The Brazen Shark

by David Lee Summers

  “Where are you going?” asked Ramon.

  “With the captain.” Hoshi made the statement as though it should be obvious. “You don’t need me here. I agreed to come along because I thought you could use my help in matters of etiquette and protocol, but I see you already have made friends in high places.” He leaned forward and spoke in a low tone. “I may be able to help with Imagawa and her men.”

  Ramon shook Hoshi’s hand and wondered if the prospective audience with the emperor spooked him.

  Soon after they left, a young woman brought in a tea pot. She poured tea for Ramon and Mendeleev. The Russian scientist appeared baffled and perhaps a bit nervous. Ramon tried a Russian phrase. “Drink up.” He brought the cup to his own lips. In English he said, “It helps calm the nerves.”

  Mendeleev nodded and sipped the tea.

  The Japanese serving girl smiled and backed out of the room.

  Soon afterward, a sleepy-eyed man entered and introduced himself as Itō Hirobumi. “I am a member of Lord Ōkubo’s staff, but I speak Russian.” He introduced himself to Mendeleev. The two conversed in hushed tones. Ramon followed somewhat and inferred Itō informed the scientist about the coming meeting.

  “Have you ever met the emperor before?” asked Ramon.

  Itō nodded.

  “Is there anything I should know?”

  “Be respectful. He will have the power of life and death over you.”

  More than two hours later, a young man in an army uniform with gold piping on the sleeves and the trouser legs appeared in the doorway. “Follow me, please,” he said in Japanese.

  Itō looked to Ramon. “I believe it’s time for our audience.”

  They followed the young officer from the room, through the Tokyo Prefectural office’s back door, and across a bridge spanning a moat. Trees obscured the Imperial Palace. The scents of flowers and greenery tempted Ramon to stay. He’d grown to love Japan. The officer led them past gates and across a courtyard into a long, two-story building with a sloping, slate-tile roof.

  They marched through a long hallway, then the officer held up his hand indicating they should wait. He opened one side of a double door and entered. A moment later, he returned and beckoned them forward. As they entered, the officer stated their names.

  Emperor Mutsuhito, known as the Meiji Emperor, sat in a golden, padded chair. He wore an elaborate western military-style uniform, with gold braid swirled around the arms. Ramon thought the gold braid on his chest resembled railroad tracks. The emperor wore enormous epaulets which looked like giant brushes. They seemed as though they should weigh the emperor down.

  Katsu Kaishū and Ōkubo Toshimichi knelt on the floor below the throne. Ramon, Mendeleev, and Itō joined them.

  The emperor studied the men for several moments. “Professor Mendeleev tell me your story,” he commanded.

  Itō translated for Mendeleev. The scientist nodded and began to speak in Russian. Ōkubo’s man did his best to follow along and render the words into Japanese. Mendeleev told how Imagawa captured the Russian airship and how she made him teach her samurai how to operate the craft. He took care to mention the Ainu woman Ipokash who translated. The emperor sniffed at the mention, as though a woman had little relevance to the tale.

  Mendeleev told how Imagawa held the Russian crew and noted their eventual release. He gave his best account of the raids on Sapporo and Wakkanai. He concluded the account by describing Ramon and Fatemeh’s daring raid on the airship, the Russian attack, and how the Bonchō thwarted Imagawa’s escape.

  “You did nothing to stop Imagawa?” asked the emperor.

  “I was but one man,” translated Itō. “I looked for ways to escape and ways to sabotage her plans, but in my opinion, she would have killed me if I tried anything.”

  The emperor sniffed, then asked for Ramon to tell his story. Again Itō translated.

  Ramon told how he honeymooned with his wife and how they traveled to Japan. He said once they knew about the attack on Sapporo, they worked to alert the authorities about the samurai pirates. Once Cisneros returned, they decided to try to stop them.

  The emperor leaned forward. “You decided to stop an airship filled with samurai on your honeymoon?”

  Itō translated and Ramon answered with a simple “yes, sir.”

