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  The minutes stretched, until warriors actually grew restless. Waiting for an introduction? Despite the Nova Cats’ long association with the Combine, old traditions died hard. We wait for you to announce your arrival, as you wait for us to announce yours.

  A warlord would always conjure images of death and destruction for any Clansman, and her arrival precipitated Kisho’s departure into a larger world he knew might destroy him. And yet he decided on the spot he liked Katana, though he couldn’t exactly put a finger on why.

  Perhaps it is your humor? A smile pulled at his lips, amused at his own sarcasm about the heavy aura of solemnity. He casually took in the Oathmaster, wondering if the old man could read his flippant thoughts. But, if possible, Kanaye’s face bore even more serenity than Katana’s. Nothing will upset that still pond, eh, old man?

  “Tai-shu Katana Tormark,” Jacali called out, her permanently hoarse voice still booming in the chamber. “We bid you welcome to the Nova Cat domain.”

  Kisho almost winced at the hostility, though Katana weathered it without the blink of an eye. She bowed deeply, in Combine fashion, before responding.

  “Khan Nostra, saKhan West, Oathmaster Kanaye,” she began, specifically looking at each individual as she named them, “gathered Nova Cat warriors, I bask in your skills and honor, and bid you welcome from the Dragon.”

  Kisho shifted slightly, absentmindedly laying a light hand against the cool stone chamber wall as he bumped it. Done your homework. What else have you done?

  “I have traveled a great distance and am most grateful you granted me permission to step upon your domain and travel within.”

  He couldn’t help the smile that slid fully onto his face at the usual subtlety of Combine speech. It had taken Clanners decades to learn that nuance and some still refused to learn. As though we could truly stop you without bringing down the wrath of the Dragon.

  A new thought intruded. But why did you come, Katana? She was a newly minted warlord, and surely Warlord Saito would have been anxious to try to negotiate Nova Cat troops away from their worlds. Soft and decadent Saito of Pesht might be, but if given the right chance he would throttle a weak child if it increased his power.

  His mind spun down that line of reasoning as the two fierce warriors, the khan and the warlord locked eyes, the energy of their wills practically coalescing within the confines of the chamber. Finally, as though Katana were conceding a point, she broke the silence, bringing a slight smile to Jacali’s lips.

  As Katana began speaking, Kisho glanced once more at his khan and realized that once more Katana had scored the point in that exchange. She had handed the khan the upper hand in exchange for previously forcing her to submit by speaking first at the start of this encounter.

  A fierce warrior and talented politician—skills needed by a khan who must stalk the prairies of the Bloodname Council Chamber and the young cats looking to take her place, while watching for the shadow of dragon wings above—but Kisho wondered if she were up to such subtleties. Are you up to keeping me away from the future I cannot bear?

  Perhaps it made no difference in the end, but by such acts the will could be softened, the mind massaged into just the right course when needed.

  “Per our agreement before planet fall, I have presented myself before this council to negotiate a contract. By this council and the khans and oathmaster in attendance, we shall not leave without an accord.”

  Silence greeted her words, and Kisho’s eyes roved the chamber before resting with Jacali’s. Katana had done her homework—she must have studied over the months it took her to get here—but she’d not gotten it all down. This was no quorum council meeting, nor did they have to reach an accord based upon the negotiations made before she made atmospheric interface. How many times had trials taken before the council not been resolved? How many reverted to the field of battle? It could happen here all too easily, depending on his khan’s animosity to this warlord who dared to present herself directly into the teeth of the cat. Could there be any doubt who would emerge victorious? At least that would put a stop to the disastrous future of Kisho going to war. Then again, Katana had spent the last two years carving out a realm at constant war . . . perhaps not so clear-cut.

  “Seyla,” Jacali finally spoke, immediately eliciting a chorus of replies from the gathered warriors, and Kisho exhaled softly. He had been unknowingly holding his breath.

  “What are you bargaining for?”

  “A troop of Nova Cat warriors to once more fight alongside the Dragon against our enemies.”

  “I suppose a Star of Nova Cat warriors would be more than willing to bid for the right to join your quest.”

