A bald-headed, saffron-robed Buddhist monk walked down the rubble-strewn street toward the Smoke Jaguars. He held his hands pressed together just below his chin and bowed to the lead infantryman. "You will forgive me for not appearing sooner. I had sought to deny my fate. I planted the bomb you described. You need punish no one else."
Without hesitation or remorse, the infantryman swung his laser rifle around and triggered it. The bolts stitched their way up the monk's body and knocked him flying. He finally rolled to a stop, smoke rising from the black crater where his face should have been.
The Smoke Jaguars then turned and walked away as though nothing untoward had happened. Shin released Motochika, letting him slump against the window casement, then crept across the floor to the trapdoor. "Were I like you, Motochika, I would shoot you. But it is not my place to challenge the Old Man's authority. I am going to him now to ask for his judgement. If you are the man you claim to be, then follow me."
* * *
Deep beneath the streets of Edo, the Old Man held court in a dusty, dimly lit room. Though small and skeletally frail, he was still possessed of great power. He stared mercilessly at Motochika's kneeling form, then lifted his gaze up enough to include the entire audience in his displeasure. From his position off to the side, Shin felt insulated from the Old Man's ire, but embarrassment and shame radiated from the other yakuza in the room.
"So, Motochika Azushi," the Old Man spat out, "you presume to know what is best for us in this war against the Smoke Jaguars? You have had a revelation that gives you wisdom beyond your years? You have fathomed my thinking and believe you know the perfect strategy? You have decided that I am a doddering old fool who knows nothing? And this prompts you to plant a bomb that kills more of our people than it does of the enemy, and then you allow a blameless monk to pay for your action? Have you less pride than you have brains?"
The Old Man drew a knife from the sleeve of his black silk kimono and tossed it to the kneeling hoodlum. "Use this."
Motochika looked up, horror clawing lines of terror in his face. "Hara-kiri ? "
The Old Man shook his head scornfully. "If I had wanted you to slit your belly, I would have scraped the knife dull against the stones and then given it to you. No. Prove to me your remorse."
Motochika took up the knife in his right hand. All the fingers of his left hand he curled into a fist except for his littlest finger. He pressed that hand to the stone floor, then laid the blade's razored edge against the top joint. He looked up before proceeding.
The Old Man's eyes narrowed. "You caused the death of blameless people."
Motochika moved the knife down to the second joint. Keeping his head up, he sliced the blade through his own flesh, then brought his fist over, snapping off the severed part of his finger. Shin felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach while some of the other wartime yakuza recruits reeled away, but Motochika made no sound. He hugged his maimed hand to his chest, then offered the severed joints and the bloody knife to the Old Man. "Excuse me, oyabun.I will not fail you again."
The Old Man nodded, then looked up at the others. "Many of you assumed I would do nothing to hurt the Smoke Jaguars, but you are wrong. I have had another, greater concern and I have been long in deciding how to acquit it." He glanced at Shin. "As you know from our compatriot, Yodama, Hohiro Kurita was lost in the fighting, but we have seen no proof of his death. This is because he is not dead. The Smoke Cats have him in their prison. We will get him out and return him to the Coordinator."
Someone in the crowd gasped aloud. "But that is impossible. They are holding their prisoners in Kurushiiyama. No one ever escaped from there when the ISF controlled it, and the Cats have only increased security. We will die in the attempt."
Shin saw many others nod in agreement. That prison—Kurushiiyama— is a legend even on Marfik. It is aptly named Pain Mountain. After what I have seen in fighting the Cats, if they want to keep people in, it's not likely we can get them out.Still, Shin was not inclined to bet against the Old Man.
"Why am I surrounded by children?" the Old Man asked in disgust. "Do you not remember any of the stories? Kurushiiyama surrendered a prisoner once before. Its walls have yielded in the past, and will yield again. We will see to it."
A tall man crouching just behind Motochika shook his head. "The story of that escape is an old-wives' tale. The prisoner was gut-shot. He may have escaped the walls of the prison, but he died in its shadow and the Sawagashii River carried him away."
Pity and scorn playing over his face, the Old Man unknotted the obion his kimono and fully bared the left side of his chest He pointed to the bullet wound scar that obliterated part of the dragon tattooed across his chest and abdomen. "This is where they shot me as I was clearing the last wall."
He let the rest of his kimono fail away, revealing the tattoo on the right side of his body. Like a grand mural running from shoulder to waist, the multi-colored tattoo depicted the story of a young man's journey from captivity to freedom. At his shoulder, the saga's hero escaped the confines of a dark, lightning-struck mountain. At the foot of the mountain, he fought and killed two demons, though one managed to stab him in the belly with a fiery spear. Finally, blood leaking from the wound, the hero swam a river and took refuge in a seasonally dry storm tunnel until he could regain enough strength to leave the sewers.
"You see, my friends, it is possible to beat Kurushiiyama. The route I used to escape had been deemed the secondary one because we saved the first and best for a mass escape. Our first duty is to the Dragon, and saving Hohiro will acquit it perfectly. After that," the old man smiled cruelly, "the Cats will be ours to play with."
20
Avalon
Cruris March, Federated Suns
30 April 3050
Prince Hanse Davion leaned forward across the briefing table and stared at the holographic map of the Lyran Commonwealth. He reached over, took his wife's left hand in his right and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Are you certain four more worlds are under assault? They only hit the first dozen two weeks ago! Is it possible?"
Justin Allard, standing halfway down the table, nodded slowly. "It looks as though the troops that conquer the worlds are not the same ones used to garrison the worlds. Once the populace is disarmed, the invaders are most willing to work with local authorities to maintain order. This frees up the shock troops to move on to hit forward targets."
Melissa Steiner Davion studied the map. "If their first wave took twelve worlds so easily, why did they only attack four in this wave?"
"That, Archon, is a question I cannot answer." Justin nodded to Alex Mallory, the tall, slender man seated at a data terminal opposite him. Alex hit a number of keys, and the map dissolved in favor of some grainy images of bizarre 'Mechs engaging in combat. The picture zoomed in on the green falcon crest on one 'Mech's chest. As soon as that pictare stabilized, another crest—a wolf's-head—appeared beside it.