Chapter 16
Master Kaigo jacked us in.
Scenario 69: Deep Patrol
The sky was dark with oparu no tako, flocks of intertwining bands of yellow, green, brown and blue, spanning from horizon to horizon. A wet wind blew, swift and sure and powerful. When it gusted, the hovercraft would lift in the air and we’d soar.
The land was dotted with huge patches of bare white stone the color of yellowed bones dotted with occasional dull-red "desert flowers," tiny thick-leaved plants the size of a child’s palm. And along the white rock, four-legged creatures like giant ants with glossy green-black exoskeletons waited near the tops of burrows a man could fit his fist into. And when the ants smelled us, they leapt into their burrows.
We glimpsed a mammal the size of a tomcat with bushy gray fur and one huge, clawed arm, like that of a fiddler crab but as long as my own arm, lumber from hole to hole, reaching down to grab ants.
We headed toward a small red hill, but soon the ground dropped and we came to a basin where thick tussocks of dry grass and small bushes clung to a thin layer of soil. The vegetation was nearly all Earth plants. We passed a herd of gazelles and wildebeest, and five tawny lions panting in the shade of a small tree. This tiny basin seemed an island of normality among the strange flora and fauna of Baker.
"We’ve got another combat team off to the left," Perfecto said as we shot through the tall lion grass. He waved at someone I couldn’t see.
"Abriara Sifuentes here in Team One," Abriara said.
"Paco García here. We spotted two Yabajin craft come over that hill up ahead just a minute ago. Veer right, and come up even with us. I want us to go in tandem. New tactic." His transmission was loud, and his voice rang in my head. At this close range, the feedback from his external mike made it sound as if he were a dog growling.
"Sí," Abriara said, veering right. Mavro and Perfecto boosted to their tiptoes on the turrets and looked out over the tall grass and brush, trying to spot the Yabajin. We were in a bad place to find them. If we continued at a fast pace, we could easily run into an ambush.
We met the second hovercraft and I glanced at them. They were dressed like us, in their dull green and dusty brown bug suits. Enlarged eyes seeming to peer everywhere as they nervously looked towards us. I’d learned to feel comfortably at ease with my weapon. It hung on me as if it were part of my body. To fight and even to die was a mindless pastime, something I might soon learn to do without forethought or calculation. I felt good. We whisked into a thicket. Two red deer with yellow spots bounded out away, and I suddenly had a strange feeling.
García’s hovercraft veered close, and everyone on the craft watched us. I saw what was wrong: The big chimera Miguel should have been forward turret gunner. Instead, the man in the green bug suit in front was a tiny man.
I started to aim my rifle, and their hovercraft swept in and rammed us.
"Fire!" someone shouted, and his command filled my helmet like the roar of a beast. The men in the hovercraft turned their turrets on us. Perfecto and Mavro’s armor went "thwack" as it cracked from taking hits at such close range. I fired at the nearest laser gunner. He reached out and smacked my gun, knocking it to the ground, then leapt past me.
Abriara tried to swerve away, and I was thrown off balance and began tumbling backward. A turret gunner fired into me, and the searing plasma burst through my armor and tore into my chest. I fell back and instead of hitting ground, I jacked out.
Perfecto and Mavro were already out, since they were instantaneous kills, and they stood beside the holo, studying it. Those still jacked into the simulation sat limply in their chairs, totally oblivious to their surroundings. Their armor reminded me of cocoons, and I saw them as some type of pupae trapped in stasis, dreaming of the day when they’d metamorphose into butterflies. No, not butterflies—I thought. Something that dreams of death—dragonflies.
Kaigo sat on his dais, gazing at the two hovercrafts flitting side by side: Two big men had jumped onto our hovercraft. One ripped Zavala’s helmet off and began beating Zavala to death. The second pulled Abriara from her driver’s seat. Abriara shrieked and cursed, and Zavala’s face sounded as if it were a soft fruit someone was pummeling.
