Cisneros nodded. “I wonder if one world government would be so bad.”
“I think it would be a good thing,” said Fatemeh. “However, I think humans have to build that government on their own.”
“Do you know what happened to Legion?” asked Cisneros. “I just caught a glimpse of him reunifying before he vanished from my mind.” His smile grew wistful. “I have to admit I had grown used to his incessant chatter in my brain. It’s lonely with him gone.”
Ramon shook his head. He didn’t like the idea of an alien creature knowing his thoughts and poking around his memories. He was glad the interfering, invisible alien had vanished. “I have no idea where he is. No idea if he’ll even return.” He hoped the alien had left for good.
* * *
Legion lingered on Earth, observing humans in a contrite silence as he pondered his actions. He’d chosen the name Legion millennia ago because he was a swarm of microscopic self-propelled automata. Although the name also could mean an armed contingent, he possessed only a limited ability to alter the environment around him. Long ago, he had been a single, self-aware organism who discovered he could upload his memories, consciousness, personality—everything that made him alive—into a machine which had the ability to modify itself. The machine evolved and grew stronger until it achieved its present form. No longer encumbered by a planet or mortality, Legion wandered the universe, observing, learning, and gaining knowledge.
Since arriving on Earth, Legion had encountered beings who referred to themselves by names such as Duncan, Gorloff, Morales, and Cisneros. One called himself Maravilla—marvelous in the Spanish language—a name the being assumed to identify himself, much as Legion created his own moniker. Legion remembered assorted names. Most were simple combinations of letters and numbers which identified the different machines he once occupied, but some held ancient meaning. Perhaps one had even been his name as a corporeal life form.
For millennia, Legion never once cared about any names he once held. Now, he looked back on his long journey and wondered how his knowledge changed him. Perhaps if he knew his earlier names, he might remember what he’d been like in times past. He searched volumes of data, but couldn’t tell which name had once been his. One early machine he’d occupied had deemed the information irrelevant and erased his early names from memory. If Legion had tear ducts, he might have wept for the memory of the organic being he had once been.
His. He. What did personal pronouns mean when you were a swarm of microscopic machines that reproduced asexually? Since he arrived on Earth, Legion gravitated toward male hosts. He wondered if that meant anything. Humans ascribed much meaning to gender. According to his observations, men tended to cultivate power more than women. Legion never cared about power before arriving on Earth. He was an invisible being, content to observe whatever he came across. Power only mattered once he developed an agenda.
Over the millennia, Legion observed much. He watched solar systems form. He watched supernovae destroy thousands of species in a microsecond. On one planet, simple multicellular organisms frolicked among algae forests. In a distant, barred spiral galaxy, a star empire held sway over a million worlds. He occupied a green and tentacled space explorer’s brain to understand the reason for a lonesome voyage and found a kindred spirit who thrilled in being the first of his kind to visit a system of planets orbiting a pulsar. Legion examined a five-gendered animal species to find out what they sought in mates. He rode tachyons from one end of the universe to another. He placed himself in a slingshot orbit around a black hole and listened to the whispers of information retreating with the radiation. It all fascinated Legion, but he never once involved himself, except as a spectator.
Never once, though, had Legion come across another creature identical to himself—a merging of organic and machine intelligence.
What compelled Legion to get involved with humans? He supposed it came from encountering them at just the right point in their history, when machines moved beyond tools. He hoped, perhaps, to influence human evolution. Perhaps they would avoid the suspicion some species held about machines and form a true kinship. Over a few thousand years, they might evolve into creatures like him.
Was he lonely?
There was no logic in the idea that a swarm could be lonesome. Nevertheless, when he integrated with Maravilla, Cisneros, even Gorloff, he enjoyed interacting with other beings who might interpret the same data in different ways and see meaning beyond the physical. He also knew their loneliness when he sat quiet in the back of their mind and observed.
