Dechan didn't believe it. "How could you?"
"I left my home once to live a lie. I lived my lie longer than you have yours."
"My apologies. I should have known that the great Jaime Wolf was better at anything I could do."
Wolf looked taken aback. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."
Dechan's ready retort was cut off by the slam of a door. Jenette rushed in from the entry, slinging off her uniform jacket as she came.
"Dechan, have you heard? Takashi's dead!"
She faltered as she noticed the visitor. The jacket dropped to the floor and she bowed quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize—Colonel Wolf!"
She snapped to attention and saluted.
"This is informal, Jenette," he said.
Her eyes round with surprise, she asked, "Why are you here?"
Wolf glanced quickly at Dechan, then smiled for her. "I am here to ask you both to come home."
"Home?" Her expression was puzzled.
"Yes. To Outreach. There are places for both of you waiting in the Dragoons."
"There was no place for us at the siege of Luthien," Dechan said, still bitter.
"The times have been changing, and I have altered my view of certain issues since then."
"Oh? A new contract?"
"Dechan?" Unaware of the earlier conversation, Jenette was clearly confused by the harshness in Dechan's tone.
"It's all right, Jenette," Wolf said.
"No, it's not," she said. "He's being rude."
"Fair, by his lights."
"How kind of you," Dechan drawled.
"Dechan!"
"It's all right, Jenette. Dechan and I are not seeing eye to eye," Wolf said, putting a polite face on the disagreement. "I've made the offer, and I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about. I'm just getting in the way. If you want to come home, you can. You'll be welcome. If not, I'll understand. I would appreciate an answer, whatever you decide. The Chieftainis at the palace spaceport and I'll be staying aboard. We lift in a week, after the funeral."
"We'll—"
"We'll give it some thought," Dechan said, restraining Jenette with a hand on her arm. "Meshitsu- kai! Show Colonel Wolf out."
The servant came in a flurry of polite bows. Wolf followed him out of the room. Jenette waited until she heard the outer door close before rounding on her husband. Her face was flushed with anger.
"What was that all about?"
"I don't like being an untrustworthy cog in somebody's deep plans. Wolf said he couldn't trust us to know what was happening on Outreach."
"He didn't," she said in disbelief.
"He did. We gave him our lives and it's all been for nothing. He's just calling us back to ease his conscience."
Frowning, she said, "I'm sure that the Colonel did what he thought was necessary. It's not us that he didn't trust. The ISF has always watched us. A message, or even a messenger, might have been intercepted. Contact wouldn't have been safe."
"There are ways. He's found them before when he thought it was important."
She spun away and faced the wall. "You're overreacting."
"And you're defending him," he said just as harshly. Her back was rigid, full of defiance. He took a deep breath. They had been each other's only true friend for years, but now he saw her pulling away. He remembered all too keenly that she was one of the original Dragoons, a child who had come with them from the Clans. Fearing that her heritage was stronger than the love they shared, he turned away from her. Head hanging, he moved toward the door that led to the inner mansion, but then found himself unwilling to leave the room. He stopped in the doorway. His anger and sense of betrayal urged him on, but his love wouldn't let him walk away. He stood locked in his inner struggle.
He felt her hand tentatively touch his back. When he didn't shrug her off, she slid her arms around him and hugged him close. She was warm and shaking slightly. He felt a drop of wetness on the back of his neck.
"Dechan, I want to go home."
He turned to face her and put his right arm around her. With his left hand he raised her chin until her eyes met his.
"And if I don't want to go?"
"Don't ask me to make that choice."
"You're asking me to make the same sort of choice."
She buried her head in his shoulder and hugged him fiercely. He knew what his decision would be. She was more important to him than anything Wolf or Theodore could offer. They would go.
But hedidn't have to be a Dragoon.
Part 3
CRUCIBLE
32
"Michi –sama!"The path back from the edge of the abyss was long. "Michi -sama!"
Insistent and demanding, the familiar voice burrowed through to Michi Noketsuna's awareness. There was no physical contact. There wouldn't be. For all his impropriety, the caller knew better.
"Michi -sama!"
Letting go of the cold embrace of the dark, Michi opened his eyes. Head bowed, his gaze fell naturally upon the honor sword on the ground before him. The gleam of its half-unsheathed blade promised release from the voice, from the burdens of the world, but for as yet unknowable reasons, he had taken a step back from the edge.
He raised his head, composing himself before bowing an apology to the memorial tablet. He thought to see the other sword of the pair held in the firm grip of a tall black man, but the katanalay where he had placed it, the gentle curve of its scuffed black scabbard stark against the sand. There was no samurai there, only the dull white stone. Absurdly, Michi was both surprised and relieved.
It is your son who calls, Minobu-sensei, but is it your voice I hear?
"Michi -sama?"
"Hai,Kiyomasa -san. I hear you."
"I was afraid I would be too late." Kiyomasa Tetsuhara stepped closer, moving around to face Michi. The young man wore a Kurita Mech Warrior's dark gray uniform, the heavyweight material that served to protect him from the chill of the cavern making him look stout and clumsy. Despite the cold, sweat beaded on his smooth black skin. "I thought you would take this path, and I wanted to talk you out of it."
"Did you expect to have more luck with me than I had with your father?"
"I hoped to."
A smile flashed on Kiyomasa's face. With its easy promise of familiarity, that grin had undoubtedly made the young man many friends. Michi looked past it to the child he had known and, further, to the long-dead father of the child. Minobu's smiles had been rare. Shrugging off the memories, Michi spoke.
"Did you think they would help your argument?"
Kiyomasa's startled eyes flicked over Michi's shoulder, darting to those who had accompanied him. They offered him no verbal encouragement, but Michi sensed their agitation.
Nervous, Kiyomasa wet his lips and said, "I persuaded them that there are alternatives. So the least you could do is give us a chance. Talk with us. If we can't make you see that this is not the course for you, we will not interfere. Any one of us would be honored to be your kaishaku-nin."
"Very well."
Michi settled himself, drawing on his kito strengthen himself for this last trial. Standing, he turned to face the small crowd whose breaths steamed in the frigid air. He bowed to them.