Heir to the Dragon Read online

  "Jokan Florimel would not make a mistake in this matter, Jukurensha Constance," Oda declared, trying to push Constance toward the decision she had already made.

  "Jokan Florimel, I bow to your wisdom," Constance said with a smile, and Florimel's answering smile sealed the pact.

  Oda harrumphed his approval of a recalcitrant girl's reluctant acceptance of duty.

  "Now then, Constance, I have another bit of business tonight," Florimel announced. "Come kneel beside me here. It is time for you to begin learning more about our affairs."

  As Constance took her new place at Florimel's side, Oda opened the door to admit five persons. Four wore the rust-colored robes of Pillarine monks, their shoulders broadened by the stiff, yoke-like collars of off-white armorplast. Each of the four wore a sash and collar tie of a different color: green, brown, gold, and ivory. Four of the five pillars, Constance noted. Each monk's sash was tied in the simple knot that indicated a high-ranking Adept. All wore the hoods, complete with one-way visors, that hid their faces as thoroughly as their robes hid their body contours.

  The fifth figure was bare-headed and wore a black ISF sneaksuit. Constance was amazed at the beauty of the woman's delicate features. She needed no cosmetics to enhance the even, golden glow of her skin or her dark-lashed, slanting eyes. The combination of asian features and skin tone over the her strong Caucasian bone structure was exquisite. Her shining raven hair was curled close to her skull like a helmet, the ends stirring only slightly as she strode into the square formed by the monks.

  All five bowed to the shrine, then to Florimel, and finally to Oda. Without a word, the woman advanced to Oda and knelt before him. He placed a Pillarine collar over her shoulders. As she rose, she tugged the attached hood up and slid the visor down over her features. As the dark-haired woman returned to the other monks, Constance saw the steel grey sash and observed the practiced ease with which she tied it into an Adept's knot.

  All five bowed again to Florimel. The woman advanced and knelt before the dais. Head bowed, she offered up a dark leather pouch with a cut strap.

  "Here is his pouch," she announced. "I have failed."

  Florimel signaled Constance to take the pouch from the woman's hands. "You have brought what you were sent after. Why do you speak of failure?"

  "I cut him. His blood is on my sword." Hands now freed from their burden, she placed her palms on the floor and deepened her bow. "Please accept my request for dismissal from the Order."

  "How did this happen?" Oda asked from the back of the room.

  "He was too strong for my technique," the woman answered, without moving.

  From the corner of her eye, Constance saw Florimel smile.

  "You bring good news, Jukurensha" Florimel declared, rejecting the request for dismissal by her use of the woman's rank within the Order.

  The woman straightened, confusion and surprise evident in her posture. Reflecting on her own confused night, Constance sympathized with her.

  * * *

  "It is important to know that the heir is strong. It is even more important that I know you have not fallen into the trap of believing yourself perfect and invulnerable. No one is ever invulnerable. You have pleased me, Jukurensha.

  "I have more work for you." Florimel beckoned the monk wearing the colors of the Pillar of Gold. "Jukurensha Sharilar, help her to prepare. She is going to have a busy day."

  Florimel signaled the end of the audience with a curt nod. As the others left the room, she turned to Constance. "You, too, have a busy day ahead. Many busy days. Let us greet the dawn together. We have much to discuss."

  Constance smiled in anticipation.

  5

  Wisdom of the Dragon School, Kuroda, Kagoshima

  Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

  18 May 3018

  "Theodore Kurita."

  Theodore stiffened as his name was called. He was first! The warmth of the morning sunlight that drenched the courtyard was swallowed up in the heated rush of victory. Until this moment, he had not known. Now that he did, he could have shouted his victory among the stars. But of course he did not. He bowed stiffly toward the dais and the assembled dignitaries before rising from where he knelt among the graduating class. He strode to the aisle in the center of the rows of kneeling officers, turned sharply, and headed for the dais.

