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Chapter One

February 7, 2941
Imperial Palace
New Edo
Meiji Shogunate

Why have I wandered to here?  Of all the nooks and crannies and structures set on the grounds of my father’s private garden, why here of all places?  And, perhaps more important, why today of all days?

Hideki Tanaka asked himself those questions as he started to ascend the wooden steps rising from the gravel path towards the small building half-hidden among vines and trees.  The oak step creaked as he placed one foot upon it and bore down with his weight, but the old timber held firm and strong beneath him. 

That damned creak, he thought to himself as a faint smile appeared and then quickly faded away from his lips.  After all these many years, the boards still creak.  He climbed the second step, and then the third, and then he stood on the small porch beside a bronze bell and an open door.  Flickering light, dancing as only the flame of natural candles can, cast a warm glow on the walls within; and the scent of wax and incense, of freshly cut flowers and sweet cherry blossoms wafted out to tease his nose.

The board behind him, that first step, creaked once more.  Hideki shook his head, but he did not turn about.  “No.  I shall need no sword to defend me here; await my return,” he commanded.

Behind him, the two men, the two bodyguards, bowed low and backed away from the steps; but Hideki had not waited to see if the men obeyed him, instead he entered the shrine without glancing back.

Inside the shrine, light danced across the floor, the ceiling, and the walls amid rising plumes of smoke from candles that slowly dripped wax down their sides.  Three golden statues adorned the far wall, and before the statues sat an old man.  On a mat of woven grass the man sat wearing a robe of yellow and red, his legs crossed and his hands folded in prayer, his head bent low so that his mouth and nose were close, so close, to touching the skin of his fingers, his thumbs.  His head was either naturally bald or had been shaved near enough to the scalp that none could tell the difference; even though the skin itself was deeply wrinkled with the lines of age.

Hideki closed his eyes, and he bowed his head, and then looked up once more.  He turned and began to leave the shrine; but at that moment a voice stopped him.

“Why are you here, Hideki?” asked the priest as he continued to sit on the mat, his back towards the visitor to his shrine.  “My pardon, it had slipped my mind; why are you here, my Lord Tanaka?  Daimyo.  Shogun.  Emperor.  All these you now are, whereas only days ago it was your father who bore those titles, and you but that of Prince.  Why have you come, after all of these years, Hideki; why have you come?”

The priest stood and smoothly turned to face Hideki, who remained silent to the question.  And the priest nodded.

“You father’s spirit, his kami, was strong—it remains strong still.  He will have no trouble finding the house of his ancestors, oh Prince who was and now is . . . something more.  He will not begrudge me the prayers that I fail to utter in these few moments; not if it means we can discover what troubles you.”

“You know I do not believe in spirits, teacher.”

“No, Hideki; you claim to not believe in the kami and in the spirits of your ancestors.  But, you, my student of many years past, you do believe; unlike your own son.  You want to believe, but for a man of these times, a man who travels between the lights of heaven themselves; for such a man to believe in the ghosts of ancestors and spirits of air, fire, water, wood, and stone is difficult, hai?”

“I begin to remember why I quit coming here four decades ago, teacher,” Hideki said sternly.

“No, you left because there was nothing more I could teach, my Prince.  A seed was planted in the fertile soil of your mind and left there to bloom once the correct season arrived.  And now the harvest-tide has arrived.  What troubles you so much that you would return here, Hideki?”

Hideki felt the weight of his fifty-seven years melt away as his former teacher and counselor asked him the question again.  He stood a little straighter, a little taller; his muscles in his back, arms, and legs still tight and firm; for unlike many of such exalted birth and rank, Hideki had never shirked his duty as a samurai, and while his waist had expanded in recent years, the muscles beneath were still taut and toned.  And then he remembered why he had gone to walk in the gardens, and Hideki’s shoulders shrank back down; the lights within his eyes faded away leaving only cold icy orbs in their place.

He shook his head.  “Nothing with which you may aid me, teacher.”

“A state secret, then,” the old man replied with a shrug.  “You would perhaps be surprised with how many such state secrets your father confided with me over the years.  And how many family secrets, my Prince,” he finished in a softer, more gentle voice.  “I know of the arguments you and he had, of your differing goals for your future reign; I know of the hidden formations that Isaye gathered in secret against the laws of the Council of Lords, and of his fear that the Grand Union was rapidly approaching the end of its usefulness.  That the time of war would soon be unleashed upon the provinces once more, and the broken soldiers of the Union of Worlds unable to keep their enforced peace of the past two centuries.”

“All this I already know, my Prince.  How he regretted the ending of a noble experiment whereas you would embrace that loss in a bid for the freedom to act without restraint.  I know.  But is it guilt over those debates that brought you here, Hideki?  Or is it something more?”

