PAWN TO INFINITY

by Edited by Fred

  "Joey. Where is Murray Calhoun?" said Kagami, and even his voice was textured and full, precisely the words he wished to speak, exactly as he wished to speak them.

  "I… I don't…" Kagami brought his fist back again. "Wait!"

  His clenched hand hung in mid-air, a stop-action eagle waiting to descend. Joey's eye opened and closed spasmodically. "I think you screwed up my eye." He dabbed at the swollen purple cheek with his finger.

  "Joey?"

  "The Edgewater. He's at the Edgewater. But he'll see you coming. He ain't dumb, he'll see you and high-tail it out of there."

  "Where at the Edgewater?"

  "Room L-3. He's in L-3."

  Samuel Kagami smiled. In some strange way, he wished that this Joey had held out just a little longer. The power of the blow, the explosion of contact, the invigorating stinging sensation of his palm—he had never before hit a man. Yes, it was interesting.

  "Okay, Meyers, get him out of here," said Kagami.

  L-3. He had what he'd come for.

  "C'mon, Chokey," said the thin man, lifting the shaking prisoner from his seat. Kagami spun about.

  "What did you call him?"

  The thin man looked at Kagami peculiarly. "Chokey, Lieutenant. Name's Joey Chokey. You know that."

  Kagami stared at the man he had struck. Joey Chokey smiled.

  By playing the unexpected L-3 position, Kagami had begun an intensive pressing formation on the entire L-group, had turned a corner at H-6, and had quickly devastated Bisho Rinjin. The game of thirty days had not lasted another hour.

  The jamasura hummed happily as Kagami greeted Chokki.

  "In the midst of another game, I see," said Chokki, entering the livingroom. The northern wall was now greatly expanded, incorporating both dining room and garden in an elegant whole. Chokki nodded in admiration.

  "It will be finished in two moves." Kagami wondered what Chokki had come for—he had not called for him—but thought it inhospitable to inquire. He offered sake.

  "Many thanks, but no. I cannot stay long." Chokki spoke calmly, but his eyes kept darting about the room, always returning to rest for a moment on the gōban. "I have come in my very humble capacity to present a most unusual gift."

  "Honored," said Kagami.

  "Neobiotix has petitioned the Games Council on your behalf, and we have received permission to raise your status." Chokki paused dramatically. "To Shihan Player."

  "A Master?" said Kagami. "I am overwhelmed."

  "You have respectfully earned the title. I am humbled before your abilities. On my last visit I offered the opinion that your strategic situation was hopeless. Since that time, I have noted two change-of-property titles come through my office. Of course, I immediately offered my resignation to my employer, who graciously declined. Nevertheless, my error was unforgivable." The plump Line Nippon lowered his chin, a sign of submission and shame, but his eyes reflected stubborness and animosity. Was there a small scab on his left cheek? Imagination.

  "I differ, Chokki san. You made a most honest analysis. The acts of fate are not yours to predict."

  "Not to be argumentative, but this was no hand of God. Superior thinking. However, I am pleased that you do not think ill of me. We wish then to present these tokens of our admiration." Chokki withdrew a slip of paper and a golden ring from his breast pocket and handed them to Kagami.

  The ring was cool and smooth in Kagami's hand. He scrutinized it and noticed that it was inscribed with the word Shinjitsu—truth, encircled by a single banded line indicating Master status. The check was written for six million yen.

  Why?

  Kagami knew he was no Master. What had motivated Neobiotix and Chokki to recommend such honor? Indeed, his holdings were significant, particularly when one considered the amount of time in which he had accumulated them, but they certainly did not warrant the ultimate title of Shihan. He turned the golden band slowly in his hand.

  Did Chokki know?

  Impossible. It was his personal madness, his private dream sequence; a fantasy link to his unconscious, or a collective unconscious, or some universal intelligence which favored him. He had not decided which. But it was not shared—it would be impossible for Chokki to be aware of it.

  Perhaps, thought Kagami, I do deserve the title. After all, was it not superior strategy which had wrested the L-3 move from the police lieutenant's prisoner? Yes, thought Kagami, indeed. A strategy which the gentlemen sirs have all but forgotten.

  "You understand," said Chokki, apparently noting Kagami's hesitation, "that these trinkets are but expressions of our respect?"

