Theodore had acted to save the Combine, and his face flushed with anger that his father could question that dedication. Feeling the warmth on his cheeks, Theodore was ashamed that he had let the emotion show. He was angrier still when he saw satisfaction flash into his father's eyes.
"At least you have the grace to be embarrassed by your conduct," Takashi said harshly. "It is of little comfort. By ignoring me, you threw away a chance to rip out Hanse Davion's throat. Your retreat from Exeter was far too premature. Some have called it cowardly."
The Coordinator continued to berate a silent Theodore. Takashi expressed his contempt for the Kanrei's strategic sense as demonstrated by his conduct of the war, detailing each and every military decision with accuracy that could only mean that the Coordinator had eyes and ears in Theodore's command staff. Takashi was too well-informed to have pieced the material together from individual officers, even if the Warlords had been his spies. Theodore was sure that Constance and her O5P would not have leaked such sensitive material. It could only mean that, in spite of the Director's assurances to the contrary, Subhash Indrahar continued to play his double game, balancing father and son to his own advantage and charting his own course for the survival of the Dragon.
Takashi ranted on. The Coordinator's topic shifted from the poor military decisions to the failure of his son as a warrior. Takashi found Theodore's abandonment of the thrust into the Federated Suns particularly cowardly.
After all these years, the man still did not understand. Theodore tried to push the emotion from his mind, to sink into the calm that would sustain him through what was to come. He was distracted by a sparkle of light from the crystal decanter. His eyes fastened on the convoluted patterns, following their angles. He studied their intricate precision, seeking regularity and pattern to slow his racing mind and to soothe his spirit. Perversely, his discomfort grew. Theodore started again to trace the flow of incisions in the surface of the bottle. A shape emerged amid the abstract angles of the pattern. He drew in his breath, his mind blazingly clarified. Takashi's words continued to hammer on Theodore's ears, but their pounding rhythm lost coherency. Takashi's surface sheen of contempt and disappointment slid away under Theodore's enhanced perception, laying bare the Coordinator's underlying, long-nurtured hatred and jealousy.
Theodore's hand slid down to the holster at his side. The hard, cool ivory of the handgrip snugged firmly into his palm as he slipped the flap open and gripped the Nambu.
Takashi stopped speaking. Their eyes locked. Theodore read pure contempt in his father's ice blue eyes.
"So ka,"Takashi said quietly. He straightened his shoulders, the years and faint signs of infirmity left by his stroke vanishing. He lifted his glass to his lips.
Theodore drew his pistol, firing as the gun rose.
Takashi fell over backwards, rolling toward the tall chair of state. He lay still. Glass shards stood like icebergs in a spreading sea of amber fluid. Time ceased to flow for Theodore, the instant frozen and he with it.
From the gloomy upper rafters, a black shadow dropped to the floor, entering Theodore's consciousness before it reached his field of vision. The form crouched to absorb the force of its drop, then straightened smoothly, resolving into a human figure. The soft light of the room was absorbed by the dark clothing, obscuring all details save the hard, narrow shape of the sword hilt thrusting out over the shoulder. The apparition's face was masked, only the eyes visible: dark, lustrous, and utterly calm. Between them was a small black tattoo of a cat, its pose exactly like that of the one Theodore had seen hidden in the abstract design of the decanter's decoration. This person was a nekogami, a superb and implacable assassin, skilled at innumerable forms of death and at one with the darkness.
"Iie, Tono,"the shadow said in a soft, feminine voice. "You have given this into our hands. Your presence and participation are unnecessary and unwise."
Theodore swallowed. His calm was cracking, leaving him too aware of the danger he faced. He turned his gun on the nekogami.
"This is not my wish."
The shadow stood silent, unmoving. By the dais, Takashi groaned.
As if prompted by the sound, the nekogami said, "I do not understand, Tono."
"There's been a misunderstanding. A well-meaning man took an initiative that was not welcome. He misread my intentions."
"I have been contracted," the voice stated flatly. "The nekogami honor is bound to the completion of the contract. My death is bound to that of the man Takashi Kurita."
"I will not be a party to his murder."
The black-suited figure stiffened. Theodore tensed, then relaxed, sensing no impending attack. She bowed.
"I believe I understand now," she affirmed in a voice so soft that Theodore almost missed the words. "It is most regrettable."
The woman bowed again, deep and long. As she straightened, she tugged on something within her hood. She made no further movement.
Theodore watched her eyes. They were pools of the night in which she had been nurtured. Her utter, unattached calm was gone, replaced by a strange sort of peace. Then the life was gone from those dark eyes, and her body started to crumple to the floor. Before the corpse hit the polished parquet, there was a flare from within the hood. The mask that had concealed her face dissolved, taking her features with it. None would ever know what face she had worn when she was not creeping among the shadows.
The stench of burnt flesh filled Theodore's nostrils, nauseating and vastly out of place in the elegant Peony Room.
70
Unity Palace, Imperial City, Luthien
Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
9 January 3040
Fuhito Tetsuhara and his dozen buso-senshiguards, the Ryu-no-tomo,or Dragon's Friends, bulled their way through the gathering of gawkers in the corridor leading to the Peony Room. Their 'Mechs and almost two dozen more waited outside the palace grounds, the piloted machines walking protective sentry. Fuhito fretted at the slow progress of his group, but was reluctant to force passage through the courtiers and functionaries. They all outranked him socially, and he had no idea what had happened in the room. He only knew that Theodore had headed there after ordering Fuhito to gather the warriors from the DropShip Tetsuwashiand follow.
He had acted as quickly as possible, but it had taken precious time to unlimber the BattleMechs and march them from the port. The Kanrei had long outdistanced them. They had only reached the outer halls of the palace when the distance-muffled shot had reached his ears. The dismounted senshihad increased their pace, only to be slowed by the crowded corridors.
The Otomo guards moved to refuse entrance to him and his group, but Theodore's raised hand stayed them. Relieved to see his lord safe within the room, Fuhito ordered the MechWarriors to aid the Otomo in guarding the door. He slipped between two brawny Otomo and entered the room.
Fuhito scanned the room as he passed the guardsmen. He was shocked to see the state of the Coordinator. Takashi sat in his carved chair, bloodied and pale. A man wearing the master's insignia of the Brotherhood of Physicians and two red-robed Pillarine Adepts attended him, cleaning his cuts and dressing them with plastiflesh. Fuhito had seen enough injuries to know that at least one of those wounds was beyond the magic of the spray binding and would leave a scar.