V 07 - The Alien Swordmaster

by Somtow Sucharitkul (UC) (epub)

  “it’s open!” CB yelled triumphantly, as the grating dropped with a fearful clang down to the stone floor beneath and prisoners scrambled to get out of the way.

  “Jump!” Matt yelled.

  All three of them did so. The prisoners, thinking CB and Matt were the lizard overlords, began fawning over them.

  “These guys are converted, right?” Matt said. “They’ll do anything I say.”

  “That’s the idea,” Rod said.

  “I think I got a plan.” He called out brusquely to the assembled prisoners. “Now which of you speaks English?” he said, using his voicebox for maximum effect.

  “I do, master.” said one . . . God, it was Yasutake! And Yasutake didn’t even recognize him.

  “Listen. Those aliens up there are bad, do you hear? They’re . . . they’re in revolt against the proper . . . the proper ethics of the saurian community. We are on our way to report this whole shocking plot to Lady Murasaki at the banquet. In the meantime, you must fend them off until help comes—kill them if necessary!”

  “But—they are masters too—”

  “Obey!” said Matt in so chilling a tone of voice that even CB jumped out of his skin.

  “Not bad role-playing, dude,” CB whispered, shaken. “Here they come.” The ninjas pursuers, having ascertained that the three had jumped, were following suit now, leaping one by one into the chamber.

  Some of the prisoners were milling about confusedly as Yasutake started to explain Matt’s “orders” to them. Many were so perplexed they did nothing at all . . . but some were convinced. They began to close in on the attackers, methodical, almost somnambulistic in their motions.

  “We’d better duck out here before they catch us,” Rod said. “I can’t believe that used to be our friend . . . well,” he said, as they entered an empty corridor at the end of which there seemed to be stairs back up to ground level, “I think it’s about time you told me what the hell you’re doing here in that ridiculous reptile makeup!”

  The sounds of scuffling from inside that dungeon cell were not incredibly comforting as Matt tersely related the entire tale to Rod from their last, desperate phone conversation to that moment. “And now,” he finished, “Sugihara and Tomoko are sitting up there in the lizard’s maw, just waiting to be discovered. . . .”

  “Wait—did you say Sugihara? The great swordmaster Kenzo Sugihara? He’s dead ... I heard he committed suicide.”

  “Yes, I know,” Matt said. “This is a pupil of his . . . who took his name.”

  “Sugihara had no pupils,” Rod said. “That’s why not that many people knew about him. But he did have one, it was rumored . . . one of the high-ups in the lizard hierarchy! You don’t suppose—”

  “No. It can’t be,” Matt said. But this was the secret fear that had tormented him the whole time. “Oh, God. It’s not true.”

  “I didn’t say it was. Besides, this fellow has helped you, hasn’t he?”

  “But they’re devious.”

  “Sometimes you’re a little too xenophobic, Matt Jones. But come on, we’d better go to the rescue. And we’d better get us an army first.”

  “An army?” CB said.

  “Sure. We’ll go into all the prison cells . . . we’ll tell them the same story . . . about the bad revolutionary aliens who are a threat to our cause. Right? Hell, with that disguise and that voice contraption you look and act so mean your own mother’d kill you. When people have been brainwashed they’re very suggestible, and if you can come across sounding vaguely like the swill they’ve been getting from their lizard masters, we’ve got it made.”

  “And the guards?”

  “I think we can cope with a few guards,” Rod said grimly. “I’ve been meaning to show them a few tricks of ikakujitsu for some time.

  “Okay. Let’s go. One, two, three dungeon cells between us and the stairway. You think I can talk them all into it?” said Matt.

  “Give it a shot,” Rod said. “It’s all we can do.”

  They went into the first chamber There were no guards at all; apparently they felt that the converted ones were so safe they could be left alone! That was their greatest failing, these lizard folk from the stars, Matt thought; they were blinded by their sense of superiority, unable to credit humans with any kind of ingenuity at all.