  Theodore was acutely aware of all eyes on him as he walked the length of the academy courtyard. Theodore imagined that he could feel the heavy gaze of his father boring down from the elevated gallery surrounding the courtyard. As much as Theodore wanted to meet his father's eyes, he refused to break the discipline of the occasion.

  Take a good look, Father, he said silently. I have beaten your mark here. Now you must surely see that I have proven myself worthy.

  As Theodore neared the dais, he focused on the frowning face of Tai-sho Zangi, commandant of the Wisdom of the Dragon School. Smile, Old Leather Face, he thought. I am your best.

  The Tai-sho continued to frown as Theodore mounted the dais and knelt before him. As Theodore executed the formal bow, the Tai-sho spoke in a voice so soft that even the officers kneeling three paces behind could not hear him.

  "You have not done your best here."

  "But I am first," Theodore replied.

  "You are arrogant," Zangi retorted. "You still have much wisdom to learn."

  "Not from you."

  "As you say."

  Zangi held his right arm out to his side. An aide approached and handed him a sheathed katana. The Tai-sho held the weapon out crosswise to Theodore and spoke in a voice that carried through the courtyard.

  "This is the fighting sword of a Kurita samurai. Elsewhere you learned the arts of a MechWarrior and the science of a tactician. Here you honed those skills and learned the art of strategy. Will you accept this sword to use in the service of the Draconis Combine?"

  "Hai!" Theodore answered. Taking the sword from Zangi's hand, he slid it through his sash and completed his formal acceptance with a bow. Only the mat saw his smile of jubilation.

  Zangi held out his arm again. This time the aide handed him a wakizashi.

  "This is the honor sword of a samurai of the Draconis Combine. Elsewhere you learned the code of bushido. Here you learned to live bushido. Will you accept this sword, joining your honor to that of House Kurita?"

  "Hai!" Theodore repeated. His motions were fluid as he placed the second sword in his sash.

  Even as Theodore bowed, Zangi reached to the black lacquered tray at his left and removed the top sheet from a stack of brilliant white rice paper. With brisk motions, he folded it closed and sketched on the outside the characters for sho-sa. Careful of the wet ink, he held out the packet to Theodore.

  "These are the commands of the Dragon. By accepting the swords, and with them your duty, you have accepted these orders."

  As custom demanded and heedless of the still-damp ink, Theodore tucked the orders unread into his tunic. The orders were also a promotion, the prize for the first in the class. Even his father had not managed this coup.

  Theodore bowed to the Tai-sho and stood, carefully steadying the swords as they tugged at his sash. He walked backward to the edge of the dais and bowed again before turning and descending the five steps. In response to the cheers of the crowd, his reserve cracked and he smiled broadly for all to see. As Theodore strode down the aisle, discipline vanished completely and he searched the gallery with his eyes. He sought his father among the ranking guests, but did not find him.

  Theodore's first thought was that his father had been somehow delayed. Perhaps there had been a minor mechanical difficulty with the DropShip, the planetary spaceship that an interstellar JumpShip used to convey passengers to and from the jump point at the edge of a star system. Or perhaps there had been some delay in aerospace traffic. Theodore knew better, though. The Coordinator's space transports were maintained to the highest standards, and no air traffic controller would dare interfere with Takashi's chosen time or path of
arrival. His father had been here, but had not chosen to witness his son receiving the swords and the coveted first ranking, with its attendant promotion.

  Your father only wishes to see you succeed, old Zeshin's voice told him again, as it had for years.

  Liar, Theodore thought. I have succeeded and he refuses to see it. Was I a fool to believe that this success would change the way he treats me?

  Confucius speaks highly of the duty that a son owes to a father, but duty is a curious river. It flows uphill as well as down, Tetsuhara-sensei's voice counseled obliquely.

  So why can't he see that?

  This time, the voices offered no answer.

  Barely noting his surroundings, Theodore entered the honor court. He walked carefully along the stones of the path and took the central place of honor among the carefully tended trees and precisely raked patches of gravel. Lost in his thoughts, he experienced the continued calling of names and shouted cheers as a meaningless susurrus of sound. Those sounds were absent for some time before he noticed.

