Sadako clung to him, ignoring decorum. “It does not matter. They will―”
He grasped her by the shoulders and shook her tears away. “No. Before I left you at the hospital, I burned out the device. They cannot harm you.”
Color faded from her face. “I… I’ve been…”
“Free of them since that moment. I”―he cringed from her watery eyes―“should have stayed with you, told you. I was too focused.” One tear glided down his cheek.
A beep made her jump. Sadako pulled out her NetMini, her face twisting at the red Kanji it displayed: ‘Shi.’ She cradled it to her heart and whispered, “Goodbye, brother.”
He waited.
After a minute, she risked a hesitant peek at him.
He smiled.
“You never did believe anything I said.” He grasped her NetMini through her hand, turning it off to hide the red symbol. “Death will not find you today.”
“Will they―”
“Doubtful. You were one of many tools. One does not dredge the Sumida for a single lost shuriken.”
“I can never return to Japan.” Her face seemed neither sorrowful nor happy.
“Then do not. It seems we again have something in common.”
Hope lit her face. “You have given up on Minamoto?”
Mamoru took a step away; she advanced behind him. “I must know. However, it seems the harder I pursue it, the farther away from knowing I become. I do not think it will matter.” He stood in silence for some minutes, showing no reaction when she threaded her arms around him. “I have become involved in something larger than Minamoto.”
“It is not important. Let us find our life here.” Her voice fell. “For years, I dreamed of you rescuing me. You finally did, but not how I had imagined.”
“I asked them to find you. It was my hope that if I impressed Minamoto enough, he would buy your freedom.” Mamoru put his hand over hers against his chest. “That is why I was so driven to reclaim my station.”
“Forget all of it. We shall make ourselves part of this city.”
Mamoru glanced up at light shifting through the front windows. The whirr of a hovercar passed overhead. “It may not be that simple.”
Counter Offer
linding glare greeted Mamoru as he emerged from the warehouse, tempered by drifts of fog rolling through the beams of headlights. A single gloss black hovercar sat in the mist, flanked by a man and a woman in matching armor. Both carried rifles, but held them across their chest in the manner of an honor guard. Clear, solid barrels gave them away as laser weapons, and tightened Mamoru’s jaw. Pushing himself beyond human speed only went so far. Even with accelerated perception, evading lasers was iffy.
Something familiar about their armor teased at the edges of his mind. As the rear door opened, realization hit him. Division 0 tactical armor―the government’s law. Unlike the security forces he was used to, these people supposedly adhered to ideals rather than paychecks. Self-righteous. He steeled himself, falling back on his recollection of watching Minamoto or his underlings negotiate. The dead men inside had attacked him and he had only defended himself.
An older man emerged from behind the door. His black uniform had a formal design that made him seem more of a bureaucrat than an officer. He walked around, past his escort, but stopped at about twenty meters.
“You must be the one I have been hearing so much about. I would like to discuss your future.”
“I do not know you,” said Mamoru.
A white glow drifted silent through dark clouds above, chased by flickers of green and red. The soft whine of an advert-bot’s engine seemed to echo from somewhere else as it crossed the sky.
The man offered a patronizing smile. “I am Deputy Director Johannes Burckhardt of Division Zero. I trust you are at least familiar enough with my organization after your foray through our data system.” His lips stretched to a momentary grin. “Oh, come now. Of all the networks you’ve infiltrated, how many have been monitored by people with the same gift? We let you in. We wanted to see what you could do. I read the reports”―a wave of disorientation rippled through his mind―“Mamoru. I am impressed. There is much we could offer each other.”
“How can I know that you are not here to destroy us?”
Burckhardt chuckled. “Us, is it? Have you thrown your lot in with that British lunatic already? Don’t let his rhetoric drive you to a foolish conclusion.” He glanced up. “The UCF does not persecute psionics. There is nowhere safer for you, despite what that fool has convinced himself.”
