Tyche's Grace

by Richard Parry

  The result was the same. She was a prisoner of her own mind, because — as her father said — she was broken. Grace’s gifts didn’t work right. She couldn’t control them, and she couldn’t do what he did. The only good part of that is that he didn’t seem to be able to use his gifts on her, or not with ease.

  Grace hated her father, but she hated herself more for being scared. People out there wanted her dead. Even those in the city of Ise were willing to risk his wrath to get her. She couldn’t leave, because without Megumi and Iwao, she would be dead.

  She wanted to scream, but the mask held. For now.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ESCAPE SEEMED IMPOSSIBLE, but she had to try. The empty smiles of the housekeepers drove Grace near to madness. But her mother Aya’s sad eyes and forgotten touch drove her near to despair.

  One morning, the light breaking like a gentle wave against the tiny stones in the karesansui stone garden in the center of the house proper, Grace heard her mother talking to one of the housekeepers. The housekeeper was the same as all the rest, empty smile, blank eyes, limited responses. Grace wasn’t sure if they were under the thrall of her father, stupid, or just good at hiding their real selves beneath notice. This one was a slim man, hair cropped to fall about his face like a bonnet. Grace had walked on whisper-quiet feet across the floors of the house, noting the fusama sliding walls of their home had been reconfigured to provide a large, open space.

  Her hand on the shoji rice paper door leading outside to the karensansui, Grace heard the housekeeper say, “Yes, Gushiken-sama. The visitors will be here this evening. Gushiken-san has requested the home be made ready for their arrival.”

  Grace couldn’t see her mother’s face, but imagined those sad eyes looking at the housekeeper. “Who are they?”

  “Gushiken-san did not say.”

  “How did they get here?”

  “A starship,” said the housekeeper. His voice carried a soft touch of excitement. Grace leaned her ear closer to the shoji. “A starship!” This level of enthusiasm was unheard of from the house staff.

  “Where?”

  “I believe they are at the small spaceport near the Futamiokitama Shrine,” said the housekeeper.

  Grace held her breath for a few more heartbeats, then slid the shoji open with a hiss. She smiled at the housekeeper, who gave her a bow, and at her mother, whose sad eyes did not smile back. The karensansui’s stones cast their tiny shadows. It seemed as if peace had found her here, as it never had before. Grace would eat breakfast, then she would take her father’s sword, and then she would leave.

  • • •

  After her breakfast, rice and smoked fish with miso, she left the house. The grounds were warm, small insects and birds in the air. The sun felt like delight on her face. Of her father, there was no sign. He was no doubt meeting his visitors, showing them the marvel of Meoto Iwa. Grace had never seen the wedded rocks, but pictures on the holo made her yearn for something that beautiful in her life.

  First, she needed a sword. As the trip to Ise had shown, Japan was dangerous, and Grace didn’t imagine Earth or the universe were any less threatening. She didn’t have a firm plan in mind, but she’d seen a holo vid where a group of pirates had stowed away on an ancient galleon, one that plied the seas. It had seemed a silly idea, taking so long to travel and in such a risky manner, but the logic of stowing away seemed sound for this new adventure. She would leave the grounds, sword in hand, slip aboard the starship, and once they jumped to a new planet, Grace would be lost in the crowds of another world.

  Grace made her father’s trophy room without incident. She found the shoji open, the interior warm and welcoming. Grace let her eyes wander over the weapons on the walls, naginata racked near Western swords. She wanted none of those, hurrying to the far end. There was a glass case, an ancient kusari gusoku armor set on display. Lights were set above it, casting the helm in fearsome relief. The chain armor itself was old, older than the grounds, older than anything Grace had seen or felt. Set in the armor’s belt was her father’s ceremonial sword, black hilt of the katana extended toward her like an offering.

  Grace eased the front open, muscles hardened from endless days of sparring taking the load of the glass with ease. She set it aside, the scent of age reaching her. Grace let her fingers trail across the chain links of the armor, touching a metal plate. Nothing broke. Nothing fell apart. Just the hint of age at the end of her fingers, the smell of dust and dirt. And, faint but unmistakable, death; she remembered that from Ise, what the air felt like, what Megumi had smelled like as she’d been shot.

