Grey Ronin (The Awakened Book 3)

by Matthew S. Cox

  Mamoru rubbed his chin. He reached toward the boy, poking both index fingers through the drape of hair shrouding his face, and parting it to reveal eyes. Man and boy exchanged a long stare. Despite his situation, Caiden seemed as though he could laugh at any moment.

  “I suspect your urge to disappear would be strong. However, you were about to die rather than talk. If you agree to bring me to your contact, I will accept your offer.”

  Caiden gulped, and shook his head in an emphatic nod that sent his hair flying. “Deal.”

  Mamoru made a circular gesture with one finger. When the boy turned his back, he grasped the chain between his wrists and gathered a sense of the electronics within. The simplistic programming changed to his whim in under a second, and they snapped open.

  “Whoa…” Caiden rubbed his wrists. “How did you do that?”

  “Ancient Japanese secret.” Mamoru allowed himself something close to a smile before he gestured at the bazaar. “Lead the way.”

  “One sec.” Caiden sprinted back to the dead men, gathering their pistols and e-mags into his backpack before searching them for stray credsticks.

  A twinge of discomfort ran through Mamoru at the boy’s utter lack of apprehension at touching corpses.

  Finding nothing else of use, Caiden closed his bag and trudged over.

  “Do you expect to need those?” Mamoru smiled. “I did not know the MLF would employ one so young.”

  The boy froze, mouth gaping. “I-I didn’t say―”

  “No, you didn’t.” Mamoru bowed. “Consider it an educated assumption.”

  Caiden brushed past him. “No, they ain’t for me. I’m not allowed to shoot people yet. Kendrick said if I gotta gun on me, it makes me a target.”

  Mamoru followed him through the square to the street. The boy walked at a casual stroll, as if he had not almost died or witnessed three men cut down in under a second. Their route took them through areas the establishment left off tourism brochures. From the back of a building abutting an alley, prostitutes of both genders gathered in clusters around men who carried themselves as if they had the authority to kill whomever they wanted.

  “Syndicate runs most of the bad shit here. All those guys work for Mirek, but don’t worry. They know me. They help us out sometimes since we both have issues with the MDF.”

  “Your movement seeks independence. If your people win, you will become the law. These men will no longer consider you allies.”

  Worry spread over Caiden’s face. “You think they’d turn on us?”

  “Without hesitation, once their interests and yours no longer align.”

  The boy moped for a few streets, lost amid thoughts of how things would change if the MLF ever won Martian independence.

  “I am sorry for ruining your dream.”

  “I always thought everyone would be happy if we kicked the UCF an’ the ACC offa Mars. The Syndicate isn’t gonna go away, are they?”

  “Unlikely. However, it would be foolish for your leaders not to expect that outcome. I am sure they have taken that into consideration. If they have not, they are inept. In that case, it is an irrelevant consideration as they will not win.”

  Caiden jogged ahead, swinging left to an even narrower passageway. He ran his fingers across the grime-smeared metal walls of the buildings on the left. Air handlers, pipes, and other square protrusions created dozens of shadowed spaces. Small white hands poked and prodded at panels, searching for the right one. Mamoru waited in silence. A few feet beyond a thrumming refrigerator-sized component leaking odious yellow vapor, Caiden found what he had been looking for.

  A small door, engraved with, ACMA – Authorized access only.

  “Who is Acma?”

  Caiden laughed. “What planet are you from? It’s Arcadia City Municipal Authority.” He grunted in an effort to drag the door open, managing to pull it only far enough for a malnourished boy to slip through before it got stuck on the ground.

  Mamoru reached over Caiden’s shoulder and, with a mild boost of strength, pulled the hatch open the rest of the way one-handed. Inside, a small chamber held a ladder leading down through a square opening. The first rung lit up with a weak glow, a strip of flexible LED tape that activated with the weight of Caiden’s shoe. He scrambled down it without hesitation, vanishing amid the dark. Mamoru pulled the door closed behind him and followed. The shaft amplified the clattering echoes of his sword and loose metal buckles swinging from Caiden’s backpack. Without the sun to compete, the glow moving with them did not seem as weak.