  While he had been contemplating his situation, the honor court had filled with the other graduates, each taking his place according to class ranking. All kneeled in silence, meditating on their new lives in service to the Dragon. Custom demanded that they remain so until the first in the class released them. Without opening his eyes, Theodore finally remembered where he was, and spoke the phrase they awaited, "We begin."

  Around him, more cheer broke out. The normally restrained Kuritans cut loose with yelps of joy as they flung their gray academy caps into the air. Some left the court, searching for family members to share their happiness. Most simply jostled and pummeled each other in a tumult of rejoicing and congratulations.

  "O-medeto," said a soft voice beside him.

  Theodore opened his eyes to look at the speaker. The late afternoon sun, peeking over the garden wall, haloed her black hair and threw her lovely features into shadow. It was a face he knew well from these years at the academy and one he had preferred to see on his staff rather than the opposition's. What was new was the open smile on her face.

  "So, Tomoe Sakade, you are friendly now," he said. "What brings a sudden thaw to such ice?"

  "We are no longer rivals, Sho-sa," she replied. "Now we can be friends. There is a celebration at the House of Tawamure."

  "I'm not interested in a rowdy party."

  "Neither am I," she said with a devilish grin.

  He was intrigued by her statement, but before he could investigate the possible meanings, a man in a Chu-sa's uniform thrust himself to Theodore's attention.

  "Sho-sa Kurita, the Coordinator requests your presence in the Agate Pavilion."

  * * *

  Theodore was almost surprised to find his father wearing his formal ceremonial garb; Takashi Kurita had not participated in the ceremony. The black cutaway tailcoat revealed a gray satin waistcoat stretching over the expanse of his belly. The gray pinstriped pants fell without a crease to touch the white spats that covered the mirror-polished black shoes. His short black hair, with its white temples and forelock streak, matched the outfit and lent him the air of a distinguished diplomat of ancient Terra. Theodore had always found the diplomatic garb as anachronistic as the traditional Japanese garb affected throughout the Combine.

  As Theodore entered, Takashi turned and dismissed his aides. He studied his son from head to toe with his ice-blue gaze. "O-medeto, Sho-sa."

  "Domo arigato, Otosan," Theodore responded automatically. Though he heard the sharpness in Takashi's tone, he could not help but ask, "Are you pleased?"

  "Do you expect me to be?" Takashi retorted, all trace of politeness gone. "The ISF has informed me that you have not worked to the best of your ability. I have received reports of shirking, liaisons in the town, and missed assignments. Disgraceful."

  "Yet I am first in my class," Theodore said, lifting his head in pride.

  Takashi's eyes narrowed. After a moment, he turned toward the window that overlooked the multi-roofed buildings of the academy and stood there for a long moment. Takashi's voice was gruff when he spoke.

  "I see that Tai-sho Zangi has accorded that honor to you. You should thank him before he leaves for Brihuega and his new command there."

  Theodore was surprised and shocked. "That is ridiculous. He would not request an assignment to such an outpost world. Training warriors is his life."

  "He did." Takashi waved a hand toward the desk where lay a pile of papers topped by a DCMS request for transfer form. "He found it preferable to the alternative."

  Theodore realized suddenly that something was wrong, but he didn't know what. Zangi had been judged guilty of some crime and offered the usual "alternative." The injustice rankled him. "Tai-sho Zangi is an honorable man."

  Takashi spun around and crossed his arms over his chest. His face was granite. "He has disobeyed me by showing favoritism to my son. I have been lenient in permitting him this recourse."

  "He does not deserve this treatment. He showed me no favoritism."

  Takashi dismissed his son's defense of Zangi with a slashing motion of his hand.

  "Do not demean yourself with lies to defend the false honor he has accorded you. It is unbecoming to a Kurita." Takashi's voice softened. "You shall retain the rank. The people must see my son as an outstanding MechWarrior."