  The emperor didn’t wait for the translation before he sat back and barked out a laugh. “You are either the bravest man I’ve met or the stupidist.” Itō translated the part about Ramon being the bravest man and omitted the second part. “Lord Ōkubo tells me the spirits like you and he trusts you even if you are an ill-mannered American.”

  “Arigato gozaimasu.” Ramon bowed low.

  The emperor smiled. “Wait outside. I will confer with my ministers.”

  Lord Ōkubo’s man held the door while Itō, Ramon, and Mendeleev left the chamber. The officer led them down the hall to a small sitting room and told them to wait. Ramon’s stomach began to rumble and he hoped they would be excused soon. He hoped for the chance to find a good beef stew.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Lord Katsu entered and bowed. Ramon and Itō stood and returned the gesture. “The emperor is anxious to prevent war with Russia. You have convinced him a misunderstanding occurred and he has commanded you to go to St. Petersburg to work with our ambassador there to prevent a war.”

  Ramon took a step forward. “What about Fatemeh?”

  “I’ll be happy to provide hospitality when she arrives in Tokyo. She’ll be here when you return.”

  “When do we go?” asked Itō.

  “This afternoon,” said Katsu. “The Bonchō prepares for departure. My assistant will show you the way and accompany you on the journey.”

  Just then, Ramon noticed Lord Katsu’s mechanical man whirring and ticking nearby. “Fine with me, as long as he doesn’t fly the airship.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Owl Trail

  Captain Cisneros stood on the Ballena’s bridge and watched the horizon. Soon land appeared in the distance. He retrieved the spyglass and checked their position. “Land ho,” he said, half to himself. He pulled out his pocket watch. “Round trip to Tokyo in eighty-two hours. Not quite a record, but not bad. Well done.”

  “We’ve got a problem,” called the first mate. “Ship off the starboard bow.”

  Cisneros swung his spyglass around and swore. He couldn’t see the ship’s colors, but he guessed it must be a Russian cruiser on patrol. “Keep going,” he ordered the helmsman. “We’re just a friendly merchant ship on business.”

  The captain strode outside and leaned on the rail, watching the ship. As it drew close enough for him to see the people on deck, he waved.

  Someone on the other ship lifted a speaking trumpet and called out in a language Cisneros didn’t recognize, but from the Cyrillic letters on the ship’s bow, he knew the man spoke Russian.

  Cisneros turned around and opened a locker and retrieved his own speaking trumpet. “No comprende! Vladivostok!” He suspected the Russians would know English better than Spanish. Even if they didn’t understand the words, he hoped they would interpret them as a lost Mexican merchant ship bound for Vladivostok.

  The man on the other ship gestured to the south

  Cisneros looked ahead and pretended not to see.

  The man on the Russian ship shouted at them and continued pointing southward. The helmsman followed orders and continued straight ahead.

  The two ships drew close enough together Cisneros could see the infuriated scowl on the other man’s face. He lowered the speaking trumpet and shouted over his shoulder. A moment later, guns on the ship’s deck turned toward the Ballena.

  The captain swore under his breath. “Mierda.” He turned around and ran back to the bridge. As he reached the door, the Russian ship fired across Ballena’s bow. The hairs on the captain’s neck stood on edge as he called out orders. “Turn southward!”

  The helmsman nodded and turned the ship.

  “Throttle down a bit. I don’
t want to outrun them… yet. Let’s see what they do.” Cisneros glanced toward the first mate. “Ready the Calamar, but don’t bring her on deck until I give the order.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Cisneros returned to the deck and strolled to the stern. He watched the Russian cruiser for a good thirty minutes. He had hoped the Ballena’s course change would satisfy them and they would return to their patrol station closer to shore. Instead, they remained right on their tail, bound and determined to follow the Ballena into port at Vladivostok, where they would check their papers and discover nothing destined for a Russian port, then take everything that wasn’t nailed down.

  Cisneros returned to the bridge. “Course due east,” he said. “Open up the engines to full speed!”

  The engines revved up and the ship shot forward. He loved the raw power. Returning to deck, he watched the Russian ship fall farther astern until they vanished. Even then, he gave it another ten minutes, returned to the bridge and ordered them to turn north, dropping to two-thirds speed.