Hideki smiled sadly.  “Not guilt, teacher.  Not over this, this . . . moot point . . . where we disagreed.  The Union’s days are finished, and at time when our preparations are still incomplete, far ahead of all of Father’s projections and theories.  And I fear that instead of a senile old man too feeble to respond to provocation, instead a slumbering beast has been roused.  Or will be soon be roused.”

“What has happened, my Prince?”

“Lord Chiobalsan has exploited his close relationship with Lord Chancellor Edward in order to murder the man and his family on Old Earth.  Troops of the Republic of Bator have seized not only the mother-world, but the entire core.  Oh, he claims that he acted only too late to prevent the assassination—the massacre—of the entire ruling line.  And, in the best interests of public safety and interstellar stability . . .”

The priest snorted in a combination of amusement and disgust.  “Of course; what else could he claim?”

Hideki nodded in agreement, but then he continued.  “And to preserve the internal stability of the Grand Union, he has taken it upon himself to assume the title of Lord Chancellor—and head of the Council.”

 â€œWhen?” asked the priest.

“Four days ago; Father spoke with him via the hyper-comm relay network three days ago, and suffered his stroke just hours afterwards.”

“And you seek vengeance against the man for causing your father’s death?”

“No, teacher,” Hideki softly answered.  “Though my heart cries out in sorrow, Father lived a full life for nearly an entire century.  His time would have come soon enough,” his voice trailed off and Hideki stared at the three golden statues, his eyes unfocused on the world surrounding him.

“Then what troubles you, my Prince?  Surely it is not the ending of the Grand Union.”

“Khalid Chiobalsan has taken members of my family as hostage on Old Earth, teacher; my cousin Daniel, his wife, their two children.  His messages to Father—and now to me—are insolent and arrogant; he demands my pledge of fealty to his rule, all the while assuring me that my kin, my blood, will be kept safe during the chaos.  His threats are there; veiled, perhaps, but they are there.  If I fail to comply, then they will suffer in my stead—that much is plain.”

“And so then we come to the heart of the matter, Hideki.  What is your choice?”

“Oh, we are not at the heart, not by far, teacher.  After his first stroke, before Father died in the infirmary, he begged me to swear an oath.  An oath that I would still my sword and shed no blood; he begged me to pursue the matter diplomatically, to retrieve Daniel and the children unharmed.  He pleaded with me, and I swore at his side that I would bide with his wishes.  And then he died in my arms.”
   
“Oaths are powerful things, Hideki; and an oath to a parent who lies dying is not lightly set aside; not if the one who swore it knows honor.”

Hideki lowered his head and closed his eyes, and he nodded in silent agreement.

“What does your heart tell you, Lord Tanaka?  What does your blood cry out for in this matter?”

Hideki drew in a deep breath to gain his composure.  He then straightened himself and locked his eyes with those of the priest.  “Khalid Chiobalsan is a coward at heart; he knows nothing but fear and betrayal, although he masks it well.  He will never return my kin to me out of fear that once he plays that pawn I will turn upon him.  I fear they are already dead, or wishing that they were.”

“And you, my Prince?  What does your heart ask of you?”

“To erase that smug arrogant smile from his face; to cut out his beating heart with my own hands and see the light fade from his eyes as he grovels in terror at my coming.  To wreak my vengeance upon his dying corpse and send a message to all others who would dare to use my own family against me; against the Meiji.”

“You are torn, then; between an oath sworn and a duty unfulfilled.  Truly, my Prince, you stand on treacherous ground.  Is this why you have come?”

“Hai.”

“Once, long ago on mother Earth, long before we learned to fly amid the stars, before our people learnt of the nations of the West, there were others who faced such a choice.  A noble samurai, called to the Emperor’s Court; yet this man was not a courtier, nor well-versed in the correct behavior he was expected to exhibit before his Imperial Majesty.  The nobles and the generals and the courtiers insulted him day-after-day, Hideki.  They insulted him until he had suffered enough, and in the presence of the Imperial Majesty he drew steel and routed the courtiers from the court.  But, by doing so, that samurai violated the Emperor’s law, and he was beheaded shortly thereafter, while the nobles and courtiers who laughed at the samurai walked away, laughing still more.”

“I know the story, teacher.  The samurai’s loyal followers broke their oath to the Emperor to pursue those who had laughed at their dead lord.  And when all were found and punished, they sent two of their number to the Court of his Imperial Majesty to confess all that they had done.  The remaining men—forty-seven in number—then committed seppuku to wipe away the stain of their broken oath.”

“And to this day, the Forty-Seven Ronin are remembered, Hideki.  They walked the tightrope between oath and duty; and they fulfilled both in the traditions of our people.”

The priest turned away to face the statues once more.  He sank back down onto the grass mat and closed his eyes.

An eternity passed, marked only with the slow and steady beating of Hideki’s heart.

“Are you still here, my Prince?  Have you no duty to fufill?”

“This path that you would have me walk, teacher; it is difficult.”

