14

Conqueror’s Pride, Proserpina

Prefecture III, Republic of the Sphere

Just before dawn, 29 January 3135

Katana popped awake, then frowned into the grainy darkness of her bedroom. Something was wrong, enough to drag her from sleep. The east-facing shoji was softly lit, translucent, the wooden lattice visible as a grid of neat squares and rectangles. An hour or so before dawn, she imagined. Then she heard what had seeped into her mind as she slept; a tiny, barely audible screeee, like the sound a hinge made when it needed oil.

She was instantly on the alert. Her swords were cradled on their stand across the room. Too far away. Still, she had her pistol. She rolled onto her left side, careful not to rustle the bedclothes. With what seemed like agonizing slowness, she slid her right hand under her pillow where she kept her pistol. In the next instant, her breath caught in a stifled gasp—because the pistol was gone.

Movement now, and she started to roll but wasn’t fast enough. Hands—no, metal–sliding off her bare back, snagging her left arm, and then she was being crushed into the soft mattress as someone straddled her back, forcing her face into her pillow. She struggled for air, tried twisting her face to the side, but whoever was there was very strong and she couldn’t breathe. Her hands were free, though, and her fingers slid across metal before she managed to get a handhold. But then her assailant shifted slightly, pried her hands free and used his knees to pin her shoulders to the bed. Her hands fluttered uselessly against the bed. Her lungs screamed for air; her chest burned; the blackness before her eyes swam…

At what must have been the last possible second, she was dimly aware that the weight on her back was gone. Someone flipped her onto her back and again pinned her to the bed by her shoulders, but that didn’t matter because there was air. She couldn’t think of anything else for several seconds as her tortured lungs reeled in a breath, then another. “Wh… what?”

The Bounty Hunter boomed a huge laugh, the speakers in his helmet distorting the sound so his voice came out hollow but with an undercurrent of electronic hum, like an echo transmitted through a cable down a deep shaft. “That’ll teach you. Next time, it might be someone who doesn’t like you as much as I do.”

Fury replaced panic. “Wha… what,” she began then was seized by a fit of coughing. “What are you doing?” she said, finally, in a strangled wheeze. “How… how did you get… get… why…” She broke off as another fit of coughing racked her body. “Where’s the… the Old…?”

“The old man? He’s fine. A bit dozy, like your guards. The amnesic gas will wear off in a half hour or so.”

“If… if you’ve hurt him, any of them, I’ll… I’ll kill you.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she heard the smile. “Careful, Katana. I just might take you up on that someday. I venture to say that our struggle might prove very interesting, certainly for me. And is this gratitude? Here I go to all this trouble, expose a critical lapse in your security and you’re so peevish.” He paused then, staring down at her and, even though the light was still very dim, Katana was aware of his attentiveness, those keen eyes behind that visor, roving over the contours of her body. She sensed a subtle change, a sort of expectancy, as if he had just realized something previously hidden away in his mind.

Katana glared. “Well, either rape me, or talk. But make the right choice. Otherwise, the consequences will be quite unpleasant.”

Again, that bizarre hesitation… and then he gave a short bark, a laugh that was somehow forced, and the weight on her shoulders was gone as he rolled from her body, the movement accompanied by tiny metallic squeaks. “Go on,” said the Bounty Hunter. “But put some clothes on. The view’s too distracting.”

“That’s your problem. You barge into my room in the middle of the night, you live with it.” Calling for lights, Katana pushed to her feet and stood, a fist planted into each hip. Arms akimbo, the Bounty Hunter stood at the foot of her bed, his bright green armor twinkling in the yellow-white fluorescents. Katana spied a pistol snugged in a holster at his right hip. “What do you want?”

“I came to warn you.” His tone was all brisk business now. “Tai-shu Sakamoto’s going to mount an offensive.”

“What? Warn me? Has Fu…?” She broke off. Not only couldn’t Fusilli have gathered the information that quickly, he’d never trust the Bounty Hunter. “How did you get your information?”

“Now, Katana, I can’t reveal all my sources. I’m your mystery man, remember?”

“Fine. Play it that way, and I’ll just say thanks and we go our separate ways. But you want in? Then I give the orders, and you take them. Otherwise, get the hell out of my bedroom.”

The Bounty Hunter tut-tutted. “Temper. You’re hardly in a position to play high and mighty. If Sakamoto moves against you, the Fury will be squashed like a bug. I have no objection to parting with news, but you need to ask nicely. You may not trust me, Katana, but you can’t dismiss me either.”

It was on the tip of Katana’s tongue to tell him just exactly where he could go and what he could do when he got there, but she bit the impulse back. “Please,” she said, and managed not to growl.

“Now, see? That wasn’t so hard,” he said. Then, seriously, “Sakamoto’s quietly moving units to Homam and Matar—and closer to you.”

That got her attention. “Does he want to join forces, or get rid of me?”

“The latter. Sakamoto has no love for the Tormarks, as I think you’re aware. Didn’t his great-great-great-grandfather once swear vengeance on your family? Or something like that. Honestly, it’s so hard keeping track of the feuds you nobles wage.”

Another jab, but Katana wasn’t listening. If Sakamoto arrayed his might against her Fury, she’d lose. Worse, her people would die—fighting, to be sure, but die nonetheless, and for very little. Surrender was unthinkable, of course, but she might be able to buy some time and send her people out of harm’s way. After all, Sakamoto wanted her. “When will he strike?”

“Can’t say.” The Bounty Hunter shrugged; his armor squeaked. “There’s word his troops are fed up, though. You know what a pompous ass he can be.”

“That’s not news.”

“Yes, but… word is that his troops wouldn’t weep at his departure.”

Katana arched one eyebrow. “Now, how can you know that?”

“I have a source in Sakamoto’s camp.”

Katana knew she’d never pry out whom, so she switched gears. “Speaking of camps, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on Irian.” Privately, she thought this particular incarnation of the Bounty Hunter to be much better off than his predecessors. Must have an entire fleet of JumpShips at his disposal, the way he keeps turning up out of nowhere …

“I wasn’t aware I required a hall pass to go to the lavatory.”

She breezed past the sarcasm. “What you need is to be more compliant. My people are antsy enough about you as it is, and you popping in and out whenever you please; they don’t like it. Why not stay awhile? My field commanders should arrive within the next month. Then you can tell them what you’ve told me, and we can reassess, figure out our next move.”

“Oh, happy day,” said the Bounty Hunter dryly. “I’m all a-tingle with anticipation. You and I both know your field commanders have about as much faith in me as they do in the second coming of Devlin Stone.”

“They might have fewer doubts if you weren’t so damned evasive. Let us double-check your information. What’s the harm? If it’s valid, then they’ll trust you more.”

“What I live for: to climb the ladder of Chu-sa Crawford’s good opinion. You know the man acts as if I have something to hide.”