  They saw him and prostrated themselves as was required. Then Matt began speaking, in English, while one of them translated to the others. Matt was thinking: Deep down in these people’s hearts there’s got to be a place these monsters haven’t touched. They don’t dare admit it to themselves . . . for fear of this self-punishing mechanism that the alien brainwashing will induce . . . but they want to do it, they really want to. If I can phrase it just right, if I can make it really sound like the lizard masters. . . .

  Was it working? “I command you! Help me rid our empire of these dissidents. Let them see that our might is irresistable!” God, I’m sounding like an old movie villain, he thought. But maybe, considering the pulp these lizards have left in these guys’ heads, maybe it’s about the right level to aim at. . . .

  One by one the converted began to fall into line. Some, driven practically schizoid by the contrary pull of their conditioning, were pacing back and forth, trying to puzzle it out. But others had enthusiastically launched into a bloodcurdling chant and were pulling out bamboo swords and other practice weapons, all that they had available.

  “Follow! Follow!” Matt shouted, as he made his way to the next cell and the next—

  And finally emerged in the central courtyard of the castle ... at the head of a bewildered but bloodthirsty army!

  Chapter 25

  “They’ve noticed us. I’m sure they’ve noticed us!” Tomoko whispered to Sugihara. “What was she just talking about anyway?”

  “She says that that urn contains the remains of Fieh Chan,” Sugihara said, as the reptile at the head of the table continued to orate in her screeching voice. Food continued to be brought in, appetizers and small things Tomoko did not care to look at too closely; instead she looked behind hei; out of the enormous bay window from which extended a small parapet.

  “Do you think it’s true?”

  “I can’t say,” Sugihara said.

  Tomoko continued to sit rather uncomfortably. “Look. Why are they staring at us?” she asked suddenly. “Don’t we look right or something? I don’t know how long I can keep this up.”

  “It’s all right. Now . . . hold the gag reflex. I think they’re bringing on the main coarse.”

  She heard the raucous hooting that passed for laughter among these creatures ... an enormous platter was being wheeled into the room, a platter whose contents smelled suspiciously like . . . roast pork . . . pork, pork, where was it she’d heard the expression ‘long pig’? Wasn’t it in the first anthropology class she’d ever taken, when the subject of cannibalism came up and Professor Schwabauer told the students, his jowls shaking, that ‘long pig’ was what they called human flesh in some parts of the world? That it was considered the greatest delicacy amongst many races? She knew she shouldn’t be shocked, she should keep a cool analytical mind, she should just imagine that she was doing some kind of advanced field work disguised as an alien, infiltrating their culture ... as they bought it to the table, her senses reeled. She struggled to quell the nausea . . . at some level knowing too that the smell was not unpleasant, was even . . . delicious. . . .

  The saurian to her right said something to her; she responded in Japanese. “Oh? You have a fancy to practice one of the outlandish human tongues?” he said. He was an older creature; his cheeks seemed to sag, and the scales seemed to have lost their shine. “Very well. I’m getting a little rusty myself, and it will of course still be necessary to deal with the nasty things even after the return of the Mother Ships.”

  “Ah,” said Tomoko, pretending to nod sagely.

  Just then, the covered dish was wheeled in their direction. “You’ll love this,” said the saurian. “They always try to choose
a specimen suitable to the occasion, and in this case. ...”

  The dish cover was lifted.

  She knew this man! His name was Kippax, Jonathan Kippax. He’d been one of Matt’s best friends, and was supposed to have been in on that ill-fated tournament. It was too much for her. She couldn’t help it. A shrill scream escaped her lips.

  They all turned around to look at her

  “Now the fat’s in the fire!” Sugihara said coolly. “You’d better be ready to—”

  At that moment—

  Rattling sounds from the courtyard outside! Resounding footsteps . . . shouts of banzai and terrifying warchants.

  An attendant rushed in and threw himself at Murasaki’s feet. “They’re attacking, My Lady, I don’t know why, they’re attacking-—”

  “What! I ordered no late-night demonstration. That was to have been tomorrow!” Murasaki cried out in ire, pulling a little flail out of her kimono and laying into the unfortunate servant. “Tell them to stop immediately, do you hear? Immediately! Or you’ll be dessert tonight!”