“Honor, Hideki, is more than the two swords that you wear.  It is more than the keeping of an oath that holds no peril.  It is about duty and responsibility.  Do your duty, my Prince.  It is not the path that you would have chosen, but it is the path that has chosen you.  Go now; there is nothing more that I have to teach you, nothing further for you to learn.”

And Hideki bowed low to the old man, turned, and walked from the shrine, his back straight and his eyes focused on what lay ahead.


February 8, 2941
Imperial Palace
New Edo
Meiji Shogunate

“Why has your father called for this gathering, my Prince?” whispered Joseph Bekker to the tall and whipcord lean man he stood beside.  Bekker, although clothed in his finest dress uniform like the other Shogunate officers present today in the Great Hall of the Palace, stood out among the crowd.  His pale skin and reddish blonde hair marked him as different from the men and women of Japanese and Asian descent that dominated the Shogunate’s nobility and highest military ranks.  Founded seven centuries ago by a child of the Last Emperor of Japan sent off-world and into exile, the Shogunate comprised people of all races, of all cultures—but its heart and soul was then, now, and forevermore Japanese.  And while those who claimed direct lineage from the natives of that small group of islands in the mother-worlds Pacific Ocean might not be the majority of the Shogunate any longer, they still retained enough influence and authority that to see someone of another ethnic background in a position of authority was a rare thing.

At least outwardly, that is.  A good percentage of those present today in the Great Hall had probably used dye to darken their hair and clandestinely visited cosmetic surgeons in order to appear more Japanese than their genes had originally intended.

Akiro Tanaka was not one of those who had to pay surgeons and stylists for the correct appearance.  The eldest son of Hideki Tanaka, the same Lord Tanaka that all within the Shogunate now owed their fealty and lives, Akiro was a direct descendent in the ruling line of Prince Soto who had led the expedition to New Edo and founded the Shogunate.  Although still quite young (the Prince had just celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday only two weeks previously), Akiro Tanaka wore the uniform of one of the Shogunate’s senior officers.  His high collared jacket was black as midnight, from the cuffs to the polished and enameled buttons, as were his trousers that were precisely bloused into the high leather boots that covered his feet and shins, boots polished to a mirror finish.  Gloves of black kid leather covered his hands, and about his waist he wore a polished belt, the buckle adorned with the raised and brightly enameled white and gold chrysanthemum that the Shogunate used as its symbol.  Although his rank and title gave him the right to wear the daisho—the two swords of a samurai—here, today, in this place, he did not.  Nor did any other of the hundreds of summoned guests to the Great Hall; it was forbidden for any save the personal guards of the Shogun—the Otomo—to bear weapons within his presence.
 
Akiro frowned at the question from his aide-de-camp before shaking his head minutely.  “He would not say, not even to me or Shiro.”  The corner of the Prince’s mouth quivered slightly into a smirk, as he thought back.  “Nor did he reveal his purpose to the major-domo, although he did consult yesterday with Grandfather’s pet priest.  And he summoned several of his commanders to his chambers late last night—Fujita, Matasuke, and Samasov; all men with whom he attended school and served with under Grandfather’s reign, men who he considers as his most trusted advisors and friends.”

Now Bekker in turn frowned.  “We have no one on the staffs of those fossils; they belong to the old guard.  Will they become a problem?”

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  Time will tell, Joseph, time will tell.  Father is a very different man than Grandfather; he knows what it means to be samurai and is not swayed by the romance of out-dated ideals and ancient myths.”

“Isaye grew soft towards the end, my Prince; might not your father do the same?”

“Take care with that tongue, Joseph, lest I tear it from your jaw with my own hands.  Father knows the stakes and he will not shirk aside.”

“My apologies, dear Prince,” the aide whispered, bowing his head low.  “I meant no offense against you or your Imperial father.”

Akiro waved away his aide-de-camp’s concern with a single pass of his gloved hand, even as he continued to watch the crowd for signs of his father’s arrival.  He then leaned forward to bring his lips close to Bekker’s ear.  “Such thoughts are best left to more discrete and secure locations,” he whispered.  “If the Otomo should overhear your remarks and believe you a threat to my father, then not even I can save you.  Nor would I try—my hand would be forced into denouncing you publicly in order to safeguard my own plans.”  The prince’s face twisted into a smirk momentarily.  “Not that you would live long enough to be questioned by them, Joseph.  There are others who serve me—and yearn for the status of your rank and position at my side.”

The aide bowed his head low before the prince.  “Should it serve you, my Prince, my life is yours.”

“As it should be Joseph,” Akiro softly replied, “as it should be.  The day is fast approaching for when this false peace will finally end and our samurai can earn honor on the field of battle once more.  It is ordained for Father to make the preparations, to lull the bureaucrats and politicians of the Grand Union into the illusion of safety—but the day will come when I lead our armies into victory and conquest.”

“The young officers are behind you in this, my Prince—and yet, many senior and even mid-level leaders of your father’s glorious Army and Navy will not commit themselves to your vision.”

