Mecha Samurai Empire (A United States of Japan Novel)

by Peter Tieryas

  “I think I’m sleeping in.”

  Behind me, a woman says, “I don’t know who’s the boss in our family.”

  “It’s them,” Kazu says about his twins. “This is my wife, Eileen.”

  We bow to each other. The twins give Kazu more orders.

  “Now now, girls. Take it easy on Daddy,” Eileen tells them.

  “I think my girls want me to leave,” Kazu says. “Gotta listen to the little tyrants.”

  “Your usage of the word tyrant is inaccurate,” Mio says.

  “Tyrant means an absolute ruler who is oppressive and cruel.”

  “Only a cruel ruler would prevent their dad from indulging in a few cocktails,” Kazu whines.

  “No exceptions!”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “One day, brother, you’ll have your own kids, and you’ll get what all of this is about,” he says to me. “We don’t just fight for the Empire. We fight for family.”

  I admire him and his entire family. I haven’t even thought about what having a family of my own would be like as the only thing I’ve aspired to was to become a mecha pilot.

  The twins lead their parents out. I wander the ballroom and see Colonel Yamaoka by himself. I approach him, bow, and state, “Colonel, I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

  He looks at me and appears confused. “You are?”

  Not the response I was expecting, which causes me to stammer, “It’s—it’s me. Makoto Fujimoto? You—you recommended me to BEMA last year?”

  He stares at me for a few seconds, checking his memory banks for a match. “Ah, that’s right,” he says in an unconvincing voice that makes it obvious he has no idea who I am. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m good, sir.”

  He checks my rank. “You’re in your first year?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent. Make sure you study hard. The fate of the Empire depends on cadets like you.”

  His aide returns and takes him away to his next appointment.

  “Smooth of you to mingle with the brass,” Chieko says to me.

  “He’s the one who got us in,” I say to Chieko. “But he had no idea who I was.”

  She laughs. “Officers like him meet thousands of people in a year. Don’t take it personally.”

  “I know,” I say, but I still feel disappointed.

  “You think galaxies have gender?” Chieko asks, maybe trying to divert my mind.

  “That’s assuming galaxies are alive.”

  “Aren’t they? Everything in the universe has the same courting rituals, inevitable breakup, or eventual destruction.”

  We talk for a bit about singularities and galactic dynamics. Chieko sees a friend and goes to greet her. I’m about to grab a drink when a waiter crashes into me, spilling ceviche all over my uniform. It causes a huge clatter. Everyone in my vicinity turns to stare. The waiter appears annoyed. I rush to the bathroom and try to wipe away the stains. But it’s all over my uniform. First time wearing formal wear, and it’s ruined. Probably a sign it’s time to call it a night. I wipe where I can, grab a bottle of sake, and head back to Mechtown.

  14

  It’s a long trek, but I like the time alone to reflect on the last couple of weeks. Rather than go back to my dorm, I take a detour and walk to where the Leviathans are secured. I’m tipsy, but I can still manage the cart to the hangar.

  I stand at the feet of the Arikuni, in awe at its size. The toes alone are twice as tall as I am. I suddenly recall my earliest childhood memory, staring at the massive mecha parts in a Long Beach factory. My parents were pointing out each of the pieces, excitedly describing them to me in detail even though I didn’t understand most of the technical jargon.

  I feel joy now that I’m finally getting to drive mechas at BEMA. But as my eyes follow the mecha up to its beltline, I see the holster and scabbard. A mecha’s primary objective is to destroy its enemies, which, technically speaking, makes me an executioner.

  “Hello, stranger,” a familiar voice says to me.

  I can’t believe my eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” is my response.

  It’s Griselda. She looks thinner than when I last saw her, stress carving wrinkles of woe into her face.

  “Miss me?” she asks.

  “How are you here? Don’t tell me you’re an exchange student to BEMA.”

  “I wish it were that simple,” she says wistfully. “I’ve defected.”

  “What?” I say, incredulous. But then I remember the biomech technology that we have. “You came with Dr. Günter?”

  She nods. “He was a friend of my family. He asked for my help since I’d spent time here.”

  “How’d you get here?”

  “A group of Spanish mecha pilots smuggled us out. It’s—” she’s about to say, then smiles. “It’s a complicated situation.”

  “I bet,” I say, and hug her, feeling ecstatic. Her arms are sturdier than they were the last time I saw her. “I don’t care what the situation is. I’m thrilled you’re here.”

  “I saw you earlier in the week and wanted to say hi, but I wasn’t sure what your friends would think if they knew you were friends with me,” Griselda says.

  “They wouldn’t care,” I reply.

  “You speak with a lot of confidence about that.”

  “They’re my friends.” She puts her hand on my stomach, where Orwell and company branded me with the swastika symbol, reminding me she hasn’t forgotten what happened. “It’s been removed,” I tell her.

  “Scars like that can never be fully removed.”

  I’m about to ask her something, but then a thought hits me. “What about your parents? Won’t they be in danger?”

