Outlanders 15 - Doom Dynasty Read online

  Chapter 8

  "Don't know what samurai is," Domi bit out, cen­tering the sights of her Combat Master on the figure, "but I don't like the sound of it."

  Instantly, with almost supernatural swiftness, an ar­row was plucked from the quiver, knocked into the bowstring and drawn. The barbed steel point was pointing directly at the outlander girl. No one spoke. The four outlanders and the samurai stared at one an­other in a frozen tableau.

  Brigid's lips moved slightly, and her brow creased in concentration as she dredged deep into her eidetic memory. Then she took a tentative half step forward, making a very deliberate show of snugging her Iver Johnson pistol back into its waistband slide holster. In a very courteous tone she called up, "Anato yuku ne mutta ka?"

  Whatever reaction Brigid's question was intended to elicit, the last thing any of them expected to hear was a laugh. Although it was muffled because of the visor, it was still an unmistakable laugh of genuine amusement

  A hollow voice floated down to them, a voice nei­ther high nor low. It stayed in the middle range but was pleasingly melodic. "No, as a point of fact, I didn't sleep well at all, but thank you for asking."

  The language was flawless, unaccented English. A jittery, abashed smile played over Brigid's lips. She nodded contritely and said, "I apologize. I've never had the opportunity to speak your tongue. I thought I was asking if you would put down your weapon."

  The antlers mounted on the helmet inclined toward her a fraction of an inch. "Your pronunciation was very good, nevertheless. As for your question, hai. Yes. I will if the rest of you will."

  Dropping her voice to a whisper, Brigid addressed her three companions. "Let's do it. We owe him our lives."

  Kane hesitated, glanced toward Grant, who after a frowning second-of thought, nodded in agreement. Both men carefully pushed their Sin Eaters back into their forearm holsters, the spring lock catching with a meaningful click. They resheathed their combat knives, as well. Only Domi kept her blaster trained on the armored, horned figure above them.

  "Leather it, Domi," Grant told her gruffly.

  The girl shook her head. "Don't trust anybody whose face I can't see."

  "We don't expect you to trust him," Brigid whis­pered urgently. "But you can show some basic re­spect. He saved us, after all."

  The girl's lips curled in a sneer. "Didn't need sav­ing."

  "Leather it," Grant repeated, a hard, uncompro­mising edge to his voice.

  With a wordless utterance of disgust, Domi shoved the Combat Master into her shoulder rig, but she kept her knife unsheathed, dangling at the end of her right arm.

  The samurai swiftly and expertly relaxed the ten­sion on the bowstring, replaced the long arrow in the quiver and with a surprising grace descended the rocky slope in a series of running leaps.

  "What language was that you used, Baptiste?" Kane asked in a low tone.

  "Japanese. I'm not very conversant with it. I've only read it in the database, not spoken it."

  Kane was surprised she knew even imperfect Jap­anese, although he shouldn't have been. Brigid spoke Russian, a smattering of Chinese, German and even Lakota, the tongue of the Sioux Indians.

  "What's a samurai anyway?" Domi demanded in a fierce whisper.

  Tersely, Brigid answered, "They were the knights of medieval Japan. They began as the military elite, then became the political elite. The samurai were war­riors of legendary skill."

  Domi eyed the ornamented armor of the samurai and muttered disdainfully, "He looks more like a leg­endary gaudy lad."

  If the samurai overheard the remark, he apparently didn't understand the Outlands euphemism for male prostitute—or if he did, he chose to ignore it. The helmeted figure approached them, his right hand rest­ing on the cylindrical hilt of a sword. Not only were his hands slender, smooth and sinewy, but they also seemed very small. In fact, the closer the armored figure drew to them, the smaller he seemed. Even with the antlers topping the helmet, Kane doubted he was much taller than Domi.

  Brigid bowed and said, "Ah domo arigato. We thank you for what you did for us."

  "I merely extended you a warrior's courtesy," re­sponded the hollow voice. "I could see you didn't wish to do battle with the primitives and were reluc­tant to employ your firearms."

  "You've been following us," Domi challenged.

  The helmet wagged from side to side. "No. I was following a much larger group, one that murdered the people of Port Morninglight and took others prisoner. At first I thought you were part of them, stragglers mayhaps. Then I realized you were also tracking them, and wishing to be quiet about it."

