BattleTech Legends: The Blood of Kerensky Trilogy, page 6
Hohiro shook his head slightly. “Neither of us placed much weight on the accomplishments on Marfik, because we realized that, while they required courage and cunning, they merely attested to your ability to follow orders. No, we were more impressed by the raid you organized against the stronghold of renegade units on Najha during the Ronin Wars. It was an extremely well-organized and executed ’Mech action for a leader who was only eighteen years of age.”
“Again you credit me for what was my good fortune.” Shin felt the hot flush of embarrassment over his cheeks. “When the renegades tried to destroy our unit’s training center because they hated us for being yakuza, it came down to giri. It was my duty to my compatriots and to those who had given us the honor of becoming MechWarriors to lead my cadet company’s defense. Had the renegades known the base area as we did, or if their ’Mechs had not suffered equipment failures during the fight, I would not be here talking to you.” The memory of a Centurion pointing its autocannon at the cockpit of his Panther suddenly hit Shin. If that cannon hadn’t jammed, I would have been killed.
Tarukito watched Shin for a moment, then bowed his head slowly. “After so many years of soldiering with arrogant warriors who seek nothing but personal glory, your humility is as refreshing as it is undeserved. Your career since Najha has been exemplary. I look forward to your taking command of Hyo company.”
Hohiro nodded at Tarukito’s assessment. “We will have it your way, then, Yodama-san. I hope, in addition to your skill and experience, you will grant me some of your good luck as well.”
Shin bowed. “I pledge all that I have and am to your service.”
Tarukito smiled broadly. “Excellent! Now we need fear no one.” He clapped his hands twice. “You were summoned here for tea, and that is what we shall have. After that, Tai-i Shin Yodama, you will have the run of Edo, and a chance to become acquainted with your new home.”
The rings around the world of Turtle Bay were etched across the night sky from horizon to horizon. The world’s shadow slowly blackened the rings as evening wore on, but the furthest reaches still caught enough sunlight to burn brilliantly in crimson, purple, and gold. Though Shin had witnessed the effect during the DropShip trip coming in-system, it was entirely different looking up at the colors from the ground than from in space.
Shin stopped where he was, gawking like a tourist. This world is certainly more beautiful than any other where I have lived. I hope never to lose my sense of wonder for a sight so magnificent.
After some moments, Shin shifted the unopened bottle of sake from his left hand to his right and set off again, carefully reading the street signs directing him through the hilly Edo landscape. With all the planet’s heavy industry in space, mining the asteroids in the rings and refining the ore into the raw materials, the city of Edo was lovely and serene and free of large industrial complexes. He caught himself remembering the words of his oyabun back on Marfik. “We are civilized, Shin,” his chief used to say, “and therefore should live in a civilized way.” My oyabun would have loved this place.
Shin’s path took him down a hill and through a darkened gate. He heard the hum of electronic equipment in the shadows, but nothing and no one kept him from passing through.
The roadway wound off to the left and up the hill. As he turned the corner, his destination came into view.
The building had been styled after castles raised in Japan fifteen hundred years before. Massive stone block walls formed the foundation of the seven-story-high tower. Each level covered slightly less area than the one below it, tapering the structure gracefully to bring the hill’s natural lines to fulfillment. The eaves of each level curled up at the corners into ferocious dragon heads that stared down at the approaching MechWarrior. Beneath the eaves, the gentle flickering of candles showed through the shoji panels to silhouette the intricate patterns of the wooden guard-rails around each level’s balcony.
Shin let himself smile with true pleasure at the building. The way the rings hover overhead and how the two stands of pine on each side balance the castle is perfection. The architect was a genius and the landscaper an artist. He mounted the steps up to the broad, flat courtyard before the towering building, then soundlessly crossed the wooden bridge over a white-stone river to the entrance.
Two men bowed to him as he entered the foyer. As Shin returned their bows and slipped his boots off, one man carried the bottle of sake away. Shin frowned, but a reassuring look from the remaining man told him the rice wine would be decanted and presented at the appropriate time. Just so long as they satisfy themselves that it is not poisoned.
