System Seven

by Parks, Michael

  “He’s been muddled.” Sean added. “Active shielding in the grid and in Saoghal. We could only skim stray emotions and watch, ready if they slip up.”

  “During a recent meeting they did. We pressed in. What little was harvested suggests involvement in a local operation with worldwide implications.”

  Sean picked it up. “Interpreted, we see the Dejitaru running concerted net attacks against the US and EU. Likely infrastructure with extra emphasis on financials. Why this bothered the godfather so much isn’t clear. It implies he didn’t trust the proposal or he doesn’t like what the attacks would bring about. This yakuza connection may yield the best intelligence of what they’re planning.”

  The slide changed to an image of a nearly destroyed black luxury sedan.

  “The Comannda’s need for the Dejitaru must be timely and great. This morning the oyabun was involved in a car wreck. Before they could finish him off, bràthair interceded and stole him into a dream. The bond to his body is thin but he may still make it provided the body is maintained. If the godfather dies now, the syndicate falls to his son, Ukita, whom we know is willing to do whatever the Comannda wants. This must be delayed, at least until we know more.”

  Austin asked, “If you have him in the dream why haven’t you figured what it is?”

  Edward shook his head. “Attempts at forcing lucidity have failed. Which is why we need you, Johan, to assume the dream. You may be able to do what others have not, as well as ward off attempts to recapture him. As for his body, his wife managed to install an army of Ookami-shita warriors in and around the hospital to protect her husband. It won’t be enough. The Comannda will be enraged at our involvement and will act soon.” He turned to Austin. “You leave for Tokyo tonight. We want you in place to help protect Sakuma.”

  “You’re serious?” Austin asked. “What can I do that his warriors can’t, besides maybe get myself killed?”

  “Sounds dangerous,” Johan agreed. “Why the risk?”

  “Because what we do requires risk and he has to start somewhere. From a field position, he’ll be surrounded by positively aligned forces. The Confrere have assigned anti-terrorist units to the hospital so risk is low. Training means nothing if you don’t apply it.” Edward stood and paused, taking in the three on the couch. “Anki, you’ll go with him, as a traveling companion. You’ll gain field experience and help further with his self-discovery.”

  The idea didn’t set well with Johan but he kept silent.

  “Anki is uniquely qualified to help Austin. A cab will arrive in a few minutes.” It rang with finality. “Soldado, Mr. Lathrop wants to use this time as a sampling of their communications net using your hypothesis. I think you’ll appreciate what he’s setting up.”

  The flat’s door stood open, a cab visible at the curb. Anki sat in the back, having said her goodbye with Johan. A chorus of crickets subsided in the nearby shrubbery as Edward and Austin stepped out onto the porch.

  He turned to regard Edward, who nodded.

  “Go on, Austin. Out with it.”

  “Yes, I’ll say it. You’ll use Johan for this but not for Kaiya? At what point do you think it becomes anything less than cruel? If you’re holding back, do me a favor and tell me now. Is she really gone?”

  “I’ve withheld nothing since you dreamt. I simply do not know. I give you my word, Austin, we will use him to find her. This assignment will be a test. If he can operate safely on Sakuma’s behalf, we’ll know Kaiya will be safer when he goes to look for her. It is the right order for the circumstances. That’s all I can offer.”

  He looked away. A cricket dared a chirp. The sweet scent of honeysuckle on the night air took him back home to evenings with Kaiya, to dinners on the patio, lying out looking at the stars under the pines, and watching television with the windows open. He ached to hold her again. It was torturous to think she might be gone forever.

  “Austin. There is no randomness, nor is there chance. Trust things are evolving as they should, with our understanding or without. Go now with Kaiya in your heart and a love of the mystery and the power you are joining with. You will find what you need. You will be complete.”

  There was nothing to say to that. It was in the old druid’s eyes, the truth of his words. To protest would create weakness at a time when strength was needed. He could only continue to trust – in Edward, in the Runa Korda, in the universe.

  The druid offered his hand and he shook it before leaving to join Anki.