  "What's Port Morninglight to you?" Grant de­manded.

  The armored figure did not reply for a long mo­ment. It seemed the gaze behind the molded, snarling visor studied Grant's face intently. "Perhaps," the soft voice said, "we should take off our helmets and face each other like honest warriors. I do not confide in anyone until I have looked into their eyes."

  Grant's lips twitched in a fleeting scowl, which meant he appreciated the samurai's sentiments. He unsnapped the underjaw locking guard of his helmet. After a brief contemplative moment, Kane did like­wise, sliding his helmet up and over his head. The samurai followed suit, thumbing open two toggles on the bottom rim of the helmet and tugging it off.

  Then Kane saw why the samurai's figure was so slight, the hands so small. Glossy black hair tumbled down over the flaring shoulder epaulets. A small, beautifully shaped mouth stretched in a wan smile, above which was a smoothly curving bone structure under sculptured flesh. The woman's complexion was a very pale gold with roses and milk for an accent. The almond-shaped eyes shone as fierce and proud as those of a young eagle.

  Grant felt a sudden, disconcerting clenching in his chest. He didn't know why except he was looking at one of the most beautiful and exotic women he had ever seen in his life.

  Her dark eyes swept over them in an appraising stare, and her lips curved in a smile. "You can meet the most interesting people in the desert."

  "May I ask the name of our rescuer?" Brigid in­quired.

  The woman inclined her head on a neck that to Grant seemed to be as long and as graceful as a swan's. "I am Shizuka, first lieutenant to Captain Ki-yomasa. We are Tigers of Heaven, in service to our high daimyo, Lord Takaun."

  Scraps of memory, more like impressions, ghosted through the minds of Brigid, Grant and Kane. The

  Tigers of Heaven touched faint chords of recognition, of an armored security force of samurai who traveled the spaceways—

  The recollection slipped through the fingers of their minds like smoke. All of them knew the impressions weren't memories of events that had actually hap­pened, at least not in their reality. They were the traces of their experiences on parallel worlds, when their minds possessed the bodies of their alternate uni­verse selves, their doppelgangers.

  The three of them had no clear recollections of those mirror realities any longer. Even Brigid with her eidetic memory could only consciously recall discon­nected fragments.

  Shizuka's dark eyes flitted from Grant to Kane to Brigid. "Is there something wrong?"

  Before any of them could reply, Domi said loudly, aggressively, "You bet your ass something's wrong! Who sent you to follow us?"

  Very humbly, the woman answered, "My captain. When stealth and tracking skills are required, I am always chosen."

  Domi brayed a derisive laugh. "You need to prac­tice your skills. I heard you from a mile away."

  Kane tried to shush Domi into silence, but she ig­nored him. Rudely she snapped, "Where did you come from? Are you working for a baron?"

  Shizuka regarded her calmly. Although her eyes went cold, her voice was silky soft. "I regret your confusion, but I have questions of my own. It is one reason I went to the effort of saving you from the eta, the handlers of offal."

  Red rage flared in Domi's eyes. "We coulda taken 'em! Needed no help from you!"

  "Domi—" Brigid began admonishingly.

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sp; "Hai, so desu. Yes, I understand." Shizuka bowed slightly, only a half bow, and she did it in such a way that even Domi knew it was a deliberate insult. "I should not have interfered. You alone could have saved your companions with the ferocity of your words."

  Domi's lips writhed over her teeth in a silent snarl and she lunged forward, her knife whipping up. Steel met steel with a ringing clangor. Shizuka's sword had slid from its scabbard with lightning speed. The flat blade blocked Domi's knife, then returned to the scabbard. Shizuka had not moved from her bowing posture. Although her face remained expressionless, she winked conspiratorially at Domi.

  Kane stared, replaying the blurred movements in his mind. Domi gaped, as well, then with a strangu­lated screech of humiliated fury starting up her throat, she thrust for Shizuka's lower belly.

  The sword rasped from the scabbard again, Shizuka stepped sideways in a sliding dance motion and Domi's knife missed its target. Instantly, she heeled around, leading with the blade. Holding her sword in a two-handed grip, Shizuka parried the knife slash almost negligently.