  “Tono, they are not demonstrating, they are actually attacking you! They’re on their way up to the banqueting hall—”

  “What impertinence! How can they possibly be attacking us? They’re converted creatures . . . not only subreptile but actually subhuman!” With a disgusted flick of her tongue she daubed the attendant’s face with venom and left her, lying howling on the tatami floor.

  Murasaki ran to the window to look. The other guests, ignoring their food, rushed over and began to crowd each other . . . their oppressive odor pervaded her nostrils, a stench of fetid, carnivorous breath and scaly dryness. “It’s true!” Murasaki said. “Call in my ninjas at once!” Alarms blared through the castle. Lights flashed from the courtyard beneath. Tomoko saw the Lady Murasaki standing at the window, looking out over the parapet. Murasaki was resplendent in her glittering, many-colored kimono; her squamose face seemed to shine in the lights that strobed up from the flagstoned court beneath. As Tomoko pressed closer to watch, she saw a small troop of crack ninjas leap down from windows, roofs and balconies. A volley of arrows burst into the artificially lit night.

  Marching out of the dungeons . . . wasn’t that Matt, CB and . . . Rod Casilli? How many of the other captured martial arts experts had they rescued? Behind them marched the armies of converts, and Tomoko saw from their eyes that they had not been liberated.

  As arrows raced towards them Matt reached up and grabbed their shafts in his hands, his teeth, plucking them in sheaves from the air . . . an ancient ninja trick Tomoko had never seen in real life before. Then his army ran forward and began hand-to-hand combat with Murasaki’s ninjas.

  She was right behind Murasaki now, elbows practically touching. . . .

  “Now!” Sugihara shouted in English. “Get her!”

  Tomoko pulled the laser pistol from a fold of her kimono and shoved it hard into the small of Murasaki’s back.

  Murasaki shouted something incomprehensible.

  “Listen to me,” Tomoko said harshly. “Away from the window. Against the wall.” Louder she said to the others, “You others, against the walls.” Sugihara had pulled out his sword and his laser pistol and was motioning the aliens into a comer and covering them.

  In a fury, Murasaki screamed: “What is this? Insurrection in the ranks of my own subordinates? How do you think the High Command is going to look at this? I told you the Mother Ships were returning!”

  They could hear the thunder of footsteps now, as some of the rebels were breaking through the ninjas into their wing of the castle.

  “You underestimate us, Murasaki. You call us animals. You use us as servants. You feed on us. Yet—” and, making sure her pistol was trained on Murasaki, she carefully peeled off her mask with the other hand.

  The lizards recoiled in horror

  Suddenly, Murasaki’s hands broke through the shoji of the wall and hit a gong on the other side. It boomed. Tomoko fired in panic . . . her wrist seemed to give way, she just couldn’t do it at point-blank range . . . scaly hands seized hers and held them fast, pain wrenched at her shoulders. She was being held by two lizard ninjas who had leapt in through the paper wall.

  “Now, you with the samurai sword. Drop it at once . . . or the woman dies and is added forthwith to our repast,” Murasaki said coldly.

  “Don’t do it!” Tomoko screamed.

  “I will not!” Sugihara said. “For I have information that you need, Murasaki. Information without which your empire will forever be incomplete . . . information without which your quota of pressure skins will never be filled and the number of Visitors will gradually be thinned out by death!”

  “You have nothing for me. Especially if you are . . . one of these disguised mortals. You shall be killed and eaten along with her.”

  “I have information,” Sugihara continued quietly, “that you have feared for months, Murasaki . . . that you have tried to ignore. It’s no use. You are not in command here. / am!”

  He tore the mask from his face.

  It wasn’t the face of Kenzo Sugihara!

  “Yes, Tomoko,” he said slowly. “I am sorry that it was necessary to conceal my identity from you. I did not think you would accept my help otherwise. ...”