  She grabbed the scabbard of the katana, easing it free. Grace was about to put the glass back when her father’s voice came from behind her. “It is time for another lesson, Grace.”

  She whirled, stance low, weight on the balls of her feet. Kazuo Gushiken stood, a silhouette in the doorway. In front of him was Keiji Kimora and Mickey Chase. Grace’s fingers fell on the hilt of the katana. “I do not like your lessons.” She scanned for Kiyoko Shimizu, but didn’t see her kendo teacher. Perhaps sensei was unavailable? It made Grace’s heart glad, because while she hated Mickey and respected Keiji, she loved Kiyoko. Kiyoko had brought kendo to her life, and the sword was Grace’s favorite weapon by far.

  “It’s not about what you like,” said Kazuo. She felt a soft pressure on her mind, then her father made a sound of disgust. “Still closed, Grace? So be it. This lesson is one of pain.” He turned, leaving her with Keiji and Mickey.

  Keiji was dressed in a loose-fitting black dōgi, hair shaved to mere stubble on his scalp. He carried no weapons, which made perfect sense as he was Grace’s hand-to-hand combat instructor. She had asked him once which art was his preference, whether judo or karate or jujutsu were the best, and he had given a rare smile and said all of them. His bare feet hissed across the tatami as he came towards her.

  Mickey wore his usual sneer, the Westerner dressed in combat fatigues, a tight T-shirt showing his muscular frame. He had two sidearms, one that looked like it fired kinetic rounds and another that looked like it used sonics. Grace had, according to Mickey, been his greatest disappointment; he was her firearms trainer, and in all the years he had been teaching her, she had yet to hit the target where he directed. Mickey was the best shot Grace had ever seen. The firearms trainer didn’t move towards her, opting for the short and simple path of shooting.

  At least, he tried, but Grace had felt the kill/fight/now/now come off him and had moved, low and fast, as the sonics weapon cleared its holster and fired. The blast skimmed past, hitting the display case and the ancient armor. The armor fell back, the glass shattering into crystal rain around it. Grace didn’t care, eyes set on Keiji. The man came at her like the wind, a soft whisper of movement.

  Grace felt his attack/fight/fight and stepped aside as he punched, his hands moving so fast as to be a blur. She still held the sword by its scabbard, and felt she could make this fight short by drawing the steel. But then she remembered Keiji’s rare smile, and kept the sword sheathed. It almost cost her everything as one of his feet almost caught her in the stomach. She weaved aside, but he’d been expecting that, sweeping her feet from under her. Keiji made to pounce, Grace adopting a guard position as he came at her. She saw his eyes were dead, like a snake’s, and wondered if her father was using him as a puppet. Keiji’s hands snaked around her guard, her legs trying to pry him free to no avail. He was heavier than her, and while technique was important, his was excellent and she was only fourteen.

  Breathe. Just breathe. It’s what he’d told her himself. She lay on her back, pushing away the fear of Mickey getting closer. Grace twisted, bring the scabbard of the sword against Keiji’s head, and the man jerked, stunned. She hit him again, then rolled his unconscious body aside.

  Just in time. A thwump-tok sounded, a tiny dart impacting the ground where she’d been lying. Grace kept rolling, taking a glance at Mickey, the other sidearm pointed at her. He’d used those darts on her before; she knew they were
nonlethal, but left her feeling sick for days. Mickey had said it was punishment for being sloppy, but he’d smiled in a way that said it was also fun for him.

  Grace came out of the roll, standing upright, sword still held close. She ran at Mickey, the firearms instructor now pointing both the sonic and dart sidearms at her. She made it close enough to hit him, drawing her sword in a hiss of promised death, the bright bolt of silver slicing up. Mickey pulled back, almost not in time, the blade passing through the sonics weapon like it was imaginary, something on a holo stage you could wave your hand through. The front of the weapon fell away, sparking as it hit the tatami. Grace whirled, bringing the sword around, but it dropped from her hands. She looked at it, then the small dart in her chest. Grace fell forward, unable to fight against the darkness.