  Caiden jumped the last few feet to the ground, and crept away. When Mamoru reached the bottom, the boy flashed a smile and darted down another shaft, only an inch taller than he was. Mamoru stooped, glancing in either direction. Every ten meters, caged LED bulbs struggled to emit light. Some were forever dark, but enough remained to illuminate the underground corridor. Mamoru scowled at the grin his companion made at his awkward posture.

  “It’s not too far,” said Caiden, pointing forward.

  Mamoru ambled behind him, grumbling about the tight confines. Bundles of wires and pipes along the wall made the shaft seem as though it existed for maintenance access, yet a thick layer of dust coated everything. Every so often, a spark leapt from one of the weaker lights, making Mamoru twitch as if to defend against an attack. Caiden’s laugh did little for Mamoru’s mood.

  “The city is not wise to expose its infrastructure to any who can find the door.”

  “All this shit is old,” said Caiden, his voice phantasmal with a metallic echo. “Everything’s wireless now, above ground. This stuff is all ancient. Older than you are.”

  “I do not consider myself old. I am twenty-seven.”

  Caiden stopped to evaluate a turn in the passage. “That’s pretty old. You’re like my mom’s age.” He kept going straight.

  The throat-growl of an unamused samurai rumbled over distant dripping. Minutes later, the fragrance of wet dirt and moss became overwhelming. His little guide took a right turn that led to a chamber full of control boxes, fuse panels, and a workstation with long ago broken status monitors. The chair beside it had turned from red to white with decades of fungus growing on the cushion. Mamoru took a moment to stretch to his full height, feeling a modicum of pity for whatever person had been required to work here.

  The boy grabbed the handle of a metal door, lifting himself off the ground rather than budging it. He backed off, kicked it a few times, and cursed. Mamoru took a step, but Caiden held a hand up.

  “I got it.”

  Once more, he did a pull-up on the handle, kicking at the wall with squeaking shoes. A little tint of red appeared in his face before he sagged back to his feet and panted.

  “How long must one live on Mars before their skin turns white?”

  The boy shot him a glare that called him an idiot. “People don’t turn white unless they go get modded.” He held up his hands as if to show off his color. “I was born like this. It’s genetic or something.”

  Mamoru reached for the door.

  “I said, I got it. I opened it last week. It’s just stuck.”

  He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Sometimes one needs to seek help.”

  Caiden scowled and folded his arms.

  “I understand, but you are yet a boy. There is no shame in it.” A frown formed as he gazed at the ashen-white face scowling at the wall. The color reminded him of an offer of help he had declined. No oni seeks to help. What game does it play? It takes the form of a beautiful woman to trick me. Mamoru clapped his hands twice, making Caiden jump. Without considering if the Kami could hear him from Mars, he beseeched them to guard his soul. He clapped again.

  “What did you say?” The boy backed against the wall. “What language was that?”

  “Japanese. I do not mean to unnerve you, but it seems a certain demon has decided to toy with me. I am merely asking for protection.”

  “Oh, guess people pray different on Earth. That looked kinda angry.”


  Mamoru grasped the door handle and focused on becoming stronger. Glowing energy shimmered down his arm, making the boy gasp. A horrendous metal-on-metal scraping sound rang out. Caiden covered his ears and cringed, gawking at the apparent lack of effort on Mamoru’s part.

  “Holy shit! Are you a doll?” Caiden pounced at him, stopping short of performing a squeeze-test on his muscles.

  “No. I do not believe in contaminating the body with metal.”

  “So how the hell did you”―he glanced at the scratches on the ground―“move that door? Some kinda Kung Fu monk magic?”

  The glare pushed Caiden back a step before Mamoru caught his indignation. He was a boy quite far removed from any knowledge of his culture. No offense could have been intended. “Kung Fu is Chinese, Caiden. I am from Japan.” He gestured for the boy to continue, and waited for him to walk. “I have spent my life believing that I tap my inner energies―”

  “Chi?”