  Kagami met Chokki's eyes. Respect? Respect for a sansei? Kagami noticed, in Chokki's expression, the fine and uncooked seeds of condescension, as if he were laughing inwardly at the ignorant sansei, at this respect built of wire-mesh, an ornament, paying him off with a fistful of paper money and baubles. Quite suddenly, Kagami understood why.

  "I am most flattered," said Kagami, fighting to conceal his anger, "but I cannot accept."'

  Chokki blinked like a Hiroshiman in the brightness.

  "If I am of Shihan ability," said Kagami, "I may no longer engage in play. Is this correct?"

  "Why… of course! Opponents must be of near-equal ability, of matched strength. No one may play a Shihan. Advantage does not come in domination of the novjce, but in superior thinking with one's equals."

  "Or one's betters?" Kagami handed the items back to Chokki, who accepted them unbelievingly. "I am afraid your offer is much too gracious. I shall continue as a player."

  A cheap ruse! A child's trick! Did this Line Nippon truly believe that Kagami would be so easily fooled? The transparency of the ploy was grave insult piggybacked upon intended injury. Kagami dug his fingernails into his palms and contained himself.

  Chokki began to speak, stopped, began again. "As you wish, though I do not know what we shall tell the Council. No precedent."

  "Extend my deepest apologies," said Kagami. "May I catch you later, Chokki san."

  Chokki bowed courteously and left the house. Kagami stood by the open T6-screen and watched Chokki walk briskly down the manicured path, past spacious rock gardens and neatly calendared emperor tulips and Agean windflowers, to his dart. Chokki clambered in to the small vehicle and escalated quietly into the overcast afternoon sky.

  "Goodbye," called Kagami, waving with his right hand. His left hand closed and opened behind his back. Then he adde.d in a whisper, "You little Nip."

  The words tasted extraordinary.

  Samuel Kagami remained on his horse, an impossibly black stallion, and leaned in the saddle to touch the stagecoach driver.

  Dead.

  The driver's throat was opened in a ragged five centimeter circle. Blood drained slowly, coagulating about his neck and chest, thin strands of fibrin spiderwebbed from his chin. His rifle lay unused in his lap.

  "Gawddamn!" said one of Kagami's men—the one he called Moyers, an obese fellow who wore a rancid yellow bandana about his head. Moyers poked an inquisitive finger into the stagecoach driver's neck. "Got him real good, Sammy."

  "Open the coach," said Kagami.

  A strong wind blew through the pass; sun carved rock and sand about Kagami as it hung like a washed-out lightbulb in the pale morning sky. Samuel Kagami felt strong also; virile, alive. A thin kid in a vest and rolled sleeves dismounted and flung open the door of the coach.

  Kagami gestured at the passengers. "Out."

  An older fellow, dressed in frock coat and traveling hat, emerged from the coach. He turned and took the hand of a young woman, a girl actually, not more than sixteen, helping her step down. Kagami eyed the girl; her tight bodice accentuated pleasing curves, smooth lines, and Kagami found himself wondering what would please him most.

  "Empty your pockets," ordered Kagami.

  "Please," said the well-dressed man, his voice trembling with apparent anxiety. "I am escorting my niece to Sioux Falls, for a recital. I am a music teacher. I have nothing you want."


  Kagami said nothing, knowing that his reputation here, in whatever time or place this was, read like a headstone. He could tell, simply by the feel of the Kagami he now was.

  The man waited a moment, then fished a leather billfold from his frock coat.

  "Toss it."

  Kagami caught the wallet and opened it, methodically rifling its contents and tossing them one by one to the ground. The wind caught the paper money which Kagami discarded, and whirlpooled it about the feet of his horse.

  "Hey!" cried Moyers, as he raced about gathering the money in his hands. Kagami kept pulling items from the billfold.

  "If you'll only tell me what you're looking for, perhaps—"

  "Shut up!" barked Kagami. Yes, the feel of this one was superb! This Kagami did not take orders, did not heed warnings. This Kagami strode where he pleased, said what he wished, took as he saw fit. He spat tobacco juice in the music professor's face.

  The professor wiped at it with a coat sleeve and clamped his jaws together. Kagami continued sorting through the wallet.

  There!

