“Saitō-san?” asked a woman’s voice, dulled by a closed door.
He looked at his kitchen, his living room, and his beloved dojo. Weak light gleamed across the silhouette of the Matsushita Oni deck, perched on the table where it had been since he first moved in.
The gong rang a third time. A sonic assault fell on him with tangible force, sending his body stumbling against the wall. He cringed, peering up at the speaker a few feet above him. Muttering invectives, he stomped to the door and punched the panel.
Two women stood outside. One in a long, dark coat radiated confidence. The other wore a white kimono and had a silver choker tight to her neck. Her eyes were downcast. Nami… I did not remember such shame in her eyes. He squinted at the woman in the coat. Even then, she had looked at him like she wanted to own him.
“Ishikawa-sama. Please, come in. I apologize, I was not expecting company.”
Reiko rendered a slight bow, a gesture to someone of lower rank. “I appreciate your offer, but I do not have time. I present you with a gift from Minamoto-heika.” She gestured at the other woman.
The woman in the kimono bowed deep. Her voice wavered, indicating great concentration in keeping an even tone. “Saitō-sama, please forgive me for speaking. I am given to you by Minamoto-heika as a token for your loyalty and devotion. I am yours”―she faltered, clearing her throat and shivering―“I am yours to do with as you will.”
“What is your name,” asked Mamoru.
“Saitō-sama, I am known as Ka…” She fell to her knees, bowing. “Forgive me. I am Nami. I…”
The effort not to turn away in shame and cry made her shake.
“She has no family name,” said Reiko. “Her father has betrayed Minamoto. Her family no longer exists.” She smirked at the mess. “It looks as though you could use a servant.”
Nami shivered, no longer able to hold back tears. She folded her hands at her waist and shuffled into the apartment with her gaze downcast. Mamoru, half-awake, could not put words to an overwhelming feeling of distaste that came over him. This was how things were, but why did it feel so wrong?
“Thank you, Ishikawa-sama. Please tell Minamoto-heika that I am greatly honored by his gesture.”
They exchanged bows. Reiko walked away, causing the automatic door to close. Nami jumped at a soft hiss. She cringed as Mamoru reached towards her. He touched her necklace, mesmerized by the dream glimmer on the polished silver. It took seconds for him to know the device.
“This…” will kill her if she leaves this building without me. Or, if Minamoto desires her death. I could remove it, but they will kill us both if they discover it. He let go and put his hand on her shoulder. “Be calm, Nami. Your situation is regrettable. Your father’s shame is not yours. Be dutiful to me and you will exist in my eyes as a person, not a possession.”
Nami bowed again. “You are most generous, Saitō-sama.”
“The last room in the hallway on the right will be yours.” Mamoru pointed. “You may spend this day to your own thoughts, and reconcile the emotions you are so poorly concealing.”
“Thank you, Saitō-sama.” She started in the direction of the corridor, stalled by Mamoru grasping the obi at her back. Nami turned. Her eyes had become fields of electronic static. “Mamoru… What has been done to you?”
Mamoru leapt away from the startling sight, gawking. Her voice changed as well, a touch higher, more earnest.
“Mamoru… Come back to me.”
The flickering video snow flowed out over her cheeks in glittering waterfalls as wide as her eyes. Once the streams reached the end of her jaw, they burst into a spray of silver flecks, surrounding him with scintillating light and a deafening hiss of white noise.
He cringed away, shielding his face until silence returned after a moment. When he looked up, the world existed in shades of green. Lines banded upward over Nami’s face, so close she filled his field of view. Mamoru attempted to back up, and felt as though he had eight legs.
I’m a spider? He jittered, feeling with electronic nerves, seeing with digital eyes. I’m in the bot… Nami…
“Mamoru? I miss you.” Her hand grew huge as she reached toward the lens. The drifting slanted bands paused before reversing direction and sliding downward and to the right. “When are you going to come back to me?”
