“Ahh, Mamoru Saitō, it is a pleasure. I am Archon.” He bowed more with his head than body. “I apologize that it has taken so long to meet you face to face. I have had much to do in the west. You have met Anna. Who is”―he smiled at the woods―“Sister. Alas, not Awakened.”
Mamoru squinted at him. That voice… “Are you certain we have not met?”
Archon flashed a patronizing smile. “Quite. What have you done with the ship?”
“I reprogrammed its primary artificial intelligence. It is waiting for us in a safe place. Not only would the military have to figure out where to search, the location masks it from sensors.”
“Clever.” Archon tapped his chin. “I had become concerned since we did not hear from you for a week.”
Sadako squinted at Archon, a measuring glance. Anna shot a wary look at her.
Mamoru positioned himself more in front of his sister. “We used one of the life pods to travel to Mars and took a commercial shuttle back.”
“Mars… I cannot say I have ever been there. I certainly hope we do not wind up needing to abandon the ship.” Archon’s chuckle faded to a furrowed brow. “How certain are you they will not be able to track that lifeboat?”
Mamoru remained quiet for a moment, studying the shape of Archon’s eyes. “I reformatted the capsule’s flight computer. Only those who designed it would recognize where it came from, and only if they stumbled across it out in the middle of the Martian desert. I detest that place.”
“I suppose that will have to do for now. Come then, let us get back to civilization.”
Archon started back to the car, but paused at the sound of Mamoru’s voice.
“You were to find certain information for me in return.”
“Ahh, yes, that.”
Sadako glanced at Mamoru. “Keikai suru.”
“Hai.” I am wary, sister. “I have met you before, haven’t I?”
“You are an astute observer.” Archon faced him, smiling, hands out in a gesture of apology. “It was a necessary step for the greater good.”
“The golden angel was you.” Mamoru glanced down and to his right. “I had never felt the presence of a soul within a hologram before. If you were never on Mars…”
“I thought you were some manner of cyberspace guru, Mamoru?” Archon grinned. “You stumbled on that Raziel fellow as a coincidental accident. You overthought it. My connection was a simple Vidphone call. Perhaps the feeling of sentience in the image confounded you? No matter. At worst, your wild goose chase on Mars wasted time. I had not intended you to go running off to that dreadful place, merely give you the reason you needed to divest yourself of the man who thought he owned you. We share some similar talents, my friend. I am a telepath of no small ability, and I am able to project my mental abilities through any open connection.”
Mamoru’s fingers tightened around the katana. “What did you need me for then?”
“Oh, I do not perceive the net in the same way. Think of it like…” Archon paced about, waving his hands as he searched for a metaphor. “I am sending telepathy over the connection in addition to video and sound. I do not perceive the machines as you do. The line merely carries my psionic ability to a remote target.” He stopped with a fatherly smile and arms out as if to offer a hug. “It is not for the sole sake of your skills, Mamoru. You are of the Awakened. Your place is here with us. Even if your talents were not critical to our endeavor, I would welcome you as another son.”
Mamoru closed his eyes, searching for calm. “You turned Minamoto against me? You took my honor, and my life. What did you do to Minamoto? What did you tell him?”
“Your life? Your privileged life. You were a mere tool, no different from those women you legally owned. What do you miss the most, Mamoru? The power to kill peasants at a whim, the power to own people of a lower class, or do you miss the security of having someone else making your decisions for you?” Archon glanced at him for a few seconds, smile creeping wider. “You were little different than a concubine, my friend. Pampered and coddled for giving your body to Matsushita.”
“The white one failed to convince me, so you took my choice away? How is that different?”
Archon sighed, gazing upward as he let his arms fall. “Children and fools often do not know better. They seek comfortable familiarity even if it is in their own disinterest. Your precious Minamoto is the reason the NSK destroyed your family and took your sister.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Or did you not realize he is the one that paid them to take you? I suspect you are planning to tell me that I have no capacity to understand your ‘honor’ and you are about to go spare.”