Mamoru’s breath caught in his throat as the older man’s eyes turned milk white and glowed. A gurgle came from behind and above, followed by the clatter of a rifle striking the ground. Hand on his katana, he whirled and looked up past several runners of blood descending the wall. A wounded NSK operative clutched the sides of his head, already near death from what could only have been Sadako’s work. The man’s face reddened as he screamed, an incoherent moan fading to the babble of severe brain damage. His body shuddered and twitched, a tremendous gush of red burst from his nose, and he slumped over the side.
“Your sister missed one,” said Burckhardt, as the glow faded from his eyes, not a drop of sweat or ounce of exertion visible. “We can offer her protection as well.”
Mamoru faced away from the building, picking at the ito on his katana’s handle. “Your files do not mention mind blast can kill.”
“All weapons can kill if used correctly.” Burckhardt raised an eyebrow. “We don’t leave all our secrets lying about. It would be a pleasure to share them with you, after we welcome you to the fold. Division Zero could use a man like you.”
“I do not know if I am yet ready for another shogun.”
“Think carefully on this opportunity, Mamoru. We can protect you if you become one of ours. The military intelligence community is thrumming like a pack of hornets after an event on their network. C-Branch does not like losing, and they like being clueless even less. I suspect you had something to do with that.” He half turned, smiling at the car. “Bear in mind they tend not to be the talking type. If they decide to have a word with you”―he looked into Mamoru’s eyes―“it will be with a rifle from about four thousand yards. If you go rogue, I might not be able to protect you from them.”
Sadako crept from the warehouse and moved up behind her brother. Mamoru studied the ground between him and the gleaming car. This man offered legitimacy in this place, but at what cost? It seemed too similar to his station with Minamoto, except without the privilege of arbitrary murder, free housing, and servants. The matter of his given word to Anna complicated things further. What else do I have but my honor? Tingles swam over his mind, causing an immediate glare at Burckhardt.
“I apologize, Mamoru. I am pressed for time. Please forgive the directness of my approach. I know you were unhappy in Japan. Your nature is at odds with what they forced you to be. You need time, and I can respect that. Do try and stay out of sight until you decide.” He walked to within a few feet of Mamoru, offering a small fob. “This has my contact information. I must return to the west coast before I am missed.”
Mamoru accepted the miniscule device, turning it over in his fingers. Hair thin silver wires linked one end to a dark pellet, a silicon spider trapped in clear plastic.
“It is most unusual for a man of your rank to pay a personal visit,” muttered Mamoru.
The old man smiled. “You are a most unusual psionic, my friend.”
Mamoru slipped the fob into his pocket.
Burckhardt paused with one leg in the car. “Do try not to take too long to make up your mind. It would be a shame if the world lost you.” He let his weight fall in and pulled the door down.
Clunk.
Sadako squinted at the car as it lifted off, cringing from the brilliant glow at each corner. It floated straight up until it reached a height of about sixty feet, rotated to face west, and streaked off among the hundreds of other lights swimming through the air.
&
nbsp; She rested a hand on his forearm, but could not meet his gaze. “I do not trust him.”
He let the air out of his lungs, the last third audible with a hum of contemplation. “This place has strange customs. I did not sense deceit in him.”
“That man was acting on his own, outside his authority.”
Mamoru put his hand over hers. “How do you know this?”
“I was taught how to read subtle cues, for negotiating.” Shame kept her downcast. “His rush to return before missed, the nonchalant way he killed Koji, and a man of his station showing up with only two guards.” Concern brought her gaze up to meet his. “He is up to something. Perhaps, he wishes to keep you a secret even from his own people.”
“You may be correct, but I also do not have the luxury of time. I have made a commitment I must abide.”
“I am afraid.” Sadako let emotion drain from her face, staring a challenge at the dark. “You have finally given me the freedom I have longed for. I do not want you to die for stupidity. Forget Minamoto. Forget the British man. Remember your family.”
