“I am sorry, Caiden. It would be a disservice to lead you into a false sense of security.” Mamoru’s hand tightened on the hilt of the katana as his sister’s panicked screams cried out in his mind. “I believe those men were breaking their own rules. Perhaps others will not want to harm you.”
“Yeah.” The boy kicked small stones out of his way. “They know I could lead ‘em to the MLF.”
“Well, it would be foolish of them to kill you. They could not gain from your knowledge.”
A knee-high cloud of dust from the punted rock flowed around Mamoru’s legs.
“I guess,” mumbled Caiden, regaining some of his earlier animation. “We’re almost there. They’re real suspicious of unfamiliar faces, especially anyone from Earth.”
“As they should be. However, the doings of the governments of Earth and Mars are not my concern.”
Several dozen meters of bare stone passed on both sides before the tunnel took on signs of construction. Metal panels covered the walls in patches, interspersed with side tunnels containing shattered overhead lights, metal grating floors and dangling wires. Large fragments of rock protruded through bent squares of metal barely clinging to the ceiling. Caiden ducked a low-hanging ventilation fan and stepped through a trio of two-inch thick cables suspended in a U shape. Mamoru followed, twisting to avoid tearing his coat on a jagged outcropping.
At the halfway point in the cross tunnel, Caiden stopped by a painted logo of CMMC―Colonial Mars Mining Corporation. Scrapes, pits, and gouges in the metal dated the construction to at least a century and a half. The boy rolled up his sleeve and stuck his arm through a six-inch square hole up to the armpit. His eyes searched the ceiling while he made a series of faces that led up to a satisfied smile. As soon as he grinned, a beep rang out and the wall panel hissed and retracted.
Caiden ducked through before it finished moving. “Hurry up, it won’t stay open long.”
The slab of inches-thick plastisteel receded far enough for a man to enter without feats of yogic mastery. Mamoru followed with haste, entering a narrow metal-walled shaft on the other side before it slid closed. A bundle of multicolored wires ran along the left corner overhead, an obvious recent addition compared to the rest of the construction. Distant murmuring voices filtered through dusty air, mixed with the fragrance of sweat, horrible food, and gun cleaner.
Caiden outpaced Mamoru as he did not have to turn sideways to fit down the hallway. He waited at the end, some thirty meters down, tapping his foot and looking between him and something out of sight with an earnest face. A shadow fell over him, causing him to flash the forced-cheesy smile of a child caught doing something they shouldn’t. He pointed back at Mamoru.
A man in drab crimson military fatigues leaned around the corner. If he was not already the color of snow, he might have gotten paler at the sight of the Japanese man in a shin-length black coat.
“It’s okay, Kirk. He saved my ass. Someone gave up Foster. The MDF was waiting for me inside.” Caiden held up one bruised wrist and glanced down at the floor. “They were gonna shoot me. Mamoru killed all three of ‘em. They were all dead before the first one hit the ground.”
Kirk put a hand on the sidearm at his belt. “Earth?”
“That is correct. I mean to return as soon as I have finished my task here.” Mamoru emerged from the narrow tunnel, his presence pushing Kirk back.
Groups of vertical lockers occupied the space around the walls of a small chamber between dingy bunks. Out of six, four had blown their Comforgel pads. Improvised mattresses of tattered cloth strips replaced them. On one, bare copper wire led from the contacts meant to provide power to the gel pad’s climate control to a naked LED bulb hung by a loose screw over the bunk. Discoloration from where the viscous fluid had leaked decorated the ground.
Kirk backed into a table made from an old wire spool, knocking a tall, metal mug wobbling. A dark skinned man in a sleeveless T-shirt with a red-bandana on his otherwise bald head caught it with a slap before it fell.
“What’s got you spooked?” His voice held a trace of an Earth accent.
“Kid had a close call, brought his friend with him.”
Mamoru stepped out of the shadows by the hallway, rendering a slight bow to both men. Caiden hovered behind him, risking a hesitant peek at the transplanted African.
“Well now.” Muscular arms stretched out as the man slid his palms flat across the table and leaned back. “What’ve you brought us, boy?”
