Raven lay motionless for a short spell. When she regained her senses, she struggled back to her feet, retreating up against the wall to assume the semblance of a fighting stance. The thugs began circling her, back and forth, goading her as if she were nothing more than an animal ready for slaughter.
The squad watched anxiously as one of her assailants withdrew a broad-bladed cleaver from a back holster. Even vastly outnumbered, there was no sign of fear in Raven’s eyes. Marcus couldn’t help but feel strangely proud. As the sword came crashing down, he feared it would be the end of their brave pilot, but just as the blade was about to make contact with the unarmored woman, a bright flash shot through the air. As if he were no more than a ragged doll, the sword wielder was thrown clear across the yard, landing in a ragged heap with a crash.
In the sudden stillness that followed, Raven stared at her hands. Her fingertips were glowing intensely, as if lit from within. The other Banthalo stared on in astonishment, before starting to shout at her again, clearly attempting to reassure one another. Caught off-guard in her confusion, the remaining assailants were able to fire a net-like contraption in her direction, pinning her to the wall.
As she struggled to get free, she was prodded several more times with the stun rod. Finally, she ceased moving. With wafts of smoke still rising from a searing wound in his shoulder, the wounded Banthalo had managed to recover from the astonishing blow and came to help the others secure their prize, dragging her out of the courtyard.
“Did she just…?” Taz started to ask, his voice trailing off.
“I think so,” Marcus replied.
“Did you know she could…?”
“I don’t even think she knew,” Marcus answered.
“Ape, bring that sorry piece of shit over here,” Mitchell ordered, gesturing towards one of their captives.
Jago grabbed the unfortunate Banthalo by the throat and lifted him into the air with one arm. With his hands tied behind his back, there was nothing the prisoner could do except kick his legs and hope that the towering giant would release his grip.
Jago paced slowly over to the console and set the humanoid down next to Captain Mitchell, who grabbed him by the back of the neck and pressed his face into the monitor, pointing at the frozen image of the Banthalo thugs and whispering into his oversized ear.
“Now, you and me are going to have a little chat until you tell me just who these scumbags are, and where we can find them, you understand?”
“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” Reid proclaimed. “I know who they are.”
Chapter 36
“Stock in the Muromoto Group dipped three points today, down for the fourth day in a row,” the news anchor reported, the shape of her eyes and her skin tone proclaiming her a woman of mixed Asian and Hispanic descent. “Despite the company’s innovative new approach to consumer robotics, the once-booming megacorporation is suffering a serious decline on the stock market due to rumors that their CEO, Ms. Mariko Muromoto, has overextended the company’s finances. Furthermore, the-”
Takahashi deactivated the display, with more force than was probably necessary. He sighed wearily, peering out through the limousine’s window. Outside, the onset of dusk and pouring rain obscured the view.
Could she really go as far as deliberately destroying his legacy, merely out of spite? he wondered. Perhaps he had underestimated her. After all, it was his work which had kept him busy all those years while she was growing up… his work that had caused her mother so much disappointment… his work which had ultimately led to her demise. Could Mariko now mean to destroy it all? Was her hatred for him that great?
The forward windshield wipers were hard at work keeping the torrential rain from obscuring the driver’s view. Through the open partition, Takahashi thought he could see the estate in the distance. He’d moved back home, leaving Muromoto Tower entirely. There was nothing left for him there, save for a daughter who went to great lengths to make sure their paths never crossed.
The first night back in the estate had felt odd. So many ghosts of years past had haunted him with each step. It wasn’t home to him anymore. Perhaps it didn’t help that he kept only a minimal staff. In such a vast house, he could go almost an entire day without running into a single soul. He preferred it that way, but he was even beginning to think that his staff was giving him a wide berth on purpose.
“Beginning our descent, Sir,” the driver informed him, altering his course.
A brief moment later, the hovercraft was on the ground and the driver was assisting him to exit the vehicle. How he hated being so frail. He could barely get out on his own, at least not without difficulty.
“Here you go Sir,” the driver prompted, producing an umbrella to shield him from the heavy downfall.
“That won’t be necessary,” Takahashi proclaimed, waving him away and pausing momentarily to allow the rain to caress his cheeks. He had never understood why people felt such a need to keep it at bay. He found every drop a welcome refreshment.
The magnolia trees around the rim of the landing platform were beginning to grow the first leaves of spring, towering giants with gnarled branches which seemed to loom over him, encroaching upon him, their long narrow buds like claws.
“You may retire for the evening,” Takahashi declared, dispatching the driver, who hurriedly leapt off towards the service entrance, leaving him standing there alone in the cold.
It was only then that he noticed the second vehicle, parked near the bushes on the other side of the platform. It was a small two-seater, a mediocre model at best. He circled towards it on his way to the entrance, only to find it vacant.
“A visitor?” he lamented, perplexed as to who would have come calling upon him, let alone at such a late hour.
He hurried as he navigated the cobblestone walkway leading up to the entrance, darting between the formidable marble pillars which supported a slanted awning overhead.