  “They were killed a few months ago.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. There was no official explanation. They called me one day and told me my parents had been cleansed, and I didn’t need to worry about them anymore.”

  “I’m sorry. I remember what you told me about your mother,” I say, recalling Fargo Station, her refusing to fire on civilians, then being required to report for reeducation.

  “I wasn’t allowed to mourn them,” she says in an emotionless voice. “I wasn’t allowed to even mention their names. I was ordered to act like they were still alive.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “We’re both orphans,” she says.

  I lift up my bottle of sake, and ask, “Drink?”

  “Sake never gets me drunk.”

  “I’m not trying to get you drunk.”

  She laughs. “Do you have a cup?”

  “Drink straight from the bottle.”

  I take a small sip and hand it to her. She does the same.

  “That’s strong sake,” she says.

  I take the bottle back from her.

  “I always wondered why so many of the heroes in legends are orphans,” Griselda says.

  “What was your conclusion?”

  “They have nothing to lose, so they’re willing to put everything on the line.”

  “That’s the way you are?”

  “It is,” she replies.

  “I didn’t know it was legendary status you were after,” I tell her.

  She smiles. “I want peace in the world.”

  “Peace between the Empire and Reich is never happening.”

  “Your Colonel Yamaoka has a very unique vision for the future of the United States of Japan.”

  I bristle at his mention and the reverence with which she speaks his name. “He gave you his spiel too?”

  “What do you mean, ‘spiel’?”

  “He’s a big charmer, but all he cares about is his own glory,” I say, and feel petty afterward.


  She looks disappointed. “That’s unfortunate to hear.” She takes another swig of sake.

  “Ignore me,” I say, wanting to cover up. “I’m a little drunk.”

  “This is good stuff.” She grins at me. “You handle your drinks better.”

  “Learning. You’ve been given the tour around the campus?”

  “You offering?” she asks.

  “I am.”

  She shakes her head. “We had to be careful not to be seen, so we haven’t left the premises. Maybe in a year or two, if things cool down, I can sneak out and get an actual tour.”

  “That’d be great. There’s so much I can show you. I recently found out there’s a whole shrine to the Twelve Disciples—our first mecha pilots—underneath the academy, which is amazing. I’m not sure if I can take you in, but I’m sure we can get special permission.” My mention of the Twelve Disciples causes her to wince. “Did I say something I shouldn’t?”

  “I might be mistaken, but the people you call the Twelve Disciples—I think they’re the ones we know as the Twelve Executioners.”

  “Executioners? But they’re heroes.”

  “They killed thousands of Germans,” Griselda says, “including civilians during their attacks. There’s a collective fear in the German Americas about all the destruction your mechas have caused.”

  “I . . . I’ve never thought about it from the other side. I guess when I show you around Berkeley, we’ll skip the shrine.”

  She shakes her head. “I want to see everything.” She gazes up at the Arikuni. “We grew up our entire lives learning to hate the Empire. But there are many of us who hate what the Nazis do more. The Nazi ideology doesn’t represent us. We’re under its yoke, but we want the tyranny to end.”

  I remember her mentioning this last year. “Do you remember that fight at the bar, when those soldiers insulted Germany—”

  “It was a charade. If we allow anyone to publicly malign the Reich and don’t stand up to it, we’ll either be tortured or executed.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Everything is regulated. The only reason the Nazis don’t kill everyone who isn’t Aryan is because they need a steady pool of slave labor. They persecute those of Asian descent but don’t outright murder them in fear that it will provoke the Empire into an all-out war. But there’s a huge sect of hawks who want a fight with the USJ. With the recent developments on the biomechs, they thought they’d have something your mechas can’t handle. That’s the main reason we’re here.”

  “You said ‘your,’” I point out. “It’s ‘our’ now.”

  She stares glumly at me before forcing a smile. “I hope so.”

  * * *

  • • •

  We spend the rest of the evening catching up. Actually, it’s more her asking questions about me. I can feel her not wanting to talk about what she’s been through. I respect that and tell her about BEMA, the tournament, traveling the Empire. She deflects any probing questions about her journey to the USJ and turns it around on me. I don’t press her too much and get into my BEMA life, the rigors and joys of pilot training.

  “Never seen you so happy,” she notes.

  “It’s the first time I feel like I belong.”

  “I sometimes wonder where I belong,” she says.

  “You belong here now.”

  She smiles at me, and says, “If only it were that easy.”

  Before I know it, it’s morning. It’s a good thing we have the day off.

  “You should get some sleep,” she says.

  “You too. What’s your portical number?”

  “We don’t have porticals. But I’m always here.”

  I don’t want to part from her, so I say, “Actually, I’m not that tired. A little tea should wake me up. Want to grab some breakfast?”

  She laughs. “I need some sleep. There’s a bunch of work I need to help Dr. Günter with in the afternoon.” But just as she’s about to leave, she suggests, “Want to do a late dinner?”

  “Sure,” I reply, elated. “Anything you feel like from the outside world?”

  “Can you bring squid casserole?”

  I try to think where they have good squid casserole. “Done.”