“Look, Mamoru,” said Anna, stepping between the two men. “That man was using you. Archon was cheesed off that a bugger what’s not even psionic was rippin’ the piss of ya.”
“She means taking advantage of you.” Archon continued massaging the bridge of his nose. “Can take the lady out of East End, bit harder to take East End out of the lady.”
“Sod it, James.” She glared, though seemed as likely to laugh as hit him.
Mamoru narrowed his eyes. The oni knew all along who I sought. “It is unfortunate, but I must address your dishonor.”
Archon raised an eyebrow. “Do not be a fool, Mamoru. You are better than them all.”
“Before you, I was not psionic. I was a master of my chi and my destiny.”
“You were a master of errands.” Archon frowned. “You had not a clue what your potential was, you bowed and scraped to an indolent autocrat, and you had not the weakest glimmer of an idea where your precious sister was.” He gestured at Sadako. “Consider that my interference has brought you two together.”
“If not for your interference, I could have freed her without my entire prefecture wishing us both dead.”
“Irrelevant,” said Archon, waving at them. “We are leaving this silly place behind.”
“I cannot go with one who has deceived me and who has such contempt for my traditions.”
Archon bowed his head, once more pinching at his nose. “If it will make you stop whining, I can make Minamoto think you were his great grandfather. Would you care to have him as a manservant? Would you like to own Matsushita? It is all beside the point.”
Mamoru boiled inside as rage flared beyond reason. He sprang into an attack, katana gleaming in the twilight moon. For an instant, his slowed time view centered on Archon’s dismissive smirk. The ground flashed before his eyes, the brown of trees shot past him as his legs no longer bore weight. Indigo sky and blue-lit snow traded places. Gravity lost meaning as an intangible force crushed around his body from all sides.
Crack. The sound echoed among the wilds, chased by the fluttering of a legion of birds startled aloft.
Mamoru’s gut connected with the tree first, and his body wrapped around. The next thing he knew, he lay on his back, staring up through falling snow before the pain of impact reached his brain. Growling, he rolled to the side and got to his feet. After a step, he sailed airborne again. Archon, two fingers raised, flicked his hand to the left in a sharp gesture. Mamoru’s body followed suit, careening fifteen meters before landing flat on his chest.
“James… the girl, where’d she go?” Anna put her back to Archon’s, fingers splayed and awash with sparks.
“Relax, girl. I do not mean harm toward your brother. I am simply educating him about the folly of rash decisions. He has lapsed beyond rational thought to blind rage. Such a silly construct, his honor.”
Mamoru, gasping for air, staggered upright and stumbled against a tree for support. “What…” He pointed the katana at Archon. “What are you doing?”
Archon swiped at his shoulder, knocking snow off his coat. “Your kinetics abilities are impressive, but they are not your strongest ability, correct?”
“How…”
“Do I know that?” Archon smiled, making a ‘come here’ gesture.
Constricting force clamped about Mamoru’s body, lifting him off the ground. He
drifted forward a touch faster than a brisk walk, stopping within three feet of Archon. Face red with rage, Mamoru strained and roared, but could not move.
“A little thing I like to call being the most powerful telepath in the world.” Anna, behind Archon, rolled her eyes. “Telekinesis is my hobby.”
Archon’s gaze burned with white light. An instant later, Mamoru’s vision blurred as if he had gone snowblind. He floated in weightlessness for what felt like hours. Dreams of the past manifested at random points around him.
He remembered the forest in Japan. Men screamed in anger, charging with rifles spitting fire. His mother fell before she could even scream. His father’s chest burst with a splash of crimson.
The NSK came for him out of the shadows.
Archon, dressed as a samurai, walked from the fog and dismissed them with a wave of his hand, smiling at ten-year-old Mamoru. Kutaragi Ichirō morphed into the image of an Englishman. Archon was the man who trained him, raised him, and protected him. The visions came and went, small pieces of his happiest moments shifted to include the man in the tweed coat. In time, he floated once more in silence until Archon’s voice pierced the stillness. Sadako, his beloved sister, eight years old, perched on Archon’s arm, beaming and waving. She had grown up happy, with a pair of ponies and a large field to ride them in. The image blurred. Sadako, grown, lived in Okinawa, married to a doctor with two girls of her own.
