by S A Asthana
“And I, your Empress.” She let out a cackle. The prospect of once again having power quickened her heart. “Your family won’t even see it coming, Yuki.”
“No, they certainly won’t.” Then, as if a doubt burned in his mind, he furrowed his brow. “But the guards will surely hear everything and come rushing in. They will be stationed at the front of the residence, after all — not too far from the dining hall.”
“Let the guards come.” She smiled and caressed his face. “You forget there will be an assassin roaming the harem. We’ll just point them in that direction.”
“Ah, of course.” His face contorted into a cruel grin. “Reo really doesn’t understand how bad he’s fucked it up for the family.” The two lovers sealed their plan with a kiss.
CHAPTER 21: BASTIEN
As the heavily rusted red Nissan 970Z roadster came to a halt at the busy intersection of Shibuya Crossing, Bastien took a deep breath, his fingers rapping on the dashboard. Was it nerves? Anticipation? Most likely both. The mission to assassinate Marie was underway and he could taste the tension. The bustling crowds on the street remained clueless of the trouble to come. If only they knew how tenuous their peace with Port Sydney truly was. Bastien’s forehead wrinkled — would they care, even if they knew? As a well-dressed man walked past, laughing without a care, Bastien remained unsure. The city was drenched in money and prosperity, a stark reminder of inequality in the space age. Expensive cars lined the streets. Opulent clothes decorated trendy boutiques. There was an empty happiness here, one only money could buy.
“She used to hate this city,” Hani said, her grip tight with impatience on the steering wheel as the crowd ambled across the street. “Nine years here, and Belle still hated it.”
“Why?” He watched the red light ahead display a countdown to zero. There were still ten seconds left to green. A woman in a fur coat laughed at her friend’s joke as they crossed. A Buddhist temple stood tall behind her, its traditional edifice tucked neatly between two skyscrapers. The ancient, holy architecture stood in sharp contrast to the surrounding glass and metal. A large and gently curved roof extended far beyond the temple’s wooden walls and covered verandas. Underneath, just by the gaping entrance, a few men and women deposited paper cash into a donation box.
“The smell of money — the tang of its ink bothered her. She used to say it clung to everything in Nippon One. The clothes, the wares… even the people.”
The Nipponese, while a law abiding and productive populous, were driven by money, just like their ancestors in the old world. It was a marked distinction from the Sydneysiders who, at least in days long gone, had valued science above anything else. Parisians — had they been prosperous in this new world order — would have probably put the arts above everything else, or so Bastien hoped, although the thought reeked of bias. But the Nipponese were a fully-functioning society — a reflection of humanity’s best in modern times. And for all the positives attached to this position, the timeless lust for money still prevailed and, in many cases, superseded all other wants.
“Belle used to think the Nipponese a selfish people.” She eyed the last of the pedestrians crossing. “She used to wonder why they didn’t help overthrow Marie. Their advanced weaponry would have made it possible. Instead, their leader helped Marie and propped her up further. She wondered where in Buddhism such judgment and choice was allowed.”
The light turned green, and Hani sped. Flashing advertisements and corporate logos rushed past, each as bright as the last. Horns screamed from speeding black Toyota taxis, and food vendors yelled for attention. Countless sushi restaurants whizzed past. Making a right turn, Hani drove down Kyoto Drive, her eyes focused on the traffic ahead. Another red light brought the Nissan to a halt.
“I often wondered why Belle didn’t just stay here,” Hani said. Bastien followed her gaze — the dashboard’s analog clock read 7:50. “I mean, even gaijins here live better than that shithole she called her kingdom.” Realizing her mistake, she turned to Bastien and said, “I’m sorry, I… uh… wasn’t thinking.”
“Don’t apologize.” Bastien pulled his hood further up his head. “It was a shithole.” It hurt to admit, but it was true. Compared to Nippon One’s glitter and pomp, New Paris had been nothing. A forgotten enclave of misery. Was it even missed by those alive besides him?
Bastien spied the veins crisscrossing her sinewy, chiseled arms. “You taught her to fight, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Hani said. “She was a firecracker to begin with, but she needed skills. I taught her karate for nine years. She got even better than me — she was a great thief. Hell, she helped me get this car.”