  Kisho canted his head at the slight crease that furrowed Katana’s forehead over his khan’s dissemblance. Ah, so you are not impervious.

  “Though I know a Star of Nova Cat warriors would be the equal of any Dragon lance and would be much appreciated among my troops, I believe a more substantial force is needed if we are to achieve victory.”

  Kisho caught Jacali’s smile out of the corner of his eye at the choice of Katana’s words, and clenched muscles along his shoulders slowly began to relax. She’s up to this bargaining.

  “Then, tai-shu, speak plainly. What have you come to bid for?”

  “Two Galaxies.” Her words swallowed the small noises in the chamber, dropping it into shocked stillness.

  A hoarse, booming sound abruptly swept through the room, startling Kisho. All eyes pulled towards Jacali and the strange sound emanating there. Then Kisho understood. Laughter. The damage done to her face and throat after a Trial for the Khanship left her permanently marked in voice and face. Yet Kisho realized he’d never heard his khan laugh. He shuddered, hoping to never hear such a disturbing sound again.

  “I did not realize a tai-shu was allowed such humor, quiaff?”

  “Neg, Khan Nostra. There is no humor to be found in this situation.”

  Jacali continued her wheezing sounds, though her eyes were hard as malachite spikes. “Then perhaps you misunderstood our Touman’s organization, Tai-shu Tormark. After all, you have not had any previous dealings with our Clan.”

  “I have dealt with the Spirit Cats.”

  Jacali waved her hand, as though dismissing a small irritant. “They are misguided and misled. Kittens who have lost their way and need to be brought home.” She paused, stopped the horrible sound, then spoke in a soft whisper, which scoured like sandpaper along nerve endings. “They are no more Nova Cats . . . than, say, the Dragon’s Fury are Kuritans.”

  Kisho nodded once again, giving Katana credit, despite his wishes that she be sent back to her troops gored by Nova Cat claws. Not an emotion marred her features, but something hard and burning swam in the depths of her dark eyes. I know the hatred of decades burns within, my Khan, but are we awaking a dragon?

  “The Dragon is already at war, and I march to war as its loyal liege,” Katana began, all civility stripped from her voice, the bared blade of her namesake. “As vassals of the Combine, you are required to provide a force to fight alongside the Dragon as well. An agreement you cannot abrogate if you wish to maintain your semiautonomous rule . . . on your remaining reservations.”

  A low, almost subsonic noise rippled through the chamber as every Nova Cat warrior growled at such a blatant threat. Though enough removed from the mainstream of Clan indoctrination to have a more unique view on the relationship between House Kurita and the Nova Cat Clan, even Kisho found his hackles raised and his lips peeled in a harsh grimace. After a moment, he slowly smoothed the snarl from his face.

  You play us, Katana. Your first path began to fail, so you move to the next with new tactics. Her eyes found his somehow and some expression briefly peeked through her impervious facade. Are you surprised by my apparent lack of anger? You should’ve seen me a moment ago. He actually smiled, eliciting a further expression he couldn’t grasp, as she continued to survey the gathered throng as though contemptuous of Khan Nostra’s ability to make a sin
gular decision without consulting the body of attending warriors.

  That will only enrage the khan more. He glanced at Jacali, then once more to Katana. Which is the point, of course. But why? Why are you here? Why confront us directly with such shared enmity? To throw us off guard?

  “You go too far,” Jacali ground out.

  “I simply remind you of oaths and the consequences of breaking them.”

  “I need no reminder of oaths, or of who broke what oaths and agreements between our people, tai-shu!”

  “Then two Galaxies.”

  “Savashri. That is ludicrous and you know it. It would be impossible to strip such a sizable force from our holdings. You would leave us nothing to defend our reservations from our enemies.”

  Katana nodded at the implications in that statement. “Fine. Then a Galaxy should not be too much trouble, quiaff?”

  Jacali opened her mouth to respond, then sealed her lips, actually closing her eyes as well. After a moment, she slowly reopened them.

  That is right, my khan. Regain control of your hatred or Katana might just steal away half our Touman . . . and me with it.