  Mamoru chuckled. “Yes.” The demon called it psionic, but I cannot hear the thoughts of others. She or it seeks to deceive me, turn me from my ways. He bumped into the boy when he stopped short. “Why have you stopped?”

  “Uh.” Caiden looked up. His stomach growling was loud enough to echo.

  The scent of food eked through the stench of grease and metal, entering the shaft from a hatch at the top of a ladder.

  “Very well,” said Mamoru. “After you.”

  Nonpresence

  aiden sat low in the booth, leaning against the wall while staring through the window at the street. A fog patch formed by his mouth on the glass, which thankfully looked opaque black from the outside. Mamoru had guided him by a grip on the backpack around a vendor cart selling street meat, favoring a place that offered real food. The unwashed smell that permeated the boy’s clothes had not been noticeable before they entered a clean environment.

  “Try not to look so frightened,” whispered Mamoru. “It will cause people to ask you what is wrong and attract undue attention.”

  The boy scooted away from the window and sat up. “Sorry.”

  A waiter dropped off their orders, burger and fries for Caiden, grilled vat-grown chicken on a roll for Mamoru. The boy hovered over his meal as if he needed to defend it from thieves. Mamoru found it both amusing and pitiful. Caiden all but inhaled his food and slurped every crumb and trace of juice off the plate when he was done. Mamoru was only halfway through his sandwich.

  “How did you come to associate with terrorists?”

  Caiden took a break from licking his fingers long enough to mutter, “They’re not terrorists.”

  “No?”

  He crossed his arms, staring at the empty plate. “Terrorists kill civilians without caring who gets hurt. They wanna cause panic and chaos.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The MLF goes after military targets. We’re trying to protect ourselves from a corrupt government so far away that it has no idea what Mars is even like.” Caiden squinted. “What are you laughing at?”

  “Ancient history.” Mamoru finished the last of his sandwich. “The nation you know as the UCF was once a colony of an older country. They also rebelled for their independence. I imagine they were called terrorists as well, or whatever term they used in the day.”

  Caiden sank in the seat, patting his stomach. When the waiter returned to check on them, the boy gave Mamoru a pleading look. After receiving a nod of approval, he ordered a basket of chicken nuggets.

  “How can you eat those?” asked Mamoru, cringing at the memory of the orange sauce in the soldier’s bar.

  The boy shrugged one bony shoulder and stuck his tongue out. “How can you eat raw fish?”

  “A fair point. So, have you been involved with these people for long?”

  Caiden picked at the table, breaking eye contact. “A couple months.”

  “Parents dead, I imagine?”

  “I dunno.” Caiden glanced out the window at passersby. “I don’t remember my dad at all. Mom got arrested for protesting at some mining corporation office. There was a big fight in the street with the MDF and some people got hurt. I haven’t seen her since.”

  The waiter dropped off the nuggets, smiled at them, and walked away. Caiden kept gazing outside, ignoring the food. Mamoru sampled one of the fries that came with his meal, deciding he didn’t care for the excessive amount of salt. He pushed the plate across the table.

  “You can have those… potatoes? If you want them.”

  Hunger pulled Caiden away from his somber thoughts, and he rested his elbows on the table. He ate a nugget and two fries before looking up.

  “What about yours?”

  “They are dead. I was about your age when they were killed.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It does not bother me. They were too weak to save themselves.”

  Caiden looked up wide-eyed. “Uh, okay. That’s kinda, um, fucked up.” He nibbled on another piece. “I guess it’s easier to deal with if you say it’s their fault. I was mad at my mom too.”

  Mamoru frowned at the table, wondering why on a red planet they made everything else the same color. Motion by the door grabbed his attention.

  “Come here, boy. Don’t go in the aisle. Do it quick.”

  The child hesitated for only a few seconds before sliding under the table and crawling up between Mamoru and the wall. He furrowed his eyebrows when Mamoru put an arm over him, and tried to push away. He went from shoving to clinging when six MDF troops in full armor entered and stood inside the front door. Caiden seemed intent on burrowing into Mamoru’s coat as white energy danced along it.

  “Do not move or make a sound,” whispered Mamoru as he concentrated.