  She tells me her dorm number, and says, “I should be done by eight.”

  “Every day, you pick a food, and I’ll bring it to you.”

  “Don’t you have to study?” she asks.

  “I can study while I eat,” I reply.

  “What if you get in trouble?”

  “How can I get in trouble for having dinner with a friend?” I ask, even as I recall the Tokko agent’s warning. Still, seeing her is worth the risk of whatever may come.

  She holds my hand. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  “See you tonight.”

  * * *

  • • •

  It feels good in the Leviathan. I’m getting a comfortable grasp of the controls, and we practice combo attacks to coordinate defeating the test biomechs they’ve constructed. Since Kujira and I both use swords, we deploy an “X-Attack,” simultaneously attacking our opponent in an x pattern with me starting on the left and ending on the right flank of the biomech. This incapacitates the enemy, allowing Nori to close in with her spear and pierce it in the forehead for the finishing blow.

  Kazu is so fast with his yo-yo, none of us can get within two arm-lengths of his mecha. Anytime we even try to step in for our “friendly” competition, the yo-yo hurtles our way. Chieko prefers close-quarters combat but for the testing begins using the prototype laser rifle to shoot from afar. It fires bursts of laser bullets rather than a continual stream and can disintegrate most armor. The two of them work on a combination, which they coin the “Omega Flare,” to use against enemy parties. Their first attempt is against seven homunculi, which are smaller, portical-AI-driven mechas. Since they’re older models and pretty much worthless in combat, they’ve become cannon fodder for mecha pilots to train on. Chieko opens with a string of laser fire that immobilizes half of them, the others shielding themselves as best as they can manage. Kazu sweeps in and knocks out any survivors with his yo-yo storm. The two of them mop up the homunculi who survive.

  We try to marry the two combinations together, but we can never get the timing quite right.

  We destroy over fifteen of the biomechs. I tweak the calibration settings on the arms and legs to get optimal motion. The traits I’d seen in each of the fighters comes out even more in the test battles. The Leviathans are easier to drive than the test mechas or the quads. The portical AI learns from our tests and adapts to respond even faster to our preferences. Nori leads the charge in that aspect, pointing out minutiae like if a forearm feels as though it has too much weight or the head isn’t turning fast enough. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Kujira somehow is always eating food even though food isn’t allowed aboard the Leviathans.

  In terms of combat talk, Kazu almost never speaks. Nori usually gives the instructions. Kujira talks trash to everyone. Chieko is generally reserved but will berate anyone for messing up.

  “Mac! What are you doing?” Chieko yells at me. “You were off by a full second.”

  “My bad,” I reply.

  “Yeah, it’s your bad. Keep up!”

  I’m the one who’s continually apologizing for screwing up.

  * * *

  • • •

  During one sparring session, Kazu knocks the sword out of my hand. Nori and Chieko have given me boxing lessons, but I feel defenseless as he swings his yo-yo blade at me. I withdraw every time he tries to attack. He puts his weapon away and challenges me to a fistfight. A few punches in, and he clearly has me at a disadvantage. He’s much faster, and my defense stinks without a weapon. My mecha gets a severe beating.

  “Every part o
f you is a weapon,” Kazu sternly tells me. “Every part. Your brain, your eyes, and your fists. On board your mecha, your fists are more powerful than regular artillery shells. If you can’t fight with them, you’ll be pulverized!”

  “I’m sorry,” I reply.

  “Don’t be sorry! Get better. How long has it been since you lost to Kujira for this very reason?”

  From then on, I have to spend a few hours every day practicing without weapons.

  “Use your momentum,” Chieko chides me. “Don’t just punch from a static position. Step in.”

  I do my best.

  * * *

  • • •

  That week, I bring Griselda different meals, starting with squid casserole and a full slab of pork BBQ ribs with potato salad and dirty rice. On the following days, I bring smoked shrimp gumbo, beef brisket, codfish stew with oysters and tofu, smoked furikake and shishito peppers, pollack spawn jjige in kimchee sauce, and grilled duck heart. In the past, right before eating, she’d always exclaim, “Itadakimasu!” But I notice she doesn’t say it anymore. Her room is similar to the apartment in Dallas in being bare. But she does have some baseball equipment, including a bat and a mitt.

  “Do you play baseball?” she asks me.

  “No. You?”

  “Trying to learn so I can keep myself busy. I bought you a gift,” she says, handing me a utensil I don’t recognize.

  “What is it?” I ask her.

  “A fruit peeler. Now you can cut your own pears without hurting yourself.” She actually has a pear and uses the peeler on the skin, which causes it to slice right off. “Try it,” she tells me.

  I do, and it’s very easy to use. “This is what I’ve needed my whole life.” I cut up some pears, which we have as dessert to cool our tongues after our spicy mentaiko.

  “You have any pets growing up?”

  I shake my head. “What about you?”

  “I had a tarantula.”

  Thinking about it gives me shivers. I’m not a fan of big hairy spiders. “What was that like?”

  “They’re very low maintenance. Did you know female tarantulas live longer than the male ones?”