  Tomoko said, bitterly, “What will you do now? Kill us all? Now that we’ve helped you recover your own authority? Will you attempt to have your way with me again?”

  “No,” said the alien swordmaster. He spoke very gravely, in measured tones. He was much as Tomoko had remembered him, months before, when they had had those few hours together, when she had poured out her heart to him, a strangei; an alien. To think that she had harbored him in her own home! That they had travelled together unknowing all this time . . . that she had never once suspected—

  Yes. She had suspected. She had even hoped. . . .

  “And now,” Fieh Chan said to Lady Murasaki, “what am I to do about you?”

  As the aliens stared about uncertainly at this astonishing turn of events, Fieh Chan continued to speak: “Release the woman! Now!” As they did so, Tomoko recovered her laser pistol. “Now, Tomoko, keep these people backed against the wall. Come with me.” Carefully he stepped up onto the dais beyond the head of the dinner table. “Soon Matt Jones and his fighters will reach this banquet hail.” “The outcome is far from as certain as you seem to suggest!” Murasaki screeched.

  “It is indeed!” said Fieh Chan. “Let me tell you something. Isn’t it true that for the past four months you have been desperately searching for the key to the Castle’s central computer? That you haven’t been able to find the verbal input codes for unlocking vital information . . . that I alone possess? That’s why you were looking for me so desperately, Murasaki, and that’s why it is so vital that I should not be found.”

  A defiant alien started to run forward, to protest. Sugihara-Fieh Chan cut him down with a single stroke of his sword.

  “Well, let me tell all of you the story of my life.” The silence in the room was total now; from outside, the sounds of fighting seemed infinitely distant. “On our homeworld there exists an ancient faith called prcta-na-ma. It pertains to the belief in peace and brotherhood of all species. It encompasses many mysteries; its adepts, in the legendary past, were able to attain transcendent mental states in which they appeared to possess astounding powers. When the present, highly militaristic regime took over our planet centuries ago, and began forging its empire of savage cruelty throughout this sector of the galaxy ... the old strong faith went underground. But it was still practiced in secret . . . passed down, in its fragmentary form, from teacher to pupil through the ages. And I, a young novice of preta-na-ma, heard tell of a distant planet that was being opened up for exploitation by our forces. A planet on which there existed religions that preached many of the precepts of preta-na-ma: and one in particular—Zen Buddhism— which shared many tenets and disciplines with it. I was inspired by this discovery; 1 had to see its true meaning for myself. It is to this en
d that I sought a command in the Visitor hierarchy ... a position of power for which I was often compelled to compete in a most unpreta-na-ma-like way. I came to this planet with many preconceptions. 1 thought that the earth creatures could be little more than animals, and this preta-na-ma of theirs but some tawdry mimickry of our own, true, ancient, buried ideals. I learned otherwise. I learned that there is goodness and compassion at the heart of all species ... no matter that it has been repressed and beaten down for centuries in my own kind! For months 1 visited the great swordmaster Kenzo Sugihara. He taught me the way of the warrior; he taught me also the arts of peace. When I fell from the sky, wrapped only in my pressure skin, he was waiting for me, and in his mistress’ laboratory he helped me fashion a second human visage for myself; for I had to be reborn. I could not be Fieh Chan for now . . . how could I bear to be a symbol of all that men loathed, the leader of the conquerors? It was only after he had rescued me that Sugihara revealed to me his intention of committing suicide in response to a demand from Lady Murasaki that he participate in a diabolical plan to train thousands of fighters to become soulless killing machines.

  Sadly, because I had accepted his philosophy, I could not escape his consequences. I was asked to be his second in this act of seppuku, and I saw to it that Sugihara died correctly, elegantly and nobly. Yet I had doubts. Would I, in ray previous days, have had the courage to end my own life rather than live in shame? I knew that I had to fight to protect the new way of life 1 had embraced. So, knowing what I knew about Murasaki’s plans, I went to America and began to try to track down the masters of martial arts that they were planning to abduct . . . and here I am.”