  • • •

  When she woke, she felt terrible. The sickness in her stomach made her throw up almost straight away, leaving a puddle of bile next to her futon. She wiped her lips, and found someone had left a small cup next to a jug of water. She poured a glass, drinking slowly for all she wanted to guzzle. Keiji would have said, when the body is sick, patience. Kiyoko might have said, when the enemy has you, patience. Mickey would have just laughed.

  Grace got up, checking the console on the wall. Two in the morning, of the same day. She slid the shoji aside, finding no guards. Clutching her stomach and trying not to be sick again, she moved like a shadow. The house carried remembered heat from the day, too hot for someone who’d been poisoned, and she wanted to get outside. No sounds greeted her, not a single person waiting for her. No one checking to see if she was okay. Her father would have forbidden it, saying, lessons are important enough to be learned the hard way. She didn’t know what her mother would have said. Aya hadn’t spoken to her in a long time.

  The cooler night air met her like a friend, or what a friend might have been like if she’d had one. She breathed in the scents of the night flowers, closing her eyes for a moment. After her stomach had quietened, she headed towards the parking facility where air and ground cars waited, patient. Grace didn’t stop for the sword. Not this time. She’d have to stow away on the starship without it. She could find another one. Chances to escape were few.

  As she moved toward the parking facility, noise drifted to her on the wind. She turned, taking in the lights of the entertaining house. Her father’s visitors would be here. That’s where most of the housekeepers would be, guards patrolling to make sure no one got too close.

  Entering the parking facility, she found a sleek ground car. It was black, magnetic rail wheels the quietest thing in here. She loved the way the rail clamps cupped the spoke-less rims, holding each circle as if by magic. Grace slipped inside, the leather creaking against her. She fired up the console, the car’s computer asking, “Destination?” It’s voice was male, cultured, impassive, like any of the housekeepers. Probably as caring too.

  Grace leaned forward. “The Meoto Iwa,” she said. “Take me to Futamiokitama Shrine.” The car chirped, wheels slipping across the ceramicrete with almost no noise.

  • • •

  The car drove from the grounds through peaceful, serene farmland. Lights nudged back the darkness like they were old friends, arm wrestling for who would win. Always more darkness, but always more light. Grace nestled back into the leather seats, looking out the windows at the starlit fields beyond. The car ate the klicks like it was always hungry.

  They reached a highway, the auto car slipping into the flow of traffic like one more drop of water entering a stream. Japan’s industry always firing, even at two o’clock in the morning. A light rain fell, slipping off the near frictionless windscreen like a series of dreams you couldn’t quite remember. Grace didn’t let the car wipe them away. It didn’t need to see, and she knew where she was going. She tried to close her mind from the people in the cars around her, weariness/excitement/sadness/hunger/anger/frustration and a million other emotions swirling around until she wanted to shout at them to stop. The feelings buffeted at her as cars jockeyed for position around her on the eight-lane freeway leading to the coast, people upon people upon people always circling.

  Lights broke the darkness around them, farmland giving away to factories, which gave way to high density housing. Excitement of her own pushed away some of the other people’s feelings. She’d never been here before, pressing her face against the glass window of the ground car as if the sights were water and she had an endless thirst.

  The car slowed to the outskirts of Futamiokitama Shrine, slipping into a large parking facility. She exited, laying a hand on the wet-slick exterior. “Thank you,” she said, then ducked into the darkness.

  • • •

  Grace should have gone straight for the tiny spaceport. She saw it, bright lights stroking the side of a sleek ship, nose pointed at the sky. Grace looked up, taking in the clouds that covered the stars. It didn’t matter. The ship would go through the clouds, entering the hard black of space, and then everywhere she looked would be brilliant gems of starlight.

  She turned from the ship, moving towards the Shrine. There were barriers erected, stalls waiting on credits in exchange for entry. The barriers were shut down for the night. Low lights for security glowed inside. Grace took a run at a wall, feet scrabbling as she ran up, a hand snaring the lip. She rolled over the top, landing in low bushes on the other side.

