Prologue

Fourteen hours had passed since the battle at Niquelo, and the Amalgam executives were now on their third online conference.

“How is Mr. Silver doing?” asked Mr. Gold.

“His condition is critical.” The response came from Mr. Kalium—Kalinin—who stated the facts without a hint of emotion. The Russian had been attending their meetings for several months now, and he had never shown the slightest hint of sarcasm or jocularity in his tone. He was a talented commander and former special forces member, with immense battlefield experience. As a quintessential career soldier, he had no interest whatsoever in either money or politics.

He hadn’t mentioned anything about Mr. Gold’s forces attacking Leonard’s under the guise of “sending backup,” nor the fact that they’d been completely routed for their troubles. He probably knew that commenting on Gold’s deeds at the online conference wouldn’t accomplish anything. After all, Gold had brought most of the executives to his side through bribery and blackmail.

Mr. Kalium continued his report. “He’s in a hospital on the outskirts of Acapulco, and even if he pulls through, there will be severe aftereffects. He may never walk again on his own.”

“A pity. So young,” Mr. Gold whispered as he sat back in his chair in the online conference room. It was a sound-only conference, so he assumed nobody could see him, but he was careful not to smile regardless.

The executives attending the conference were spread out all over the world. Gold was in the Far East—specifically Tokyo, a skyscraper in Akasaka. Stepping out of the conference room would take him straight to a view (through bulletproof glass) of Nagata-cho at noon.

He himself was Japanese, and held tremendous power in both his public and secret lives. He was also a patriot. His votes at Amalgam were always against local terrorism, and he kept tight control over the few incidents he did allow to occur. A Behemoth running rampant in Tokyo was acceptable; nuclear threats were not. He’d personally approved the gifting of the Behemoth to the A21 terrorists, but he’d included a fail-safe—a self-destruct switch he could activate when necessary. Gold’s intention had been to let it run rampant through the Ariake region, but once it was en route to the central metropolis, he would remove it from the field.

These “minor” domestic incidents over the past year had in turn earned him greater influence over Japan’s security. It was easy to pin the blame on variously capable and competent security officials, and to then replace them with people easier for him to manipulate. He fanned xenophobic sentiments and labeled those who tried to moderate him “traitors.”

Of course, they were traitors. Thievery and trickery were the way the world worked; to survive and carve out your own piece of the pie required dedication at least as strong as his. The fact that a mineral-poor island nation had spent over fifty years thriving without war was a miracle, and he had a responsibility to keep that miracle going. That was why he’d used Amalgam. Participating in their “fixed matches” and using them to expand his personal influence was simply an extension of his patriotism.

After finishing his report, Kalinin said, “I’m reorganizing my remaining forces to both guard him and track down the remnants of Mithril.”

“Good,” said Mr. Gold. “Where are you now, anyway?”

“The hospital in Mexico, still.”

“I see. Stay with him, then. We’ll all pray for his swift recovery.” Several executives let out knowing snickers at this. “We’re working on tracking down the remnants of Mithril, as well. Their submarine has slipped through the US Navy’s patrol net and disappeared into the Pacific again, along with that white lambda driver-mounted arm slave. They’re a troublesome bunch.”

“They’ll show themselves again soon enough. I’m sure they mean to fight Amalgam to the end,” another executive, Mr. Natrium, interjected. “The issue is the white AS. Is it the same model as that Arbalest thing? I can’t believe it took out three Behemoths in a few minutes.”

“Neither can I,” Gold said unhappily. “But it’s not too surprising. The Behemoth’s superiority crumbles in battle with a lambda driver-mounted opponent. We’ve known that for some time now.” The blitzkrieg was the Behemoth’s modus operandi, and its main strength was its overwhelming defenses. Once a lambda driver nullified that, even a machine of its immense size would fall quickly to a modern arsenal.

“That submarine and the white AS are both top priority. Having them lurking out there ties our hands. Our planning departments won’t stop nagging us about them, either. What can we do?” Mr. Natrium asked in annoyance.

“If reports are correct, that machine is the only one they have worth a damn,” said Mr. Gold. “Our Codarls can handle it, if we can just overwhelm it at the right moment.”

