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Jonathan felt himself falling—like being in a lift suddenly cut from its cable and going into freefall down an infinitely long shaft. His stomach lodged in the back of his throat; his head suddenly seemed to levitate away. With a scream, Jonathan hit his jump jets, hoping against hope that he wasn’t too late.
Now there was the roar of his engines as superheated plasma rocketed out, each jet cha
Then, ahead, above, below, Jonathan saw white ice, ru
Gulping air, body still shaking with adrenaline and rage, Jonathan turned—and saw the ice simply fall away. The screams in his helmet suddenly cut out, as if hacked by an unseen hatchet.
And then the ice, the tanks, and the ’Mechs were gone.
DropShip Amagi over Iwanji Airspace, Saffel
“Heavy fighting, Tai-sho.” The Amagi’s pilot was grim. “A DropShip as well. We will be atop it in seconds.”
“Oh, God.” Crawford, by her side, and when their eyes met, Katana read his thoughts: Too late.
Not after all we’ve been through, to have it end here, now… Two days ago they’d winked in at the same pirate point as Parks’ JumpShip, and already knew that Parks had deployed his troops. Since then, they’d been racing to catch up, pulling as many g s as the crew could tolerate. They’d been lucky; they’d met no DCMS DropShips, had taken no fire—but if Parks and Sterling were dead as well…
She gave herself a mental shake. Stop. She wouldn’t let her people die in vain, not without giving her all. For now we see if Fate is with me, or against.
She nodded at the pilot. “Open a cha
DropShip Dragon’s Pride
“I see it.” Worridge felt the skin tighten over her skull. Another DropShip, and not one of theirs. She looked back over her shoulder at the weapons officer, a young chu-i with skin as white as porcelain. “Is it hot?”
She saw the woman’s eyebrows fold into a frown. “Ie, they’re… they’re not,” she said, a trace of wonder in her voice. She glanced up. “They will be within range in the next forty seconds. Shall I plot a solution?”
Dare I do this, dare I?… Worridge sucked in a breath and said, “Negative. Give the order: Cease all hostilities. I want…”
But she never had a chance to say what she wanted because then the communications officer’s head jerked to attention. “Tai-sho! Incoming message, on all frequencies!” Then he gasped. “It’s Katana Tormark!”
Worridge’s breath left her lungs in an exhalation of surprise. “On speaker.”
The communications officer moved to comply. For a brief instant—the space between one beat of Worridge’s heart and the next—all she heard was the faint sputter of solar background interference. But then the strong, confident tones of a woman she’d never met but about whom she knew much filled the bridge.
“This is Katana Tormark, Tai-sho of Dragon’s Fury. I would speak with you, Tai-shu Sakamoto. On your orders, you have carved a path of destruction from Shimonita to Dabih, from Piedmont to Al Na’ir. You have attacked my forces and killed my people—and yet I do not come for revenge. What your troops did was their duty; what they did, they did believing in your honor and in the Dragon. But there is no honor in brother fighting brother. We are not your enemies. What we have seized we have claimed in the name of the coordinator. We would join you, gladly, but your attacks on our people must cease, and we must discuss how this war will be waged. There is no honor in slaughter, and we would fight you with a heavy heart. But we will fight—and we will die if we must but as warriors, not savages.”
A pause, then: “We would have your answer.”
Silence.
Worridge’s eyes met the pilot’s; she read… what? Admiration? Resolve? Then the pilot moved his head—not much, not enough for anyone who wasn’t watching closely to pick it up—but he gave an infinitesimal, a fractional nod.
Yes, she knew what she had to do next. And about frigging time. She nodded at the comm officer. “Let us speak. And make sure everyone hears.”
Carillon Field, Iwanji, Saffel
Well, so she wasn’t dead. And neither was Parks, though he ought to be, the lummox. She still saw smoke and blue sky, but the DropShip had angled away. Her throat was raw; she’d be black-and-blue tomorrow; her Ocelot might never recover. And she’d for sure need a new cooling vest; there was dripping coolant everywhere. But there was nothing wrong with her eyes or ears, and she heard the same wonder in Parks’ voice as she felt herself.
“Sterling,” he said, hacking, “you hearing this?”
“I hear it.” Sterling backhanded sweat, blood and grime from her neck. “I just can’t fraccing believe it.”
DropShip Amagi
Katana was stu
“Hai. I can.” She squared her shoulders. “And I will.” She looked a question to her comm officer, and the woman nodded. Heart slamming against her ribs, Katana forced the tremor from her voice: “Tai-sho Worridge, you have my deepest sympathies. I would regret fighting you now, or in the future. If you would have me, I would be honored to join you—but only for the Dragon. If not, we will withdraw and battle you another day.”
A long pause. Katana tried to still her mind, knowing that her weapons officer would warn her if they were being led into a trap. But her officer remained silent, and then Worridge was back: “Ie. You would honor us, Tai-sho. We await your orders.” Another pause, then: “What would you have us do?”
Crawford’s gasp was audible, but Katana barely heard it over the sudden thundering of her pulse. Worridge, ceding command? To her? This wasn’t possible; how could…?
Confused, she turned to Crawford. A slow smile spread on his lips until he was gri
No hesitation now; she felt her resolve firm, nodded at her comm. “I am honored, Tai-sho Worridge. We will attack. There’s a planet to take, after all.”
Yet the next voice Katana heard was not Worridge. It was a man, and there was no mistaking its ring of total authority: “Don’t you think you’d better consult with me first?”
Dovejin Ice Cap, Saffel
The Raiders’ infantry had scattered, spilling onto an icy waste that would surely claim them. The MiningMechs were so much smoking rubble, and Jonathan thought those missiles well spent. For now, he swayed forward, his bad right ankle and all but useless left arm canceling one another out. Toggling his PPC, Jonathan swept a blue trough of destruction while the Hatchetman smashed other buildings to rubble. In a day the Raiders’ battlearmor power packs would be exhausted, and they’d have no base to return to. So, they’d freeze. A mercy, probably. Dying of thirst was so unpleasant.