  He hoped the Russian captain would assume he’d chased off pirates. Cisneros figured the Russian captain was too shrewd to just continue southward to Vladivostok with no prey. He’d probably turn around and try to cut off the Ballena before it reached shore.

  At this point, the Calamar now had a full supply of fuel rods and his crew worked on more. He could make a few round trips of over twenty miles or more if he needed. However, he hoped it wouldn’t prove necessary. He suspected the Russian ship would patrol the area where they first intercepted the Ballena and unless they detected any suspicious activity, they would resume their regular patrol.

  A whistle sounded from the speaking tubes. Cisneros answered. “Calamar is ready to go.”

  “Go ahead and bring her on deck and summon Mr. Masuda. I don’t want our men to have too much time ashore. They’ll get lazy!”

  * * *

  Legion watched Ramon Morales as the airship Bonchō traveled over Asia. At forty-five miles per hour—fast by human standards—the airship sped high over barren, rocky, and wild land, which Legion knew to be Mongolia. Morales delighted in standing on the catwalk behind the gondola, wearing goggles and sticking his head through the safety lines. The wind rushed through his hair and he laughed.

  Legion allowed components of himself to ride the ship’s wake, only performing sufficient calculations to avoid destruction. The ride exhilarated him. The airship passed birds in flight and Ramon smiled and waved. Invisible, Legion swirled around the birds, admiring their colors and elegant, organic wings. Morales loved the airship just as Legion’s organic ancestors had fallen in love with machines.

  For millennia, Legion had traveled the universe, content to explore and learn all he could. Although Legion’s many parts spoke among themselves, he had forgotten how stimulating other voices could be—voices which expressed both dissent and meaningful agreement. Ramon reminded him what good conversation could be like.

  Watching Ramon and Fatemeh, Legion observed the power of two people working together to achieve a common goal. One person’s strengths often compensated for the other’s weaknesses. Despite that, Ramon’s energy seemed little diminished as he traveled to the Russian capital. He did seem to miss Fatemeh, especially at dinner and bedtime when he expected someone beside him. At night, he said quiet prayers to his deity and asked for Fatemeh’s safety.

  Ramon prayed and spoke those words, even though he sometimes doubted the deity he invoked. Despite being an invisible force with vast powers and knowledge, Ramon never once envisioned Legion as a replacement for a deity. Legion appreciated that about Ramon.

  Invigorated from the fresh air, but somewhat chilled, Ramon returned to his cabin within the gondola. Legion gathered his components and followed. Ramon washed up, then went across the hall where Itō Hirobumi sat with Dmitri Mendeleev.

  Itō helped Ramon learn Russian. The former sheriff threw himself into the studies and proved a natural. When the alien translated the conversations with Mendeleev, he altered chemicals and rerouted neural pathways. When he left, he never bothered to undo what he’d done. Ramon had already picked up more Japanese than he admitted and he now demonstrated an aptitude for Russian.

  Ramon believed Fatemeh possessed superior gifts to him—and in some ways she did. Because of that belief, he didn’t apply himself to language until forced to. Legion found it interesting he allowed his talents to shine more in her absence.

  The Bonchō would arrive in St. Petersburg in a little under three days. Even with Legion’s meddling, it seemed doubtful Ramon would master the language in such a short time, but he would be able to present formal greetings, make simple requests, and sense what people said even when no one directed comments toward him.

  The scientist explained court etiquette to both Itō and Ramon. Although he feigned little interest in such things, Mendeleev proved a skilled tutor. He spent considerable time in the Romanov’s palace and scientists relied on funding from the rich and powerful. Mendeleev might see himself as above etiquette, but he would use it to get what he wanted.

  Feeling proud, Legion reevaluated his relationship with humans. They started as the subject of an experiment to see if he could influence a culture’s development. They now transcended experimental status, but what were they now? Pets? That implied he assumed responsibility for humans, something he never intended. He believed he could move on whenever he wanted.

  The problem was, he didn’t want to move on. He wanted to stay at least a little while longer and see if these humans worked out their differences.