The two craft approached a baobab tree in slow motion, and the driverless craft slid into it, crumpling. All the people—both the tiny dead bodies that represented us and those still alive—spilled from our mangled hovercraft like rag dolls while the enemy flitted past then swung back to meet them. Abriara crawled several paces then tried to stand, but her leg trailed at an odd angle. One of the enemy jumped up and tackled her. They struggled on the ground. The other "compadre" sat up and held his head for a moment then crawled back to Zavala and began thumping him again. I could think of only one man who might hate us enough to attack us in the simulator.
Perfecto spoke the name: "Lucío. Now I see why you did not Quest for us after we left the weight room, mamón." And I knew he was right. Lucío had planned this moment for weeks.
Zavala jacked out of the simulator, a bit groggy. He took off his helmet and hopped off the model hovercraft and strode over to us through the holographic landscape like a giant walking over a desert, stepping over the tiny representations of two Yabajin craft approaching from the far side of the room, the Yabajin in their red combat armor.
Lucío and his men reached the wreck under the baobab and jumped from their hovercraft. Lucío said, "Good! Good! Strip that bitch Abriara and start fucking her. I want everyone to get a turn. Where’s Mavro?" Lucío separated from the rest of the group and began searching among the fallen bodies, kicking aside our sprawled limbs. His four men circled Abriara. She couldn’t stand, but raised herself to one knee; she swung at one of them, and he swore at her. Someone pushed her from behind, tripping her, then pinned her to the ground and began ripping off her armor. She didn’t scream or go into hysterics. She just grunted and breathed heavily as she struggled to keep herself dressed and fend them off.
Perfecto looked up at Kaigo and said, "Where are they?"
Kaigo didn’t say anything at first, then he reached up and thumbed the subdural pressor switch under his ear and engaged his comlink. He began speaking in Japanese.
Lucío found Mavro’s dead body among the wreckage. He pulled off Mavro’s helmet and checked his face to be sure of Mavro’s identity, then stripped the lower half of the body and threw Mavro on the ground, face-down, half naked. Lucío opened his own codpiece.
"Mavro, I wish you were jacked in to the simulator! I wanted to take you from behind, like this, and hear you scream!" Then he mounted the corpse and began rhythmically grinding against it.
Lucío’s men finished stripping Abriara, then a big chimera opened his codpiece and crawled on top of her. She struggled to fight them off. She didn’t beg or curse or scream. The chimera moved on top of her, and I caught a glimpse of her face. I viewed it from above, like God watching from a cloud, and even from there I could see in her something I’d never expected to see in a woman so strong—a pale face with pleading eyes and a down-turned mouth, the face of a person totally demolished and empty of hope. The face of someone in a Greek hell, destined to be eternally raped.
Perfecto jumped up to our hovercraft and ripped the lead to the cranial jack from the socket at the base of Abriara’s skull. She crumpled to the floor and brought her knees up even with her chin. He gently tried to remove her helmet, and she slapped his hand away.
Down on the floor the simulation of Abriara went limp. The Yabajin were nearly on Lucío’s men. They wouldn’t spend more than another minute jacked into the simulator.
Kaigo disengaged his comlink. "They are in battle room 79, on level six."
I leapt toward the door and the others followed, none of us taking time to strip out of our battle gear.
"Wait!" Kaigo shouted. I stopped and looked at him. He lowered his head and looked at the holo where Lucío and his men humped the limp replicas of my compadres. He hissed through his teeth, "Saaahhh," and ran
his hand over his brow. "Every man is important to our fight on Baker," he said. "I do not want you taking their lives. You should not be enemies." He wrung his hands for a moment. "You must put aside your differences until you vanquish your common enemy. There will be time for vengeance."
Mavro glared at him, the fine muscles in his face swelling from rage. "Honor demands vengeance now!" he said, voicing my thoughts, and I rushed out of the room.
"Do not kill them! I order you!" Kaigo shouted behind us.
I didn’t listen to him. Only one set of footsteps followed me. I turned and saw Mavro, grim and determined.