  “Katana,” a new voice intruded, pulling eyes towards the Oathmaster.

  “Yes, Oathmaster,” she said, some modicum of civility reentering her voice.

  “I do not mean to interrupt this meeting, but I would ask a favor,” the old man responded, a grandfather asking a favor from a cookie-carrying Girl Scout. “It has proven extremely difficult to negotiate with Warlord Saito. You obviously were able to secure permission to travel freely across his domain and speak with us about securing a contract for our troops. As I am looking to travel into the Combine myself, any help would be most appreciated.”

  Most were still looking at Kanaye, but Kisho still tried to watch Katana and Jacali simultaneously. Otherwise, he would have missed the chagrined look that etched Katana’s features for a heartbeat before vanishing. What the . . . Then he noticed a look wash Jacali’s features as well, as she immediately broke in, as though the old man had never spoken. Ah, old man. You play them both; knocking Katana off guard, while providing our khan with a way to save face. Always the game, eh, old man?

  “You have cut down to a Galaxy from your original bid. But what will you offer to us in return? A year’s worth of production from one of your ’Mech manufacturing centers? Ten years’ worth of foodstuff exports? And to ship so far? Through two different warlords’ territories? Then again, if you could negotiate the right to come into another warlord’s territory and contract his troops, then that should be no problem, quiaff?”

  “Aff,” Katana responded strongly. Yet he detected a slight hitch in her voice. What is it? His previous questions slowly rose up and his face began to blank as he reached for clues and a sense of what had occurred blossomed. Can it be . . .

  “Then you will not mind if I send a fast courier to Luthien to verify with Warlord Saito?”

  “Of course not.”

  Kisho slowly nodded. Despite her acumen on this battlefield, the slight hesitation in her response answered as plainly as a ghost bear on a black beach.

  Jacali, sensing the imminent kill and looking to toss the corpse aside after stripping away the meat and cracking bones for the marrow, pounced. “I believe I will. After all, the Inner Sphere has long proven to the Clans that war is a long game, which can swallow years as well as decades. What are a few weeks, quiaff? You are more than welcome to stay as our guest.”

  Katana Tormark slowly looked around the hall, as though searching for answers that did not exist, then centered once more on Khan Nostra and apparently came to some decision. With exquisite care—obviously, so as not to alarm any in the chamber—Katana reached beneath her jacket and extracted a small bamboo tube. Squaring her shoulders, she left the final step and passed into the sea of blackness, holding up the tube. Like startled crows, the closest warriors actually veered slightly away, before returning to their original stoic positions.

  “Before you send the message, Khan Nostra, perhaps you might care to glance at what I would use to secure the contract of a Galaxy of Nova Cat troops, to use at my discretion.”

  As though preening, confident of her victory over Katana—after all, despite the Oathmaster’s predictions, she’d proven unworthy and could be discarded—she waved her hand and motioned Katana closer. The black-clad warriors closest to the dais slowly parted, allowing the tai-shu to move right up to the base of the small, raised platform, where she passed the tube into Jacali’s hands.

  Jacali casually pulled the corked end and withdrew a small sheaf of rice paper, which, even at this distance, Kisho could tell were sealed with numerous colorful sigils.

  With an air of humoring a country bumpkin, Jacali casually leafed through the sheets. The air of victory gradually drained away as Khan Nostra’s expression passed from pleased to startled to utter shock. Her wide-eyed, open-mouthed appearance stripped the khan of any semblance of power and authority and left her almost breathless.

  “This cannot be,” she finally spoke, the words hardly reaching Kisho’s ears.

  “It can and it is. You can, when the time is appropriate, threaten to forward that document on to the coordinator himself, should I prove unwilling to fulfill my own oaths as sworn therein. Should the need arise,” she finished casually, her tone and face a stunning counterpoint to the khan’s bereft expression.

  Jacali slowly looked up from her sheet into Katana’s eyes, then swiveled them towards Kanaye, shock and despair at defeat painfully planted large on her features, but also some hidden hope swimming in stunned eyes. Kanaye slowly nodded in return and Kisho gritted his teeth until stars exploded from the pain.

