“People’s motivations frequently appear childish, but that doesn’t make them any less valid, or important, nor are they trivial.”

“So you think this was wrong?”

“On the contrary; it’s similar to your trying to find a way to escape. You must try. It’s neither right nor wrong; it is your pattern. But escape may not be in your control, just as you fail to consider another alternative regarding the coordinator.”

“And that is?”

“Perhaps Sakamoto has gone rogue, and the coordinator waits on you.”

“Me? Absurd. I’m just… some… some…”

“Some what? Someone who fights well and matured in spite of, or perhaps because of her struggles? Your path has been one of renewal and repair; Sakamoto’s is chaos and destruction. Yet both may claim the same thing: retaking what is the Combine’s by right of conquest and history.”

But Katana was shaking her head. “I’m just not that important. If the coordinator wanted, he’d have acknowledged me by now.”

“I have already said that there are many possibilities, but you must consider them all, just as you weigh an opponent in the dojo and learn when and how to strike… and when not. Kurita is a proud name, a noble House, and if there are any who can lay claim to embodying the true heart of the samurai, it is Kurita who watches and waits, like the samurai in zanshin.”

“But this isn’t kendo kata.”

“No, it’s life. So is being samurai. It’s not something you shrug off as you do your do and men. Only the samurai who balances body, mind and sword has achieved uwate, true mastery. So, Samurai, tell me: which attack is most fierce?”

“Ki-o-korosu,” said Katana, at once. “To summon ki, and attack with force.”

“Exactly. And why?”

“Because you unbalance your opponent.”

“How?”

“By spoiling his ability to center himself.”

“Lovely book words, but what do they mean?”

Katana thought, then said, “If you attack with force, you cause fear and put your opponent on the defensive. She won’t have time to think of a counteroffensive.”

“Precisely. And this is where you find yourself. With or without the coordinator’s blessing, Sakamoto has struck with ki-o-korosu. So far, you are only reacting defensively. Even this”—he spread both hands to indicate their prison—“has you thinking only of how you will escape, not what you will do when you have. When you are free—and you will be free because you imagine it—then you must decide which counterattack makes sense. But you must strike with all your spirit and might. And if you choose for the coordinator, you must cede your impulses to his wishes and greater wisdom—even if you believe they are incorrect. Life gives you opportunities, Katana, nothing more. It’s up to you to use them wisely.”

“But how can I know the coordinator’s…?” She broke off as the hinges on the hut’s door squealed.

A shujin appeared, followed by a guard. It was the same shujin whom they’d met with Tai-i Sagi. He carried a metal tray laden with covered dishes. Katana and the Old Master watched in silence as the shujin waited for the guard to unlock the cell door and then stepped in, squaring the tray on the floor near the door. Straightening, the shujin tugged his right cuff over a tattoo of gold-link chain and then gave a respectful bow.

“Your meal, Aged Parent. And yours, Tai-sho. Please,” said the shujin as he backed out and the guard secured the cell door. “The night grows chill, the moon is new, and the meal is warm. Do not linger.” The door to the hut clicked shut.

“Linger.” Katana pushed up from the floor. She paced the perimeter of the cell like an anxious leopard. “Like we have anything else to do. You go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

She heard a scrape of metal against metal. A pause. And the Old Master said, “For this, you might develop an appetite.”

Sighing, Katana turned. “I’m not…” she began, and stopped.

There, on a plate, were two pistols. And a key.

New Mendham Nadir Jump Point

Benjamin Military District, Draconis Combine

5 June 3135

Right before he’d drifted off in a tangle of sheets and blankets, McCain thought that, yeah, Viki was right. He had been tense.

The trip had been too long already, but Kamikuro insisted they take a circuitous route back to Proserpina. Couldn’t fault the man for that. By the time they’d left Junction, word was something was going on at the border worlds of Homam and Matar, though no one knew exactly what, and Kamikuro’s legitimate freighters, the ones under his employ for his various businesses, had caught channel chatter about what sounded like activity in Prefecture II. So, after mustering their forces—’Mechs and men armed with an assortment of Gauss rifles, pistols, vibrokatanas, and lasers, plus the precious black boxes—they’d taken the long way around: Junction, to Ludwig, to Reisling’s Planet, a week to recharge, and then on to New Mendham, where they were still parked. Before making the jump to Scheat, Kamikuro sent out a DropShip that in turn popped out two aerospace fighters to make recon in New Mendham space. In the meantime, Viki had observed that McCain needed to relax—so he did.

As it happened, he was literally drifting. Viki’s suggestion; she said weightlessness inspired the imagination. She hadn’t been wrong. Now, in the middle of a deep and dreamless sleep, his intercom buzzed. McCain jerked awake, wrestled with a twist of sheet then swam over and fumbled for the kill switch. “What?”

“Chu-sa McCain, I am sorry to disturb your… rest.” Kamikuro said this with delicacy. “But we have news.”

McCain washed his face with his hands. “What, uh, what about?”

“Klathandu IV.”

“But I thought we were going to Scheat.”

“As did I.” Another pause. “It seems Tai-sho Tormark had other ideas.”

“Has something happened to her?”

“I think it best we meet on the bridge. And, uh, do inform Sho-sa Drexel.”

“On my way.” McCain clicked off, ordered lights up, then pushed off, hooked a handhold and came to a hover beside a sheet-covered lump. “We got to go.”

“Mmm-hummph.” The lump bunched, and then Viki Drexel pulled the sheet from her face, winced and groaned. “Too bright.” But when he told her, her gray eyes went wide. “That doesn’t sound good.”

They threw on clothes, brushed their teeth and headed out, pulling double-quick. Right before they darted onto the bridge, McCain held up so abruptly that Viki plowed into him and they tumbled in a triple somersault before McCain snagged a handhold with his left hand and Drexel’s waist with his right. “Oh, hell,” said McCain.

Drexel had tugged her hair into a ponytail, but the collision shook enough loose so she looked like a Medusa. “Now what?” she groused, corralling her halo of hair.

“I just realized.” McCain pulled a face. “I’m all tense again.”

Red Sands, Devil’s Lot, Klathandu IV

Benjamin Military District, Draconis Combine Midnight,

6 June 3135

Things went better than they had any right to, starting with the guard they overpowered at changeover, to liberating Katana’s swords from Sagi’s office—and hadn’t that been interesting—and on to their skirmish on the airfield. In fact, all the way up to the very moment they’d hurriedly donned their suits, strapped in and rocketed away in a whirling ball of sand, everything went exceedingly well—until Katana got a gander at the three aerospace fighters in pursuit. Then she said, “Uh, oh.”

“Yes, two Slayers and a Shilone,” said the Old Master. “An excellent strategy.”

“Yeah, they can outrun us and outgun us.” Her Lucifer was an R-20, a newer model custom-made to accommodate two people and loaded with armor, but no missiles, only seven lasers, and not a lot of kick. There was no way the Lucifer could pull max thrust beyond eight g s for long. Zippy enough and an equal match to the Shilone on their tail, but the other fighter could pull nine g s, and the Slayers went one, two, three times better: not as much armor, but more heat, scads of lasers between all three, and long-range missiles to boot… and, well, she didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure this one out.