Vlad pushed himself into a sitting position and pulled off his neurohelmet. "Freebirth!"

With deliberate precision, Phelan slid the Wolfhound'sright arm over and pointed the laser's muzzle at Vlad. "Freebirth?" He shivered. "I have just blown you out of your OmniMech. You cannot believe that curse hurts me, quinegT

Vlad stood and threw his helmet at Phelan. It glanced off the Wolfhound'smuzzle and made a mild thump in the cockpit. "You are a freebirth, Phelan. Foundling. You will never be my equal."

"That does it." Phelan hit his restraining belt release switch. He brought the Wolfhounddown on one knee and planted its left hand on the ground. "I'm coming out there to settle this once and for all. We have fought in 'Mechs three times and I have won twice. We have split the two fistfights we have had. Time to decide that, too."

He removed his neurohelmet and dropped it on the command couch. He reopened the hatch and started to walk down Grinner'%left arm. At the elbow, he paused and shook his head. "You are a fool, Vlad."

The other MechWarrior shucked off his cooling vest. "And you are a brave man because you have a gun."

Phelan smiled. "Couldn't expect you to forget about that, could I?" He untied the holster, unbuckled the belt, and tossed the whole thing to the ground. He leaped from the 'Mech and pulled off his own vest. "This has been a long time coming."

Though he knew better than to underestimate Vlad, Phelan could not help but smile as they closed. Vlad hooked a right into Phelan's stomach, but that left Vlad open to a roundhouse left that snapped his head back. Phelan moved in quickly and drove a murderous jab into Vlad's midsection. That doubled the scarred man over, and another left to the side of his head dropped him to the ground.

Phelan danced back. "Freebirth, eh? You had it right when you said I would never be your equal. I would never stoop so low!"

A feral scream of rage burst from Vlad's throat as he scrambled up and rushed at Phelan. The younger MechWarrior drifted right as Vlad came in, and smiled as Vlad's blind charge took no notice of his shift. A jab and it's all over.

Phelan cocked his right hand, then dropped his jaw with surprise as Vlad veered away from him. He thought Vlad had gone utterly insane, when his foe tucked his arms in and sprinted back toward the Wolfhound. He's going for the gun.

Vlad launched himself through the air and pounced on the gunbelt. Rolling through the dust, he clutched it to his dust-caked chest. He fumbled with the holster flap for a second, then drew the pistol and eared back the hammer. Brandishing it triumphantly, he stood slowly.

"Yes, Phelan, freebirth!" Vlad laughed mockingly. "I told you, Phelan, you were too weakto win this contest. You were a bondsman, made so when I captured you. I took this belt buckle as a trophy because the ilKhan robbed me of you! You have never been my equal, and here and now it has been proven!"

"Only one thing has been proven here, Vlad," Phelan spat out, "and that is how unbelievably stupid you really are." Shaking his head, he started walking toward Vlad.

Homicidal fire in his eyes, Vlad's finger tightened down on the trigger. The pistol went click.

Phelan smiled. "Remember how supplies got a bit shy here on Tukayyid, Vlad? I gave all my side-arm ammo to Evantha."

"No!" Vlad shrieked. He ran at Phelan, brandishing the pistol like a club.

Phelan ducked the ill-aimed swipe, then brought his right first up and through the point of Vlad's jaw. The punch lifted the scarfaced man from his feet and his eyes rolled up into his head. When he hit the ground again, he collapsed like all his bones had been removed.

Phelan knelt beside his foe and pried the pistol from his fingers. "Just as well I am out of bullets. I might be tempted to waste one." Reaching over, he undid Vlad's belt and slid it off. He slung it over his right shoulder and stood. As he started to back away, Vlad's groggy voice stopped him.

"You are a Warrior. Kill me."

"You do not get it, quiaff?"Phelan looked down at him and shook his head. "I am more than a Warrior. Maybe you will understand what that means by the time you win your Bloodname."

44

Unity Palace, Imperial City, Luthien

Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine

30 May 3052

The brand-new silken robe Shin Yodama had been given made him uncomfortable. He knew it was not really the fault of the garment, which had been faultlessly prepared by Imperial tailors at the express command of the Coordinator, Takashi Kurita. The black hakamafelt cool and whisper-soft against his legs after the pressure suit Shin had worn for a speedy trip down to Luthien from the jump point they had used to enter the system. The green kimono with its black trim also felt good against his skin, but the crest embroidered in red silk against black on the breasts, sleeves, and back reminded him of nothing so much as a highly stylized form of the Dragon's Claws crest.

The obi sash holding the robe closed was so finely embroidered that to consider it anything less than a work of art would be blasphemy. The stitching was in gold thread and, like the tattoo on his left arm and the left side of his torso, seemed at first to be patterned after a boiling black cloud highlighted in gold. Seen up close, however, the pattern revealed trigrams and other symbols reflecting Shin's adventures in service to House Kurita.

He knelt self-consciously on a pink tatamimat at the left of the firepit in the center of the tea house. The location of the mat placed him far closer to the table in the middle of the tea house than he had any right to be. Though he took pride in his service to the Lords of the Draconis Combine, he had no illusions about himself. As Takashi Kurita had made quite clear during the battle for Luthien, Shin was nothing more than a yakuza. Had Theodore Kurita not enlisted the aid of bandits like him during his difficulties with his father, the chances of Shin's ever having made it to Luthien would have been nil.

Kneeling there, alone in a tea house in the center of the gardens at the center of the palace in the center of the Imperial City, Shin knew his luck had far exceeded itself. From earning a commission in the military and being able to survive the first Clan assault to being able to defend Luthien and organize a rescue for Hohiro, Shin had gone places and done tilings that he had never dared even dream. Yet, for all that, he recalled the oyabun of the Kuroi Kiriassuring him that his fate was unbound by normal convention.

To Shin's right, the western shojipanel slid back. Theodore Kurita bowed toward the table in the center of the room, then again to Shin. Shin returned the bow, letting his forehead press against the edge of his mat. Straightening up, he saw Omi follow her father into the small building, then Hohiro came last. Both of the younger Kuritas exchanged bows with Shin and their father, then took their places in the room. Theodore and Hohiro, as was correct, occupied the red mats yet closer to the table than Shin's mat. Omi took up a position behind the three of them on a white mat.

Hohiro looked as ragged as Shin felt. The dark circles under Hohiro's eyes marked his lack of sleep, but Shin noticed more color in his skin and the flash of a blue drug patch on the inside of his left wrist. Clothed in a kimono identical to Shin's, Hohiro managed to kneel correctly despite his fatigue and weakness.