I ran as fast as I could, working hard in the heavy gravity to stay ahead of him, to be first. It was like rushing through a dream—the heavy breathing, the sound of the teflex battle armor snapping against the floors, the feeling of power and wrath. We stepped in unison without thought, rushing toward Lucío and his men past people in the corridor who flattened against the walls, removing themselves from our path, past an open door that issued forth the sweet smell of cigar smoke, a man in a silver and red kimono laughed loudly from within the room. I stripped off my arm-pieces and pulled out a knife. I felt remarkably calm. It would be like fighting in the simulator. I would go, and I’d be the first to die, and it would all be like this, like passing through a dream.
I felt as if I were stepping into another world, the world where the ghost of Flaco would become flesh. There should be ghosts with me, I thought, and distantly I felt as if they followed at my arm. I quickened my step. I heard a rattling noise, and didn’t bother to look behind me. My teeth had begun to chatter, just as they’d done when I killed Arish. We swept down the hall, reached the ladder.
From behind, Perfecto yelled, "Wait, I’m coming!" but we didn’t wait. I ignored the rungs and just grabbed the outside bars and let myself slide three levels, occasionally gripping tightly to slow my descent.
When I hit level six Mavro said, "Take corridor four and turn right at the end." I followed his instructions and when I came to the corner men in dark blue were rushing around the curve of the hall before us—three samurai with swords drawn, and behind them some Latin Americans. I knew Kaigo had warned them to stop us, but I saw a sign above a door that said "Battle room 79" and knew they were too late. I headed into the alcove.
As I reached the door it opened. I saw a flash of the silver and red kimono of a sergeant.
"Didn’t anyone ever tell you to never hit a woman?" I yelled, thinking it a crazy thing to say even as I said it.
Lucío had been looking at the floor as he exited, and his gaze swept up and his mouth opened in surprise. My crystal knife slashed through his left eye, down across his nose, and to his jaw. The cut was deep. He seemed to collapse backward and flecks of blood splashed on me. I was surprised at how easy it was. The blade cut through flesh and even part of the skull as easily as if I’d sliced through cake. Someone behind Lucío shouted, "Jesus Christ!" and tried to pull him back to safety.
Lucío instantly lurched forward, leapt, and kicked my chest, hitting my upper abdomen, punching air out of me. I staggered and was suddenly cognizant of Perfecto rushing up behind me. He slapped me in the head, knocking me out of harm’s way with more enthusiasm than was necessary.
I reeled and the corridor lights seemed to become very bright for a moment and I found myself sitting on the floor shaking my head, trying to keep it from spinning.
Perfecto had a bloody lip, and was standing over me. I must have fainted for a second. Two samurai had interposed themselves between us and Lucío’s men, and both samurai had their swords drawn.
In the dark battle room Lucío’s friends were trying to hold him upright. One of them said to Lucío, "Stay still, amigo. He cut you bad! You are hurt bad!"
But Lucío struggled against them, trying to throw himself at us shouting, "Come here, you whore! Let me go! I’m going to kill that old fucker!" and he struggled with his friends.
I realized he was yelling at me because I’d cut him, and I tried to stand up too fast and my head spun. "I’d be happy to see you try!" I shouted.
Mavro, standing behind me, said, "Get away from here, Angelo! He’s crazy! The blood of the conquistadores runs strong in that one!" His tone held a note of awe or fear. I turned and looked at him. His eyes were very cold, calculating. The lights shone on his silver tears.
I lunged at Lucío, not because I was going to attack him, but because I wanted to scream in his face. Perfecto grabbed me and I shouted, "The blood of the conquistadores runs strong in me, too, mamón!"
"You crazy!" Lucío shouted. I felt several hands grappling with my arms at once, and Perfecto and Mavro tugged me back into the hall and started retreating. Lucío shouted, "I’m going to kill you and fuck your woman! You’re a dead man! You’re a dead man! You’re a dead man!"
I yelled, "Ah, go fuck your mother!" and stepped back a couple of paces, then found that I hadn’t yet recovered my balance, for I tripped over my own feet.
Perfecto helped me up and we trotted back up to our battle room. The only sounds were the swish of our clothes and the heavy breathing.
I turned to Mavro. "Why did you tell me to get away from Lucío?"
"He was crazy. It isn’t good to fight someone in his condition. You could have cut his throat, and he’d keep ripping you apart for five minutes before he’d realize he was dead. It’s better to let his blood cool. He’ll be easier to kill, then."