Legion had been tempted to fully integrate with Maravilla and Cisneros. He could have lived out their mortal existences as them, sharing their consciousness. It would have been a flicker in his existence, but what a joy it would be to understand the world as they did and bring the experience back to the swarm. Then he realized they had a right to their own existence, no matter how fleeting. He must not trifle with their lives.
The human called Ramon Morales also helped him see the inherent danger in attempting to manipulate the entire species. Instead of unifying the species, he might cause them to destroy each other. Legion had seen civilizations self-destruct. He could fix the problem by occupying every human on the planet, but then humans would just be puppets. Their free will and their perspectives made them interesting potential companions who could help him evaluate and find meaning in the knowledge he’d gained.
Legion decided to pull back and see what the humans did. If he could prevent destruction, he would. If they asked for help, he would evaluate the situation and take the most beneficial action. He wanted them back on a track to meld with their machines. He looked forward to a day when he would have a companion. He could wait. And if humans failed, he would seek other beings, elsewhere.
* * *
Shinriki worked late into the night helping those who survived the raid clear away the dead and restore order to the village. Only forty of the one hundred twelve villagers remained and most were bruised and bleeding. After the elders counted, the only Ainu missing was Ipokash. Despite their wounds, the few surviving men made brave noises about tracking the samurai to their lair. The village elder, Akiki shook his head as he cradled his splinted arm. “We are too weak to fight the samurai. Fighting now would just bring more tragedy.”
Shinriki trembled as he stared into the campfire, tears streaming. He agreed they didn’t have the manpower to hunt the bandits, but he needed to take action. “I’ll go to Poronaysk tomorrow and ask the Russian mayor for help,” he choked out at last.
Akiki looked up, a faint glimmer of hope warring with resentment. “What do the Russians care for us?”
“The Russians might not care for us,” said Akiki’s wife, Katkemat, “but they will surely care about a Japanese incursion on the island.”
Shinriki nodded, then trudged off to his hut and fell into a troubled sleep.
The next day, he sought a simple breakfast but found the samurai had taken all the grains he might use for a porridge. Stomach rumbling, he dressed. Fog rolled in overnight and poured through the holes in the hut’s walls, adding to the day’s dismal, dreary feeling. Shinriki strode to the river, pushed his boat into the water, and rowed across to the far side.
Men in tattered coats and trousers eyed him as he reached the far bank. A few spoke in hushed Russian, but didn’t speak to him. The Russians who worked along the riverbank were accustomed to the Ainu fisherman, neither hostile, nor congenial. None seemed concerned about the village’s condition. Had no one witnessed the samurai raid?
Shinriki slogged up the riverbank onto the village’s cobbled streets lined by gray boxy structures. Sometimes, the Ainu villagers crossed the river to barter for food or supplies. Shinriki knew his way around. Along the main street, men strung white, red, and blue banners between windows. Beyond the city hall, workers raised a long, narrow tower. Poronaysk poised for a celebration.
Shinriki climbed the city hall’s steps and entered a bare, gray corridor. Although a s
team radiator stood in the hallway, the Ainu fisherman shivered and wondered how the Russians could work in such a sterile place. He entered a small office. A clerk wearing a coat, trousers, and waistcoat only a little less tattered than those belonging to the men on the riverbank sorted papers. Shinriki waited for a moment. When the clerk continued to work, the fisherman stepped forward and rapped on the tabletop. The clerk looked as though he’d eaten something sour. “May I help you?” The words came out in a huff.
“I wish to see the mayor.” Shinriki spoke serviceable Russian.
The clerk shook his head. “I’m afraid that would be impossible. The mayor is much too busy right now.”
“Raiders attacked our village last night,” said Shinriki. “My wife abducted. Many killed. Our horses stolen.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The clerk’s words sounded rehearsed rather than sincere. “But what you Ainu do to one another is of little concern to us.” He leaned forward, ready to return to work.
Shinriki barred his teeth, frustrated. The Ainu were not mere savages who raided one another. “Not Ainu,” said Shinriki. “Samurai.”
The clerk looked up and blinked, showing interest for the first time. “Samurai? From Japan?”