“Takahashi,” came a voice from behind the nearest pillar, startling him.
“Barrow,” Takahashi smiled, recognizing the voice instantly.
The decrepit old man emerged from the shadows with a youthful grin. “Please, after all these years, you still won’t call me Julius?”
“Apologies, Julius, old friend,” Takahashi responded, “Please, do come in. Let’s see if we can’t scare up a stiff drink to warm these old bones, shall we?”
Barrow chuckled, baring his prominent gums. They took themselves into the study, a lavishly-furnished hall with a balcony overhanging the right-hand side of the room and a row of framed windows on the other. The décor consisted largely of finely-crafted rosewood, polished to a high sheen.
“The usual?” Takahashi asked, producing a square bottle of emerald-tinted glass, braided with golden thread and a stopper to match, remembering Barrow’s preference from the days when they’d worked at the Muromoto Group together.
“Of course,” Barrow replied, resting upon an aging armchair by the fireplace opposite the doorway.
Takahashi poured the drinks, then lowered himself into the seat opposite Barrow, pushing one of the glasses across the surface of an ornately carved coffee table, setting the bottle in the middle. He raised his glass in a salute to an old friend. They downed the contents in unison, voicing their appreciation with a pleasing grunt.
“So, old friend,” Takahashi finally began. “What brings you here at this late hour?”
Barrow fidgeted in his seat, seemingly reluctant to reveal his purpose.
“Well… speak up old man,” Takahashi joked, refilling their drinks.
“It’s… uh…” Barrow eventually stammered. “It’s about your daughter.”
This revelation earned him an inquisitive glance from Takahashi, who paused briefly, then placed the stopper back in the bottle and slid the glass back to Mr. Barrow’s side of the table.
“Oh? What has my little angel done this time?” Takahashi remarked, feeling bone tired.
“You know, I’ve always found it
quaint that you don’t keep androids as part of your household,” Barrow changed the subject.
“I’ve never had much trust in machinery,” Takahashi confessed, perplexed as to what game his old friend was playing.
“Hmpf… you are a contradiction,” Barrow feigned a smile as he stared languidly into his glass.
“Am I now?” Takahashi probed. “You didn’t come here to discuss my shortcomings, Julius. Get to the point.”
Barrow downed his second drink, coughing slightly in the process.
“I trust you’ve seen the news?” he asked, finally, pushing the glass back across the table.
“I have,” Takahashi admitted, refilling the glass.
“This damned Isis business will be the death of us all.”
“Isis?” Takahashi asked with great interest. It was the first mention of anything that might prove relevant.
“Project Isis,” Barrow sighed, grabbing the glass once more, only to hold it in his hands, nurturing it, rather than drinking. “Your daughter’s secret pet project.”
Takahashi didn’t reply, simply sat staring at him, studying his erstwhile colleague and gauging his expression.
“I suspect I should have turned to you with this matter sooner,” Barrow wheezed.
“What matter?” Takahashi pressed.
“She’s been funneling resources into a project called Isis, to such an extent that we’ll be bankrupt within months if our backers get wind of it. They’ll break up the company and peddle the pieces to the highest bidder. There’ll be nothing left,” Barrow moaned. “Decades of sacrifice, only to have it all ruined by a hot-headed girl with a score to settle.”
Despite everything that had happened, Takahashi didn’t much like hearing his daughter described with such little regard.
“I hired someone, a few someones actually… very discrete,” the old man opposite him confessed, downing his third glass. “They followed the paper trail to a warehouse in East Chesside, near the docks. I was hoping to pierce the aura of secrecy she’s kept over the whole thing. But inside… they found nothing! No laborers, no machinery, not even any raw materials, just… nothing.”
“She can’t be attempting to make away with such an immense-” Takahashi began, but he was quickly interrupted.
“No! I don’t believe so. She is financing something. We are financing something,” he corrected himself. “And whatever it is, it’s big.”
“I appreciate you coming to me with this. I know it can’t have been easy. No doubt my daughter has the Board on a tight leash,” Takahashi ventured.
“She does indeed,” Barrow admitted, rising to leave. “She has everyone unnerved. Some even claim she’s been having them followed. That’s why I took the maid’s car.”
“I still have a few sources I haven’t exhausted yet,” Takahashi muttered. “I’ll give this matter my full attention.”
“I knew you would… I knew you would,” Barrow repeated as he departed.
Takahashi leaned back in his chair, finishing his drink. Had he been looking in the wrong place all this time? Had he been so arrogant as to assume his daughter was incapable of anything more than petty rivalry? He had an unsettling suspicion, a notion which chilled him to his very core.
He pressed a series of buttons on a hidden panel embedded in the armrest of his chair. A section of the wall slid to the side and a holographic projector emerged, flickering to life and displaying an array of functions hovering in front of the old man. Takahashi engaged the interface. A moment later, the ghostly aura of a man’s face and upper torso appeared before him.