  This was what he had come for. He withdrew two theatre tickets and waved them at the professor. "Aha! Ya, boys! Here we go. Ya!"

  "But those are simply—"

  "I know what they are!" shouted Kagami. He walked his horse closer to the music teacher and drew back his leg, driving his spurs into the man's ribcage. The professor reeled backward and tumbled to the sand. Kagami thought of dismounting and having the girl, there, on the ground, with Moyers and the thin kid laughing and the professor shaking violently. He felt no need in his groin, but reminded himself that if he wished to, he could, and the thought of the professor looking on in silent agony pleased him more than he knew the girl would have anyway.

  He studied the tickets.

  C-16 and C-17. Seat numbers. Excellent seat numbers.

  The girl knelt by her uncle and wiped his forehead with the hem of her skirt; Kagami was momentarily intrigued by the pale skin exposed on her calf, the compact breasts bound so tightly within the lace blouse, but… no time. No need and no time. He had what he'd come for.

  "Do you need to further humiliate us, or may we proceed on our way? It seems, quite inexplicably, that you have what you wanted." The professor's breathing was impaired, his voice undercut by the sound of wind cutting cellophane. Perhaps a rib had been broken.

  Kagami spat in the man's face a second time. This time, however, the professor did not wipe away the brownish sputum, but stared into Kagami's eyes through the mucusoid film.

  "Get on with you," said Kagami.

  The girl helped her uncle to his feet and they both walked, he with a slight limp, to the front of the coach. The mutilated driver was slumped in the seat; the girl, having not yet seen him, raised her hands to her lips and stifled a scream.

  "Oh, dear Jesus!" she said. "Is he dead, Uncle Choggy?"

  The professor turned and looked at Kagami again. He blinked spittle from his eyes and smiled.

  "I'm afraid so, Kate," he said. "This time."

  "Is there nothing we can offer you then?" said Chokki. The Neobiotix field representative played with the hem of his shoulder coat, avoiding Kagami's eyes.

  "No. I shall continue as a player."

  Chokki shook his head, sadly. Kagami offered no brandy, but poured himself a large cup—another large cup—and laughed quietly, thinking that certainly a VSOP cognac from the Israeli National States was far too rare for a Line Nippon.

  "You are driving us from business, Kagami san. Do you even realize this?"

  "I play for victory. I mean no ill to your company's prosperity."

  "Yet we find it difficult to sell neobiotic housing any longer. Your reputation has grown too large, customers will not invest knowing that should you challenge, they must accept, and that you shall ultimately conquer their territories. I myself will be dismissed from my employ unless I bring a satisfactory reply, thus, I have nothing to lose and may speak frankly. Neobiotix shall be pleased to furnish you with a check for any amount you estimate you may win."

  Kagami drained his glass.

  He had waited impatiently all day yesterday, all morning today, for the referee to declare his turn. There was but one crucial move to be made, and though Kagami did not know yet what it was, he did know how to find out. Chokki was nothing more than an annoying insect buzzing about his ears.

  "You," said Kagami, "do not have what I may win."

  "You have crafted an empire, vaster by far than any in the history of the game. Thus, it cannot be material reward you seek. What then?" Chokki seemed to be shivering; the muscles in his face tightened, no longer the pleasant oval shape it had been. Kagami had never seen the stoic Line Nippon in such an agitated state, and it greatly pleased him. "Do you believe that further victory and ruthless triumph will make you a… a…"

  "Line Nippon?" said Kagami, quickly. "Like you, fat little Chokki?"

  Chokki's eyes grew wide with astonishment, his mouth hung open like a sprung trap door. "I… I did not mean to say—"

  "Damn what you say! You never say what you mean anyway!" Kagami rose from the lioo-chair and stood above the smaller man, at a distance he knew Chokki would find uncomfortably close. The liquor caused him to sway slightly, like a pear tree in the breeze. "How does it feel then, Chokki? Mr. Chokki? How does it make you feel? Kokomu? Surrounded? Yes? Now it is your turn, my little friend. You are the single stone and I the invader."

  "Have you lost your wits?"

  "Good! No, excellent! My lost wits against yours. Oh yes, you know, don't you, Chokki? You know, and you are there each time. I see you, I know it is you. But this time—oh, this time little Chokki, I engulf you. Or 'incorporate.' Is that a better word?"

