replacement parts of his ravaged left side away from her touch. He was reluctant to disturb her, but he must rise. As gently as he could, he slipped his arm from beneath her head. Half-asleep, the motion barely disturbed her. When she rolled over, he was free to stand up and began to pull on his kimono. Just as he was reaching for his sash, Minobu caught his wife watching him with eyes wide and full of worry. “What is the matter, husband?”

He wrapped the sash around his waist. “Something is wrong,” he said. “With me?”

Minobu shook his head. “Never. I do not know what it is, but it is not a problem between us. That, at least, is at rest.”

“Then you should rest. Come back under the covers,” she said, holding out her arms. The gentle light that came through the shojipanels made her flesh shine with an alabaster radiance.

Minobu was tempted. Very strongly tempted. “I think I would find little rest under those covers.”

Her smile confirmed his suspicions.

“No, Miko-chan,I cannot. Much as I wish to, I cannot.” It was the truth. His unease had grown and began to pull strongly at him. He could not lose himself in her arms now.

“Shigata go nai.Do what you must. I will understand.”

“I know.”

Minobu moved toward the veranda. He walked as though on another plane, Tomiko forgotten behind him. Whatever disturbed him was not in this house. With the cool breeze blowing through his light kimono, the feeling intensified. Yes, the source was somewhere out here.

The unease crystallized into a clear warning of danger, a sensation Minobu had never experienced before except on the battlefield. His head jerked up, eyes settling on the corner tower. There, crouched on the balcony of the third level, was a figure. The shadowy shape was manipulating a long object that glinted coldly in the afternoon light. A rifle.

Trusting his ki,Minobu acted.

A shrug and a twist of his torso freed the left side of his body from the confines of the garment. Dark skin and darker plastic drank the late afternoon sunlight. Minobu threw open the cabinet that held his archery equipment and snatched a bow. Muscles bunched and coiled as he bent it and slipped the string into place. Arrow in hand, he turned to face the tower once more.

The figure was leaning against the railing, the rifleman steadying his weapon on the rail as he sighted at some target in the city. Minobu's sense of danger peaked.

He fitted the arrow to the string and rested the shaft against the plastic of his artificial hand. In a smooth, continuous motion, he raised the bow above his head, lowered in the draw, and loosed. The arrow sped true, striking the target just as the other man squeezed off his shot.

The weapon twinkled in the light as it fell from the tower.

The dark figure crumpled.

It was too late.