“She made a great rebel too.” Bastien smiled to himself. “Had Marie on edge.”
“And she beat your ass, as I recall.”
“Yes, she did,” Bastien noted with a smile, a moment of bemused memory.
The roadster zipped around traffic for several miles, and the drive provided an offhand tour of the great city. Skyscrapers surging with commerce extended to the sky, men and women pouring out of them in fancy suits and dresses ready to call it a day — it was all so different than anything Bastien was used to. Economics was a foreign concept to him, as were the complexities of capitalism. It clearly worked better than the other two scenarios he’d experienced, the rule of authoritarian monarchs and science-driven socialism. The pressures behind Port Sydney’s current situation were not present within Nippon One. There weren’t grand experiments in play here that, if failed, might mean the destruction of the Nipponese way of life.
Static came through his Rion hearing aid. A voice cut in. “Bastien, can you hear me?” It was Alice. How did she hack into the earpiece? Stupid query — it was Alice, after all.
“I can,” he said.
“Good. I just… I just wanted to wish you luck.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m here at the Rogu’s datacenter, and I’ll be waiting for you to get back.”
Bastien’s face crunched into a grimace. “You don’t have to.”
“I do,” Alice said. “I just… want to make sure you’re alright. I want you to make it back safe. I want to see you again.” Her voice was a monotone, its sentiment forced.
“Fine. If it makes you feel better, so be it. I’ll see you in an hour.” The communication line went blank. He found the interaction odd. Alice was the human embodiment of odd, but still, the conversation seemed off even by her standards. There was no reason for her to be present while his hit played out. She could be up in the comforts of Port Sydney. Instead she opted for Nippon One. Why?
Hani made a left turn. “She’s a strange chick, isn’t she?”
Bastien didn’t respond. Alice was strange, indeed.
Hani pointed at a skyscraper ahead. “There it is. Tokyo Tower.” The target stood tall, its glass veneer topped by a metallic spire. “The most expensive real estate in this city. Half a billion yen’s worth, by last year’s estimates. Beautiful, isn’t she?”
It was a stunning piece of architecture. The distant sun glinted off the windows, making the structure outshine everything around it. It would have made for gorgeous scenery had the task at hand been less dangerous. Bastien eyed the height of the skyscraper. His insides fluttered as if butterflies played around his organs.
“You okay?” Hani’s voice was soft, not its usual blade.
“I will be in a half-hour.” The clock read 8 pm.
She pulled into an alley abruptly, one devoid of any light. Its darkness stretched to its end, where the roadster’s headlights played against a red brick wall. “The time has come to shift.” She put the vehicle into park and pressed a button near the steering wheel. A jolt shook the car, and then a mechanical whirring sounded under the floor.
“I told you she’s a bird.” She smiled. “She’s just spreading her wings.”
The headlights were turned off. Darkness took over with the exception of the sunlit sliver of space in between the rooftops abov
e. The roadster rose slowly, its chassis listing from left to right at first, then straightening. Bricks and windows slowly fell away.
“Belle and I worked on this baby together. It’s amazing what you can do when you piece together a water hauler’s ion engine with an old roadster.” Her grin was wide and proud.
The ascent to the target was underway. Bastien reached for his holster and pulled the Howa1050 semi-automatic pistol supplied by Reo. It was a state of the art weapon with sleek lines and a firm grip. Bastien pulled a narrow silencer from within his black jacket and attached it to the muzzle. Bullets were checked — the magazine was stocked. He was ready.
The plan was to comfort Marie and tell her he was there to help her escape. She was a prisoner after all, and smart enough to realize it by now. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine her being elated by his presence. There would be no calls for help or screams of panic. Nothing. Marie would be happy to see him, expectant of a getaway. That’s when he’d shoot her in the head. It was a simple, straightforward plan, although there were concerns. Bastien’s track record for assassinations was average at best. While he’d succeeded in taking out Ryu for the Yakuza, he’d failed miserably when going after Belle. How would he fare with Marie?