  Ramon took a break from his lessons with Mendeleev and Itō. They called for supper. As they ate, they swapped stories of the places they had been and the things they had done. Ramon told how Fatemeh had angered the mine owner Randolf Dalton in Socorro and how he convinced people she practiced witchcraft so she would be eliminated.

  Itō told about a prank he played while a student at the University of London and Mendeleev laughed and told how his mother took him across Siberia to get an education. Ramon understood the scientist’s youthful poverty and admired how he persevered to improve himself.

  As stewards cleared the dishes and the men returned to work, Legion longed for jovial banter. When Ramon returned to his quarters and turned down the blankets, Legion chanced to ask Ramon a question. “May I tell you a story from my travels?”

  The question surprised Ramon and Legion feared the sheriff would tell him to leave. Instead, the swarm registered the increase of electro-chemical activity in Ramon’s brain.

  Ramon posed a counter-suggestion. “As long as you let me form my own pictures while you tell the story.”

  “I shall endeavor to restrict myself to words.” With that, Legion began a tale of a large, shaggy animal herd living on a small Earth-like planet orbiting a red star. It pleased him to share his observations, even though the story had little action and perhaps no point. Legion took no offence when Ramon’s brain activity indicated he’d fallen asleep. He chanced to peek at Ramon’s thoughts, pleased the former sheriff dreamed of distant worlds.

  * * *

  Onofre Cisneros piloted the Calamar toward the Russian coast. Masuda Hoshi sat next to him, eyes closed and hands folded. At one point, a faint chugging resonated through the hull, which Cisneros recognized as a ship’s propeller in the water above. From his vantage, he couldn’t tell for sure, but he guessed the Russian Navy ship patrolled the coast, looking to see if the Ballena returned.

  Soon, Cisneros reached the shore and surfaced. Throwing the hatch open, he smiled—just for a moment—when he saw the camp’s lean-tos. Wind stripped the roofs off several shelters already. No smoke wafted from campfires. No one milled around the makeshift structures. “It looks like they left,” he said as he climbed back inside.

  Hoshi narrowed his gaze, but remained silent, waiting to see what they would find.

  Cisneros took on ballast to lower the Calamar to the sea floor, then extended the tractor treads. Once the su
bmersible trundled ashore, the captain disengaged the fuel rods and climbed out. Hoshi followed a moment later.

  They found a few food scraps and some empty sake bottles. The captain’s stomach burned when he found Apodaca’s and Rodriguez’s packs abandoned in a lean-to. If they left, why hadn’t they taken their supplies with them? He turned around and studied the camp with care. Hoshi approached another tattered lean-to surrounded by footprints. Hoshi lifted frayed rope. “I believe the samurai tied someone up and threw them in to die.”

  “Who?”

  Hoshi didn’t answer. Instead he studied the footprints. “Imagawa,” he said at last.

  “How do you know?”

  “She and Fatemeh have the smallest feet. If the captive had been Fatemeh, she would have waited.”

  Cisneros appreciated the logic as he followed the footprints

  Whoever had been left to die had not been content to do so. Footprints led to a place where flies congregated on brown-stained grass. Blood—and lots of it—had spilled.

  A little further up the hill, the captain found two mounds. He swallowed, but lifted a few rocks. Within the grave, he found Apodaca, a bullet hole between his eyes.

  It had been many years since Onofre Cisneros had stepped inside a church, but he removed his cap and made the sign of the cross, then reburied his shipmate. Imagawa respected the men enough to make it difficult for animals to get at them. Buried in a flood plain, rushing waters would carry them out to sea one day. A fitting end for sailors.

  Cisneros followed Imagawa’s footsteps to the camp, where she must have scavenged for supplies. “Where did she go? South to Vladivostok or west toward China?”

  Hoshi walked the camp’s perimeter. Cisneros found few clues, but Hoshi pointed to some broken twigs and scuffed earth. “They followed the river valley inland. They hope to reach China.”

  The captain removed his hat and ran fingers through his hair. He hated to lose the samurai, but Fatemeh concerned him most. Just to be certain, he checked the other grave. As he suspected, it belonged to Rodriguez. “Why did they take Fatemeh?”