“I…” The metal spider could not embrace her. “I have been busy.” Afraid. What if you lied? What if you only seemed to care for me to protect yourself? I could not face that. “I… am―”
“Mamoru!” Nami’s voice changed again. Louder, higher, more desperate. “I am here. You must come to me.”
“Nami?”
“No…”
Loud, wrenching metal came from both sides. The car-sized spider bot shifted right. The old man from Division Zero and a dozen police in black armor had seemingly torn the warehouse doors down. The bot shifted left. Archon, Pixie, Aurora, and the silhouettes of indistinct people behind them had burst through the wall on the other side.
“He’s mine,” said Burckhardt.
“Mamoru is of a higher order,” yelled Archon. “You have no claim to him.”
The spider bot twisted back and forth as the two opposing armies converged.
“No!” Nami screamed, but it was not Nami’s voice. Familiar… so familiar. Who are you?
Bodies charged from both sides, diving on to the metal spider and claiming it part by part for their faction. Mamoru howled as metal legs ripped out of their sockets, and grasping hands dismantled the robot he inhabited.
“Mamoru!” the voice shouted.
Nami pulled at the camera.
Robot parts went in two directions; the optical sensor jerked forward into Nami’s arms, and went black.
Mamoru sat up, gasping for air and screaming from pain he no longer felt. The sound of his voice told him he was a boy. He gazed at shifting trees above him, warm wind lofted his belt-length hair to the side. Birds chirped somewhere out of sight. Mamoru looked down. His spindly legs disappeared amid the voluminous folds of black hakama pants and a white haori jacket covered his chest. He tugged at his clothes, feeling too small for them. His hands came away sticky.
Blood.
His heart raced. He searched around after leaping to his feet. Grass, which had a second before been comforting, felt cold and wet. The boken lay off to one side, snapped in half and useless. The body of his father lay in a twisted heap off to the right. He could not bear to look left.
“Mamoru!” screamed a little girl, her voice echoing through the forest.
Ten-year-old Mamoru pivoted toward the sound. “Sadako!”
“Help!”
White energy shimmered through his body―chi, psionic power, or whatever it was called, coursed through his muscles. He no longer cared what name it bore, and used it to make the forest around him blur. Wet grass whipped through his toes. Chunks of dirt flew each time his feet hit the ground.
“Mamoru!” shrieked Sadako. “I’m here. Help me!”
He changed course, pushing his body to a sprint that could catch a car. This is what I should have done. I should not have let them grab me. A leap over a fallen tree left him tumbling head over heels down a long slope on the far side. Pain came as a root jabbed him in the thigh, a rock caught him in the lower back, and another knobby root got him in the chest.
“Brother!” she yelled. “Come to me!”
He spat out a clod of soil and sprang forward. The whine of ion engines permeated the forest, again altering his course. Such power flowed through him that he had become a white fireball streaking through the trees. The roar of the energy drowned out the distant aircraft and the wind rushing past him pulled his haori jacket open. He shrugged out of it, ignoring the chilly air on his bare torso.
“Mamoru!” wailed Sadako.
“I’m coming!” he shouted, hands cupped over his mouth.
The tree line gave way to a small, round clearing where an approach to an old Shinto temple had been constructed ages pri
or. A squat aircraft with a dark grey hull perched bug-like at its center. Its fat central body balanced on four long, articulated struts tipped with wheels. Broad but stubby wings rotated to aim their engines down as arrays of segmented vectored-thrust flaps wavered behind them.
Two men hauled eight-year-old Sadako through the side hatch. She screamed and fought as much as a girl her size could. A hand took hold of her hair, pulling her head to the side as an air-hypo approached her neck. At the sight of her brother, she smiled. One hand on the hull, the other on the sliding door, she held herself solid against the NSK strike team. The adults froze in time; even the grass wavering in the thruster downblast ceased moving. Mother’s blood, which had spattered her face, faded away.
Mamoru trotted up to her, out of breath and battered from his run. He wanted to say her name, but all he could do was wheeze.
Sadako grinned at him, that innocent, happy smile he longed to see. “Mamoru, you found me.”