Caiden went through a recitation of the events behind Foster’s salvage. “…he had questions I’m not allowed to answer.”
“I am Osebi,” said the large man as he stood. “For what purpose have you come ‘ere, to us?”
“I need information. I must find the one who calls himself Raziel.”
Kirk and Osebi exchanged a glance that said ‘here we go again.’
“I… I’m not touching that.” Kirk held his hands up and moved to a small, dented metal case where he retrieved a can of synthbeer.
Osebi rubbed his chin, drawing his long fingers over stubbly cheeks. “Do you hear him speaking to you?”
Mamoru showed no emotion. “I do not, though I would like to meet him. I have many questions.”
A glimmer of humor shone in the man’s eyes, though his face remained serious. “How are we to know you aren’t some mercenary or agent of Earth government?”
“I am Mamoru Saitō. I was once a samurai in the service of Akio Minamoto, CEO of Matsushita Electronics Corporation. It is my belief that this Raziel has interfered in such a way as to damage my employer’s perception of my loyalties. I must discover why.” Mamoru gestured at the wall. “I do not have an opinion about your movement or the government of Mars. What little information I discovered indicates a connection between this person and your group. I am following the only clue I have, and it led me to a scrap merchant.”
Caiden shivered. “If he was an agent, he wouldn’t have killed three MDF.”
Osebi came around the table, giving Mamoru a head to toe glance. “Some portions of the government would not think twice about a minor collateral loss.”
Mamoru offered a curt nod. “Perhaps. I am not asking to learn your secrets. I want only to find Raziel.”
The stoic ebon face broke with a bright grin, followed soon by deep laughter. Kirk lost it too, sputtering synthbeer out his nose and coughing. Caiden looked as confused as Mamoru felt.
Mamoru tilted his head. “Forgive me, but I do not understand the humor.”
“Hah.” Osebi patted him on the shoulder. “Raziel is an enigma, my friend.” The big man struggled to speak through his mirth. “One of our number believes an angel talks to her.” He twirled a finger at the side of his head. “I believe you have been deceived. Raziel is a figment of the woman’s imagination.”
“Figments do not infiltrate corporate networks,” said Mamoru. “I detected a trace which led me here.”
Osebi’s grin vanished to confusion. He skewed his jaw to one side for a moment. Dust flickered through a shaft of light between them. “There is something strange about you, Mamoru Saitō, but I do not think you work for military intelligence. They would not be wasting their time with angels and demons.” The smile returned. “Wait here a moment.”
Caiden stuffed his hands in his pockets, nervous eyes watching the room. Kirk leaned against the lockers, sipping from the plain silver can. Mamoru kept an impassive stare on the doorway Osebi vanished through. After some minutes, Caiden took a seat on one of the bunks. With the relative security of a quarter mile of stone and dirt on all sides, he shrank into the form of a frightened boy who had come too close to death. He kicked off his shoes and crawled under a blanket, staring through unkempt hair at Mamoru.
“You should keep him out of sight for a while,” said Mamoru as he walked toward Kirk.
The MLF soldier slurped the can empty. “Yeah, figure that’s right. They’ll be looking for him now. Morons will probably blame him for killing those men.”
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Twenty minutes after leaving, Osebi returned with six others. Two women and four men wearing a hodgepodge of rifles, armor, and clothing waited in the space beyond the door. Osebi waved Mamoru over.
“Come, there is someone who will speak to you.”
Mamoru followed, pausing among them as one of the women held a hand up. A pale native Marsborn with a stern face framed by short, black hair. Hard, blue eyes regarded him as a threat.
“You got any weapons?”
“I do not carry a firearm, if that is what you are asking. I need only my katana, which is sacred to me. I will not relinquish it, and it would be most unwise to attempt to touch it. If your person is concerned for his safety, I have no quarrel with an electronic meeting.”
The resistance fighters looked around at each other, unsettled by the calm in Mamoru’s voice. One sword against many rifles, and not one drop of nervousness showed. The woman glanced at Caiden and back at him.
“All right, but keep your movement easy.” She took a few steps backward before spinning and walking with a stiff stride.