“In time they will, Joseph.  Father and I agree that the hollow corpse of the Grand Union needs to be discarded before it poisons us with its corruption, yet the time is not quite right.  Dead its brain and heart may be—its soul as well—but in its arms there is still strength, still the knowledge of how to fight even if they do not know what it is there remains to be fighting for.  But in time, even the arms will atrophy and weaken, and then we will strike.  Then we will assume our rightful place as conquerors and watch those who share our borders quake with fear before us.”

The thunder of an ironclad stave striking against the granite flagstones that covered the floor echoed throughout the Great Hall.   Conversation ground to a halt as the guests—Akiro and Bekker among them—turned to face the sealed doors leading to the Shogun’s private wing of the Imperial Palace.  The oak slabs began to open, and the crowd prostrated themselves on their hands and knees, their heads bent low, as the first of the Shogun’s elite guard marched into the chamber.  Into the silent air rang a gong, first one lone note and then a second and a third.  The Shogun had arrived.

He slowly marched down the length of the Hall, his guests, his commanders, his sons seeing only the mirror finish of his boots as he passed, and the Otomo trailed in his wake.  The procession took less than a minute to cross the chamber and arrive at the Imperial Throne, although the guests would later claim that it felt as though hours had passed.  Despite whatever confidence each man and woman may have professed prior to the arrival of their lord and master, each was now gripped with the terror of their own guilty deeds, concealed from public view though they may have been—for conclaves such as the assembly today were not summoned for minor celebrations.  Many of those who had conspired against the leaders of the Shogunate in the past had received justice here, in this cold Hall, upon the blade of a sword—before just such a gathering.  Still more, guilty of nothing more than displeasing the Shogun, had also paid with their heads upon the ancient stone steps leading up to the Throne of Meiji.

“Rise, o ye sons and daughters of the earth,” intoned the major-domo as he slammed the stave into the flagstones once again.  “Rise and look upon your Daimyo, upon your Shogun, upon the heir of the Empire of the Sun.  Rise and listen to his words, o ye servants to his will and to his works.”

The crowd sat back upon their ankles, but did not stand—one did not stand in the sacred presence of Soto’s heir unless one were under orders to do so, not within the confines of this Hall, at least.  Hideki Tanaka sat in the simple wooden chair that served the Shogunate as a throne; he sat beneath a pavilion of translucent bolts of red and gold silk, his presence cast in shadow so that none could see him clearly.

A gasp went through the crowd as Hideki stood and walked out of the pavilion to stand before them in full view.  The major-domo and the Household servants bowed low—the Otomo did not as they continued to watch the faces and hands of the crowd before Hideki.  He stood silent, casting his icy imperious gaze over the assembled nobles, samurai, and high officials of his realm.  Like his son, the Shogun wore the uniform of a senior officer, unadorned by any decoration of rank or valor, save for the slight splash of color provided by the chrysanthemum that embellished his buckle.  His ebony hair was mixed with threads of silver at the temples, and although his eyes were almond-shaped, they were a striking shade of blue.  Unlike his son—or his guests—the Shogun also wore at his side the two swords of a samurai, their lacquered scabbards slid beneath his wide belt.  Hideki placed his left hand upon the long grip of his katana and he began to speak.

“Four days past, Our father—the Shogun Isaye—passed from this world to the next, leaving unto Us the mantle of Shogun.  The stroke which laid him low came about on the heels of news from Old Earth.  Edward Windsor, Lord Chancellor of the Grand Union of Worlds, lies dead within his palace walls, his family massacred beside him.  His assassin, Khalid Chiobalsan, a Lord of the High Council, no less, has seized the Throne of Man and claims rule over the Old Worlds of the Terran Commonwealth—and crowned himself as the Lord Chancellor , demanding We grant unto him proclamations of Our fealty and loyalty.”

Among the guests, that announcement caused eyes to widen in shock and surprise; a second gasp—louder than the one before—echoed across the chamber.  Akiro could not stop his own face from mirroring the expressions of those who served his father.  He quickly glanced to each side and saw now that he was not alone; that the Generals and Colonels and Admirals who filled the room had neither known nor expected such a message.

“Be still,” hissed Hideki from the dais.  “You are not children to be frightened of such changes—all things change in time,” the Shogun said with a faint smile.  “That lesson is one the children of Meiji have learned well—and will relearn once again.  Khalid does not yet comprehend what he has unleashed—for all of Us.  The Combined Fleet and the Grand Army of the Union will not proclaim this usurper as lord and master as he believes; instead they will return to their homeworlds and lay waste to his forces in a war such as mankind has never before witnessed.”

“And had he not provoked Us, We would have stood aside and allowed Lord Marshall Suchet the honor of disposing of this common bandit—preserving our strength at arms for the future.”

“But Khalid struck not just at the Grand Union of Worlds; he inflamed not only their soldiers and sailors and marines; he has also taken captive those of Our own family—the grand-son of my father’s uncle; his wife; their children; Our ambassadors upon Old Earth to the Grand Union.”