Shin pulled a pair of black slippers from an alcove above where he had placed his boots and donned them. Wordlessly, he followed the remaining servant through the house, marveling at the beauty of the place. Someday, somehow, I will live in a palace like this.
The beautifully painted shoji divided rooms from the wood-floor hallways. In some rooms, the furnishings were quite modern and contained everything from tables and couches to holovid viewers and even holographic gaming tables. With one exception, the young men lounging in the room laughed and drank raucously.
The one dour individual wore no shirt, but Shin had to look twice to be absolutely certain of the fact. Though the man was attempting to be stoic, his expression suggested that he wanted to scream aloud, and that he probably would have if his peers were not in the room. On the left side of his chest, a black line-drawing of a dragon coiled from shoulder to waist and around—Shin surmised—to his spine in the back. The dragon’s tail ran down the man’s arm to just below his elbow.
That is the first stage in getting a tattoo in the old way, with paint and a bamboo needle. If that fellow thinks it hurts now, wait until they go back in to give the dragon color and life. Shin grinned and nodded a salute to the man, which seemed to briefly relieve his pained expression. He must have done something special for his oyabun to authorize a tattooing.
Shin’s guide led him up a cedar stairway, then paused next to a shoji panel. He drew it aside and waited for Shin to pass into the chamber before closing it and departing silently.
Shin knelt and bowed to the room’s only other occupant. “I apologize for intruding on your valuable time. My gratitude knows no bounds that you have made this visit possible.” Shin brought his body up, but did not make eye contact with the other man. “I am Shin Yodama, born on Marfik in the seventeenth year of Takashi Kurita’s reign.”
The skeletally thin old man across from him bowed respectfully, but remained aloof. “In the name of the Ryugawa-gumi, I, Ryoichi Toyama, welcome you to Turtle Bay and Edo.” He slipped his left arm from the gray silk kimono he wore and bared the left side of his body. “This I got when admitted to the Dragon River Gang in the first year of Takashi Kurita’s reign.”
Though similar in design to the infant tattoo Shin had seen downstairs, the oyabun’s tattoo showed an artistry from another era entirely. Even the bullet-wound scar on the older man’s stomach could not rob the forty-five-year-old design of its exquisite power. The dragon, as it rose and fell with the old man’s breathing, seemed to come alive. Shin could have sworn he heard the rustle of scales and the scraping of the beast’s talons across the man’s ribs.
Shin forced himself to look away. “Excuse me, Toyama-sama. I am a lout who knows only gutter-etiquette. It is beautiful, but its power comes from you.”
Toyama said nothing as he pulled his kimono back into place. He tightened the obi sash once again, then looked at Shin expectantly. “I see you have lost no fingers.”
Shin bowed his head. “My masters have turned a blind eye to my failures.”
“You do not wear a lapel pin to mark your affiliation.”
“Forgive me, Toyama-sama, but the commander at my last station forbade us to wear tokens of our families.”
Toyama smiled and bowed his head. “Tai-sa Niiro and I have reached an understanding about that. Here, however, you must wear a device that identifies you with us in Edo. I will grant you such if you do, indeed, prove to be Shin Yodama.”
Shin sat up straight and removed his uniform jacket. He folded it carefully and set it down on the tatami to his right before unfastening the buttons on his shirt. As the Chief of the Ryugawa-gumi had done before him, Shin bared the left side of his chest. “I am Shin Yodama, and I belong to the Kuroi Kiri of Marfik.”
“The Black Mist!” the old man hissed in awe. “I have heard, but could scarcely believe…”
Shin’s tattoo entirely covered his left torso and arm to just above his wrist. Stylistically traditional, the design consisted of a boiling black cloud. Gold flecks and lines curling in and out of the design defined the cloud’s different parts and levels. Yet, even as the gold was very much part of the cloud, it was also something on its own. Its curving, sometimes jagged, lines followed the smooth muscles of Shin’s chest, stomach, and arm, mechanically marking him as a man, yet clearly transforming him into something else, something more.
Toyama bowed deeply. “Then it is true. You are Shin Yodama, and you are a buso-senshi.” A proud smile spread across the old man’s face. “It is I who am honored by this visit.”