With three in front and three plus Osebi behind him, Mamoru traveled through a maze of metal-walled corridors. The passageway they led him to had a disused appearance, lined on both sides by pipes of varying size. Silt coated everything in a thick layer, tainting the air with the flavor of grit. They are being cautious. A fight here would not cause significant damage. He kept quiet, focusing on the motion of those around him in case they were the ones who meant to initiate unexpected hostility.
At the end of another hall filled with metal scraps and loose arm-thick wires, they went through a door to a dim room. Outside light flickered in from the right, chopped by the blades of a lazy ventilation fan. Behind a plain steel-grey desk, sat a middle-aged figure in olive drab fatigues and an armored vest. To his left, a man Osebi’s size loomed. Dark blue plastisteel wrapped around the right side of his head, cradling the amber glow of an artificial eye made of older technology that looked nothing like a natural organ. The lens whirred as it focused. A soft pulsating glow swelled through seams in the metal of his right arm, a mechanical limb that clicked as he opened and closed his fingers.
“That’s far enough,” said the hard-eyed woman once Mamoru had reached the middle of the room.
Mamoru bowed at the seated man. “I am grateful to you for seeing me.”
Several days of unshaved beard shifted as he rubbed his chin. “What sort of person comes all the way from Earth to ask about an angel?”
“What sort of army dangles small children before their enemies?”
The man behind the desk narrowed his stare as the air seemed to hang still. He tapped a finger on the desk, watching Mamoru for any crack in his perfect calm. When none came, he smiled.
“Caiden is a runner. He likes to help, and he’s small enough yet where he can move around unnoticed. He was not supposed to show up on their watch list. I honestly have no idea why they were waiting for him. The only thing I can think of is that Foster got compromised and they grabbed the first person to show up there who didn’t want to trade in junk. Odds are they had no clue.”
“Those men knew who he is.”
“The MDF will say things to bait you,” added the metal-armed guard. “Kid doesn’t know enough to keep his mouth shut. They don’t know a damn thing, but they can get it out of you.”
“Osebi believes you have information I need,” said Mamoru. “I seek the one known as Raziel.”
Pistols attached to the vest sagged as the man leaned forward. “What do you know already?”
“Very little, unfortunately. I have found reference to a place known as Araphel, and there are connections between him and your organization. Other than that, nothing.”
The MLF senior hesitated for a moment. “Please understand how careful I must be. A man in my position has many lives depending on him. I may be able to help you, but I need to know beyond any doubt that you are not an agent of the government.”
Mamoru shifted his weight to his left leg. “How would you ask me to do that? A favor for a favor does not seem an unreasonable request. As I am now ronin, my blade is mine to hire out.”
“We have several good-hearted men and women who have been captured by the military, held in a remote encampment for interrogation and eventual execution.” The man interlaced his fingers, staring at the half-globe his hands formed for a moment of silence. “If you were able to find information connecting Raziel to the MDF on the GlobeNet, you’re either an AI or one of the best deck jockeys ever to live.” He looked Mamoru in the eye. “If you can find that camp and help us get our people back, I will give you what you are looking for.”
“We have an arrangement.” Mamoru bowed.
“I’ll have Osebi bring you all the information we have.” The man stood, offering a handshake. “Call me Garrison.”
Assault
t was by the fortunate luck of the UCF military being stingy that their holding facility occupied a bubble of stable atmosphere at the bottom of an unnamed crater a few hundred kilometers northwest of Arcadia city. A handful of field emitters kept the air within the bowl-shaped depression Earthlike. Between the city and the prison camp, the air was close enough to get by without the need for a full envirosuit.
Mamoru clung to the rear of a military transport rover similar to the civilian prowlers he had seen for sale, with the addition of weaponry. His rebreather mask tainted every breath with the flavor of rubber and sweat. Dim light shimmered along his arms as he focused on nonpresence to remain invisible to the sensors monitoring the area.
For all of Garrison’s talk about danger, the UCF treated this camp as if they assumed their detainees to be low risk and low value. A tour of the facility’s security system via MarsNet showed about two dozen military personnel and two medics on staff. Security appeared minimal. Most vexing of all, the prison units themselves were drop box buildings with no network connection. All he could do from remote was peer through cameras.