  Three to a side, the MDF soldiers went in two directions, searching the restaurant. Caiden stared at them, unable to pull his eyes off the red, featureless faceplates turning back and forth. When one trooper looked right at him for a long several seconds, his fingers clutched Mamoru’s sleeve and he stopped breathing.

  The officer looked away and kept walking. Caiden buried his face in Mamoru’s chest in an effort to muffle the sound of his urgent need for air. Within minutes, the MDF officers completed a circuit around the building and converged on the front counter. It seemed a routine check rather than a purposeful hunt. They ordered coffees and to-go food.

  “Why did they ignore us?” whispered Caiden.

  Mamoru squeezed the boy’s shoulder. He intended the gesture as comforting, but at the same time a warning to remain quiet. He waited a moment after the troopers left, in case they pulled a switchback. When he felt confident they would not return, he relaxed and the energy dissipated.

  As if to distance himself from his embarrassing attack of fear, Caiden returned to the far side of the table, acting casual. He tossed his hair over his shoulder with a nod and finished off the nuggets and fries before settling back on the cushions with a face that said he could go to sleep at any moment.

  “Thanks for the food.”

  Mamoru nodded.

  Awkward silence lasted for a moment.

  Caiden swiped sauce on his finger and licked it. “So, um, what the heck just happened?”

  Mamoru suppressed a cringe at the sight of grimy fingernails going into the boy’s mouth. He drew in a breath to explain, stalling as the concept of chi and technology seemed at odds. While one had been around since the days of the original samurai, technology was a comparatively new phenomenon. He gazed at Caiden’s inquisitive look for a few minutes trying to answer the questions in his own mind first.

  “I…” Mamoru frowned. “Perhaps I am psionic. I can make electronics obey me. All of those men see through their armor. Their helmets have cameras that create an image on the inside of a metal plate. I told the cameras to regard us as a non-presence.”

  “Neat. Psionic, huh? Can you read minds and stuff?”

  Mamoru squinted, attempting it, but whatever went on in the boy’s head was out of his reach. “No.”

  “Guess that’s better then. They migh
t not be too happy with me bringing a telepath.”

  “Then it is fortunate I am not a mind reader.”

  Caiden laughed, a bit of the boy peered out from behind the curtains of a tattered childhood. Mamoru remembered his father and the boken lying in the leaves. His throat tightened at the memory of finally earning his father’s approval, even if it happened in the last moment of the man’s life.

  Garrison

  aiden walked several feet ahead, carrying a small e-lantern in a lazy two-fingered grip. Mamoru hovered at the edge of the nimbus of unsteady white light, using the long, creeping shadows to avoid tripping on the rocks that cast them. The boy moved with all the urgency of a ten-year-old on his way to school, shifting the light from hand to hand out of boredom. With each breath, the taste of Martian silt bubbled in the back of Mamoru’s throat as strong as if he had licked the wall. Metallic and earthy, it raised the question of why anyone would want to live underground.

  Crunching footsteps echoed in two directions through the narrow passageway. Mamoru gazed at the dark ceiling overhead, not sure which he trusted more: several meters of rock, or a clear dome of advanced composites. If either one failed, semi-breathable atmosphere would surround him―a foe he could not defeat.

  “I am getting the sense your friend does not like visitors,” said Mamoru.

  The boy held the lantern out to the side, balancing as he traversed a short distance while trying to stay off the ground by stepping on tiny boulders. “MDF wants to kill him.”

  Mamoru felt uneasy at the boy acting his age. Caiden grimaced at a near-loss of balance, as if to put a foot in the dirt would harm him. Hours ago, the police of this world were about to shoot him in an alley―now he played.

  “This MDF has no honor.”

  “They were trying to scare me.” Caiden jumped down when he ran out of stones big enough to stand on. “They weren’t really gonna do it.” He glanced up at Mamoru, searching for reassurance.

  Mamoru put a hand on his shoulder, not speaking. His grim expression needed no words. Caiden stared for a moment longer, and let his gaze fall. He trudged forward, absent any trace of boyhood distraction.