  From the porch, Edward watched the cab pull away and disappear down the lane. Long moments passed before the crickets resumed their song – hesitant at first, then with growing confidence.

  • • •

  Johan stood on a raised dais in a room that stretched a hundred yards in all directions. Slate-gray walls and floors offered no texture for the eye, nothing to distract. On the dais were two chairs. Tom sat in one, Sakuma in the other, looking upward as if at the stars.

  “You’re in, thank Christopher,” Tom said. “Feel ‘em? They’re trying to distract me and draw him away. It may not look like it but I’m doing the equivalent of a wind sprint here–” An apparition of a mother figure appeared before Tom. “Uh, see, it’s hard to talk and control at the same time when you’re the center of so much attention.” Tom’s exertion was plain, even in the dream. “I’m the second handler. We almost lost him in transfer from the first. They want him bad and are teaming up. We’ll be outnumbered soon. Look, here’s the deal. He... he thinks he’s on the shores of the Pacific, stargazing with his buddy from the army.” Sakuma muttered something. “He hasn’t been lucid yet, which is bad because he’s not making much sense – hold on.”

  Tom turned to the muttering old man. “Eh, Sakuma? I can’t hear you.”

  “I said the night will tell if we get off the island or not,” he looked over his shoulder, right through Johan. “I swear they are closer now.”

  “No, no, they are still in the cages. Relax Sakuma, the tigers can’t hurt you. Think of other things. I still want to hear about the job the American wanted you to do. Relax and tell me about that.”

  The crime lord shook his head and sighed as if he’d not heard.

  “Same thing I get, every time. Tough nut. It’s time to transfer him to you. I heard you did well in practice so this should be cake.” A gurgling roar echoed from the distant walls. “Uh, okay, I’ll set the path, you just need to follow it. The moment you reach the door and open it, it’s all you. They are bound to be all over him, so you’d better be good about slappin’ ‘em down. It’s both our butts, you know? You can use this as a template or do whatever you want. I’m going to scram. They’ve got enough vibe from me to nail me to the cross, I think. And the door is a push, not a pull. Questions?” He was eager to dump out. “No? Okay.” He nodded to the left where a stone path appeared and ran all the way to a door in the far wall, a football field away.

  Johan took a few strides and stopped, looking back. “Um, any way you could...?”

  Tom nodded. “Sorry.” The door slid towards them, the walls stretching pyramid-style to keep up. “Better?”

  “Much, yes. Thanks.”

  The wooden door appeared heavy with metal bands of reinforcement and symbols etched into its frame. A worn brass thumb-lever handle dully reflected the room.

  He stared at it. Premonitions poured from the handle, possibility and intention from dozens of minds striving for a chance at control. This was nothing like they’d practiced. He glanced back at Tom.

  Tom grimaced. “Don’t make this all for nothing, man. You can do it.” The wall behind him had slid forward as well, half again nearer than before. Frantic shadows formed against its pale gray surface. The druid was losing it.

  He reached for the handle and stopped. “How will I know I’ve got control? What if they grab it first and let me think I have it?”

  Tom shook his head slowly. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, man. You have to know what’s going on. One thing: don’t doubt you
rself. That’ll jack you up, invite them in for the keys to the castle. Just do it, man. You’re the master.” Despite the encouragement, fear etched Tom’s eyes. A failed transfer could mean their capture or worse.

  He faced the door. It breathed others. Anki’s question rose like a prognostication. What if they team up on you? Is that possible?

  He faltered. Tom’s distress passed through the dream in a wave.

  A voice from deep within sounded, an almost sacred import. See the outcome beforehand, son, then live it that way. Take that which is yours to take, that which is right. Emboldened, he grasped the brass handle, its bitter cold unexpected.

  He shook his head. “The last surprise.” He thumbed the handle down and threw all his weight into the door.

  A bright light split from the widening gap, consuming everything.

  When the white light flared, taking him, time and every damn thing else with it, a single thought appeared as a guide: you get what you give.

  What he put out, came back to him. What the others put out, was coming back to them. With a universe that returned what it was given, there was little room for doubt. He with the least doubt wins out.

