"So ka,"Theodore acknowledged, understanding by Ninyu's remark that he knew of Tourneville's other occupation. "This is Ninyu Kerai, an old friend." Sotto voce,he added, "Be careful around him. He's ISF."
Ninyu grimaced in mock annoyance, from which Theodore gathered that the man expected the others to know that already. "You'll find that quite a few people here are ISF," he said. "Watching the malcontents, and each other."
"We were headed for the mess hall," Sandersen reminded them, patting his belly.
"A man with his mind on important business," Ninyu laughed. "Come on. I'll show you the way. I wouldn't want you strangers to get lost trying to get to the most wretched hive of scum and culinary disasters in the Combine."
Theodore was glad to have Ninyu for a guide. In the daylight, the scramble of buildings and huts did not seem to correspond to the orbital photographs he had studied. The walk to the messhall was mercifully short; Sandersen's continual grumblings about the lack of food were beginning to get old.
The hall was crowded, the noise and smoke combining to give it the air of a seedy cantina on some backwater planet. Most of the men and women were already seated, many halfway through their meals. Theodore wondered briefly what they had been doing all day.
The trip through the chow line was frustrating. The servers and the few others still in the line met Theodore's attempts to be comradely with ill-concealed hostility, answering his questions with the absolute minimum response and perfunctory politeness. Comments were ignored in the surly atmosphere.
"What's going on?" Theodore asked Ninyu quietly as they left the chow line.
"You're new, an unknown quantity," he replied. "They only know what they've heard and most of them think you're a wimp, a disgrace to the Dragon. It's true most of these hardcases don't give a fart for the Dragon, but neither do they like papa's boys. You've got yourself a kettle of hot water, hotshot. Let's see you make tea."
Ninyu drifted off in search of a place among the crowded tables.
Theodore spotted two open spaces and nudged Tomoe toward them. They put down their trays and sat down while their new table companions traded shifty glances.
"I don't feel very hungry anymore," a sallow-faced woman announced, standing up with her half full tray. The others at the table grunted agreement, and in a moment, Theodore and Tomoe sat alone.
Two tables down, a man stood and said something to his companions. Coarse laughter followed as he strode across the space between the tables.
"Here comes the welcoming committee," Tomoe whispered.
"Let me handle it."
The man approaching them was huge, over two meters tall and heavily muscled. Despite the fact that the fellow wore a shabby MechWarrior's jersey, Theodore found it barely credible that the man's massive body would fit inside the cramped cockpit of a BattleMech. His lower face was covered with dark, bristly stubble, except for a line running from chin to his left temple. The scar stood white against his swarthy skin and did nothing to improve his sinister look. That look was obviously cultivated, as indicated by the gold stud through the lobe of his left nostril and the blood-red scharacki feather dangling from his right ear.
"Olivares is my name," the man said in a voice that rumbled up from his broad gut and through his barrel-chest to erupt from his full-lipped mouth. He plunked down his tray on the table, pulled up a stool, and sat. "Sho-saEsau Olivares. I'm ramrod here. You get along with me, you get along with them."
"I was under the impression that Ihad been given command of this regiment."
"Listen, pretty boy. This here's the frontline. Them Elsies could come dropping in any old time. When Steiner 'Mechs are falling on our heads, we ain't got no time for a wet-eared academy boy getting in our way. I been fighting Elsies for ten years. I know 'em. We get company, you just curl up at HQ with your books and your bimbo. I'll take care of business."
Theodore raised a quizzical eyebrow. The gesture was lost on the Sho-sa,who continued on.
"We hear you think you're real hot, been burning up the sim tanks with your tactics. But you ain't in the classroom now. This here's the real world. It ain't anything like you think. Your Kurita name ain't gonna make the Elsies bow down and kiss your behind. So if them Steiner MechJocks come to call, stay out of my way. You can sashay back to HQ, and stay safe and sound with the other pretty boys. You should have lotsa fun."
"An interesting comment from someone with a feather in his ear."
"You calling me a poof?" the burly man roared.
"Could be."
Olivares snarled as he stood, kicking his stool over backward. The man threw his shoulders back, a motion that emphasized his massive muscles, and raised his clenched fists.
Still seated, Theodore drew his gun and fired. The scharacki feather floated to the table, its gentle motion almost audible in the sudden shocked silence that pervaded the hall. Olivares stood, mouth open, in shock.
Calmly, Theodore holstered his gun. "On the other hand, maybe I was wrong. After all, you don't have a feather in your ear."
Olivares reached up a beefy hand to feel his ear. He looked astonished to find no blood on his fingers. He collected his stool and sat.
"Some more soy sauce, Sho-sa?"Theodore said casually, offering the bottle.
As Olivares took the bottle, the clatter of conversation, cups, and plates, resumed around the hall. Theodore felt Tomoe relax. He snagged a morsel with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth. Ninyu was right, the cuisine was wretched. That too,Theodore vowed, would change.
18
Unity Palace, Imperial City, Luthien
Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine
1 December 3026
The two armored men circled cautiously, weapons held before them. Each searched for an opening in his opponent's guard. The taller suddenly shifted to high speed and advanced, his point seeking the other's throat. His target swayed slightly to the left, leaving his point to strike only empty air. A sharp, rattling crack filled the air as his opponent's shinaistruck home on the taller man's do.
"Well-struck," said Takashi Kurita, stepping back to salute his opponent with his own slit-bamboo sword. Pulling off a glove by trapping it under his arm, he reached up and flipped his men,combined fencing mask and throat protection, from his head. "It is good to test your shinaiagainst mine once again, old friend."
"Most pleasant," Subhash Indrahar agreed, removing his own mask. "With more practice, you may improve your menthrust."
"Improve?" Takashi questioned suspiciously. "You are not able to deflect it when I focus."
Subhash inclined his head, smiling the while. "But you do not always focus."
Subhash could see Takashi considering the second meaning in his words. Occasionally, as now, Subhash found it useful to speak in phrases whose second meaning was a gentle rebuke to the Coordinator, inciting him to improve in the performance of his duty. It was almost a game between them.
"And today's focus is the strategy session, is it not?”
“It is as you say, Tono.Yet you are distracted. Theodore again?"
"My constant trial," Takashi conceded. "He has spent more than a year with the scum of the Vegan Legion. One might think he prefers those ruffians to the courtiers on Luthien."