“You seem knowledgeable about military matters,” Kalinin said.

His words sounded like mockery of the militarily inexperienced Gold, who just let it go with a snort. “All fields are the same deep down, Mr. Kalium. Investments, elections, court proceedings... You and Mr. Silver just misjudged the situation.”

“I see. Perhaps you’re right.” For the first time, there was a hint of humor in Kalinin’s voice. It had a nuance of self-abasement, too, but the words themselves seemed dryly ironic. “We turned a blind eye to the treachery around us for far too long.”

Just then, Mr. Copper’s voice sounded out in a yelp. The holographic indicator for speech flickered frantically, accompanied by other sounds—rushed footsteps, then gunshots.

“What’s going on?” demanded Mr. Gold.

The holographic symbol for Mr. Tin’s channel also began to flicker. There was a spraying sound—the sound of a man being shot in the back of the head, and his brain matter splattering across the table in front of him?

Mr. Natrium’s death rattle followed. His indicator trembled as his panting, stammering, and screams painted an inhuman picture of his fate. Wait. Don’t shoot. I wasn’t involved. Please, let’s talk—

Another gunshot.

Just like that, three of Amalgam’s executives were dead. Those remaining held their breath silently, panting or fidgeting, checking to make sure the same thing wasn’t about to happen to them.

“Secured,” said a man’s voice over Copper’s channel.

“Secured,” said another man’s voice over Tin’s channel.

“Secured,” said a young woman’s voice over Natrium’s channel.

Three executives, scattered all around the world, had been killed simultaneously—most likely by agents of Leonard Testarossa. Those particular men—along with Gold—were probably the ringleaders of the plot to kill Leonard.

“Wh-What are you—”

“I told you, Mr. Gold. We turned a blind eye for far too long,” Kalinin said, his voice now coming from over Gold’s shoulder. The Russian held the portable transceiver he’d been using until that moment in front of his eyes, shut it off with a press of his thumb, and tossed it carelessly onto the desk. “I’ve disposed of your security. No help is coming.”

Even if Kalinin had figured out his identity and location, Mr. Gold still didn’t know how he’d gotten here. He’d been in Mexico just twelve hours ago... It would take most planes twenty hours to reach Tokyo from there. To get from South America to the Far East in such a short time, then penetrate his security net... it was impossible, unheard of.

“Diet Member Kaneyama Takeshi was merely a decoy, your patsy. The real Mr. Gold—you—will be the headliner on tonight’s news.”

“Wait—”

Kalinin, an expert in the ways of destroying a human body, didn’t even need a weapon. He simply slammed the man’s face into his desk, then dropped an elbow on the back of his neck like a guillotine. The instant breaking of his spine severed all feeling in Gold’s body and his control of all bodily functions, including breathing. He slumped onto the floor, gasping like a goldfish on land. In his state of dimming consciousness, he could only hear Kalinin’s voice saying something to the remaining executives.

As expected of Amalgam’s executives, the remaining dozen or so quickly regained their calm. Some of them even appeared to have anticipated this series of events.

Kalinin grabbed the microphone on the table and addressed the group. “Mr. Gold used his offer of ‘support’ to attack us,” he said. “The plan was to kill Mr. Silver and steal his resources. I believe our actions were a justified reaction to this betrayal. Are there any objections?”

The entire group remained silent.

“Good... But I believe there is still one more approval we need to earn. Well?” Kalinin asked, then waited patiently for the reply.

The one to whom he was speaking didn’t appear in the online conference roster. He rarely participated at all. But he was out there somewhere, listening in. A serious civil war between executives—one that could potentially escalate—would surely draw him out of hiding.

Amalgam had no official leader; it was a parliamentary system, woven together like the cords of a net. But they couldn’t maintain order on their own. They needed a manager. This manager never voiced his own opinion, and never showed himself; he simply provided opportunities, as well as compromises. The “amalgam” that could combine with all the other elements...

“Mr. Mercury.” Kalinin addressed him by name. “Come out, would you? To hold your tongue now would shatter our trust in you.”

The online conference image blinked, and the symbol signifying participation turned yellow, a sign that the typically unused channel had gone active. “This seems to be a problem,” said Mercury’s electronically altered voice.