Ishiyama, his senses almost supernaturally alert during the cha-no-yu,sensed Yorinaga-ji's momentary relaxation, and his heart leapt up. Ishiyama immediately gained control of himself and set the whisk down on the table. He cupped the bowl of tea in his hands, utterly ignoring the heat, and placed it before the Coordinator's position.

"The Coordinator says he has found a way to grant the release you desire, while also allowing you to fulfill your duty to him and preserving him from grief for your death." Ishiyama reached out for the tea bowl, rotated it 180 degrees with slow precision, and lifted it across the table. Without a sound, and without a ripple breaking across the top of the tea, he placed the bowl before Yorinaga-ji.

"The Coordinator says that he will form an elite unit around you. They will become the Genyosha—the Black Ocean—and you will be their leader. You will train them and pass on the knowledge and skill for which you are so well-known. You will be able to select fifty men, one for each year of your age, from all the forces in the Combine. Then, aside from an ISF liaison officer, you will have no superior but the Coordinator."

Ishiyama lowered his head. "You will be Iemotoof the Genyosha for, once you have given them all that you are, they will train fifty men, and those fifty will train fifty until all our forces have your heart and mind."

Ishiyama waited, but Yorinaga-ji did not move. Ishiyama knew that he had presented Yorinaga-ji with his deepest desire. Ishiyama suppressed the desire to smile nervously, but he did marvel at how well the Coordinator knew this man who had been in exile for eleven years.

Ishiyama's voice again filled the room with sounds less substantial than the steam curling up from the tea before Yorinaga-ji. "The Coordinator asked me to mention, as a small item of interest, that plans have already begun for the utter destruction of the Kell Hounds."

Yorinaga-ji inclined his head ever so briefly. Some emotion that Ishiyama could not identify strobed across Yorinaga's face,

but was swallowed in the self-control fortified by his exile. Without looking down, Yorinaga-ji unerringly cupped the tea bowl in his hands and raised it to his lips.

BOOK 2

17

Solaris VII (The Game World)

Rahneshire, Lyran Commonwealth

20 February 3027

Zao,Fuh Teng."

Justin Xiang's greeting startled the MechWarrior. Fuh Teng half-turned to see who had crept up on him so quietly, and his movement caused a piece of equipment to shift. Teng's Tech, half-hidden inside the Vindicator'sPPC assembly, cursed loudly. Fuh Teng narrowed his eyes. He did not like the looks of the man who had spoken, but could not identify him.

Fuh Teng bowed his head slightly and returned Justin's greeting. "Hello. Is there something I can do for you? You should not be in here, you know."

Justin nodded and thrust his hands even deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket. "So they tried to tell me at the gates. I am Justin Xiang, and I want to fight for you."

Teng frowned. "I need no pilots. I cannot afford them." He looked up at the Vindicatorlooming above them in the darkened warehouse. "I exhausted my resources piecing this 'Mech together from what remnants I could salvage of my last 'Mech and the 'Mech my brother died in."

Justin nodded. The Tech, Tung Yuan, appeared from inside the PPC, and the glare of his arc-welder bleached the color from Teng's face while sinking his eyes into deep shadows. The Tech snapped an order in Capellan. Before Teng, hampered by the brace stiffening his right knee, could move to comply, Justin responded. Easing his dufflebag from his right shoulder, he crossed to the crate that the Tech had indicated and plucked a silver cylinder half a meter long and half that wide from the plastic foam inside the box.

He held it up toward the Tech, saying, "This is an R-4721 PPC Inhibitor." Justin frowned at Teng. "If you put this in the PPC, you'll get all the flash with none of the punch."

Teng snatched the cylinder from Justin and handed it up to the Tech. "Yes, Xiang, that is true. But it is also true that I do not want the punch."

Justin shook his head. "But if you win the match in Steiner Stadium tonight, you'll have enough money to refurbish your Vindicatorfrom top to bottom, and to hire a half-dozen pilots to work for you. With a few well-placed bets, you could even win enough to buy another 'Mech and start a stable."

Teng behaved as though he'd heard none of Justin's words. "Xiang, Xiang . . ." he mused, then suddenly smiled tensely. "Oh yes, you're the MechWarrior that Hanse Davion banished to our little world. Well, you may have been special where you came from, Justin Xiang, but without a 'Mech, you're nothing here." Teng shrugged, then smiled again weakly. "Understand. I do not mean to be harsh, but there are certain rules here on the Game World."

Justin narrowed his eyes. "You mean you've been ordered to lose the fight."

Teng smiled and the lines around his eyes betrayed his age. "I know survival is the key, and I feel more vulnerable out in Cathay than I do in any of the stadiums. The local oddsmakers have connections within the tongs, and are willing to use them to protect their profits." Fuh Teng shrugged philosophically. "I will be given another chance to win a large purse when it suits the purposes of the planet's masters."

Justin nodded solemnly. "So, in this case, your advice to a warrior without a 'Mech is that he should bet on your opponent?"

Teng nodded. "Your age belies your wisdom."

Justin smiled and bowed. Teng, knowing that the interview had ended, turned back to supervising the repair of his 'Mech. He never saw Justin's gloved left fist arc out and crash into his head. With a quiet gasp, Teng sank into a heap on the floor, and the tool he'd been holding clattered beside him on the ferrocrete.

When Tung Yuan poked his head back out of the PPC, his eyes popped open wide at the sight of his fallen employer. Justin merely smiled up at him. "Switch that inhibitor out of the PPC and blank the recognition system so I can link up with the machine."

Grinning broadly, the Tech nodded assent. Justin winked at him and added, "Then we'll tie up Teng here, and find someone willing to take a very specific bet on this fight at nice, long odds."

Tung Yuan ducked back into the Vindicator'sPPC housing. Though he never saw the grim smile take hold of Justin's face, he heard him mutter, Now, Hanse Davion, I begin to take my revenge. You will long remember this day.

* * *

"My dear Gray Noton, how pleased I am to see you've made it!" Enrico Lestrade, clad in a navy blue dress uniform with more medals and gold braid decorating it than were available in most of the Successor States, moved through the crowd gathered in his private box at Steiner Stadium. He enthusiastically grasped Noton's extended right hand in both of his own, pumping it furiously. "You honor us with your visit."

As other of Lestrade's guests turned to stare at Noton, he forced himself to smile, inwardly trying to decide whether to shatter Lestrade's clammy, fleshy hand. Instead, he grabbed Lestrade's right elbow tightly and gently squeezed. "So kind of you to invite me here to watch Teng battle Wolfson. It should be a good match."

Lestrade winced at the pressure on his elbow and quickly freed Noton's hand. Lowering his voice, he said, "We should speak. Come to my office."