“He has sent unto Us messages, commanding—commanding—the sons of Meiji to stay Our hand in this matter, lest Our own blood-kin pay the price in Our place.  He demands Our recognition of his rightful rule, and that we commit Our forces in defense of his new regime.”

Hideki bowed his head towards the floor, and his voice dropped to a whisper—a whisper that still shattered the stark silence within the packed chamber as those present held their breath to hear what was yet to come.  “It was this message that caused Our father to suffer his fatal stroke.  Yet, before he died, even as he lay dying, he begged of Us that We would stay Our hand and Our swift sword; that We would safely retrieve Our blood-kin from the Usurper.  We gave unto Isaye Our promise that We would follow his course in this matter.”

His head snapped up, the Shogun’s eyes blazing with light—and yet as cold and unyielding as an icy glacier—his face set with the hardness of the granite flagstones at his feet. 

“And now, We do this—for the Shogunate.  Our shame is Our own; no one else shall share in it.  Our kin held captive by Khalid are lost; they are dead to Us.  We shall grieve for them; We shall mourn their loss most deeply.  However, no one—no one—shall ever demand through the force of hostages that the Sons of Meiji shall kneel before them with bowed head.  No one—no one—shall ever demand by threat of war that Our people will forsake their own customs and traditions to follow one who knows no honor.”

“Khalid has given insult not only to Us, but to Our people, to Our ways, to Our heritage, to Our entire realm.  We cannot—and will not—allow this insult to go unanswered.”

Almost faster than the naked eye could follow, Hideki reached out with his right hand and grasped the long blade at his side; his left held onto the scabbard as the razor-sharp ribbon of steel slashed up into the air with a resounding ring, where he held it high in the air for all those present to see its lethal curved edge.

“We are now, as of this moment, in a state of War with Khalid Chiobalsan and all those who follow him—willingly or otherwise.  Our sword of state has been drawn in anger—and it shall not be sheathed until it has feasted upon the blood of Our foe!”

Hideki paused and looked over the silent assembly before him, meeting the eyes of men and women too shell-shocked by the sudden news to lower their heads and avoid his Imperial gaze.  He looked over the crowd until he found his eldest son among them, as stunned as the rest.  “Prince Akiro, you shall lead Our forces.  Summon the regiments here to New Edo—gather the Fleet in orbit above.  And when Our muster has been assembled, then shall We strike.”

Turning his back on those gathered before him, Hideki lowered the sword—but did not return it to its scabbard—and descended the dais before he strode from the Hall.


February 10, 2941
Imperial Palace
New Edo
Meiji Shogunate

Although Imperial City was a metropolis measuring in the tens of millions of people, all of whom were crowded into its apartments and factories and shops, with all of the accompanying noise and light that mankind generated within its largest cities, the Imperial Palace on its outskirts was quite different in disposition.  Here, the crowds quieted themselves as they walked outside the walls of the palace grounds; automobiles owned by the residents featured industrial-strength mufflers; even the bells mounted on each of the streetcars were muted.  It was a gift to their sovereign lord by these common men and women, this quiet; the only gift which they could give to a man whose spoken word decided the fates of entire planets.  That gift which his people so freely gave to the Shogun was the freedom to walk within his gardens, among the blossoms of cherry trees, to enjoy the sights and sounds and smells of nature without suffering harsh reminders of the modern age in which he actually lived.

From without, many of those from the other Great Houses—or hailing from the Minor Provinces—openly scoffed at the walls of wood and stacked stone blocks, covered with ivy.  But those walls held modern sensors and cameras, recording devices and concealed weapons, and the ever-vigilant Otomo only admitted those who had legitimate business with the Shogun’s household.  Still, the walls of the Imperial Palace stretched for almost twenty miles, twisting and winding along the hilly slopes, wooded valleys, and bubbling streams that encompassed an area larger than many small cities could boast of.  Hundreds of buildings and scores of gardens and even a small lake fed by a tiny river were placed here and there in a bewildering and confusing manner that seemed, on the outside, to follow no logical pattern of order.  Amongst all of these buildings was the ‘public wing’ of the Imperial Palace.  Perhaps the largest structure on the grounds, it was also one of the few open to select members of the public.  Oh, common folk such as shopkeepers, police, and farmers were not allowed, of course, but the high nobility of the Shogunate were.  At least some among them were—along with a handful of others besides.

