Women of War (29 page)

“You may come in,” she answered. “But your
beautiful boys
may not.”

The bodyguards bristled at the insult. It surprised her a little that they recognized it. Beautiful boys.
Yaoi.
Effeminates. Fingers curled around a laser pistol butt. Her sword slid one inch from its sheath.

The Tindaran snapped a command. “Return to the ship,” he ordered his escort. “Can't you see the altar? I'll permit no violence here.”

The bodyguards glared with barely concealed contempt before they spun about and marched away. The Tindaran waited beyond the threshold until they were gone and then stepped inside. Itosu set aside her sword as the door closed behind him.

“You take too many chances,” he said.

She stopped his words with her mouth. Wrapping her arms around him, she drew him close, pressed her lips to his, and kissed him with a shivering need.

“This entire venture is one huge chance,” she answered when she finally broke the kiss. “One massive gamble.” She caught his wrists and lifted them up to study the reforming lumps of flesh. Her eyes misted as she kissed each one. “I'm so sorry, Michael,” she whispered. “So sorry! That was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life!”

Michael shook his head. “You played your part exactly as we planned,” he answered. “In a few days, I'll have new hands.” He smiled down at her. “Although it'll take a little longer before I regain my old dexterity.”

Michael put his hands inside her kimono. His regenerating flesh felt hot against her breasts. “I'll help you with your motor control,” she promised, as she led him to the futon.

When the door chimed again, they were dressed in their uniforms, he in his gray and she in jet black, and sitting formally on bent knees at either end of her altar. The wall behind the altar was now a viewscreen that revealed a blazing vista of stars and the thinnest edge of planet Oxala, around which Station Ymanja orbited.

Neither of them moved at once.

“We have so little time left,” Michael said in a soft voice. “I love you, Shaara.”

Itosu bent forward slightly at the waist. “I love you, Michael Cade.” Her lip trembled as she ran a hand over the length of the sword she now held balanced on her lap. The lacquered sheath felt cold and unfamiliar, as though she'd lost her bond with the weapon. “I don't know if I can go through with this.”

He held up his hands. The fingers were already beginning to take form. “It's too late for doubts, Little Storm.” That was his nickname for her. She winced as he spoke it, but she also smiled. “We can end the Endless War, you and I. Save millions of lives.” His eyes sparkled as he regarded her across the swirls of incense.

Itosu saw the Buddha in his gaze. “I am Star Samurai,” she answered finally, shamed to have shown weakness in the presence of his strength. “Though it's hard, I know my part.”

“You're half-Irish, too,” he said with a low chuckle. “That makes you a little bit daft.” He winked at her. “I'm not sure which part makes you more dangerous.”

The door chimed again. Shaara Itosu looked across the altar at Michael Cade, and then closed her eyes briefly, locking the immediate image of him deep in her heart and in her memory. Then, opening her eyes again, she called to the door. “Reveal.”

Michael's two bodyguards had returned. A third Tindaran officer stood between them. His head swiveled back and forth as if he was surveying the corridor. Finally he stared straight at the door. His expression was angry and impatient, and the hallway light gleamed on the star clusters pinned to his stiff, gray collar.

“Admiral Brin,” Michael informed her. Not that it was necessary. Itosu had studied the files of every known Tindaran of officer rank, and she recognized the man on her threshold.

“Open,” she said. The hologram faded as the door slid back. Brin didn't wait for an invitation. With a scowl, he stepped inside with the guards close behind him.

Itosu rose with slow grace, exposing three inches of her sword without drawing it completely. “Mannerless pig,” she said in a cold voice. “You enter my quarters without waiting to be invited, and worse, you bring your lapdogs along to sully my floor!”

Brin glared. “Don't threaten me, Commander.” His voice was as cold as hers. “Your sword is no match for our pistols.”

Michael Cade remained on his knees with his gaze fixed on the Buddha. “There's a saying among the commander's people,” he said calmly.
“It's not the weapon—it's the warrior.”
He turned his head to regard his superior officer and held up his regenerating hands. “Trust me, Admiral. The commander is quite capable of killing all of us before our fingers find our triggers.”