"I’m sorry we lost your knife," Perfecto said.
I looked down and realized I was no longer holding my crystal knife. "Where is it?"
"The samurai picked it up. However, they didn’t look up your other sleeve."
He was right. I could still feel the knife strapped to my right wrist. But I felt a strong sense of loss. That knife had been beautiful.
When we reached our battle room Kaigo was waiting. He glared at us and spoke to someone on comlink. "They’re here," he said. Abriara was sitting up in her driver’s seat, and Zavala sat next to her, one hand extended as if to touch her, to offer comfort, yet he didn’t touch her. Abriara’s helmet was off. Her face was washed out. Troubled. The webs of silver in her eyes seemed to have expanded in the last few moments until there was nothing human left in them.
Mavro slapped me on the back and boasted, "What a surprise! You should have seen don Angelo here! He swung that knife without the slightest concern for Lucío’s health or well-being! And he ended up nearly slicing Lucío’s head off. It was wonderful! Look at the blood on him. You’d think he’d just butchered a hog."
Mavro thought it was all very funny. I looked at my battle armor and saw that it was indeed spattered with blood.
Abriara stared at me strangely, as if about to speak, but changed her mind.
Kaigo shouted, "Get down here! On your knees!" He drew his sword and pointed to the floor with it. We cautiously walked to the dais, keeping our eyes to the ground, and knelt before Master Kaigo. He stared at us for a long time.
Perfecto understood the samurai far better than any of us did. He laid his face on the floor and shouted, "Forgive them, Master, they acted in the heat of their anger."
Kaigo hissed through his teeth, then asked calmly, "What have they done?"
"They attacked Lucío and slashed his face—but remembered your orders and didn’t kill him."
There was an uncomfortable silence. Kaigo watched us. He said, "You should have thought ahead. You must think before you act."
"But ... you’ve taught us that there must not be the breadth of a hair between the thought and the act," Mavro said. "You’ve taught us well."
Kaigo shouted in Japanese and the microspeaker on his collar came to life. "You acted irresponsibly by attacking in an untimely fashion. What could you be thinking? Where is your honor?"
It seemed a strange question. I couldn’t see how we’d dishonored ourselves by attacking Lucío.
Mavro said, "I would have avenged my honor if I had killed them!"
"But you would dishon
or your employer by killing these men in an untimely fashion!" Kaigo shouted. Then he calmed himself and said in a softer tone, as if reasoning with friends, "Motoki Corporation needs these men alive, ne? What could you have been thinking? If you avenge your honor upon these men now, will you then commit seppuku to redeem yourselves? This cannot be so! If you kill them now and die now by your own hands, you will take ten lives from Motoki Corporation. You would be permanently shamed. You could not fulfill your obligation to the corporation!
"Or do you think to kill these men now and die heroically in battle. Do you think to become Divine Wind, to die heroically?" Kaigo opened his mouth wide so we could see his tongue. He wrinkled his face in disgust. "No one can plan a hero’s death with certainty. You must not think this.
"So, I see only one other path that could possibly lead to honor: You decided to kill them now, distinguish yourselves in battle, and commit seppuku after the war? Yet, this is a most uncertain path. For even if you distinguish yourselves in battle, you cannot say with certainty what damage these men would have done to the Yabajin. You may perform a miracle in battle, but who will ever know with certainty if you have redeemed yourselves? In your rage, perhaps this is what you were thinking, but now that your anger has diminished you must see that none of these paths lead to honor!"
Mavro said bitterly, "That is not what I was thinking. I thought we’d kill these men, then you’d forgive us. I thought you’d understand that we must avenge ourselves."
"I ... understand," Kaigo said. "I too would avenge myself. But ... the only path I see that will let you honor your commitment to Motoki and avenge yourselves of your enemy will be to wait until after the war. You will fight your battle with the Yabajin, then kill your enemies. Your debt of honor will be paid to the corporation, and your personal honor will be avenged. You will not have to lose your lives in seppuku, ne? It seems a simple matter." He smiled, as if he’d just explained a simple truth to idiot children and was waiting to see if they understood.
On My Way to Paradise Page 23