The Nissan cleared the surrounding rooftops and pivoted in a vertical move as if it climbed a pole to face the emperor’s building. The edifice loomed only two blocks away. Bastien looked from right to left. “Hope no one raises an alarm.” Countless windows dotted concrete buildings. He swallowed a lump. At least there weren’t any police aircraft nearby. Reo had made sure of that much. Look for a silver lining.
“Well,” Hani said while shifting a gear, “here goes nothing.”
The Nissan quickly scaled the Tower’s heights with an ion propulsion engine whizzing and sputtering all the while. “Don’t worry!” Hani shouted over the engine’s noise, her eyes on Bastien’s tense face. “This baby will make it.” Red bricks and flat roofs gave way to open space punctured by skyscrapers. Stagnant air shifted aside, letting the red roadster squeeze through and upwards.
The targeted balcony became larger by the second. Bastien licked his parched lips, not letting go sight of the mark. His heartbeat raced, but he kept his cool. The moment of his redemption was at hand. He double checked the Howa. The magazine was in place. Safety off. Silencer secured. Once inside the penthouse, he would be on his own. He chewed on this reality as the balcony’s railings became distinct.
“I am going to open your door,” she said with eyes locked on the dashboard. “When we line up with the balcony, jump.”
He nodded and unbuckled the seatbelt in preparation. The butterfly door swiveled open via hinges along the car’s A-pillar. Stale air stormed into the vehicle like a roaring phantasm. The buildings below appeared small. Nippon One was a motherboard with its lights speeding near and far, some of the pinpoints blinking. Bastien’s jaw clenched as the roadster swiveled to parallel alignment with the balcony. The clock read 8:15. Time to execute.
CHAPTER 22: MARIE
In the silence, she might hear a pin drop. The hallway leading out of the harem wing seemed wider. Gone was its claustrophobic grip. The circulated air flowed freely and calmly, and it did not possess its usual stagnant touch. Marie’s limbs were looser, as if she was a carefree giant. With mind at ease, she walked barefoot. The floor cooled her soles. And her cotton backless dress sashayed around her curves. She wanted to dance in giddy anticipation. Light bathed the hall’s end and it beckoned her. It seemed to whisper softly, “Welcome, Empress, welcome to your destiny.”
She twirled playfully, catching her reflection in a golden framed mirror. Her smiling face stared back with eyes mascaraed and blushed cheek bones standing out. She was a goddess of looks. She puckered her lips with their black lipstick glistening under the hallway’s lights and uncurled a wicked grin. The Parisian queen would have a new day in the sun.
“Je vous salue, Marie,” she chanted in a whisper, “pleine de grâce. Le Seigneur est avec vous, vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes. Amen.” A cackle nearly left her lips.
Her mirage of her father lay not far from her, his skin translucent and grey. A gash circled his throat and blood gushed in this vision. Pale lips quivered. His stare cut across the hallway to her. He’d loved her, but in the worst way. And in showing her how harmful family could be, he’d also given her the strength to take her life into her own hands. He’d taught her how to wield her body from a young age, for better or worse. And it was this skill that’d given her most of whatever she’d acquired to date. It was the reason she was here in the comforts of a gilded cage. Things could have ended worse for Marie, but she’d used her childhood lessons like a lasso, whipping and roping men when needed to advance her agenda.
She crossed the royal library free of restraint as if waltzing at a ball. The rows of books gave her little pause, and she did a mock pirouette. The crystal chandelier reflected her fractured smile and mirrored her shameless glow hundreds of times. “I am a goddess,” she whispered to herself. “Worship me and you shall see all that is good in life. Disobey me, and you will be deemed a traitor and killed.”
Marie crept into the dining hall like a cat. As it had during her last visit, the royal family sat in their designated posts — Emperor Akiyama at the head of the dining table, his eldest and his youngest on the sides, with Yukito at the opposite end. A long plate of sashimi connected the family. So quiet was her entrance that no one looked up. But Yukito realized her presence. His head might have remained down, his eyes on the food, but it was his crooked grin giving away eagerness. Reo sat stoic, his mouth full, his eyes unseeing.
Etsuji spotted Marie first.
“What are you doing here?” he shouted. The fool — if only he knew he was about to die.