  "You are mad," said Chokki, softly. He rose and strode toward the front T6-screen. Kagami followed at his back, his hands waving drunkenly in the air.

  "The attacking line, Mr. Chokki! Look out! Here it is—no, there! Now in back of you! Behind you! All about you, ripping into your flesh with pointed politic and gesture, attacking you for what you are, for what you are not, for what you can never be! Do you see it? All around you? Look, my one little stone!"

  Chokki touched the T6-screen and it parted, then he turned slowly to Kagami, standing at the threshold. His composure had not been broken, his face was manicured beautifully, like the Agean windflowers in the garden, yet expressionless. His poise caused Kagami to suddenly step back.

  Softly, he said, "One stone holds infinite power, Kagami san. One stone may change the outcome of a game. Malicious play extends folly. Good day."

  The small Nipponese stepped through the T6-screen and was gone. Kagami stood in the immense entryway, holding a snifter filled with expensive liquor in a trembling hand.

  The train lumbered through the darkness like a huge slug, crawling past mountains and rivers and plateaus. The box-car vibrated and Samuel Kagami rocked in the corner.

  "Damn. Aren't you finished yet?"

  "Sorry," said the thin man who knelt by the safe, working the dials in the flashing half-light from the car door. "I can't get that last number, it won't open."

  "Get the conductor then. Get somebody!" At Kagami's command, the thin man and the heavy-set fellow named Mayor disappeared into the adjoining car. Kagami found a cigarette in the pocket of his black satin vest and lit it, breathing the smoke through his nostrils and releasing it in a dragon flare. He listened to the even, measured sounds of the locomotive pounding track across the Great Divide. The car smelled musty and a chill wind lashed through the cracks in the floorboards, swinging the oil lantern that hung by the door and sparking Kagami's cigarette.

  Samuel Kagami was not interested in the contents of the safe. He was interested in the last number.

  The two men reappeared holding a frail old gentleman by the arms. The latter did not appear nervous, a grey shoot of hair slicked across his balding scalp, a natty suit and bow tie. "The ticket-taker," announced Mayor.

  "Open it," said Kagami
in a rush of smoke.

  The ticket-taker shook his head.

  Kagami smiled, curling and uncurling his fist. Doesn't he think he's just something? thought Kagami. He slammed the old ticket-taker against the wall of the boxcar, and the small fellow smacked against the wood then slid down the wall and sat on the floor. He adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles which sat crookedly on the bridge of his nose.

  "I said open it."

  The ticket-taker slowly moved his head from left to right.

  Stalling. Blind moves. A field mouse roaring at a cobra. Kagami enjoyed the ticket-taker's resistance; it added an extra dimension to the conquest. He brought his foot up neatly in a large arc, directing his boot into the old man's face.

  The spectacles shattered in the ticket-taker's eyes, filling them with blood. The dull thud of cartilage breaking and the sharp crack of the glass lenses filled the car.

  Samuel Kagami thought of his empire, his kingdom. He envisioned a pebble lodged in its bright machinery, then, with a whirr and a click, the machinery grinding to a halt.

  "Tell me," he said.

  The ticket-taker sat very still.

  Kagami forced his boot into the man's groin. Now, in the flickering of lantern light, he noticed just how old the man looked; his outfit a remnant of older, perhaps better days, his thinning hair attempting to deny the inevitable baldness of his liver-spotted pate. Were these meager wrappings meant to evoke sympathy? Compassion?

  Of course.

  Kagami shifted his weight to his left leg and ground the old man's testes between his heel and the floorboards. He felt a popping as he pushed.

  "You want to die?"

  The ticket-taker spoke in spasmed breaths; his words, though, were calm and precise, as if unscathed by physical pain. His mouth, a crescent filled with frothy scarlet, opened slightly. "Nothing to lose," whispered the ticket-taker.

  He who has nothing to lose cannot be beaten.

  Another hollow platitude from the mouths of the victors. Yet, for the first time, Kagami felt the awesome might of complete surrender, the carefully maintained power of the ticket-taker's position. Kagami could kill him, or the old man would accept any amount of his beating, but because he held to nothing, the ticket-taker could not be threatened, pressed, taken.