That done, the Warlord promoted Akuma and made him an aide. A fortunate decision, for Akuma served well as an advisor and agent. He was loyal and productive.
Yet, the glitter in Akuma's eyes worried the Warlord. A strong hatred fueled that fire, and it hinted at fanaticism. Samsonov believed that a fanatic was a dangerous man. In his obsession, a fanatic might forget the importance of anything else. Perhaps it was time to abandon this pawn. It would all depend on how well Akuma still responded to the demands on him. If he had stopped thinking clearly, he would be a liability. “What do think about this Hegira Plan?” Samsonov asked. “Is is real? Can we use it?”
“Let us leave aside the question of the reliability of the Precentor's source,” Akuma began, almost pedantically. “If it is an escape plan, we would do well to learn its details.
Were the Dragoons to learn of our arrangements, they might decide to leave. Knowing where they would go could be invaluable.”
“And if they don't go, worthless.”
“Of course,” Akuma agreed. “Did not the Coordinator ask for 'insurance' against just such an eventuality?”
“He did.” Caught up in his concerns over the mercenaries, it did not occur to Samsonov to wonder how Akuma knew what the Coordinator wanted. “How do relations with your charges progress?”
“As per your orders, Warlord. I am pursuing all avenues of legal harassment open to me. The Dragoon position steadily weakens. Battle losses rise and certain members of their forces have been left behind on enemy planets, missing in action. Regrettably, timetables have often forced the abandonment of those unfortunates on enemy planets before a proper search could be performed. It is most unpopular with the Dragoons. I have regularly expressed my condolences, but in each action, I have been forced to point out that the orders to depart were completely legal, by contract. Thus, the Dragoons were required to obey, by contract. Some of these unlucky warriors have been subsequently recovered by the Dragoons, but such rescues are expensive.
“They are less and less able to afford the expense because they are having monetary concerns. Though their pay is supplied strictly according to contract, revenues from An Ting are, regrettably, down. There seems to be little interest in the Combine marketplace for products from that planet. Then, too, there is the high cost of supplies. It is most distressing, but unavoidable because of the economic pressures our enemies place on the Combine. I have offered the Dragoons military sources, but they seem to prefer other suppliers. They may soon find that certain vital supplies have become totally unavailable from conventional sources beyond our borders. I will have warned them. Other plans, too, are coming along as well.”
“Such as?” Samsonov prompted.
“Such as getting their staunchest defender removed from the field.”
Akuma could mean only one man. Since joining the Warlord's staff, the Sworder had shown an unreasonable, but not unreasoning, hatred for Tetsuhara. Had the cold calculator succumbed to a hot-blooded impulse? “Have you assassinated Tetsuhara?”
“Assassinated Tetsuhara?” Akuma repeated indignantly. “I am no crude killer.”
No,Samsonov thought, not crude.
“I was about to inform you before the Precentor arrived,” Akuma said, his calm restored. “One of your most loyal officers, Elijah Satoh, now commands the Ryuken. It seems Tai-saTetsuhara was involved in a skimmer accident.”
“Killed?”
“Badly injured only ... unfortunately. The Brotherhood physician aboard the Dropship was very loyal to his professional code of ethics,” Akuma said. One corner of his mouth twitched, as though in irritation at some annoying memory. “The physician was very skilled, and Tetsuhara has survived. He may be able to return to duty after his convalescence.
“The Barlow's End operation was not compromised, however. Satoh was left with an excellent plan, which he should be able to execute and so return with glory. Even a healthy Tetsuhara will be hard pressed to oust a hero,” Akuma concluded.
“Let us hope you are right. Satoh is unimaginative but devoted. Through him, I can control the Ryuken. They will be a lever in the days to come. The Dragon's Sword might even provide me with a counter to the Dragon's Shadows, should that become necessary.”
Akuma sat back in satisfaction, watching the Warlord take in the success and consider the possibilities. Samsonov was a rising star that could be directed to carry a clever man quite high. Better than anyone. Akuma knew himself to be a clever man.
After a tactful interval, he reminded the Warlord of the waiting message pouch, which should contain dispatches on the outcome of the Barlow's End raid.
“The timing would be right,” Samsonov agreed, opening a panel on his desk to access the computer console within. As the screen rose from its recess, the Warlord keyed in his request for the appropriate message texts. “They are here,” he said.
Amber light flickered over the Warlord's face as words scrolled over the screen. Akuma watched as the muscles of Samsonov's jaw twitched, his eyes going wide, his face reddening. Something had gone wrong.
“Betrayed!” The storm broke. “The spineless mercenaries ran from battle!”
Samsonov started to rant about the Dragoons, but Akuma didn't listen. He swiveled the screen to face himself and read the text. A retreat by the mercenaries was the last thing he had anticipated. Frackencrack! It was hard to think about what all this meant with the fat old fool raving. The man really had little self-control, Akuma thought, much like himself a few years ago. At least Samsonov wasn't pointing the finger at Akuma's actions. He would have to calm the Warlord before they could deal with this disaster.
An hour later, Samsonov sat with hands clasped before him on the desk. His rage had subsided for the moment, but it still burned below the surface. “Wolf's Dragoons have embarrassed and insulted me too many times,” he said. “I will see them destroyed.”
Akuma drew back from the Warlord's coldly spoken resolution. He too wanted the Dragoons destroyed, but to him, it was not personal. Their destruction was a way to hurt Tetsuhara. Such a destruction was a thing to be carefully planned. It was a step-by-step process. A thousand little details orchestrated until there was no escape. Small bits might go awry, but the gathering momentum had to be nursed until nothing could stop it. Rash actions taken in a fit of anger were more likely to go wrong and upset the plan. Such actions could be as dangerous to the destroyer as to his target. If Samsonov did something foolish, the two of them could get “invited onward.” Akuma had no intention of slitting his own belly. He sought to caution Samsonov. “Is that wise without the Coordinator's leave?”
“No,” the Warlord said. “No, it isn't.” -A rare smile of pleasure creased Samsonov's face. Akuma hoped that it signified the dawn of a brilliant plan and not simply the anticipation of bloodletting. “We'll just have to be subtle about it.” He laughed harshly. “Call the Precentor back.”
Though Akuma feared that he had lost control of the Warlord, he had no choice but continue to do his bidding.
27
Royal Court, Avalon City, New Avalon
Crucis March, Federated Suns
15 November 3026
Quintus Allard passed the guards at the entrance to the private wing of the palace, giving them no more than a friendly greeting. The old man and the worn, slightly oversized business suit he habitually wore were well-known to the Royal Guard, who served Prince Hanse in his palace in Avalon City. The guards sent word ahead to the Prince that his Minister of Intelligence, Information, and Operations had arrived.