A man’s voice pierced the dense fog in his mind. “Mamoru? Are you all right?”
Intense blankness faded to a snowy pine forest. Wet coldness gripped his hands and a steady breeze of icy flakes brushed his face. He blinked, unsure how he wound up sprawled on all fours. He looked up at a man in a tweed long coat. Familiarity settled in through a dull fog in the back of his mind as he sat up and rubbed his head. This man had saved his life.
“Sensei, what happened?”
“You stacked it on a patch of ice,” said Anna, sounding less than convincing.
Mamoru stood. “What?”
Archon rolled his eyes and sighed. “You slipped and fell.”
“I apologize for my clumsiness, Sensei.” He retrieved the katana and put it away. “I am pleased to see you in good health. We should not remain here where we can be detected.”
Anna’s eyebrows drew together. Her lips formed a thin line. “James, did you”―she wiggled her fingers at him―“zap me like that?”
“A slight touch, enough to get rid of that little habit of yours.” He plodded back to the hovercar. “Was a moment of anger, my darling. The sight of you in that bloke’s flat was enough to drive me to kill.”
Anna looked at the ground, tracing a finger over her left wrist. A small spark danced up the length of Mamoru’s sword as he passed her. He eyed the trees, squinting at shadows creeping along the azure-tinged snow. “Archon, I sense someone watching us.” He grasped the handle of his weapon.
“The girl,” muttered Anna.
“What girl?” asked Mamoru.
“No one who matters,” said Archon as he hopped into the driver’s seat.
Mamoru bowed and strode to the car fast enough to cause his coat to billow around his legs. “The ship is hidden and waiting, Sensei.”
“Excellent.”
Sadako remained motionless among the low-hanging branches of a pine tree. Her suit matched it in color and texture. Her hand slipped under her vest, extracting a tiny, black cylinder. She waited until none of the three looked in her direction and aimed it at the car. A light squeeze at the back end launched a six-legged micro-bot three millimeters from nose to tail. Insect-like wings fluttered to life as it sailed to the car. A small sub-screen popped up in her vision, created by the lenses in her head covering, displaying a view from the drone. She guided it by mental command via wireless implant, piloting the miniscule spy to a landing on the side of the car. It scampered without a sound through a seam, tucking itself out of sight under the body panels.
Sadako narrowed her eyes as the hovercar kicked up a blast of snow, rose off the ground, and shot off to the east. Once it was out of sight, she emerged from her hiding spot―a woman-shaped outline of tree bark, snow, and pine needles. It took her suit only a few seconds to revert to plain white, as she sprinted in the direction of the well-worn land car Mamoru had stolen a day prior. She clutched the wheel in a death grip, kicking up a spray of dirt as she swiveled through a turn and stomped on the accelerator. Unlike the hovercar, she had to dodge trees, though she didn’t care about the occasional sideswipe or four. After an hour of bouncing over roots and hills, forest gave way to an ancient paved road that led back to the city. Dodging cracks and potholes, Sadako got the car up to a hundred and twenty. All the while she drove, she stared at a blinking red dot gliding over a map in the virtual heads-up display.
I will find you, brother.
From a Dream Awakened
wo boken crossed with a loud crack. Mamoru glared at the intersecting lines of burgundy wood, sweat dripping down his face. As the contest of strength went against him, he shifted his weapon to send the other one sliding away to the side. He ducked the retaliatory strike, using his height disadvantage to his benefit. He circled right, startled by the smooth wood under his bare feet having no discernible temperature. The realization of the porch no longer being cold stalled reality and gave him a moment to think. He glanced up at Archon, clad in a blue haori and black hakama, hair grey and in a topknot. A glimmering aura of gold light highlighted everything: the porch, his boken, Archon, even his preteen self.
The Sensei waved a signal to reset. Mamoru adopted a stance with his left foot forward, wooden blade held high. Archon kept his boken low.
