“Yes, Colonel. He is waiting for you.”

Michi stepped aside and bowed again. Wolf opened the door and entered the room. Michi closed the door behind him.

Seated in lotus position on the bed was Minobu. From somewhere in the nearby city, Michi had acquired the shimmering white silk kimono that he now wore. It shone against his dark skin. His eyes were closed, his face calm, relaxed.

Minobu opened his eyes as Wolf stepped into the room.

“You wanted to see me,” Wolf said.

“Thank you for coming.”

With a wave, Minobu indicated that Wolf should sit in the chair at the bed's end. Wolf ignored the gesture and remained standing.

“Have you changed your mind?” Wolf asked.

“No.”

Minobu raised his hand again to forestall Wolf's objections. “Please, do not argue. There is nothing that you can say to change my mind.

“The points at which this fate might have been averted have come and gone. The road opened when Akuma began his campaign to tie the Dragoons to the Combine. The last chance was lost on your trip to Luthien. After Samsonov received Lord Kurita's haiku,the path to disaster was inevitable.

“It is curious that many links in the chain of events took place in the autumn, for that is the season of changes, is it not?” Minobu paused, not really expecting an answer. Wistfully, he continued, “I had always liked the season of change.”

Minobu could tell that Wolf wanted to say something, but he cut the mercenary off. “I have a favor to ask of you,” Minobu said.

“Name it and it's yours.”

“You agree before knowing what it is?” Minobu gave Wolf a look of mock surprise. “That is not the suspicious Jaime Wolf I have known for years.”

“You would not ask anything that I could not do,” Wolf said with perfect assurance.

Minobu looked up into the gray eyes of the friend who stood before him. His inner senses agreed with what his heart and eyes told him. “You truly believe that.”

“I do.”

“Very well.” As Minobu unwound his legs to stand up, Wolf backed up to give him room in the small space. Minobu adjusted the kimono into place, and bowed deeply to Wolf. “There is a formal position in the ceremony that I wish a trusted friend to hold.” Minobu paused for a moment. “I ask that you serve as kaishaku-ninfor the ceremony.”

“All right.”

Wolf's quick answer made Minobu wonder if he understood the request, but he did not wish to discuss it. All he said was, “Thank you,” and bowed again to Wolf.

“It is time,” Minobu said. “Michi will have everything ready. Let us go. Even I do not have iron resolve in all things.”

Minobu opened the door for Wolf. Outside, Dechan Fraser and Hamilton Atwyl, also resplendent in Dragoon dress uniform, waited. As Wolf and Minobu started down the hall, they fell in behind. Minobu had worked with them during his time as Professional Soldiery Liaison and was mildly curious about how they had come to be the honor guards. A minor mystery, he decided, to take with him into the dark.

The small group walked down the corridor to the lounge in silence. Michi was waiting for them at the doorway. Beyond Michi, Minobu could see that the room had been arranged as well as could be expected. It was, in fact, remarkable that Michi had been able to acquire so many of the articles necessary for a proper ritual. Misery was a barren frontier world, little concerned with courtly proprieties.

Straw futonmats covered the room, in the center of which lay a large white cushion. To the left of the cushion was a tray bearing rice paper, a brush, and an ink block. Behind the cushion and to the right, Minobu could see a wooden bucket, with a small dipper lying across its mouth. Next to the bucket stood a lacquered sword stand. His katanalay sheathed on the upper hooks. The lower hooks held his empty wakizashiscabbard. Dragoons, quietly conversing among themselves, knelt on the floor. They formed an aisle between the door and the Futon-covered area.

Minobu recognized all of the faces. He was impressed that the regimental commanders were all in attendance. Other important Dragoon officers were present as well, Natasha Kerensky among them. He was honored by the presence of such notable warriors.

Minobu stopped five meters from the door and let Wolf go on. The mercenary stepped up to Michi and said quietly,

“He has asked me to serve as kaishaku-nin.Where do I stand?”

“Next to the water bucket. You will be slightly behind him, to his left. Kneel there until it is time.” Michi noted that Wolf showed none of the tension he would have expected. Suspecting that Wolf did not understand the nature of the kaishaku-nin,he asked, “Are you well-versed in the sword?”

“What's that got to do with it?”

“The kaishaku-ninstrikes off the head of the principal before the pain grows so great that he shames himself.” Wolf's eyes went wide. “You did not know?”

“No!”

Michi lowered his head. “I understand. I shall serve then.” Wolf grabbed his arm.

“No. He asked me. I'll do it,” Wolf ground out. “Is that the sword I'm supposed to use up there?”

Michi looked Wolf full in the eye, gauging his emotional state. “If you strike poorly, you will shame yourself and his memory.”

“What choice do I have? I'll do my best.”

“In unusual circumstances, the kaishaku-ninis permitted other weapons,” Michi said. “Like what?”

“A pistol.”

“At least that's something I know how to use.”

Wolf started into the room, but Michi stepped into his way. The Kuritan fumbled at his holster with his left hand. “Please, Colonel Wolf, use mine. Allow me to share in the honor.”

Wolf took the offered laser pistol and walked to his place. The assembled Dragoons fell into silence as their Colonel entered the room.

Minobu waited until Wolf was settled. He stepped through the doorway, and bowed to the gathering. Calmly, looking neither left nor right, he walked to the cushion and knelt facing the door.

He sat quietly for a minute, composing his thoughts. Settled into a state of peace, he reached to his right, picked up the tray, and placed it before him. With great care, he mixed

the ink and dipped the brush in it. For an instant, his hand poised motionless above the paper, then it began to move, creating kanjicharacters in short, precise strokes. Speaking clearly, he spoke the words he wrote:

War bares a sword's steel.

Autumn leaves reflect color,

A samurai's blood.

He laid the brush across the ink dish and returned the tray to its former position. Sinking back into his kneeling position, he waited as Michi approached up the aisle formed by the Dragoons.

Michi carried a white lacquered tray, balanced carefully in his good hand. On it were a ceramic drinking dish and a small flask of sake. Michi knelt and placed the tray before Minobu. They bowed to one another.

Minobu took the flask in his left hand and filled the dish in two pours. He returned the flask precisely to its place. Raising the dish to his lips, he took two sips. After a pause, he drained it in two more sips and returned the dish to the tray.

Michi bowed and removed the tray to the back of the room.

Minobu knelt quietly, a great calm reigning within. One minute stretched into two, then three. At last, he spoke.

“I, and I alone, am accountable for the unfortunate losses among those for whom I was responsible. For this failure, I disembowel myself. I beg all of you present here to do me the honor of witnessing the act.”

Minobu bowed to the assembled Dragoons. Their faces showed reactions ranging from disgust to dignified concern to vengeful satisfaction. Through the insulation of his detachment, Minobu noted that only Kerensky remained as dispassionate as he.

As Minobu straightened from the bow, he shrugged his torso free of his upper garments. He tucked the sleeves of his kimono under his knees. Naked to the waist, he waited, hands resting lightly on his thighs. His face was expressionless.