  In the burst of insight, he snatched the crime lord from the vanilla void of possibility and snapped to a non-space, a barren zone in the extreme of Saoghal. In the distant, unused space, he wrapped a million mile-thick shell around them; no gaps, no cracks, no weaknesses. Perfect density for perfect isolation.

  In a hollow dot at the center of the impossibly large construct, in a glowing spherical chamber, utterly and completely alone, they sat on a platform. Long sought tranquility descended.

  “How the hell did you do that?” Sakuma asked, suddenly alert.

  “Awake now, yeah? Good, because I have a few questions.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, mercenary. I’ve given my word.”

  He raised an eyebrow in response. “You’ve been lucid the entire time, haven’t you? Clever. And your word, huh? A little bird is telling me it’s not about your word. No, something else has your tongue.”

  “Your kind wouldn’t understand the value of a man’s word. Now tell me how you did this!”

  “Control, tomodachi. That’s how. Something they don’t let you have. I understand they have a job for your Dejitaru but you refused. Why?”

  Sakuma said nothing.

  “They’re going to do something awful, right? And you’re out now, almost. Thing is, you don’t care about your life, but you do care about someone else’s. That’s it, isn’t it? Yes, I can feel it. Even now, on the edge of death, you care more about one person than what, a few hundred thousand Americans? A few million Europeans? Hm? Who is it? Your wife? Your son? No, not him, he’s an ungrateful shit.”

  Conflict moved across his face, the flickering of resolve.

  “Show me. Go on, show me who it is! What one person alive today is more important than the deaths of all those people?”

  In the silence that followed, the chamber grew pink then red, darkening to crimson. Johan shook his head. “Sad. I suspect your soul is nearly decayed, Sakuma. I say nearly because you realized what they ask of your Dejitaru is wrong. You stood up to them and now you’re in over your head, life in the balance. But you’re thinking of your duty to one person. If you meet that duty, you reap your personal reward, which is what? Preserving your honor? That’s called selfishness, not honor. In the end, you are a disgrace to the principle of Japanese honor. Since you stumble so heavily with the concept of honor, I won’t try to explain why you also fail as a man or as a father–”

  “Silence!” Sakuma shouted. “You know nothing of honor! Nothing of the kind of man I am! You disrespectful child.” He spat. “That you have such power in this dream world is surely a mistake. I will not listen to you insult me for things you are ignorant of!”

  The wedge took, emotions shifted free. He pressed to expose more. “Ah, honorable Mr. Sakuma! You are right, I am mistaken. You peddle drugs, sex, and weapons. You blackmail people, you poison governments with bribery, you steal and sell people, destroy lives, and so much more. Oh yes, you are so honorable. Look, friend, you may be Musashi incarnate but in this life you have lost your mind. Your honor is twisted, your–”

  “They have my grandson!” he blurted.

  Sakuma buried his head in his hands. Frustration and guilt exploded in waves. Images spilled onto the curved walls. Johan recoiled in surprise. A young boy no more than five years old, smiling in plush gardens, laughing atop a Ferris wheel, sleeping peacefully under blankets. A little voice filled the chamber, its sound torture for the crime lord, “Sofu! Sofu!”

  Grandfather.

  He looked up, face streaked with tears. “I cannot explain my life or the culture into which I rose to power. I cannot sit here, talking uselessly to you, while Ryota is captive and scared! Do you see? My arrogance brought this upon me! In arrogance I believed I could bargain with them, that my power would protect me. Then the dark men took Ryota and what did I do? My pride!”

  His face scrunched in grief, rolling tears saying what his voice could not. He struggled to continue. “I refused. Refused to be outdone, to be... overpowered by weakness. My own grandson! He has done nothing!”

  He buried his face again, the images fading. “Now I am in this hell, or dream or wherever, twice a prisoner with no power at all. And Ryota... Ryota will surely meet death unless I keep my word.”

  Johan sighed. The man was a walking contradiction, opposing values all siloed and valid despite their operation in one mind. Capable of every crime, yet with the marrow of a loving grandfather.