Sweat trickled down the sides of Mamoru’s head. The deafening roar of the NSK jet evaporated to a room quiet enough to hear the rush of blood through his ears. Cloth-covered Comforgel, glowing dim orange, shifted below him. For a while, he could not tell if his eyes were open or closed. Moonlight fought its way in through shuttered blinds. Rustling came from his right, rhythmic, in time with his breaths.
He sat up, peeling himself out of a lake of perspiration. Shide hung all over the small room, the zigzag paper streamers tacked on to any surface that could allow them to hang. He looked towards the sound of rustling, finding Sadako sitting cross-legged on the ground, waving a haraegushi wand at him. The shide dangling from it made soft papery scratching sounds with each movement. Perspiration caused her face to glisten through gaps in her hair.
“You found me,” she said, sounding distant, half-awake.
“Sa… da… ko…” His voice stuck in his throat, reluctant to enter the world.
She looked up, a trace of amber light fled from her eyes. “Do you remember me?”
Mamoru flung the sheet from his body and swung his legs over the side. Sadako set the haraegushi on the floor and jumped up onto his lap. Nose to nose, forehead to forehead, she locked eyes with him, breathing as if exhausted. Amber light glowed again within her pupils.
She squeezed her fingers into his shoulders. “What do you remember?”
Mamoru caught a fleeting glimpse of snow falling amid trees, his hands clutching the ground, Archon smiling. “The woods.” He nudged her away from his face, squinting. “How did I get here?”
She put a hand on his cheek. “Do you remember me?”
The sound of her voice pounded his tenderized brain. He cringed, feeling hung over. “Please whisper. Yes, of course I remember you, sister.”
Sadako slumped against him, her head touching his chest. “That man did something to your memories. I was praying the Kami would bring you back.”
“Your eyes…” He traced a finger over her brow. “You have cybernetic eyes?”
“I do not.” She raised her head, glancing off to the side. “I have small abilities. Father tried to repeat his success with you, but it did not work. They had me in the traditional way, but he gave Mother serums. After I was born, he fed them to me as well. I was―”
“Always sick when you were tiny.”
She shivered. “A failure.”
He held her hands. “You are no failure, Sadako, even if Father ignored you. You broke whatever hold Archon had on me.”
“No.” Her hair flared out as she shook her head. “I could no more undo what he did than a drop of rain could change the course of a great boat. It was your strength, Mamoru. All I could do was force you to see your memories again and again until you realized they were false.”
“Without that push…” He squeezed her hand. “It was as much your doing as mine. I am grateful.”
“We should not linger here. I disabled some of his men on the way in. They will wake soon.”
Mamoru lifted her off his lap and set her on the edge of the bed, gathering his clothes. She looked away as he dressed. When he drew his katana, she gasped.
“What are you doing?”
He narrowed his eyes at the door. “Archon destroyed my honor. It is because of him I am ronin. He has attempted to enslave my mind. I will kill him.”
She jumped up, forcing the sword back in its sheath. “No! You saw what happened last time.” Her voice fell to a whisper’s equivalent of a yell. “He threw you around like a toy. You cannot defeat him in a face-to-face confrontation. I will do it.”
Mamoru bristled. “What makes you think you would fare any better?”
Sadako looked at her feet, her expression apologizing for any unintended insult. “If he sees either one of us coming, we will lose. He is still a man and must sleep. For fifteen years, I was the property of the NSK. They trained me for this.”
He advanced on her fast enough to trigger an involuntary combat stance. She gathered herself and clutched his shirt as he put a hand on either side of her head.
“Sister, I do not want you to die for me. He will sense your mind as he did in the forest. He knew you were there. He is too powerful.” He slid his hands on to her shoulders. “If we are to do this, we must do it together.” He looked into nowhere for a moment. “Perhaps the old man can help.”
“Come, we must leave.” She pulled away from him and padded to the door. “What old man?”
“Burckhardt.”
She stared at him silently for a moment, mouth open. “I do not trust him either.”