Colonel Sam Anders of the Grand Army of the Union was one of those others.  And the drawing room in which he stood admiring an 18th-century print of a map of the ancient Japanese home islands was even quieter than the gardens outside the building.  Fluent in the Japanese language, conversant in Japanese art and culture, Sam enjoyed taking the time to admire the invaluable work of art.  And time was something that the Colonel had in abundance.  Summoned to the Palace hours earlier for an audience with his counterpart in the Imperial Army of Meiji and a ‘high noble’, Sam had been waiting patiently as Lord Tanaka’s household staff had ushered him from room to room within palace.  As the Union’s liaison officer to the House of Tanaka and its military, Sam was used to waiting . . . and waiting . . . and waiting still more.  Patience, he had learned, was nearly as valuable a commodity among the Meiji as his status as one of the Union’s renowned Swordsmen—a Swordsman that had further defeated all four of his Meiji opponents in duels to defend the honor of the Grand Union.  Being obviously impatient was a sign of disrespect here and could lead to a serious loss of face—or even a request for a foreign officer such as he to depart the Shogunate and be replaced by one with a more tactful bent.

Each time he had changed rooms, the escort had been of higher and higher rank, the destination deeper and deeper within the palace halls, leading Sam to question what was really going on here.   The Embassy was working as hard and as fast as it could to confirm rumors about a flurry of orders sent out two nights ago—orders that summoned the lion’s share of House Tanaka’s military home to the capital world.  More than the lion’s share in fact; if the information they had so far gathered was accurate, the armed forces sworn to the service of the Meiji Shogun were far larger than Intelligence had ever suspected, larger than was legally allowed under the laws of the Grand Union of Worlds.  But the normal pipeline that funneled information into the Embassy had gone silent—and on the same night.  No one was talking about the reason for the troop movements and the sudden revelation of secret forces.  Theories his superiors had in abundance, from a Meiji first strike against either the Union or one of its neighbors, to an attempt to deliberately confuse Union Intelligence and expose their agents within the Shogunate’s worlds, to an unscheduled training exercise including false orders whose goal was to cause those same intel-officers to waste hundreds of man-hours attempting to discover the whereabouts of non-existent troops.  But no one knew for certain what the reason was.

Which was why the Ambassador had yanked Sam out of bed at two in the morning (after the Colonel had turned in just ninety minutes earlier) and ordered him to answer the summons—and perhaps find out exactly what the hell had the Meiji so spooked.

A slight creaking sound signaled the opening of a door, breaking into Sam’s wool-gathering.  He turned, and gave a deep bow to the major-domo of the Imperial Palace—the highest ranking member of the Imperial Household.  The man responded with a bow of his own, and gestured towards the hall.  Fiercely suppressing an urgent need to sigh, Sam kept himself composed as he exited the drawing room and followed the major-domo down a set of stairs into the lower levels of the palace.  Finally, they stopped before an unmarked door.  The major-domo rapped his knuckles on the wooden frame once, then twice, and then again a third time; and he stepped back before bowing low to Sam and sinking to his knees.

Sam slid the traditional door to one side and stepped into the room—and his jaw dropped in surprise at the sight of Shogun Hideki Tanaka sitting behind a polished oak desk.  To the Shogun’s right hand stood his eldest son and heir, Akiro Tanaka, while four guards stood post along the walls, wearing both sidearms and swords—all of which were thankfully still sheathed and holstered.  Their sub-machineguns, on the other hand, were not.  Combat slung, the short-barreled weapons were pointed down towards the floor, but steady hands were placed upon their grips, ready to swing the weapons into action in an instant.  The guards—the Otomo—were wearing full-body combat armor as well, including helmets featuring a mirrored face shield.  Sam blinked in deepening astonishment—normally the Shogun’s guards wore dress uniforms, reserving combat fatigues and body armor (as well as the SMGs) for actual emergencies.  The Shogun and his heir were not so armed and armored; each instead wore the undress uniform of the Imperial Army of Meiji.  But a naked sword lay across the desk in front of Tanaka, resting upon a bolt of silk.

Recovering from the surprise, Sam lowered his head and quickly went to one knee, bowing deep towards the wooden floorboards.  It was not quite the full prostration that a citizen of the Shogunate was required to give to the Shogun, but still signified deep respect.

Hideki Tanaka looked up from the paperwork on his desk at the astounded Union officer standing before him and leaned back as he appraised the man.  He noted just how quickly the Colonel recovered and knelt with a deep bow.  Quicker than many others in a similar circumstance would have, the Shogun thought to himself.  Let us see how well he can keep his wits if we throw him even more off balance.

“Rise Colonel Anders,” the Shogun said in crisp, unaccented English.  “We have much to discuss this morning—guards, you are dismissed.”

The four Otomo snapped to attention and one-by-one left the room, the last to do so drawing shut the sliding door behind him.

As Sam stood, his mind whirled with rushing thoughts.  English!  The Shogun had spoken directly to him and in English!  It was uncommonly rare for the Shogun to meet with, and speak with, a mere serving officer of his own service, much less a foreign one.  But for him to do so in the native tongue of that officer, instead of Japanese—the official language of the Shogunate—bordered on heresy here in this tradition-bound state.  And he had then dismissed his personal bodyguards, no less!  Something extraordinary was happening here, something that Lord Tanaka wished for Sam to be made aware of.  Keeping his head slightly bowed towards the floor, Sam waited once again—his training in patience having just been justified in spades.