Shin returned the bow, relishing the respectful tones in Toyama’s voice. Buso-senshi—a MechWarrior. I am part of the bargain struck between the yakuza and Theodore Kurita in his drive to save the Draconis Combine. Because of the services of the Kuroi Kiri in the war, we were given the honor of supplying the first of the new yakuza MechWarriors. I am one of those—one who fights for more than honor.
The sharp clap of Toyama’s hands snapped Shin from his musings. “Come, Yodama-san, we will drink your sake properly, and then I will show the wastrels working for me what a real yakuza is like. You are one of us now, one of the Ryugawa-gumi. Whatever you need, ask, for you embody the hope of the Dragon—and we will not let that hope die.”
6
TRIAD, THARKAD CITY
THARKAD
DISTRICT OF DONEGAL
LYRAN COMMONWEALTH
20 JUNE 3049
“Trellwan!” Victor Steiner-Davion’s face locked in a feral snarl. “I don’t care if Kanrei Theodore Kurita stations his eldest son on Atreus to drool over Isis Marik. I don’t see why his posting means I get exiled to some backwater!” That the others in the room watched him with amused smiles only deepened his dark mood. “I want to be on the Combine border, or even down near the Capellan Confederation. I want to be stationed where I can see some action!”
Morgan Hasek-Davion raised an eyebrow. “You’ll see plenty of action out there, Victor.”
Victor snorted derisively. “Sure, Periphery pirates, and the occasional raid by some loony Rasalhague unit wanting to prove they’re tough. There’s been no trouble on Trell since the birth of the Gray Death Legion…” He looked over at Justin Allard. “Hell, the Kell Hounds have dispatched one company from their Second Regiment to take care of the pirates up there. That’ll leave me nothing to do but cool my heels.”
Justin Allard glanced at Prince Hanse Davion, then allowed himself to smile. “I see you’ve been studying the troop assessment reports.”
“Damned right, Justin.” Victor pointed to the map of the Successor States tacked up on the wall of his room. “I know where we’ve got what, and I’ve a fair idea of what the Draconis Combine has going up against us. You don’t need troops up here in the hinterlands. Hell, a troop of Youth Scouts could defend that area against anything coming in from the Periphery.”
He stabbed his finger at the border between the Commonwealth’s Isle of Skye and the Combine’s Dieron Military District. “This is where you need me. We all know that when trouble erupts between the Combine and our forces, it’ll be here. You’ve got the Tenth Lyran Guards stationed on Skondia, Justin. I saw the reports listing Kai as being assigned there. And Morgan, I know you’re rotating the First Kathil Uhlans to Skye in the next six months. Why am I being left out? Dammit, I trained to be a MechWarrior. I want to go where that’s what I can do. Posting me out in the middle of nowhere because Theodore Kurita did the same with his son offends me.”
Hanse Davion shook his head. “Ah, the impetuosity of youth.”
At that, Victor gave both his father and Justin Allard a withering stare, then turned to his cousin to plead his case. “I don’t expect those two fossils to understand, Morgan, but surely you can. You remember what it’s like to be ready to take what you’ve learned and turn it into action.”
Morgan nodded slowly, and clasped his hands at the small of his back. “I do recall what it’s like to be young and eager, cousin.” He glanced at Hanse. “I also recall that your father held me back until the time was right.”
Victor winced. So much of your history is wrapped up in the exploits of the First Kathil Uhlans—the Lions of Davion—that I keep forgetting how long you waited for your chance. I can see in your face that you sympathize with me, but that you also feel my father’s plan is a good one.
Resignation written all over his face, Victor pulled his dress jacket from the rack and shrugged it on. “Why is it so important for me to be stationed on Trell I?” He held up his hand to forestall an immediate answer. “And you can spare me the explanation about the Twelfth Donegal Guards being an excellent unit. I’ve read the files and I agree that they’re good. On the off chance we do see some action, the enemy will have to be plenty tough to drive us off.”