  "That is all you care about, isn't it? Appearances!" Theodore spat out the words in disgust.

  Takashi turned a cold, hard stare on him.

  "We are Kurita. Across the stars, what we appear to be, we are. Appearances are all-important. That is something you seem unwilling or unable to learn." After a pause, Takashi added quietly, "Your mother is disappointed, too."

  Theodore clenched his jaw to keep from flinging a sarcastic retort at his father. He hated it when Takashi brought Jasmine into arguments to cover his own feelings. In as calm a voice as he could muster, he said, "If you have no further need of me today?"

  Takashi looked at his son with calculating eyes, sifting and weighing the effects of the day's confrontation.

  "You may go."

  Theodore turned and walked slowly from the chamber, controlling the desire to rush out, to be free of his father's suffocating presence. He walked through the building, ignoring the greetings and congratulations of all he passed. On the steps outside the Agate Pavilion, however, he was confronted by someone he could not ignore. Subhash Indrahar clapped him on the shoulder.

  "O-medeto, Sho-sa," the man said with a smile full of approval.

  Theodore looked at the ISF Director with no thanks in his eyes. "The ISF has informed me," he quoted in a voice filled with the pain of his father's continued rejection. He shook off Subhash's hand, overwhelmed by the need to escape. He ran down the steps.

  Shoving his way through the celebrating crowd, Theodore could hear Indrahar calling his name.

  6

  Wisdom of the Dragon School, Kuroda, Kagoshima

  Pesht District, Draconis Combine

  18 May 3018

  They found Theodore sitting on a bench in a quiet garden. At his feet lay a crumpled sheet of white rice paper, tightly covered with calligraphic characters.

  Even in his despair, Constance thought him romantically handsome. The slightly tousled dark hair and the rumpled uniform added just the right touch of pathos to his tall, lanky frame. Lover and child at once. What woman could resist? If only he were not my cousin, she mused.

  Great-Aunt Florimel had noted Theodore's abrupt departure from the Agate Pavilion and sent aides to follow him and report where he stopped. When that message came, she had ordered Constance to print a hardcopy of a certain computer file, all the while criticizing Takashi's treatment of his son. From her earliest childhood, Constance remembered Florimel's loving concern for Theodore. Florimel believed that it was her karma to assist and guide him toward his destiny, for he had been born on her estate at the outskirts of the Imperial City. Constance had been born there, too, and that seemed to link her somehow to Theod
ore as much as their shared childhood at the court on Luthien.

  Constance had been there when Theodore was born. She had been only seven years old at the time and remembered little of the event that had so racked Jasmine with agony. At the time, Constance had not understood the whisperings that Jasmine could bear no more children.

  That had made her only child all the more precious to Jasmine, and she had protected and pampered him beyond the time proper for a Kuritan boy-child. His mother had not always been able to shield Theodore from his father, however. Constance remembered too many occasions when she had held her sobbing young cousin in her arms while he choked out a story of Takashi's coldness or unthinking cruelty.

  Now Theodore was here alone on a day when he should be rejoicing with his family, with his friends. Once more his father had rejected him. Constance thought it intolerable, but she had no power to change it. Even Florimel could do little. She never confronted Takashi about his treatment of Theodore, but protested it in her own way. Through subtle manipulation of his environment and well-timed encouragements, she worked to sustain Theodore's spirit.

  Constance knew from the printout she carried that Florimel had a good one today. She sneaked a glance at her great-aunt. Florimel's concern for Theodore showed clearly, but beneath that concern was strength and confidence. Constance was relieved, her own confidence bolstered. Great-Aunt Florimel would save this day.

  Theodore stood as the two women entered the garden and pretended surprise at finding him there. Florimel dismissed his attempts at formal courtesy, reminding him that they were all family. Then Theodore helped her to a seat on the granite bench he had just vacated. Heedless of the damp ground, Constance settled at Florimel's knee in a rustle of fine dai-gumo silk. After a pause, Theodore joined her, seating himself cross-legged directly in front of his great-aunt.