Hideki suppressed the urge to smile; so the rumors that the Union sent a competent warrior as liaison, and one that furthermore understood the rules of his culture, were indeed true.  He made a small gesture towards his son with one hand.

Prince Akiro bowed slightly to his father, and then towards Sam.  “My father, Lord Tanaka, Daimyo and Shogun of the Imperial Shogunate of Meiji, has commanded that I speak from henceforth on his behalf, Colonel Anders.  Sit, Colonel,” Akiro said as he gestured towards a chair placed along the wall, “for this meeting the Imperial protocols have been waived.  Consider the two of us as fellow officers, and this the mess.  As you say in your own service, there is no rank in the mess, no?  You shall address me as Akiro and I shall in turn call you Sam.”

No further mention was made of the Shogun, which Sam took to mean that Lord Tanaka stood outside the scope of this meeting—he was here, but not here.  This is getting even more interesting, Sam thought, in the context of the ancient Chinese proverb.  He nodded politely to Prince Akiro, and took his seat as if the request were a command—which in fact it was.  “If this is how you want to proceed, Akiro, then it is how we will proceed,” Sam said.

Akiro smiled thinly—the charming look on his polished face could very easily be transformed into something both predatory and vicious, Sam thought to himself.  He tried to bring to the surface of his memory everything about this man he had ever read, but as he looked into the eyes of the heir, his soul shivered within him.  This is a very dangerous man—an ambitious man.

“That is indeed most excellent, Sam.  Before we begin, my father insisted that I offer to you our congratulations on your victories over our own samurai—those duels were remarkable and demonstrated your mastery over the sword.”

For a gaijin was left unsaid, although Sam heard the unvoiced words in the false smile and icy eyes of Akiro.  Those words must indeed be those of the Shogun, the Union officer thought, because this bastard sitting here and chatting with me would never offer such an honor to any who had defeated one of those that served him.  Quite contrary to the predictions of the ancients who had lived on Old Earth before the discovery of faster-than-light travel, the sword and other muscle-powered melee weapons had made a startling resurgence in these modern times.  It had been discovered that weapons fire aboard a starship tended to have all manner of unexpected, often tragic, results.  Such unintended consequences were avoided when the boarders and defenders were armed with cold steel instead of powerful firearms and explosives.  Further, many colonies had experienced a general decline in technology; turning any pristine world into a home for man had proven to be a challenging experience that sapped all of the energy of the colonists.  Smithing a finely crafted piece of steel into a weapon was far easier than building industries able to manufacture firearms and ammunition.  For all of these reasons, the art of the sword was in the midst of a new Golden Age—and the mantle of Swordsman was among the highest of honors the Union could bestow upon one of its servants.  Still, the Meiji were often regarded as superior to any other master of the blade, defeating their opponents time and again in duels between their officers and any who dared rise to the challenge.

“Thank you, Akiro.  Those words from the Shogun are truly a gift beyond measure; one which I will forever treasure.”

The eyes of the Prince lost some of their luster as he digested the elegant response and its hidden barb.  But then he smiled and they twinkled once more.

“I am afraid that must be the bearer of bad news for you, Sam.  Less than two weeks ago—on January 20th to be exact—Lord Chancellor Edward Windsor was assassinated by Khalid Chiobalsan at his palace on Old Earth.  The murder took place after the celebration of Edward’s twenty-second birthday—and Khalid did not stop there.  With your Grand Army engaged against a dozen secessionist movements across all of human space, and his own Republican forces on-hand to help Edward protect the Old Worlds of the Core, he quickly crushed what little resistance your brother officers could field.  He then assembled Edward’s entire family—present for his birthday celebration the day before—and massacred each and every one of them in cold blood.”

Cold shock punched Sam Anders in the belly like a cannonball, as Akiro grinned at the shaken Union officer.  No!  It can’t be, he thought—but the look of sheer glee on the face of Prince Akiro told him it was indeed true.

“Yes,” the heir whispered, “Khalid has confirmed most of the details, although his official story does seem to indicate that it was a coup by elements of the Grand Army that killed Edward and murdered his family—his Republican regiments arriving moments too late to stop them from carrying out their regicidal agenda.  And of course, having used his own troops loyal to the Grand Union to put down the revolt and destroy this treasonous faction, he has assumed the post of Lord Chancellor of the Grand Union—in order to insure public safety and the continuation of governmental services.  Oh, and he claims to have successfully taken intact the planetary defense centers on Old Earth, Nova Terra, and a dozen more of your core systems.”

This was madness!  Chiobalsan had to know exactly how the Grand Army and the Combined Fleet would respond—and that his own Republican Army and Navy had nowhere near the strength to defeat them.  And the fury that this action against Old Earth and the ruling family would incite further increased just how ferociously the Union forces would tear into units and worlds loyal to Khalid.  But if he had indeed captured the PDCs intact, then . . . Sam blanched as he considered what would happen to transports, cruisers—even battleships—that entered range of those heavy weapons.  And there was simply no way to approach Old Earth orbit without being targeted by three or more PDCs.