  Kane and Grant started to rush forward to inter-vene, but Domi's maddened voice rose in a shout. "Stay out of this! I won't chill her, but I'll put my mark on her!"

  Shizuka said calmly, serenely, "I promise not to harm the child. She is brave, but she needs a lesson in manners."

  "Look who's talking, bitch!" Domi growled an­grily. She sprang to the attack, her knife weaving a web of steel in the air between her and the Japanese woman. Shizuka caught all her blows on her sword, and ringing chimes rose toward the sky.

  Domi held her blade point upward as did all ex­perienced knife fighters, but she might as well not have had it at all for the good it did penetrating Shi­zuka''s guard. She tried a reverse slash, the flat of the blade lying along her forearm, but the samurai beat it effortlessly aside.

  Brigid, Kane and Grant knew Shizuka was treating Domi to an object lesson in the art of the sword. Kane had to admit it was beautiful. Never had he seen such a style, certainly not in the kind of swordplay Quayle had demonstrated against him a month or so ago. Shi­zuka could have carved up the one-eyed cutlass mas­ter like a turkey.

  It quickly became evident that Domi's words to the contrary, she intended to kill her opponent. Sucking in a lungful of air with a growl of frustration, she rushed at Shizuka, striking wildly. She came on in a relentless surge, ever the aggressor in any combat.

  The clang and clash of steel was an almost continuous cacophony.

  Domi stabbed and thrust for the woman's armpit and her upper thighs, seeking to sever the major ar­teries there. The samurai did not back away and she stood untouched, parrying and blocking without much strain or even thought.

  Eyes glittering like blood-drenched rubies, Domi uttered a shrill cry and plunged forward, knife darting low for a hamstringing cut. Shizuka's sword deflected Domi's blade, held it and wrenched it away in a blindingly fast corkscrew motion. Domi's cry died on her lips as her knife flew from her hand and landed yards away in the sand.

  For an instant, she stared at Shizuka, then cut her eyes to her knife. Her expression twisted in disbelief, in furious astonishment. With a spitting snarl of rage, she clawed for the butt of her holstered blaster. Shi­zuka backstepped swiftly, raising her blade in a dou­ble-fisted grip.

  A single long-legged bound put Grant between the samurai and the albino. His big gloved hand closed completely around Domi's right wrist. She strained against him, sweat glistening on her forehead, veins swelling in her temples. Her breath hissed sharply be­tween clenched teeth.

  "Stand down," he rumbled threateningly. "Stand down, or I swear to God I'll take your blaster away and hog-tie you with the holster."

  Her crimson eyes burned into his with a defiant glare. He met it unflinchingly, unblinkingly. Then, by degrees, the fierce heat of fury guttered out, and some of the tension went out of her posture. She released the butt of her pistol. Dropping her gaze to the ground, she muttered, "Let me go."

  Grant released her, towering over her for a moment to make sure she wouldn't try to unleather her blaster again. All she did was grimace and massage her wrist.

  He turned to Shizuka, making a resigned gesture. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day."

  The woman nodded graciously, reversed her grip on her sword and slid it back into the scabbard with two swift, economical moves. "And full of hardship. She is young and undisciplined, but I admire her cour­age."

  Domi did not react to the compliment.

  Kane cleared his throat. "And I admire your re­straint. But the fact is, she did make a couple of in­teresting points, regardless of her poor manners. Where did you come from? Surely not Japan."

  Stolidly, Shizuka said, "It is unlikely you have heard of my home. And if you have, then my dai-myo's advisers should be severely punished."

  She swept a strand of raven hair back from her high forehead. "Permit me to communicate with my cap­tain. If he wishes for you to know more, then I must receive the permission from him."

  Reaching into her sash, she produced a black square of pressed plastic, not much larger than the palm of her hand. It was a smaller version of the trans-comms used by the Cerberus personnel.

  Grant eyed it with interest. "What's the range on that thing?"

  She used a thumb to flip open the cover. "De­pending on the weather and the terrain, about three miles."

  "That's quite the distance for a comm that small," Kane said dubiously.

  With a touch of wry amusement in her voice, Shi-zuka replied, "Among the many traditions of my peo­ple is a devotion to miniaturization."