Admiral Brin's scowl deepened as he looked Shaara Itosu up and down. Then he licked his lips and seemed to relax somewhat. “I know your reputation, Commander,” he said. “The only human woman in Earth's fleet to command a dreadnought.” His gaze lingered on the sword she held as he continued. “The
Katana
, no less. Named specifically for you. I hear its armament is unmatched, state-of-the-art.”

Itosu pushed her blade back into the sheath. “As Captain Cade has told you,” she replied. “It's not the weapon—it's the warrior.” Returning to her former place at the altar, she knelt and sat. Then, with a motion of her hand, she indicated a place for Admiral Brin. “
Irasshai!
Welcome to my quarters, Admiral,” she said with a slight bow and in a polite tone. She placed her sword on the teakwood before the Buddha. “If you're nervous, your men may sit by the door.”

Admiral Brin scowled again. The subtle insult was not lost on him, yet he made no further point of it and ordered the guards into the corridor. When only the three of them remained in the room, he looked around in consternation. “Have you no chairs?” he demanded. Michael and Itosu both stared at their hands and said nothing. At last, the admiral folded his legs and sat clumsily down in cross-legged fashion. Frowning, he waved a hand at a wisp of jasmine smoke that swirled past his nose.

Brin turned a harsh look on Michael. “I grew concerned when you failed to return to the
Surtur
with your guards, Captain.” He studied the buds of flesh that soon would be Michael's hands and fingers. “I see I had reason to be concerned.”

Michael tilted his head. “The fault was mine, Admiral,” he explained. “I violated courtesy by keeping the commander waiting for over an hour.”

The admiral chewed a corner of his lower lip as he glowered at Itosu. “And you dared to cut off my officer's hands?” His stern look melted as he gave a chuckle and slammed his fist on the teakwood. The incense sticks wavered like grain in a wind. “By the stars, I have new respect for you, Commander!”

Itosu was not amused. “This isn't a coffee table, Admiral, nor a bar. It's a place for meditation and reflection.”

Michael leaned toward the admiral. “That's her way of saying don't do that again, or she'll cut off your hand, too.”

Admiral Brin reddened as he put his hands in his lap. “You Humans!” he said to Itosu. “You prize manners and politeness so highly that it's made you soft. That's why Tindar is winning the war and why our forces are practically parked on mankind's doorstep!”

Itosu raised one eyebrow as she regarded the admiral. Tindarans had been Human once, and Tindar had been an offshoot colony on the farthest reaches of Humanity's push to the stars. But a trick of science, an experiment gone horribly wrong, had changed them, mutated them into—something different.

Tindarans no longer thought of themselves as Human. They thought of themselves as Humanity's successors, its heirs. And they wanted everything Humanity had.

Shaara Itosu was prepared to give it to them.

Reaching across the altar, she smiled softly at Michael, and he placed his regenerating hand in hers. Her heart shivered again as she felt the warmth of his touch. At the same time, she felt Admiral Brin's gaze upon them. He was studying her, studying them both, wondering whether or not to trust her.

Releasing her lover's hand, Itosu rose and turned to the viewscreen. The entire wall was one grand stellar panorama, so real and so three-dimensional that it seemed as if there was no wall at all and she could walk off the edge of the floor and drift away forever. Indeed, the idea had a sudden powerful appeal, and with Michael at her side she might even be willing to take such a step.

But she sighed. She was a Star Samurai, a follower of
bushido,
and the way of the warrior was never the easy way.

“Show the
Katana,
” she said to the viewscreen.

The stellar vista dissolved, and a new scene took its place. The gray, cratered world of Oxala floated with grim majesty against a new backdrop of stars. It filled the viewscreen with its lifelessness, rotating at a sad and weary pace, pockmarked and jagged, yet beautiful in a harsh, cold way.

Then, around its nightside edge came the
Katana.
The warship was immense, awe-inspiring even with its star-drives turned off. Its lines were clean, powerful, and its metal skin gleamed as it orbited into the light of Oxala's sun.