“Remember, Mamoru. Your advantage lies in your power. You may be tempted”―he attacked, Mamoru defended, sliding backwards―“to rely too much on it and not enough on your skill.”
Familiarity settled in. He remembered the day, how he had grown tired of his Sensei pushing and pushing. Anger flickered in his heart at constant retreat. Sensei anticipated he would duck again, as he had been doing. This time, Mamoru channeled his chi. His small flaming body launched in a vertical leap over Sensei’s swinging boken. His training sword came down atop Sensei’s skull a touch too hard, knocking the man loopy. Mamoru landed and knew terror. That afternoon, Sensei had grown furious. He was never to use those abilities during this training. He had to learn kenjutsu, not ‘swinging a stick.’ Sensei had gone after him without holding back. The memory of bruises pulsed through his arms, legs, and ribs. Mamoru tensed, waiting for the onslaught.
Archon-sensei smiled. “Excellent strike.”
“Sensei, I am grateful that you have chosen to impart your wisdom to me, but I am confused.”
“What confuses you, Mamoru?”
He lowered the boken to his side. “I know I am dreaming, for I am now a man and this is in my past. You did not smile as you did when I used my power today. Sensei was angry with me. Something is not right.”
“Perhaps we have been training too much. It is time for a rest.” Archon-sensei waved at a rice paper door. “Go inside and meditate on our practice.”
Mamoru stared at him. His brain circled the image like a hawk waiting for a moment to descend on a hapless rodent. Pain gripped the back of his head like a claw. Archon’s face flickered, becoming Kutaragi’s dour frown for seconds before the placid smile returned. Lines of frigid sharpness traced up and over Mamoru’s skull, as if a bone-fingered crone clawed at his scalp. The boken slipped out of his fingers and he grabbed his head. A young boy’s wail split the quiet.
He collapsed to his knees, forehead pressed to the cold wood.
Mamoru pushed himself up as the pain lessened. He let go of his head and straightened, sitting back on his heels. When he lowered his hands into his lap, they seemed older. His dumbfounded stare lasted seconds before a low throat noise snapped his attention forward. Minamoto sat on a decorative throne crafted in the style of the Tokugawa period. The four samurai behind him fit the scene, save for
their modern composite armor and Nano katana.
“Now, Saitō Mamoru, you are a samurai in the service of the Matsushita Keiretsu.”
Mamoru bowed, accepting his daisho. The same vibro katana he carried to this day.
Archon-sensei stepped up beside him and bowed to Minamoto. “I am going to bring Mamoru with me to the West.”
Minamoto’s eyes blazed with anger. Mamoru shuddered at his teacher’s lack of decorum. Archon-sensei waved at Minamoto, who slumped unconscious in his chair with a heavy groan. Everything still held the glimmering sheen of a dream world. Mamoru gazed at his Shogun’s vacant eyes, rolled back and all white. A thread of drool fell from Minamoto-heika’s mouth, stretching to the floor.
Mamoru’s chest tightened, dreading the result of the tendril of saliva meeting the ground. This was wrong. This was not what happened. He had been proud that day. Proud he had become eighteen years old. Proud that Minamoto honored him. Proud that he had finally earned respect from an elder.
Proud that he had station.
He screamed. Pain as if iron spikes pierced his skull stole his reason and left him face down in agony. After a moment of rolling about on the hard wooden floor, he seemed to fall forward. The ground became soft, and he plunged into frigid water that had seconds before been wood.
The sound of a gong crashed through the air. Mamoru snapped upright, braced on his elbows. A king sized Comforgel pad radiated warmth beneath him. Black silk sheets covered his nakedness from the waist down. The bedroom glowed in the golden aura of dreaming.
Again, the gong sounded. Doorbell. Mamoru groaned, moving without thinking. Out of bed, cold floor underfoot, robe tied while stumbling through his home. Home? He froze. His Tokyo apartment surrounded him, quiet and as messy as the home of a twenty-six-year-old man living alone would be. He pressed his palms to his face. I am still dreaming.
Grey Ronin (The Awakened Book 3) Page 33