Hanse Davion’s blue eyes narrowed. “I believe you are well aware, my son, that dealing with the Draconis Combine has never been easy. In the past, all we needed was to understand how their culture measures honor and embarrassment, or balances duty and compassion, and we could predict what they might do and how they would react. In the past—up to fifteen years ago—we could count on retaliation for every raid and a countermove for every one we made. Their troops would mount suicidal and foolish attacks just for the sake of winning honor for their families. More than once, a leader betrayed by his superiors committed suicide because he could not live with the shame of failure, even though that failure was not his own doing. It was madness, and we benefited from the predictability it gave their actions.”
The Prince rose from his seat at the foot of Victor’s bed and stared at the map. “Over twenty years ago, before the war, Takashi Kurita ordered the creation of two new ’Mech units: the Genyosha and the Ryuken. The Genyosha was an elite unit about the size of a reinforced battalion. Its MechWarriors were the cream of the crop, and were trained to see honor as something on a grand scale, not a personal one. Their glories were the unit’s glories, and the unit’s glories were the Combine’s glories. Under the leadership of Yorinaga Kurita, a brilliant MechWarrior, the members of the Genyosha fought as a unit rather than as individuals seeking personal glory. And that made them deadly.”
Hanse’s eyes focused beyond the map. “The Ryuken was a unit several regiments in size. It was built up to parallel Wolf’s Dragoons, and its training style matched that of the Dragoons. As such, MechWarriors in that unit also worked well together. They learned how to support one another, and mastered tactics that made them formidable. When they faced their mentors in 3028—on a world appropriately named Misery—both sides were savaged. The Ryuken were not fit enough as a unit to take part in the Fourth Succession War when it broke out, but the Genyosha were. At the war’s end, remnants of the Genyosha pledged themselves to Theodore Kurita.”
The Prince turned back to his son. “The Genyosha felt that Theodore’s father, Takashi, had mistreated and dishonored their dead commander. A few Genyosha warriors even defected to the Kell Hounds. It was also at this time that Theodore drew to himself the remnants of the Ryuken, who had also lost their commander. He quickly organized training battalions around the Genyosha and Ryuken survivors, and also recruited heavily from among the yakuza. Even though his father ordered the dissolution and division of the Ryuken and Genyosha, Theodore had put together an excellent military force.”
Justin cleared his throat. “In fact, the break-up of the two elite units seems only to have spread Theodore’s new military philosophy further instead of destroying it, as Takashi had hoped. While old-liners did mount some revolts—and were largely responsible for what they call the Ronin Wars when Rasalhague went independent—Theodore’s new and more efficient military doctrine won out.”
Victor chewed his lower lip. “It was this new military doctrine that let Theodore pound us back in 3039?”
Hanse hesitated, a bit stung by the question. “That did, indeed, contribute to the military reversal we suffered. More important than that, however, was the number of ’Mechs the Combine had available for use. Theodore obtained reinforcements at an incredible rate, despite the fact that his father saw him as a threat, and did things like trying to hold up delivery of spare parts and munitions.”
Victor frowned. “That was stupid. He was cutting off his nose to spite his face.”
Morgan glanced at his chronometer and then straightened the line of his black and gold dress jacket. “That, Victor, is what we thought, which is why we moved when we did. Theodore has proved his worth, and since that time, we’ve been watching each other closely.”
Hanse walked over and straightened the sunburst epaulet on Victor’s left shoulder. “When Theodore posted his son to Turtle Bay and the Fourteenth Legion of Vega six months ago, I felt he was sending us a signal. At first, we feared that a buildup in the area would oblige us to reinforce the Rasalhague border, and that would be politically bothersome…”
Victor saw a look of distaste wash over his father’s face. Ryan Steiner’s meddling again, I would guess. He’s only my mother’s second cousin—and the same relation to me as Phelan Kell—but he causes enough trouble to be in a direct line for the Archon’s throne.
An odd thought struck Victor and made him smile. I wonder if it’s the province of second cousins one generation removed to cause trouble? Phelan got himself kicked out of the Nagelring, and Ryan married Morasha Kelswa to strengthen his power base with her claim to the throne of the Tamar Pact. As half the Pact became a chunk of the Free Rasalhague Republic, it would be difficult for my father to build up troops in that area while still denying Ryan’s requests to go to war to regain his wife’s holdings.