Reo glowered and he sputtered, “Get back to your room.”
“She got past your guards again?” Akiyama pointed the question at his youngest.
“She… she’s… I don’t know,” Reo fumbled.
Etsuji stood. “You continue to disobey what is expected of you.”
Ah, patriarchal expectations. Weren’t men cute?
“I’ll take care of it,” Reo said. Discarding his chopsticks, he stood and walked to Marie. “I told you I’d have you executed if you disobeyed my commands.” His chest puffed out. Stupid teenager. “You have to return to your room now.” He glanced at his watch.
“It’s past 8:15.” Marie flashed a cunning grin. “Your plan didn’t work.”
Reo’s eyes widened with horror, the hunter realizing his prey was on to him.
The tentacles shot out of her back with a swish and one bore its tip into Reo’s shoulder, ripping tissue from bone. So great was the thrust that he jerked wildly. His limbs flailed uncontrollably as Marie pulled free her tentacle. She’d missed her mark, the heart. Regaining proper control over the steely appendages would take time and practice. Blood oozed from the wound and pooled on the glazed concrete. Reo fell limp onto his side.
“No!” Akiyama shouted and stood, his chair flying back and landing with a thud. His face twisted with torment. A father shouldn’t have to see his son so seriously injured, and yet that was exactly what Marie wanted. She smiled like a hyena, her tongue dangling from her mouth.
“Guards!” Etsuji screamed for help. “Get in here no—”
Yukito slit his brother’s throat with a katana he pulled from the wall. The shock of Marie’s attack had removed attention from the middle, troubled son. This had provided opportunity to unsheathe the blade. The heir to the Nipponese throne fell, his body embroiled in spasms. With eyelids fluttering, he clutched his throat and gasped for air. Gurgles and bloody spit marked his death.
“Etsy!” A teary-eyed Akiyama fell to his knees by his eldest’s side. Gone was the baritone, now replaced by a whimper. The regal air normally surrounding this man was swept away, leaving behind a sputtering weakling.
Yukito took a step forward and raised the katana. Father and son locked eye
s. Grief weighed down the bags under Akiyama’s. Yukito slowed as his focus seemed to leave him — the katana froze in place.
“Do it, Yuki!” Marie urged, her eyes engorged with bloodlust. “You’re the true emperor.”
The blade soared and cut swiftly. Akiyama’s head tumbled onto his lap, and his body slumped to the side. A current of blood flowed from the corpse.
Marie cackled wildly as Yukito’s bloodied face flashed a cold, dark smile.
CHAPTER 23: BASTIEN
The dim hallway leading to Marie’s bedroom was littered with dead bodies. Geishas splayed across the floor, some with throats slashed, others with deep puncture wounds in their chests. Pallid faces stretched long with pain. Eyes meant to seduce now remained half open, their stares lifeless. And blood still fresh and warm drained from the bodies, drenching the concrete. Marie’s door lay ajar. Bright light bathed a bed, its satin sheets ruffled. The bedroom was empty. Bastien’s jaws clenched with nervousness.
The corpses spoke of an uprising. Their wounds told a tale of a relentless tentacled attack. The Parisian queen, it seemed, was back in full force. Reo’s plan had already unraveled.
Bastien kept his Howa trained forward, all the while glancing left to right, unsure of next steps. There was a commotion in the distance. Murmurs scratched at his ears and he leaned toward them in an effort to refine their texture. It sounded like an argument. Perhaps, a physical confrontation? Hard to decipher from such distance.
He moved toward the noises like a lion on the prowl — swift footed yet silent. The hallway leading away from the harem was crossed in seconds. Bastien spotted his reflection in a mirror — a yellow eyed ghost with a short black beard and bald head stared back. He entered the library, lurking in its shadows. The dispute was now louder. “I thought I told you I’ll have you executed if you disobeyed my commands,” someone said. It sounded like Reo, but Bastien remained unsure.
“Your plan didn’t work.” It was Marie — her wicked, raspy tone on full display. He’d recognize that evil voice anywhere. Sounds of action followed. A struggle was taking place. Bastien hastened his steps.