Takashi looked his old friend full in-the face. "Do you question my judgment?"
Subhash searched Takashi's blue eyes, testing the strength of the Kurita lord's kishell. Impressed, he replied, "It is not my place, Tono."
"A man must know his place," Takashi observed as he looked away. "I will see the Director at dawn, with questions of my own. A traitor should not have been allowed to reach such a trusted position. This is not the Free Worlds League."
Takashi turned back to meet Subhash's eyes. "Kendoat noon, Subhash -san? We will have much to discuss."
Subhash bowed, acknowledging and accepting the appointment.
He straightened to watch his childhood friend, now the Coordinator, walk at a calm, steady pace toward his own bedchamber. Takashi held his son secure in his arms. In the darkness, the pale oval of the boy's face shone over his father's shoulder. Even in the poor light, Subhash could see that confusion and fear had taken over from the boy's initial reaction. Subhash offered the child a smile of reassurance and reached out with his kito calm the child from his own well of tranquility and strength.
I will guard your future, young Kurita.
The boy managed a half-smile and Subhash sensed his relief.
BOOK 1
Bravery
1
Streets of Kuroda, Kagoshima
Pesht District, Draconis Combine
17 May 3018
Breath came hard through the suit filters and sweat ran into his eyes. Rising nausea forced Theodore Kurita to take a risk. He pulled out the heat vents on his suit, cracked the seal on the faceplate, and slid the visor up over his forehead. The open vents would increase his heat signature to any observer with infrared capability. Without the light-amplification circuits and the bi-level circlevision device that made up the faceplate, he was almost blind in the oily darkness of night in Kuroda. More visible and blind he might be, but at least he could breathe again. As he struggled to keep his gulping breaths quiet, the rush of oxygen cleared his brain and fought back the nausea that had threatened to overwhelm him.
The ISF sneaksuit he wore was not designed for the sustained exertion of his run across the warehouse district. The infrared signature-suppression fabrics and noise-deadening air filters had been overworked, becoming dangerous as they overheated his body and limited his air. Theodore's instructors had often warned him that it was hazardous to try a long-distance run while wearing such a suit. Only a fool or a desperate man would make such an attempt, they said. Theodore did not consider himself a fool, and he hoped his pursuers would not consider him desperate enough to try it. In fact, he was counting on it.
His plan seemed to be working. He had neither seen nor heard any sign of them for half an hour. That meant nothing, of course. They wore sneaksuits like his, standard-issue for the Combine's Elite Strike Teams and the storm troops of the Internal Security Force. That meant that whoever was behind this attack had powerful forces at his disposal, men expert in "black" operations. Such men would be relentless. And very dangerous.
Such considerations made his decision to run justifiable.
The need to open the suit had strong justification as well, but it annoyed him all the same. He needed to stop the fire in his muscles, needed the air. So Theodore took another risk on top of the risky run, and stopped before being sure he was in the clear. He expected better of himself. He wanted to cover three kilometers before resting, but his body betrayed him. Too much easy living at the academy, he concluded.
As his breathing steadied, he considered how differently the night had begun. He was not expecting any trouble on the eve of his graduation from Wisdom of the Dragon School. Four long years of advanced strategy and combat training were over. He had thought that a tryst with his current paramour, Kathleen Palmer, would be an ideal tension-reliever before the ceremonies tomorrow. Kathleen had been a breath of fresh air when they first met four months ago while Theodore was on holiday from the school. She had seemed so far from the taint of political intrigue, uninterested in talk of war and warriors. She had been truly an anodyne after his years of study and training. In her arms, he could forget his obligations and duty.
One way or another, that was over now. Theodore had seen the assassin's image reflected in her eyes as the black-clad figure approached. That warning allowed him the fraction of a second he needed to avoid the knife-hand the man aimed at his neck. His sudden reaction had thrown the assailant off balance. While Kathleen fled screaming from the room, Theodore counterattacked and struck the man down with a well-placed kick. She had been aware of the intruder's presence, but she had not warned her lover. That was something Theodore could not, would not, forget.
He had wanted to follow and force an answer from her, but decided that questioning Kathleen would have to wait. Instead, he had stripped the man of his sneaksuit. Assuming that the failed assassin had back-up, Theodore knew that his sneaksuit would be far more useful than his own fancy dress clothes, strewn about the room with abandon. He had taken the man's gear as well, not having armed himself before a peaceful lark in the old town. Except for the traditional katana,a blackened steel blade with black braiding and non-reflective fittings, the man carried no lethal weapons.
Presumably, his master wanted Theodore alive, perhaps to be used as a bargaining chip. If they wanted him alive, Theodore reasoned, they would be holding back, careful of harming him seriously. He had no such qualms regarding their health. His first priority was to escape and survive. He had no desire to be anyone's prisoner.
Once outfitted, Theodore had exited the building, rappelling down the side with the man's utility line. Thus had he avoided the doors, which must surely be under close watch. His short cut had allowed him to elude the mesh of their net. When he hit the ground, only one black-clad figure opposed him. He took the man down without needing the sword, and started directly back toward the academy. Then he noticed three more assassins on his trail.
Fearing that they would catch him, or worse, call in reinforcements to intercept him, he cut away and headed for the Desolation. There, amid the ruined buildings and rubble of that long-abandoned quarter of Kuroda, he hoped to throw them off his trail. The academy often conducted city-fighting exercises in the Desolation. To improve his scores, Theodore had memorized maps of the region and made a regular effort to keep up on the changes the exercises wrought in the cityscape. He hoped that such knowledge would give him the advantage he needed to elude the pursuit.
As soon as he had lost sight of them, he began to run. Now he stood here, less than a kilometer from the academy. His panting had almost stopped, but his breathing was still ragged. Concentrating on his hara,he willed himself to center. Slowly his breathing became regular. He accepted the fatigue in his limbs and banished it. Calmness suffused him, and in that calmness, he found another presence.
He snapped his head up, eyes working to pierce the darkness. There, standing still on the roof of the gutted shell across the road, was a silent, black-clad figure, starlight glinting from the circlevision visor. The figure bowed to him. Theodore snapped his own visor down, only to find that the slim figure had vanished. One has found me.
No,he admonished himself. I have seen one. I might hope only one is there, but I cannot assume so. Never underestimate an enemy.