“There is a time of madness that is about to descend upon us,” that quiet malignant voice whispered once again.  “A new era ushered in by a fool who has provoked a great and terrible war such as humanity has never before seen waged.  And I have been given leave to take command of the armies and fleet of Meiji in this maelstrom, Sam, leave to wage war against Khalid as quickly as is humanly possible.”

Sam’s head snapped up and stared directly into the eyes of the Prince sitting not three feet away from him.  The Shogun was committing his troops on behalf of the Union?  Despite his attempts at composure, his mouth opened, and then closed, and opened again, but he could force no words from a throat gone completely dry.

Hideki Tanaka—Shogun, Daimyo, Emperor—nodded his head slowly in affirmation of all that Sam could not ask.  “Were Khalid less the fool, it would not be so, Colonel Anders,” and the Shogun suddenly chuckled bitterly.  “I am reminded of an old saying in English, ‘if wishes were horses than beggars would ride’.  Khalid is who he is—just as I am Lord Tanaka, I cannot be any but that.  Our roles are written by who we are, by the men we want to be, and they cannot—they must not—be changed.  That man has taken as hostage members of my own family; he has demanded that I acknowledge his ascendancy as Lord Chancellor and that I bow my head to him.  He has given insult not just to me and my ancestors, but to my samurai and my people, and to the entire Shogunate of Meiji.  And it is for those reasons that I have dishonored myself before the spirit of my father, a dishonor that must be erased with seppuku to right the scales of balance.  But that lies ahead of us, after we conclude this war and bring justice to Khalid.”

Sam was now beyond all disbelief; he was numb.

“My son Akiro shall be my Daimyo; he will lead our samurai on this quest.  But while the Shogunate may well be stronger than you might think us, we are not strong enough to take on the defenses of Old Earth without assistance.  Hence, I have ordered my son and those sworn to my service to obey your Lord Marshall Suchet and to conform to his plans for the retaking of Old Earth.”

Hideki raised a hand, stopping Sam before he could utter a single word.  “Yes, Suchet does not yet know that Old Earth has fallen to the barbarians.  Yes, there are no contingency plans in place for dealing with such a . . . disaster.  Yes, your Grand Army is spread thin across the width and breadth of human space—but none of that matters anymore, Colonel Anders.  I have taken the measure of Suchet as a man, and he will respond.  He will devise a plan of attack and he will concentrate his forces to obliterate Khalid and those who obey him.  And the Shogunate of Meiji will stand beside him.  Such is my command and it shall be obeyed.”

“You should convey this information to the Lord Marshall as soon as possible.  My staff has been given orders to supply you with copies of all transmissions between myself—and my father—and Khalid, as well as our own intelligence reports.  Inform him that I have ordered the bulk of the forces of the Shogunate to assemble here on New Edo, the best that my realm can offer.  One hundred and eighty regiments of the Imperial Army and more than two hundred ships of war are even now receiving their orders to converge here.  As of today, General Anders, you are my personal liaison officer with the Lord Marshall.  You will have access to me whenever you require it.  I would ask that you inform me of Suchet’s answer when you receive it.”

Hideki stood, quickly followed by both Akiro and Sam.  He walked around the desk and took the hand of the Union officer, and clenched it tightly.  “Please, also accept my personal condolences for the loss of your wife,” he whispered.  “Whatever you may need to perform your duties, my Household shall provide.”

The Shogun then turned and left the room without saying another word.  Akiro followed him, but stopped in the doorway, and turned about, and smiled—a cold, cold smile—once again.  “This shall be a most marvelous and terrible war indeed, General Anders.  I cannot wait for it to begin in full.”

As the door closed behind the Prince, Sam sat down, feeling as though all the warmth of his body was draining away, replaced only with cold emptiness.  He reached up to his neck, feeling the cross he wore beneath his jacket—the cross that his wife, Joan Windsor Anders, had given him and knew without a doubt in his heart that she was dead back on Old Earth.  She should have been here, with him, but Edward had demanded all members of his family attend his birthday celebration.  It had been her, though, Joan, who insisted that Sam—who hated those formal parties—should stay here on New Edo.  “It’s just for three weeks, love,” she had said before she boarded the shuttle that took her away.

Sam gasped and clasped his hands together to cover his mouth as he felt the bile in stomach lurch.  His mouth quivered, but then he stood and he slammed his fist into the wall again and again and again, before he stopped, gasping for breath, his bruised hand throbbing with pain.  He lifted his head and gasped a deep sob, and then the solider composed himself, taking out a square of silk cloth to wipe his face clean.  Later, he thought, as he refolded the cloth precisely and placed it back within his jacket pocket.  I can grieve later—for the moment, there is much work that must done.