When he was aware again, he considered what he had heard the doctors say. If Takashi was dead, what more reason had Michi to live? The vendetta that had driven him was complete. Takashi was dead. That, he thought with sudden certainty, was true.
But the Coordinator had not died at Michi's hand or in atonement for wrongs done to Minobu-sensei, which left Michi a failure. The tubes and machines the Brotherhood were using to sustain his existence made a mockery of him. His life was over. Why work to sustain a body when the reason for life is gone? His consciousness faded, but he remained tied to his body.
There was no release for him.
Karma.
He woke again.
The room was full of light, far brighter than artificial illumination could make it. It was day. Someone had opened the drapes to let in the sun. And someone was still in the room, standing by the bed.
That person was not wearing the bright yellow of a Brotherhood physician. Though Michi was sure that he knew the man, the tall visitor's face refused to resolve into recognizable features. It was not until the visitor spoke that Michi saw that it was Theodore Kurita, the man who had chained Michi with the bonds of duty, who had demanded, rightfully, that Michi put service to the Combine before any personal desires.
Theodore nodded gravely when he saw that Michi's eyes had focused on him and said, "My father told me of your decision in the dojo."
Michi wanted to tell Theodore to go away and leave him to his search for hell, but his voice would not work. Theodore ignored the feeble sounds.
"He asked me to give you a command again, as a reward for your loyalty to the Combine. The health of the realm was much on his mind. He said that you would make a good warlord. Anywhere but Dieron, he said."
An attempt at a head shake was thwarted by rebellious muscles. Michi's head simply rolled onto its side.
"I think Dieron would be the ideal place," Theodore said.
"No," Michi croaked, finding his voice at last. "Not Dieron. Not anywhere. I never was a politician, just a soldier. Now, I am not even that. There is no place for me in your army."
"You are tired and injured; do not decide hastily. I know what you did, and I remember how we met. You told me then that duty was the most important part of a samurai's life and that the duty to the Combine was the greatest burden a man could bear. That duty never goes away, Michi -kun. The Combine stills needs you, now more than ever. When you are ready, there is a place for you in the Ryuken. The command of Ryuken- ni,if you want it."
"Fraser commands."
"So you remember him? He would be pleased to hear it. Yes, he commands, but I have more need of him elsewhere. The Ryuken will need a commander, and I think you are the best man for the job."
"The Ryuken are the past. It is dead, as I should be."
"You are mistaken." Theodore walked to the window. The late afternoon sun cast his shadow across the bed and spared Michi's eyes from the glare. Staring out the window, Theodore said, "You saved my father's life by preempting those others. It gave him ... a new perspective. He believed he had found an honorable death."
Michi frowned. "I thought I heard a doctor say that he died in his sleep. A weak heart."
Theodore's voice was almost inaudible. "The doctors say what they must say."
"A warrior's death? I remember fighting."
"No. He survived those others. He used your sword to hold them off long enough for the Otomo to arrive. Afterward, he told me what you had said about a samurai's choice. I think that your example is what turned his mind. In the end, he freely chose what others tried to force on him. He thought it wisdom."
The twisted irony of the situation made Michi want to laugh, but the pain in his chest turned his amusement to agony. When the spasm subsided, he said, "He refused such a death when I offered it."
"He never responded well to the younger generation," Theodore said ruefully. He returned to Michi's bedside. "I wish to reward you."
A fleeting burst of strength allowed Michi to rock his head back and forth. "It is inappropriate."
"Because you raised your hand against the House of Kurita?"
"Hai."
"And if I, as head of that House, say that you were ever loyal, as a samurai should be?"
Michi met Theodore's gaze. He felt the strength in the Kanrei's spirit, the power to rule. But Michi had his own strength. "It would not change the truth. I have lived my last lie."
Theodore sighed. Bowing his head, he asked, "Will you become a monk?"
"Perhaps, in time."
They spoke no more for some time. Michi thought he must have slept, but when he was aware again, Theodore was still there, his position unchanged. Michi said, "If you have told me the truth, I have one more duty."
"On Awano?"
Michi shook his head. Awano, the ancestral home of his mentor Minobu, was as closed to him as Luthien and the inner circles of Kurita politics. Tetsuhara- senseihad cursed him from the family estate when Michi had brought him the head of Minobu's chief tormentor Samsonov. The old man had refused the validity of Michi's vendetta to restore the honor of his eldest son, Minobu. The old senseihad cursed him, but there had been a package waiting for Michi at the spaceport. A long slender box. That box now lay in a bank vault on the outskirts of Imperial City. The instructions he had left for its disposition no longer applied.
Theodore interrupted his thoughts. "Where will you go, then?"
"To fulfill my last duty," he said, but he would not elaborate despite the Kanrei's probing. This matter had nothing to do with Theodore, and everything to do with who Michi was and what he had become. Until that duty was done, he would not be free to go onward. "When will the doctors release me?"
"When you are able to travel. I will have a ship waiting for you."
"It is unnecessary."
"For you, but not for me. You will accept that at least."
Theodore's voice was firm, full of his conviction. Michi nodded. They understood each other at last.
30
The Wolf stopped short when he saw the man who stood at the window, back to the door. Even I knew enough to see that the tall man was not the stocky Takashi Kurita, with whom we were to meet. As we entered the room, the man turned to greet us and I recognized Theodore Kurita, Gunji-no-Kanrei of the Combine. He looked tired.
"Colonel Wolf, I am glad to see you."
"Good evening, Kanrei," the Colonel responded guardedly.
Theodore frowned, an uncharacteristically revealing expression from one schooled in Kuritan politics. Something was obviously upsetting him. I wondered if he approved of Jaime Wolf's duel with his father.
"Please take a seat," he said, gesturing to a group of intricately carved chairs near the center of the room. We took seats, but he remained standing. "I regret to inform you that your salutation is obsolete. My father passed on this morning. I am no longer Kanrei, but Coordinator."
Colonel Wolf stiffened, but his voice was steady and calm. "I did not know he was ill."
"It was sudden. The physicians say heart failure."
"Your circumspection suggests that you suspect otherwise."
"You are as perceptive as ever, Colonel Wolf. I am not sure whether you will find the news welcome or not, but I can assure you that my father did not die by treachery."
"I never wished him a dishonorable death."