Mamoru inhaled through his nose. “We are close to the sea. Shall we visit Suijin-sama?”
Sadako’s eyes watered. “You remember the river?”
“Yes.” He held her hand and closed his eyes. “And we are still poisoning it.”
She cried.
In his mind, her seven-year-old face grinned back at him. They stood in the shallows of the Sumida, now at sunset. The waning light glimmered on the surface, bathing the indistinct shadow of Tokyo in blur.
A year later, her smile would shatter.
He opened his eyes, dispelling the illusion, and wiped a tear from her cheek.
“I am sorry, Sadako. I should have ignored Father. They struck after I had proved my ability.”
“That was seventeen years ago,” she whispered. “You cannot carry the guilt of a boy’s fear. You only wanted to please him. It was Father’s mistake to not conceal you.”
“I was his work.” He shied away from a face no longer innocent and happy. “I poisoned our house.”
“It does not matter, Mamoru. You were always my older brother. When the NSK was ready to use me as the instrument they had trained me to be, they told me you were not my brother. They hoped it would break me inside.” She clutched a fist to her heart. “They hoped it would make me feel alone. I deceived them as I deceived Mother. A part of me always knew.”
Mamoru remained quiet for some time, staring at the ground. “I will not return to Japan. Minamoto be damned.” Sadako smiled. “I do not know how fate will play out for me, but I must keep the promise I made.”
She sent a somber gaze at the sky, the occasional luminescence of an advert bot dragging her attention through the clouds for seconds at a time. “I understand. Shall we ask Suijin-sama’s protection?”
“It would be foolish not to.”
Sadako clung to him, looking worried.
He offered a wistful smile and led her by the hand to the pier.
Sparks
adako’s protests rang through the back of Mamoru’s thoughts as he attempted to meditate in the driver’s seat. The modest four-person ground car he appropriated ran on automatic, leaving him free to work out his plan. He needed her to remain safe, uninvolved with the aftermath of the situation circumstance had sent his way. Hopefully, she would still be in the apartment when he returned.
“Warning: You are approaching the perimeter of the NavMap system. In four point one miles, manual drive must be engaged.”
His eyes snapped open as the pleasant female voice disrupted another attempt to still his mind. Stripes of glare from reflected street lamps slid up the sloped hood, warping across the ovoid protrusions over the front wheels. A dark amber sunset spread out across the horizon, separating two large swaths of black, one ground, one sky. The car sailed down a descending elevated road. The ride had consumed most of the day, bringing him close to the southernmost end of East City.
Transparent holographic signs spanned the four-lane passage, reminding drivers that they approached the Scattered Lands. Artificial light flooded his rear-view screens, hovercars and ad-bots teeming like fireflies on their feast. Even from here, the Orlando Private Sector was conspicuous, off in the distance to the right by virtue of a giant illuminated palm tree. Far ahead, a diamond of white light sat on a bed of inky velvet.
He checked the Navcon, verifying the pin he had placed was still there. Of course, the dotted line connecting the cartoon car to the pin became transparent and flashed once the car icon crossed out of the green-shaded area indicating network coverage. The bottom of this two-mile ramp coincided with the outer limit of the automatic drive feature.
A series of blue LEDs created the effect of a light pulse orbiting the steering wheel.
“Warning: Please engage manual drive.”
He grumbled. “Fine. Activate manual.”
The steering wheel extended from the dashboard and positioned itself at the angle the system calculated offered the best ergonomics. He took it in both hands, and the car wobbled as he tried to get used to its handling. Since he was the only car on the ramp, his unexpected loss of respect for lane boundaries had no consequence aside from an irritating buzz from the console.
“You insisted I drive. Do not criticize my technique.”