  Again. How by the Founder did you do that? How did you know? Katana’s won?! What is on those papers? As myriad thoughts whirled madly within, one overriding concern sliced down through everything with its urgency.

  I am going to war. And that war will destroy me.

  5

  Santin, Comitatus-class JumpShip, Zenith Jump Point

  Arkab, Buckminster Prefecture

  Benjamin Military District, Draconis Combine

  17 July 3136

  “You coddle him.” Tanaka spoke harshly, standing at ease on the gravity deck.

  Hisa—sitting down, her eyes still almost met the standing Tanaka’s—responded softly. “You think.”

  “Aff. And you know you do.”

  She shrugged as though it could be interpreted many different ways, while waiting a moment to respond until a group of warriors passed their position, their voices a hubbub she ignored. “Do we not all need such now and then?”

  He stared daggers at her, as though she had just blasphemed the First Mystic. “Neg.”

  She continued to look at him serenely, until he broke eye contact first. I have my nightmares, but I live with them, as you never will, Tanaka. She sighed, a sadness welling that he might be so haunted and unable to deal appropriately with it.

  Like Kisho.

  “He must be strong. If we are going to survive this war. He must be strong.”

  “As you are, quiaff?”

  His head whipped back, hard gray eyes even harder, as he tried to pull out some meaning from her words.

  She wielded her serene smile as though it were shield against his attacks. When you truly accept what we are, Tanaka, no other mystic will read you. Have you ever read me? Her eyes almost spoke the challenge.

  “Aff,” he finally responded to her first question, taking her comments at face value, despite his obvious discomfort at his inability to read her.

  She swallowed and realized she would like another drink. But not just yet, though. One more attempt to bridge the gap. “Tanaka, he is strong. He would not be on this ship if he was not, quiaff?”

  “Aff. But there is something there. Something that has always bothered me, since . . .” His voice trailed off, his discomfort broadcast like radiating heat.

  You would be horrified to know how well I read you,
Tanaka. “Since the ro—” She paused, then continued, “Since our earliest training?” Accepting she might be, but she held no wish to unnecessarily disturb her own demons.

  Tanaka nodded, unwilling to respond verbally.

  “We all have burdens to bear,” she said. “It makes us what we are—especially us. Kisho is a mystic. He will do what we both will do. Help to ensure the success of our mission.”

  “And the war.”

  “Of course. And the war as well.”

  His hot eyes found hers again, pinning her into her seat as though with a scalpel. “Is that a vision?”

  She did not flinch before responding. “I have seen a vision of what will happen.”

  He nodded, then turned away to fall into his own contemplations as his face blanked.

  I have seen a vision of what will happen. But it is just one of many. As ever, the dissembling of a mystic, even among ourselves.

  She leaned back, feeling the falseness of the neoleather seat and wondering if it might apply to some of her visions. I have seen visions of you, Kisho, and I hope for all our sakes that I am wrong . . . and right.

  The crowd actually jostled for position in front of the main viewport. One hapless technician lost his handgrip in the microgravity and began to slowly tumble towards the overhead bulkhead.

  Stupid stravag lower castemen. They have never seen space? Just endless emptiness. Kisho shook his head in disgust—breathing shallowly to keep their inferior stink from his lungs—and moved silently past and out of the primary viewing cabin.

  As if they have not seen the exact same thing through five jumps this trip alone: a burning ball of gas several hundred million kilometers directly below the aft of the JumpShip, where it sat above the plane of the ecliptic, its station-keeping drive already emitting a steady, small burn to counteract the slow draw of the star’s gravity, even at this distance. The kilometer-wide solar sail, painfully slow in its deployment—a product of its microns-thin structure—flowering to the energy it voraciously swallowed from the class K4 star; trickling energy at a safe rate into the Kearny-Fuchida drive; spearing through the core of the entire six-hundred-and-eighty-meter-length ship; until enough storage energy could be released, tearing the very bedrock of existence apart, folding space and hurling them thirty light-years distant.