  “Sakuma. I cannot help Ryota, not at this moment, but I am willing to try, if you help us. Your son will soon ascend to your position and proceed without you, dishonoring you further, no? Your Dejitaru are poised to conduct operations that will bring harm to many. Ask yourself, why would the dark men bother to keep their promise to a man they chose to kill? If Ryota is still alive, they will use him against your son. Do you trust your son to protect Ryota?”

  Sakuma looked up. Cognitive functions returned though draped in emotion. “No. Ukita has no heart. Another of my failings. Ryota would suffer. It is unthinkable. But... what the dark men promised is far worse. Madness. Should I reveal their plan, Ryota will die in the–” Fierce lines creased his face as he winced, holding it in. “He will die, too.”

  In the hesitation, Johan saw fire.

  The oyabun straightened. “I am selfish, yes. I want Ryota to live. And so Ryota will live. I will die. Others will, too, but it is necessary for his life. It is the last gift I can offer him.”

  “You really are dreaming, aren’t you? As intelligent as you appear, you’ll turn away the chance to save millions of lives? If there is honor in having put Ryota’s life at risk, or even sacrificing it – which is what you’ve likely already done – it is in the act of stopping those plans, of stopping Ryota’s father. Tell me, sensei, tell me that you don’t know the truth of this?”

  Indecision wrought Sakuma’s soul, palpable in the space between them. His face dropped into his hands again and he groaned softly.

  “Ryota...”

  • • •

  The Lear jet banked tightly as the pilot prepared for final approach. Tokyo’s evening splendor filled the windows. Anki held her breath, both for the lurch and the wondrous display of light. It was as if the Japanese love for technology had worked its way into the city’s design, visible from above. Still, old anxiety spiked at the thought of being lowered into the mass of humanity.

  Stop. One person required her attention. Only one. She glanced at Austin. Edward insisted she could help him develop the mastery he needed. That faith rested on her empathic talent but also on the fact that Clare lurked beneath, perhaps influencing. How much of it was Clare and how much of it her own gift was unclear, but the ‘flower’ that would return to help the Change wasn’t going to be her.

  She shuddered slightly. Clare’s emergence still loomed as a frightening, life
threatening event despite Edward’s reassurances. The only real indication of her truly belonging to the events unfolding seemed to be Pons’ sketches. She wanted to believe they suggested her survival. Singing to the world at the end. Though her mother being the seed from a star didn’t make sense, unless her ‘reincarnation’ was just a story to cover something else. A child of the stars? Or was all of humanity star-spawn?

  The plane hung low over the city and passed by an electric blue Ferris wheel. Answers would come, eventually, in whatever the future held.

  Austin stirred and looked at his watch. “Eight hours. Wonder what they got under the hood. Hey, you okay?”

  “I don’t fly well,” she lied, turning to the window. “I’ll be good back on the ground.”

  The jet lowered towards the runway. The reflection of Tokyo’s lights on the bay was replaced by the view of industrial buildings. Landing on solid ground felt like a welcome embrace. She touched her face again, grateful the biocats responded like flesh and not like skittering bugs. Alive, but only in the most technical of terms, they were more like synthetic robots. That bit of logic helped with the process of letting them crawl in through her mouth. Still, the urge to gouge her face had been intense.

  The cabin door slid open and the co-pilot emerged. “We’ll be pulling up at the VIP terminal. A courtesy shuttle is waiting for you.” He offered a friendly wave before retreating again. “Konbanwa.”

  Their shuttle van turned onto a narrow two-lane street just outside the airport. The air conditioner blew cool against the scented air of a tightly-packed neighborhood. Incense, cooking, the muddy river, and the smell of ocean permeated the cabin. Their driver, an older Japanese woman named Yonezu, drove confidently past stacks of apartments. First floor shops sold everything from grocery to cosmetic to electronic goods. Bicyclists appeared from side alleys and veered sharply to avoid the van. Only minutes from the airport, Austin was lost. The horizon was all power lines and two and three story buildings.