Candace shook her head as her right hand again rubbed her left shoulder. "I'm afraid I couldn't." She smiled weakly. "A 'Mech injury has left me less than graceful."
He turned to face her and extended his metal hand. "Forgive me, Duchess, but this lump of pig iron does nothing for my grace, either."
Candace's eyes glowed with renewed agitation as she slipped the robe from her left shoulder and withdrew her left arm from the sleeve. Holding the robe closed with her right hand, she turned so that her shoulder was no longer in shadow. Then, with a flick of her head, she tossed her hair back from the shoulder. "At least, Citizen, they were able to fix your arm."
Justin winced as the moonlight poured white fire over the patchwork of scars on her left shoulder. It almost looks as though she were mauled by a wild animal.Though the reconstructive surgery had no doubt been undertaken with the best intentions and meticulous care, the suture scars merely highlighted the futility of the doctors' efforts. "When did it happen?" he asked softly.
Candace's face hardened. "Eleven years ago." No. It couldn't have been ...Justin swallowed hard. "Not on Spica..."
Candace nodded slowly. "Yes, on Spica. A brash young Davion Leftenant who was quite fluent in Liao managed to convince members of my command that the effort to relieve our siege of General Sheridan Courtney's position in the city of Valencia was coming from the north. My superiors shifted their resources around and left the defense of the eastern approach to my company. Colonel Dobson's battalion hit us hard ..."
Justin looked down at his feet and folded his arms around himself. "You were fighting in that Vindicator. . ."
Candace nodded. "And you, Leftenant Justin Xiang Allard, fought in a Blackjack."Candace bowed her head until her hair hid her face. "I had nightmares about our running gun battle through the jungle. In the dreams, you continued to hound me and pick my 'Mech apart with your autocannons. Never the coup de grace. Just the endless chewing and grinding of my Vindicatorinto scrap. Everywhere I turned, everywhere I ran, you were there, and another piece of my 'Mech would vanish."
Justin studied Candace silently, then let a respectful grin onto his lips. "Believe it or not, I relived that battle on a fairly recurrent basis as well. I never knew you were the Vindicator'spilot, but now it fits. You never gave up. I thought I'd shot the hell out of your 'Mech. I knew you were running hot, but whenever I'd get too close, you'd fire your damned PPC at me. In my nightmare, I'd come across your Vindicatorall rusted and overgrown with vines and creepers. I'd raise the Blackjack'sarms to blast your machine into scrap, and it would trigger one last PPC blast. It'd hit the cockpit, and I'd wake up in a cold sweat."
Justin grimaced. "I saw you eject after the gyros went. I hoped you got away in one piece, but I saw the canopy afterward." Justin stepped closer to her and reached out his right hand toward her shoulder. "Ejecting is always nasty when the canopy doesn't blow away cleanly. That safety glass can turn into a mouthful of razor teeth."
Candace flinched as his hand touched her bared shoulder. Justin brushed his fingers lightly over her skin as though he could smooth away the twisted scars. He stroked her shoulder gently and breathed in deeply, enjoying the warmth and smoothness of her skin. Her perfume replaced that of the garden.
Justin's fingers touched the silk of her robe and the chill in it shocked him. His hand recoiled as from fire, and he took a step back. "Forgive me, Duchess, I did not mean to . . ."
Candace pressed her left hand to his lips and stilled his protests. "No offense taken, Citizen." She smiled and slipped her arm back into the robe's left sleeve. "Doctors rebuilt the deltoid and tricep with myomer fibers, but the initial job was done in the field, and so wasn't very good. Acupuncture keeps the pain under control, but I have a restricted range of motion." She held her left arm straight out from her side, but could barely elevate it above shoulder height.
Her words took a few moments to register as Justin's mind raced. He felt the same icy tingling in his guts as when he saw her for the first time. Despite those feelings of doom, he hungered for the woman who caused it. Dammit, Justin. Smarten up! You're tired. It's late. You're not thinking clearly. You're the one who caused her injury. That's more than enough reason for her to hate you.
Justin narrowed his eyes. "You never underwent physical therapy for that injury, did you?"
"Ha!" Candace scoffed. "I was surrounded by nurses who wanted to help me, but the sycophants could not bring themselves to make me work. At the first sign of fatigue or discomfort, they'd scatter for fear they'd anger me . . ."
Justin raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you didn't make it easy for them. But you should have had the discipline to do it yourself, for yourself."
The moonlight skittered blue through her hair as she shook her head. "Weights and moving my arm in circles bored me to death. Then I was summoned back to Sian and given my present duties as the Treasury's Regulator."
Justin chuckled lightly. "T'ai chicould restore that mobility, and it's not boring. It's both meditative, and when speeded up, a formidable martial arts discipline."
Candace brought her head up and stared into Justin's brown eyes. "You will teach me."
Justin hesitated. "Duchess, I am certain there are far better teachers here on Sian than I."
Her eyes flashed argent. "I do not wish servitors who will be afraid to tell me when I'm not working hard enough. You will teach me, Justin, and you will call me Candace. I get enough of titles from those who are not sincere. I'll not have it from a MechWarrior worthy of my respect."
"Very well, Candace," Justin said with a slight bow of the head. "When would you like to begin?"
Candace smiled. "Here. Now."
Justin returned her smile. "Fine. We begin with breathing." So I can control mine as well as show you how to control yours. Face it, Justin. You're lost. You knew the job was dangerous when you took it, but now you’ve gone looking for trouble and found it in spades . . .
Book II
Recovery
12
New Syrtis
Capellan March, Federated Suns
27 December 3027
Duke Michael Hasek-Davion nibbled absentmindedly at the synthetic thumbnail on his lifeless left hand. Staring at his office's wooden door, he willed it to open, then snorted derisively when it failed to do so. Just as well. If I found a way to channel my fury into some undiscovered telekinetic ability, I'd probably tear the door apart.He narrowed his eyes. That is a display I'd prefer to save for his Grace, the Ambassador.
Michael's hair, worn unbraided for the formal ceremonies during the holidays, hooded his face until he impatiently thrust its darkness back over his shoulders. How could Liao do that? How could he order an attack on my people? What sort of a fool does he think I am ?
Michael again glanced at the Ministry of Intelligence, Information, and Operations' preliminary report on the Shaoshan terrorist attack on Kittery. It is well the attack failed utterly, or I would be forced to punish Liao's presumptiveness.