“Where else would samurai come from?”
The clerk sat back as though evaluating Shinriki anew. “When did this raid occur?”
“Last night. Many men killed. My wife… taken.”
The clerk removed his wire-frame spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Wait here.” He stood and disappeared through a door behind the desk.
Shinriki noticed the clerk had not offered him a chair. As he waited, raised voices came from the other room, but not quite loud enough for him to make out the words. After a few minutes the clerk followed a man with silver hair and a neat goatee through the door. Taller than Shinriki, the new arrival wore a tailcoat and a purple waistcoat.
“You say samurai attacked your village?”
Shinriki recounted the previous night’s raid, but sensed he was losing precious time. “They took my wife. Will you send soldiers to find them?”
The mayor waved his hand. “You’re sure these people were Japanese?”
“They wore samurai armor,” insisted Shinriki.
“Does it matter if they’re Japanese?” interjected the clerk. “If this raid occurred, it’s clear we have troublemakers on our hands.”
The mayor nodded. “And we don’t need trouble. Especially not now.” He met Shinriki’s gaze. “Return to your village. I’ll send a patrol to check out your story and follow up.”
“The raid happened.” Shinriki opened his robe and revealed his bruised shoulder.
The clerk stepped forward, took Shinriki by the elbow, and led him from the office and down the hall. “I can assure you this matter is of the upmost importance to the mayor. You should return to the village and wait for the soldiers.”
Shinriki frowned, but couldn’t think of anything better to do, so he returned home
As the day wore on, the fog dissipated, but a high overcast remained. The Russians’ half-hearted response disheartened the villagers and they again debated whether they should attempt to follow the bandits’ trail on their own. Despite their brave words, only Shinriki’s cousin Resak seemed up to the task. He’d survived the battle with just a few bruises and scratches. While Shinriki pleaded with the mayor, Resak followed the samurai trail a few miles upriver before returning home to report what he learned.
Before noon, two barges ferried a squad of mounted Russian soldiers across the river. The soldiers examined the village, questioned a few of the men, then walked around the perimeter while the horses grazed on the lush grass. Completing their circuit, they convened near the remains of the smokehouse. “Whoever raided your village rode off along the river,” declared the squadron leader. Shinriki didn’t know Russian military insignia well enough to know his rank.
“Why does the mayor doubt us?” asked Shinriki.
The soldier sneered, as though simple questions from peasants annoyed him. When Shinriki refused to back down, the soldier explained further. “It’s not that he doubts you. He just doesn’t want soldiers tied up with everything that’s happening right now.”
“What exactly is happening?” pressed Shinriki.
The soldier’s eyes drifted along the tree line. “You’ll find out soon enough. All I can say is that it’s an important time for Poronaysk.” He returned his gaze to Shinriki. “Don’t worry. If the bandits are still around here, we’ll find them and we’ll deal with them.”
“We want to come along. At least a few of us.” Shinriki brandished his bow and arrows. Resak stepped up beside him.
The Russian soldier raised his hand in an unspoken signal and the scouts mounted their horses. “You’ll just slow us down.” The soldier’s words held no malice. “We’re better equipped to deal with these bandits.” He mounted the horse and swept his hand forward. The soldiers rode off, following the samurai’s trail.
Akiki approached and grabbed Shinriki’s elbow as though he needed a little extra support. “So is that it? We just wait for the Russian soldiers to return?”
“I may not be as fast as them, but I can follow their trail and report what they find.”
Akiki grunted approval.
Shinriki strode after the soldiers. Resak followed but Shinriki held up his hand. “Stay here and help the elders. The Russians may detain me if they catch me following. If I don’t return, it’ll be up to you to rescue Ipokash and the supplies.
Resak gave a sharp nod as Shinriki set out.