Bulging neck veins ran bare underneath his translucent skin and across his bony frame. His muscles were virtually non-existent, a testament to a life spent almost entirely within the grid. A pair of thick cables could be seen hovering behind him, curving upwards to connect with the base of his neck. The few wisps of bleached white hair were almost invisible, giving him the illusion of baldness. He stared vapidly with glazed lifeless eyes.
“It’s been a while,” said Takahashi with little sign of emotion.
The figure nodded.
“I have a job for you.”
Chapter 37
The young servant girl laid the tray, decked with white porcelain cups, a kettle filled with steaming hot water and various other sundries, on the stone floor of the audience chamber. Ambassador Janosh smiled and nodded his appreciation before quietly dismissing her.
“Show me what you have learned Luneia,” he ordered as he gazed over the glimmering pond.
Given the ambassador’s stature, it was considered a great honor to be taken under his tutelage, and Luneia was a fair bit younger than his previous apprentices. In most cases he mentored those whom others had schooled before him. This was a special case, however, for Luneia was the daughter of Tysob Agashi, a renowned master of the art of energy manipulation, and Janosh’s oldest and most trusted friend.
Luneia grasped the handle of the kettle and started to pour its contents into the porcelain cups. She looked no older than fifteen. Her golden hair, lightly freckled cheeks and large, innocent yellow eyes were a welcome sight for the old man’s heart, an island of playful naivety in a world full of conflict and distrust.
She laid a pair of napkins at their feet, folding them over twice in a display of finely practiced movements. She then opened a small, ornately-carved box made of cherry wood, varnished to a glossy finish, and poured a small amount of the finely-chopped herbs it contained into a tiny silver tea strainer.
Placing the strainer first inside the ambassador’s cup, Luneia allowed the fragrant herbs to soak in the water. The smoky brown and red swirls it produced in the water below began to darken as they both waited in silence. She then tapped the strainer on the edge of the cup three times and poured the spent herbs onto a small plate on the side of the tray before repeating the process with her own cup.
“You forgot to stir,” Ambassador Janosh scolded when she finished.
“I was going to stir them both in turn,” she argued.
“That is not the correct order,” he corrected her. “First we stir for our guest, and then we prepare our own cup.”
“Why is that of importance?” she moaned. “I had thought you would teach me the art of the blade.”
“Respect, tradition and patience is what I offer you. An undisciplined mind should never wield a blade, for it knows not its own will. You must first learn to wield yourself, and then you will be ready for the blade.”
“You make it sound as if the blade has a will of its own,” she grinned.
“Some do,” he whispered.
“I will start again,” she smiled.
They were both wearing the traditional robes required for a Gaian tea ceremony. As the apprentice, hers were plain white with a high collar, while his were crimson, emblazoned with golden symbols along the cuffs, collar and sleeves.
“Is everything well, Master?” she asked, hesitantly.
“Why do you ask, child?”
“You’ve been very distant of late.”
“I have the weight of the world on my shoulders,” he explained. “One day you will understand.”
“Is it true that you and Father knew Gaia?”
“Why do you not ask him?”
“He refuses to speak of her. I think it saddens him to do so,” she admitted.
“Understandably so,” the ambassador nodded. “She was the greatest of us, our light in the darkness.”
“You knew her closely?”
“Not truly,” he confessed.
“Why?”
“I was not worthy of her affection,” he confessed.
“Did she not love you?” she gasped.
“Gaia loved all of us without question. It was I who did not feel worthy of her.”
“Why?” she asked, her innocent yellow eyes full of wonder.
“She was…” he stumbled over the words, “a goddess. Perfection. Next to her, we are all flawed, but in her name we strive to b
e better.”
“I wish I could have met her,” Luneia bemoaned.
“Perhaps you shall,” he reassured his apprentice.
“No, she’s dead,” she stated bluntly.
“There are those who believe she lives still,” he told her calmly. “And even if she does not, then surely you will be joined with her in the afterlife. She will welcome you with open arms, forgive all of your transgressions and hold you in her embrace for all of eternity.”
Luneia chuckled awkwardly. The thought of an undying entity waiting for her beyond the veil was a difficult concept for her to grasp.
“Father wants me to become… a diplomat, but I find it such tedious work.” Janosh caught the very slight catch in Luneia’s speech, which, together with the way she looked nervously at him, told Janosh all he needed to know.
He would never hold it against the girl that her father was grooming her as Janosh’s replacement. After all, as long-lived as the Gaian people were, no-one lived for ever. Why should she not succeed him when he passed on? At least, as long as she was capable enough.
“Anyway, I would much rather join the Iankari,” the girl admitted.
“The Iankari?” the ambassador spluttered, genuinely shocked. “That is no place for someone of your birthright!”
“I thought serving was its own reward. I do not much care for titles or stature. I want to see the galaxy, and fight bravely for those in need.”
“But… the Iankari?” he pressed. “Your father will never allow it.”
“He would if you were to ask it of him, Master,” she allowed herself to propose, forcing a sly smile.
“Focus on your studies, and… well, we shall see,” he smiled faintly.
She stirred his freshly-made cup of tea and proceeded to make her own. He waited for her to finish before taking a small sip, reveling in the taste.
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 26