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Crawford was so shocked he couldn’t respond for a moment. “Dial down? What the hell are you talking about? For God’s sake, Katana, that’s what my people did and they’re dead.”
“Do the math, Andre. We don’t measure up. Our only hope is to not swoop in like avenging angels. We fight… but we dial it down.”
“And wait until they mop the planet with us,” said Crawford. He was angry now, and that made him cruel. “Chi
That hurt; he could tell by the way her features froze, and when she spoke, her words vibrated with barely suppressed emotion that told him he was very lucky she hadn’t drawn her blade and killed him on the spot. “I will avenge her; make no mistake. But there is only one man I hold responsible, and that is Sakamoto. The best way to honor Toni—to avenge all my people—is to defeat Sakamoto.”
“How?”
“We take away his base of support. We have a much better chance if we strike the worlds where he’s been gone awhile. Troops get tired; they want to go home; they want to know they’re appreciated. If I’m right about Sakamoto, he doesn’t give a damn about his people. That’ll be our advantage. What is a general without his troops but just a guy in a fancy uniform?”
“Uh-huh,” said Crawford. “Well, speaking of fancy clothes, let’s think this through, shall we?” He knew he hovered perilously close to insubordination, but then figured, screw it: He could only die once. “What about the coordinator? Sagi said Sakamoto went without authorization, but who’s Sagi? No one.”
“That’s why, when I meet Sakamoto, I will come as his ally.”
“What? You just said…”
“We’ll still do a rearguard action, no question. But if I don’t offer to talk, that’s reason enough to turn us into grease spots. Offer to negotiate in front of witnesses, and he’ll have a harder time killing us.”
Crawford hesitated, then said, very carefully, “You are my tai-sho. I will follow you to death if need be. But you are insane, and I want that on the record because you know what else? After what happened to Toni and Sully, if you get yourself killed? Katana, you’ll think you deserved it.”
They stared at one another a long moment. Finally, Katana broke the silence. “Noted. You are dismissed, Chu-sa.” Then, as he reached the shoji, Katana said, “Crawford, one more thing.”
Ah, his last name. Meant he was in the shit house for sure. Crawford met Katana’s steely gaze. “Yes, Tai-sho?”
“The Bounty Hunter’s Marauder II is in our hangar, but there is no Hunter. Do you know where he is?”
It wasn’t what he’d expected, but Crawford was ready just the same. “No,” he lied.
Field Hospital, Fourth Sword of Light, Ancha
Prefecture II, Republic of the Sphere
25 June 3134
Chu-sa Leo Montgomery scrubbed grit from his eyes. All he wanted was five hours of sleep, but instead he’d been operating nonstop, resecting bowel, digging out shrapnel, amputating limbs, and now he was elbow-deep in administrative crap, too. Montgomery sighed, fingered the tai-i’s paperwork from his desk, and squinted at the pilot still patiently at attention. “Tai-i…” Montgomery sca
“Quite sure,” said Goddard. “Honor demands that I go back to the front lines.”
Montgomery scrutinized the aerospace pilot. Goddard was disconcertingly tall for a pilot; most pilots tended to be small men, and there was something about his face Montgomery didn’t care for. Not just the scar jagging through his left eyebrow and cheek; a souvenir from the crash. No, something else… the eyes? Montgomery gave himself a mental shake. “I appreciate your zealousness, but…”
“Please, Doctor,” said Goddard, and his voice had an insistent edge that made Montgomery uneasy. Goddard must’ve seen this because he smiled, and Montgomery didn’t know which was worse; the man’s tone, or that smile that sent icy fingers tripping up his spine. “I want to fight. Please, transfer me back to Silver Wing of the Forty-third Aerospace based on Al Na’ir. That’s where I’m needed.”
That smile, and those eyes… Montgomery cleared his throat. “Very well, since you’re so eager.” Montgomery’s pen jittered as he scrawled his signature—illegible, he knew, but cut him some slack, he was a doctor—and handed the papers over to the pilot.
Still, Montgomery stared at the closed door for some time after the tai-i left. No, it wasn’t the smile. It was the eyes, those cold, gray eyes. Like a corpse; no, a devil…
Scarsborough Manufacturers, Al Na’ir
Prefecture II, Republic of the Sphere
25 June 3135
“Bah! That is no answer!”
“That is the only answer I will give,” said the chu-sa. She was a tall woman, with a purple-black bruise staining her right cheek, and a defiant snap to her light blue eyes.
“Do not tell me what you will or will not give!” Sakamoto seethed. They were in the CEO’s office. The air was bad, close with burnt cordite, the gassy smell of decaying flesh, and a faint but distinctive scent of bitter almonds. Tasted bad enough to make Sakamoto want to spit. “And these empty threats that Dragon’s Fury will crush us. You overestimate your importance.”
“Perhaps you overestimate your reach. The coordinator will never let this stand. It is one thing to defeat Republic forces, but quite another to target troops who have pledged their loyalty to…”
“To a woman who is not the coordinator!” And now Sakamoto did spit: on the chu-sa’s right MechWarrior boot.
A gasp from Worridge at his right elbow. “Tai-shu, I don’t think…”
“Silence, Worridge!” Sakamoto raged, without turning around. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it!”
The Fury’s chu-sa stared at the spittle that had washed out a circle of dust and then back at Sakamoto. “You demean yourself, Tai-shu. A samurai has honor and honor demands respect…”
“Given to whom? Traitors?” But he was shamed nonetheless, and it wouldn’t do to let Worridge or that ski
Then Sakamoto’s eyes came to rest on two prisoners: one in an orange jumpsuit, who sported a cane in his right hand and a grimy cast that stretched from the toes of his right foot to his hip; a second whose white shirttails dangled like tongues. “What about you, Eriksson?” Sakamoto said to the man with the cast. “Where is your beloved exarch now, eh?”
The old knight pushed himself erect. An effort, clearly. The knight had been captured when his ’Mech’s missile rack exploded. Eriksson had ejected, his right femur snapping like a dry twig when he hit. “I’m a realist, Sakamoto. I’m only one man. If need be, my life is forfeit for a greater good.”
“Pretty words, but I’m your reality now.” Sakamoto turned his glare on the man with the shirttails. “Isn’t that right, Governor Tormark? What do you think of your intrepid little cousin?”
“Second cousin,” Tormark amended. He was not as tall as Eriksson, and his skin was a light ci