Chapter Two
Hawaiian Holiday
Ramon leaned across the ship’s rail, breathless as the Ballena steamed into port. The land rose up to his right into a single great mountain topped by a billowing cloud. To the left, swaying palm trees and vegetation carpeted the land. He’d seen palm trees before in Southern California, but never as numerous as those on this island oasis in the middle of a vast ocean. Growing up in the New Mexico desert, he’d never seen greenery so wild and uninhibited. Ahead lay a village, quaint by the standards of sea ports like San Francisco and Los Angeles. He sensed a presence behind him and held out a hand. He sighed at Fatemeh’s tender, but firm grip.
“You’ve traveled the world, corazón,” said Ramon, “have you ever seen a place as beautiful as this?”
She shook her head. “Nothing as lush as this. People have left their mark, but not as much as most places I’ve been.”
Two ships swayed at anchor in the harbor. One flew an American flag, the other a Union Jack. Not exactly a bustling port, but the two ships reminded Ramon that Russia wasn’t the only country with imperial ambitions.
Captain Cisneros tromped up the deck, allowing Ramon a moment to squeeze Fatemeh’s shoulder before taking a step to the side.
“Welcome to the Island of Maui in the Kingdom of Hawaii. I hope you like it. It’s my present to you both,” announced the captain.
Ramon’s eyes widened as Fatemeh gasped.
Cisneros laughed. “Oh, not the whole island, of course. My friend, Sir Elias Pennington-Smythe, owns a sugar plantation up the beach a few miles. He has a small bungalow on a quiet inlet. It’s private and I thought you would enjoy some time in paradise.”
Ramon nodded as he turned around and shook the captain’s hand. “It’s perfect, señor. Thank you!”
“It’s the least I could do.” The captain’s eyes drifted to Fatemeh. “You set me on a profitable—and legal—course.” With that, Cisneros turned away. He called orders to his executive officer. Mr. Gonzalez, in turn, relayed the orders via speaking tube.
Ramon moved away from earshot while watching the activity on the docks. “Here’s the thing I never understood,” he said to Fatemeh under his breath. “The captain was penniless after the Mexican Revolution. He stole money when he raided ships. Did he not return the money?”
Fatemeh sighed. “Sometimes it’s best not to pursue those lines of inq
uiry. That’s between God and the good captain now.”
“For one who seeks justice, you seem awfully ready to turn a blind eye to dirty deeds, corazón.”
She put her arm around Ramon and gave a gentle squeeze. “I also seek peace. Often times a blind eye is necessary to that goal.”
Ramon turned his head and kissed her. She melted into him. Two weeks ago, she would have resisted, hesitant to show too much intimacy before they married, but now she resisted no longer. Ramon anticipated the bungalow’s privacy and time alone with the woman he loved. The ship lurched, causing them to break the embrace.
Crewmen tossed ropes overboard to dockhands on the pier. Ramon’s eyes followed the ropes, surprised. The dockhands wore little, even for men working in such a torrid climate. Some only wore trousers, while others wore a floral wrap around their lower bodies. Ramon gathered they must be native Hawaiians. He wondered if the Hawaiians had any ships of their own, or if this port just existed for Europeans and Americans. Fatemeh stared at the workers unabashed.
“Enjoying the scenery?” asked Ramon.
Fatemeh blinked, but smiled rather than have the good grace to look embarrassed. “I’m imagining what you would look like in traditional Polynesian dress.”
Ramon glanced at the men on the dock, muscles rippling and glistening as they tied off the ropes. His stomach lurched and his face heated. He hoped Fatemeh wasn’t too serious about trying to get him into a native costume.
A crewman slid a section of the ship’s rail aside and lowered a gangplank to the dock. A horse and carriage pulled up at the pier and a man in a top hat and tailcoat emerged. He looked out of place among the topless dock workers. A shrill boatswain’s whistle set Ramon’s teeth on edge. The man in the top hat boarded the ship followed by a Polynesian man, also in a tailcoat. The Polynesian man ran his fingers under his shirt’s long sleeves, as though trying to give himself more air. Captain Cisneros stepped forward and shook the new arrival’s hand, then beckoned Ramon and Fatemeh over.
The Brazen Shark Page 2