Tall floodlights illuminated a tarmac at a point where the driving surface levelled off and met actual ground. A dozen shops faced it, three large warehouses ringed with giant cargo transports, and a rent-a-storage outfit. Hundreds of hologram signs ranging from datapad sized to panels twice the height of a man warned of the dangers ahead and tried to sell weapons and body armor. Others hawked camping supplies and survivalist gear. Animations in the ads were the only signs of life here, not one car sat in the hundred or so lined parking spaces. An eerie ‘after-the-world’ atmosphere hung over the place, making him feel as if he were the only person left alive.
He drove through, headed for the gate on the far end. A man in a light grey jumpsuit with a rifle over his back emerged from a booth, lifting a floppy-visored hat while waiting for him to pull up.
Mamoru lowered his window as his front bumper stopped inches from the gate.
The guard looked as though he had been here since the dawn of time. His uniform was neat, his weapon modern, but he had a thin, wrinkled face and hair like cobwebs. Dark veins crisscrossed his cheeks, more prominent as he bared yellowing teeth with an odd smile.
“Evenin’,” said the man. “Haven’t seen you before.”
“I have not been here before.” Mamoru suppressed the urge to wince at the man’s rotten-egg breath.
“You runnin’ any sort of delivery? Kind of a small vee-hicle you got.”
“I am visiting a friend in the Crawfordville settlement.”
“Hmmf.” The guard chuckled, narrowing his eyes. “You be careful out there. City law stopped at the bottom of that ramp. We don’t get much of the Badlands critters this far east, worst yer likely ta run into is some militia groups. Mind ya, they kin be quite territorial.” He hooked his thumbs on his utility belt, rocking back and forth. “Them Fourth Reich nitwits would probably try an’ use someone like you for target practice, tho ya look like the sorta fella what kin handle ‘imself.” He waved at the gate, which trundled to one side. “You sure you don’t wanna stop over at Hank’s and get some artillery?”
“I have all I need.” Mamoru patted his sword. “Thank you.” He shifted his gaze forward, waiting for the moving fence to clear his path.
The old man started away, but whirled back. “Oh, if’n you find yourself too far west, careful ‘round ol’ Eglin. Bunch o’ milla-tree types there, don’t take too kindly to trespassers.”
Mamoru’s eyes widened. There is no way he could know.
“Course…” The guard sucked on his teeth as he glanced west. “What with the wind way it is, sometimes their sensors go on the fritz.” Wrinkles consumed half his face as he winked. “Be wary of road crews
comin’ out ta fix things. They tend to get trigger happy around strangers.”
Something bothered Mamoru, an inexplicable sense beyond the ability to determine what. The way the rickety man walked back to his guard booth, like an old gunslinger, unnerved him. Not since he was a boy had he felt the sort of fear that crawled up his spine at that moment. He struggled to ascribe reason to it. He had thought nothing of close combat with cyborgs, hurtled through the sky in an untested fighter craft, and faced down a dragon, albeit a virtual one. This dread made no sense.
The old man smiled at him through glass when he glanced to the left. Mamoru pushed anxiety out of his mind and stepped on the accelerator. His car bounced over the gate’s track, and flooded with vibration as its tires met old paved ground instead of traction-coated plastisteel. The Navcon had gone dark, displaying only the words, out of range.
“Stupid thing, no legacy maps?”
Text scrolled along below the range warning, offering a static map download pack for Ͼ699.
He scowled. “Your marketing people should humble themselves before their director. That advertisement should show itself before the car leaves transmission range.”
Mamoru had no sense of the land, but the military starport was obvious enough at night, shining like a beacon in the perfect dark. Aside from abandonment, what little he could see of the countryside here looked livable. It was difficult for him to fathom having so much land unused while the people crammed themselves on top of each other on the coast. They did that back home, but what choice did they have? Japan was miniscule by comparison, and had a large population.
Disbelief and contempt gave way to unease amid the rhythmic whoosh of passing utility poles. No electricity in any of them. These people just gave up. What scares them away? Something seemed to stare at him out of the black. He gripped the wheel and watched the road, resisting the urge to peer into the night.
Grey Ronin (The Awakened Book 3) Page 29