“Nor do I,” said Mamoru. “But, the enemy of my enemy is my ally. Even if Archon destroys Burkhardt, I am certain he will present a threat sufficient to create a fatal distraction. We must travel to the other city, in the west.”
“That’s where Archon went.” Sadako eased the door closed as they slipped out. Her head covering swam up and over her face.
“That is fortunate. Burckhardt is also there.” Mamoru gestured. “After you.”
Outside of the bedroom, which seemed to be one of dozens in an abandoned motel, a narrow walkway led between the building and a graffiti-covered barrier wall. The speed with which she navigated the often thigh-deep trash scattered about impressed him. Mamoru followed, pausing to roll his eyes at several poor attempts to draw kanji in spray paint. Six or seven people lay unconscious on the second story patios, and three on the ground―evidence of her entry. From the way they sprawled, he felt sure not one of them had a clue she was coming.
Sadako stopped at the corner of the building and peered around. Satisfied, she moved to the wall and climbed a chain link fence that predated the solid metal barrier around the motel. Mamoru remained on the ground, watching her go up and over the top. He closed his eyes in a moment of meditation, focused his power, and leapt the twenty-foot barricade. At the top of his flight, he shifted the nature of his psionic augmentation from strength to endurance to absorb the force of landing, touching down without injury a few paces away from where she waited.
“Show off,” she muttered.
Mamoru bowed. “You did say we were in a hurry.”
Summoned
hifting light illuminated Sadako’s face in the dark car, accompanied by chirps and beeps from her NetMini. Mamoru tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, gazing out over rows of parked vehicles at a huge, shiny plastisteel wall bearing a PubTran Intercoastal logo. A swoosh made of parallel blue and green lines came out from the P, and looped back through the words before they pulled apart to the shape of a cartoony airplane. Tiny points of light drifted back and forth across indigo sky over the shuttleport. A quarter of the size of the one at Eglin, this rectangular terminal existed inside the city, within rifle range of the ocean.
The car went dark as she turned the device off. “There are no scheduled flights until six a.m. We have almost four hours.”
“I do not care to wait.”
Mamoru got out, cringing at the taste and smell in the air―low tide mixed with human wast
e and stale liquor from the alleys behind them. He shoved the door closed with a thunk that echoed twice, bouncing back from the face of buildings across the street. Sadako jumped at the noise, crouching against the car. Mamoru tucked the katana under his coat, grasping it through a pocket to keep it vertical and out of sight.
“You don’t have to hide it here. People carry guns and swords all the time.”
He blinked. “What kind of ruler allows such things?”
The parking lot played host to a number of Wharf Rats, a local gang, who congregated on the inland side. Luminous tattoos shifted in the dark as heads turned to watch him. Mamoru ignored a chuckle at an unheard remark, assuming it was some comment made at his expense. He did not have the time to waste on street trash, and went straight to the main entrance of the shuttleport. On either side of the door, holographic posters displayed the PubTran Corporation’s intention to prosecute as well as sue any individuals caught defacing company property, especially doll workers.
Inside, no trace of the stench remained. Cool air blew down between two sets of doors, drawn in through slats in the floor. The lobby, even at two in the morning, was blinding. Teal and green tiles made the floor appear to vibrate in the intense glow from hundreds of LED bulbs. Several vagrants slept in a waiting area with rows on rows of bolted down seats to the right. A small kiosk to the left contained an animation of the long history of PubTran, including a feature on this terminal’s former life as an ancient airport in a place named Newark. It even advertised tours once a month into The Beneath, to visit the old terminals seventy-five meters below them.
Behind a ticket counter large enough for fifteen workers, a lone woman fidgeted. She looked young, barely twenty, with hair that went from jet at the roots to dark rose-red at the ends. The words Live Girl blinked on her plain black shirt by virtue of green neon threads. Dozens of bracelets and random charms covered both arms from wrist to midway up her forearm. Each time a nervous finger tapped the counter, that nail changed color. Mamoru approached, lifting an eyebrow at the remains of six dolls stacked up in a small break room behind the clerk.
Grey Ronin (The Awakened Book 3) Page 34