“Twenty-five decks and a crew of one thousand,” Itosu said. “Two hundred Seimer energy canons, one hundred and twenty Piper volt torpedo launch stations, and a full complement of DeWolfe Shatterworld lasers. That's just the offensive weaponry.”

Admiral Brin got to his feet. He chewed his lip again—it seemed to be a habit of his. As he stared at the screen his expression hardened. “This is the ship that destroyed the
Germanicus,
” he said through clenched teeth.

“And the
Oberon
and the
Grendel,
” Michael added as he rose to stand beside his superior officer. “All in the same battle. Three against one, and the
Katana
was unscathed.”

Admiral Brin put a hand on the butt of his pistol as he glared at Itosu. “You wiped out both our bases on the Viper Moon.” Venom filled his voice. “I lost a sister and a nephew there!”

Itosu turned her back to the admiral and watched the
Katana
as it orbited out of view again. “Then we're even,” she answered without emotion. “Tindarans killed my mother and father in the sneak attack on Catullus twenty years ago. They weren't even military. Just a pair of teachers on a university world.”

“Then why do you want to join us?” Brin demanded. Though he kept his voice calm, tension and anger showed on his face. He pinched his brows together; a muscle showed at the edge of his clenched jaw; the veins in his neck stood out against his tight collar. “Why do you want to betray your own kind?”

Itosu sighed, and her breasts swelled against the black fabric of her uniform. With ritual care, she picked up her sword and cradled it in the crook of her right arm. Her gaze fell upon the Buddha as she bent down, and for a brief moment, its eyes seemed to follow her movements.

“This war has to end,” she said flatly. “Tindar has the upper hand and the best chance of winning. Earth's military resources are stretched too thin, and morale is at a nadir. They're tired of fighting, and the colonies are exhausted, too. They're vulnerable.”

Admiral Brin sneered. “Captain Cade has nothing to do with it?”

Itosu and Michael exchanged glances and then moved to each other's sides. “He has everything to do with it,” Itosu answered. “It may not make sense to you, but I love him. I couldn't turn him to my side. So I've turned to his.”

Brin sneered again. “You love him—so you cut off his hands?”

Michael spoke before Itosu could. “Until we finish what we've started we have to keep up certain appearances,” he explained. He held up his budding hands. “This is no worse than many of us experience at our cutting parties, and that's just for entertainment. After our performance in Café Mas Mundos nobody will suspect there's anything between us, except animosity.”

“If anyone thought otherwise, I might lose my command,” Itosu said. “I might lose the
Katana
.”

Brin rubbed his chin and looked suspicious. “Your crew will follow you to our side?”

Itosu lifted her head a bit higher. “My crew will obey me,” she snapped. “In three days' time, the bulk of our fleet will gather at Epsilon Eridani. Earth's president will be there, too, for a conference with his admirals and advisors. A contingent of Star Samurai will serve as honor guard. I'll give you the code frequencies so you can verify everything I'm saying.”

“I assume the
Katana
will be at this gathering?” Brin said as he began to pace near the altar. The suspicion faded from his face as he began to consider the possibilities.

She touched the small gold insignia on her collar, crossed sai, the emblem of the Star Samurai. “We leave for the rendezvous point day after tomorrow.”

Admiral Brin ceased his pacing and stared toward the viewscreen, at Oxala floating serenely in slow rotation against the field of stars. Itosu watched him, noting his movements, the minute changes in his expression. Brin was an important leader among the Tindarans and, despite his outward bluster, a warrior worthy of respect.

“Then tonight you will join us on the
Surtur
as my guest,” Brin said as he folded his arms over his broad chest. “Consider it a diplomatic dinner with a party to follow.”

“I'll have to clear it with Fleet Command,” Itosu answered. “My assignment here at Ymanja is diplomatic, but we are still at war.”

Michael moved closer to Itosu as he nodded to his superior. “She's right,” he said. “We don't want to do anything to arouse suspicion.”