  She walked away a few paces, lifted the comm to her ear and spoke softly into it. While she was so occupied, Grant plucked Domi's knife from the desert floor and presented it to her, pommel first. Without a word, the girl took it and thrust it firmly into the leather sheath at the small of her back.

  "You were way out of line," he told her quietly. "She's an expert with her sword. You're damn lucky all she did was disarm you, not decapitate you."

  Domi acted as if she hadn't heard. Wheeling, she stalked away to lean against an outcrop of flint, arms folded over her chest. Grant gusted out a weary sigh and turned his back to her.

  Kane moved beside him, saying lowly, "I don't know what's going on with her, but she's making trouble we don't need. Straighten her out."

  Grant's brows knit together, casting his eyes into shadow. "How do you expect me to do that?"

  "Somebody better," Brigid put in. "Obviously, Shizuka isn't the only samurai in the vicinity. Until we know how many Tigers of Heaven are around and why, we have to be at our diplomatic best. And that includes Domi."

  Grant's face locked in an impassive mask, as if it were carved from teak. "Then you tell her about di­plomacy. I'm not her damn daddy or her husband. You two were the ones who insisted she come on this op, not me."

  Kane and Brigid arched their eyebrows at him at the same time. Before either one could speak, Shizuka strode back, returning the comm to her sash. "Captain Kiyomasa will arrive shortly with the rest of the force. He wishes to meet you before any information about us is given out."

  "Understandable," Brigid replied. "But it appears we have the same goal—catching up to those who attacked Port Morninglight. Our reasons may differ, though."

  ' 'Do you know who the attackers are?" the woman asked.

  Brigid opened her mouth to answer, but Kane in­terjected dryly, "We wish to meet with Captain Ki­yomasa before any more information about us is given out."

  Shizuka's eyes flashed first in irritation, then in ap­preciation. "You have a sharp wit and I like that. Since I've provided you with my name—-and a lesson in swordmanship—the least you can do is tell me who you are."

  Introductions were made all around, and Shizuka bowed to each one of them in turn, including Domi, who made a studied show of ignoring her.

  Tapping her chin musingly, Brigid said, "Your name is an honorable one with historical significance. As I recall, S
hizuka Gozen was a heroine of feudal Japan."

  Shizuka's eyes widened in surprise, and she flashed Brigid a gratified smile. "I had not expected to meet any Westerner so educated about my people, espe­cially out here. Hai, I was named in honor of Shizuka Gozen, a member of a great samurai family during the reign of Yoritomo, the first shogun. During the eleventh century, she was in love with Yoritomo's brother and rival for the throne, Yoshitsure. He be­came a fugitive, and Shizuka was forced into Yori­tomo's harem.

  "One evening, when she was ordered to entertain him, she defiantly sang a song in praise of his brother. The shogun was so enraged that when Shizuka gave birth to a male child, he had the baby murdered before her eyes."

  Brigid winced. "And she became something of a martyr to women's rights in male-dominated Japan."

  Shizuka nodded proudly. "Indeed. That I carry her name is a matter of pride."

  She turned toward Grant, examining the red Mag­istrate's badge affixed to the molded left pectoral of his breastplate. "Speaking of pride, what significance does that peculiar emblem hold?"

  Grant's answer was stiffly formal. "None now. It used to have a bit."

  Kane repressed a smile. Between the two of them, Grant still had the most difficulty accepting his crim­inal status.

  "Was it the symbol of some lord you served?"

  "In a way," Kane replied cautiously, hiding his astonishment that Shizuka apparently knew nothing of the Magistrate Divisions or the baronial oligarchy. She obviously did not come from America, but he seriously doubted she hailed directly from Japan.

  "Why do you continue to wear it?" the woman pressed. She kept her eyes on Grant's face even though Kane had spoken last. "Is it to spite your for­mer master?"

  "It's more in the way of protective coloration," Grant answered.

  Gravely, Shizuka said, "So you are like ronin, masterless samurai. Wanderers. Mercenaries."

  Grant thrust out his lantern jaw pugnaciously. "We're not mercies. We have no master or lord to serve, but that doesn't make us hired killers."

  Shizuka quickly ducked her head in embarrass­ment. "I have offended you. Please forgive me. It is apparent you follow the code of Bushido. I am not the only one here with poor manners."