He extended a fragment of his consciousness into the machine to share the view of the forward-facing cameras, the same ones responsible for the driver’s ability to see the outside through the armored front end. A boulder as large as the vehicle marked the point where a roadway had been cut through the crater’s rim, leading to the encampment about two hundred meters away.
Mamoru induced a total shutdown of the prowler. With the crew distracted by an unexplained blackout, he leapt to the ground, hid for a few seconds behind a tire taller than him, and darted behind the large rock. Within a moment, the exterior lights came on and the vehicle lumbered forward. The ground appeared to devour it as it sank over the rim on its way to the crater floor.
For hours, he sat in the dirt and meditated. On oni, on Minamoto, on Nami, and on the golden angel. The Kami provided no insight, leaving his thoughts swirling with doubt. When he could emerge under cover of darkness, he walked along the four-foot wide tire tracks the prowler left behind. Twenty meters past the crater’s rim, a holographic sign flickered, bearing a warning of a restricted area ahead where trespassers would be shot.
A quarter of the way down the sloping road, the air became thicker and gusted in a circular wind that hugged the walls. Weary of the taste imparted by his mask, he removed it, turned it off, and secured it in his coat pocket. Outside of the domed city of Arcadia, the induced atmosphere carried an odd fragrance. Some part of it was a latent chemical tinge imparted by membranous filters within the air scrubbers and terraforming machines―but the lack of organics left it feeling stale and dry compared to Earth air. Mamoru frowned, eager to be rid of this desolate place where the Kami seemed not to exist.
Energy emanated from various points on the ground in a ring formation surrounding a cluster of eight plastisteel pods. The camp looked as if giants had ordered delivery food and left the containers behind. Four of the drop boxes were long and narrow, about a hundred eighty feet long and twenty wide. The prisons. Indentations on the outer hull hinted at forty
eight-by-eight foot cells in two facing rows.
Of the remaining buildings, the largest was the barracks pod―a square that dwarfed everything else. It formed the center of the residence area, flanked by an infirmary, a vehicle bay, and a storage building that doubled as a mess hall. All of the buildings floated four feet off the ground on spring-loaded shock-absorbing legs. A number of separate metal stairways on wheels, older and far more battered than the buildings themselves, sat by every door.
A pair of sentry guns, asleep in six-foot plastisteel cubes, flanked the approach road a short distance in front of the nearest building. Small lights blinked from the corners and they emitted a soft status beep every thirty seconds.
Mamoru squinted at a ring of proximity sensors planted forty yards ahead. The small ten-inch antennas would pick him up if he got any closer without nonpresence, but the glow of his chi would stand out like a flare in the night, were he to use that ability. For the first time in his life, he envied Sadako, but only a little. Sneaking around was never something he considered honorable. Even now, stealth was more for the sake of saving time.
He drew in a breath and calmed his mind. The quarrels of Martians are not my concern. This is a step on the path to regaining my honor. Mamoru exhaled as shame touched his heart. He pictured Minamoto’s smile turning to a frown of eye-swelling rage. Despite knowing his fall from favor happened because of an outside influence, the feeling of betrayal was a wound he would nurse for years. What has this Raziel shown to Minamoto to make him believe me a traitor?
“You there, freeze.” A voice, tinged with the crackle of amplification came from the left. “This is a restricted area.”
Two men in Mars-red camouflage armor pointed rifles at him. Glimmering flecks of light danced within their visors.
“I am standing still already, can you not see that?”
“Oh, we got a wiseass,” said the one on the right.
“Okay, pal―”
Mamoru’s body erupted with a sheath of brilliant energy. Psionic power flooded inward, throwing him in a horizontal leap at the two silhouettes. Mamoru’s eyes widened at his speed, having forgotten about the lower gravity here. He sailed forty yards in the span of a blink, landing between them in a downstroke that split the right side man open through the chest. He stepped through the swing, bringing the blade around and stabbing the other man through the heart from behind.
Grey Ronin (The Awakened Book 3) Page 17