  Listen.

  She closed her eyes, trying to sense people. Further away than she could throw a stone there was a man, bored/tired/hungry coming off him, faint as the smell from old cherry blossoms. A guard, doing his job. Grace left the bushes, scampering away from the guard. There are a lot of frogs here. Grace didn’t know the significance of the frog sculptures, or why their stone eyes watched her. She wasn’t here for them.

  Grace made it through the winding paths, coming to a viewing platform. Out at sea, waves lashing them, were the Meoto Iwa, heavy rope stretched between them like an unbreakable promise. She rubbed a tear from her eyes, not sure why she was crying. Truth, she didn’t know why she’d come here. They were just rocks, not people. They would not get her into space. Grace made to turn, then paused. She looked at the rope, faint against the darkness of the ocean, then at the two rocks.

  They were together. Grace thought of Megumi and Iwao, attached to her but separate. She thought of Keiji and Kiyoko, and a little reluctantly, Mickey. All close to her, orbiting her star. Trying, at her father’s will, to make her something Grace didn’t want to be. But those rocks? They were together. Had been, before humans had bound them with ropes.

  Grace hoped, maybe, she could find someone to be together with.

  • • •

  The rain had started again, a light drizzle that tasted of salt. The night air was cool, making the water refreshing rather than sticky. Her hair felt touched by it, as if nature was stroking her head.

  The spaceport was tiny, a single pad for starships surrounded by blast walls against the nuclear fire of takeoff. Grace hunkered down in the lee of a holo sign advertising Off World Delights! near a subway station, a hole leading into the earth. A handful of sararimen walked by her, faces miserable. She wasn’t sure if it was the rain, but she dared to look inside their heads. There were the feelings of duty and weariness, so she thought it was more their lives than their situation.

  Which was odd, because they were free. They could walk about, without a father who kept them jailed. There weren’t people trying to feed them poisoned ice cream. All of them ignored the bright lights of the spaceport, the shiny sliver of the starship yearning for the heavens. The starship stood alone, its nose above the blast walls. A single building stood in the lee of the walls, and that would be Grace’s entrance.

  From her vantage point, Grace couldn’t see any people around the spaceport. No guards. In the holos there were always guards. At the Shrine, there had been a guard. Here? None. It could be cams, watchers waiting with machine vigilance. Whatever, there wasn’t anyone there to stop her boarding. She sl
ipped through a fence, the weary chain links broken by time, leaving the rattle of the metal behind her. The grass around the spaceport was long and lush, an excuse for green space alongside safety ordinance that said no non-spaceport structures next to nuclear fire. Grace reached the building, the auto door opening as she approached. Eyes wide, she stepped inside the cool dark of the building, leaving wet footprints on the tiled floor. A vending machine’s console chimed at her, lights brightening for a moment. It startled Grace, making her drop into a crouch before laughing at herself. The machine wanted to sell her treats, an exchange of Empire credits for food or drink. She ignored the machine, moving further into the deserted building.

  Grace didn’t have far to travel, the spaceport tiny even by the standards she’d imagined. A scanner set up for contraband, automated, silent and dark. Gates wide open to the outside. She slowed her pace as she got closer to the exit where the ship awaited. Grace couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. There should have been someone by now, but she saw no one.

  You have other senses. Chiding herself, she tried to reach out with her mind. Her gifts were young, stunted, corrupted if she were to believe her father. Ahead of her, nearby the starship, she caught a tremor of someone’s fear, like smoke on wind. Grace turned, looking back the way she’d come. Her wet footprints would lead her to freedom. But it wasn’t the escape she wanted. It was back to Japan. Ahead, there was a ship, the vast distances between stars the ocean it sailed. That was the only way to be free of her father. She could be lost as a spec in a boundless expanse.

  Grace turned back to the door leading to the ship, then strode forward. Her hand was raised to open the exterior door, but it slid wide automatically like the first. That hint of fear blazed alight, a fire of panic, and Grace saw why.