The Matsumoto Trilogy: Omnibus Edition

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The Matsumoto Trilogy: Omnibus Edition Page 7

by Sarah K. L. Wilson


  I was on the edge of panic, knowing they had strapped me with a complete newbie, but I made my voice hard, determined to drill this into him. His face hardened and he looked at me coldly, his cheeks flushed a dark red.

  “Fine,” he said.

  I wondered what he thought he had to be mad at. I was the one stuck with a clueless guardian and put in the position of having to save both our hides. This assignment was looking worse and worse, and although I would still grant that it was better than the alternative, that really wasn’t saying much.

  Emperor Nigel Matsumoto seemed to have a real fondness for the Red Room when it came to me, and we were escorted directly to it. Like last time, the guards fanned out into a flower pattern with Roman and I in the center. Roman stationed himself at my back and slightly to my right as if he were planning to defend me rather than guard me like I was a prisoner. I tried not to look at him. Either he really didn’t listen to the news or he was taking his role as my new guardian in a terminally serious way.

  We waited there for a long time. One of the privileges of royalty is the right to make people wait for you. I studied the statues again, exactly the same way as I had the last time. They had not moved.

  Roman shifted impatiently at my side and I shot him a withering glare. The last thing we needed was for him to appear impatient when Nigel arrived. It would only make our bad position even worse. I paused for a moment realizing I had said “we”. I was already including Roman in my fate. That was hardly fair to him, but I couldn’t see a way around it. Unless he thought of a good way to distance himself, he would be tied to me and whatever happened to me.

  You should stand back further. Try not to look like you’re with me.

  I could sense his confusion through the link, but he said nothing and didn’t move. I sighed mentally. Maybe he wasn’t very smart and hadn’t realized exactly how bad it was to be connected to me right now. I wondered what it would be like to be paired with an imbecile, but he had hardly been an imbecile in the simulation we ran. I felt another mental sigh coming on.

  My thoughts were interrupted when Nigel finally arrived. He arrived with the suddenness of a summer storm, launching himself through the doors so quickly that his guards struggled to keep up. Throwing himself down into his chair, he glared at me.

  “I need to get you off this planet,” he said through clenched teeth. I barely noticed the Prime Minister, Everard Oshiro, was standing just behind him, a tiny smile on his usually bland face. “I’ve decided to give you the chance you want so badly. Go. Redeem yourself.” He spat the words.

  “I will go wherever the Emperor sends,” I said.

  “I’ve already sent a diplomat and his staff, a team of Special Forces operatives, and a squad of Marines. If you can do what they couldn’t, then that’s one less problem for me to deal with. If you die trying,” here he almost smiled, “then that’s also one less problem I have to deal with.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked me directly in the eyes. I was riveted by his gaze, unable to look away.

  “Your cousin Denise is missing.” It seemed like a non sequitur until he continued after a long pause. “We sent her to Capricornia. Something seemed wrong there, but we couldn’t put our fingers on what. Five years ago the planet was in chaos. Now there’s complete peace, but it feels like the peace before the storm. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. We sent Denise. It was a simple assignment: Find out what’s going on there. Is the planet as peaceable as it looks or not? She’s been missing since a week after planetfall. Her guardian, Adrianna, is missing, too. We’ve heard no word from them, and although the planetary government has been fully cooperative every single one of the people we sent to find her turned up nothing.” He ticked them off on his fingers, “The marines, the diplomats, the Special Forces. I don’t want to declare war on a planet for no reason, but it doesn’t look good for them. If they had something to do with my cousin’s disappearance I’m going to have to come at them with everything we have. We don’t turn our backs on family.” Clearly he didn’t mean me. “You have two weeks to find her and return her here. If we don’t have her back in two weeks then I’ll have to declare war on the privately owned planet of Capricornia, whether the People’s Freehold likes it or not, and to hell with the consequences. You know what that would mean?”

  He looked at me for so long that I finally realized it was not a rhetorical question.

  “It would mean a very long war with the People’s Freehold. Probably a loss of about thirty percent of the worlds we hold in the long run and at least ten years of extended conflict.”

  He raised an eyebrow. Prime Minister Oshiro frowned from behind him.

  “Astute,” was all Nigel said. “That is what my experts project, too. I don’t want to do it, but I will if I have to. And if I have to come to Capricornia with a fleet, you might as well kill yourself right then and there because if I find you I will order your death and if I discover you have fled I will have you hunted down and tortured.”

  “Find your cousin. Return her to me and you will live. Fail, or take longer than two weeks, and feel the wrath of the Matsumotos.”

  He rose.

  “Resources?” I managed to squeak out.

  “I’ll send you on a refitted freighter to get you there. On planet you can have your guardian. You two kids work it out from there,” he said with a smirk. “Oshiro will give you the appropriate documentation.”

  Oshiro sidled over, looking unhappy, and handed over a data chip, before returning to the Emperor’s side.

  “Two weeks,” was all the Emperor said by way of dismissal, and then he turned to the open door and left as swiftly as he had come. His entourage followed him out, leaving Roman and I alone with the guards.

  I shoved the data chip into the handheld computer I kept in my purse, wishing the information had just been flashed to my implant. The first file showed the name of the re-fitted freighter we were scheduled on. It had filed flight plans to leave orbit in two hours.

  “Are you packed?” I asked Roman, feeling my eyes blazing with the combined adrenaline and urgency I was feeling.

  “My bag is in the hover car.”

  “Then we’d better be gone,” I said, glancing once more around the room at the dark warriors positioned randomly throughout. Today I felt more kinship to them than to the Matsumotos. Perhaps that was best. It would take a steel person to survive the days to come.

  THE EX-PACIFIST: 14

  ROMAN AND I WERE THE only two passengers on the shuttle. Roman was all guardian. He checked the shuttle carefully before he allowed me to step a foot on it. I watched while our escorts loaded our bags and left, and then I followed his lead into the shuttle’s interior. It was lush, with creamy leather seating and extra padding in the straps. There was only so much you could do to make a shuttle luxurious – leaving atmosphere was always a rocky trip – but someone had tried their best. I strapped myself in. I’d done this so many times I hardly thought about it.

  Roman slid in beside me, fumbling with the straps and then staring ahead like he could bore a hole through to the cockpit with just his eyes. The way he shifted constantly, like a man who’d just drank five espressos, clued me in to the fact that he wanted to talk about something. He turned to me and opened his mouth, but I shook my head pointedly. Shuttles were notorious for being bugged by the paparazzi, never mind any government microphones that might be there.

  We can’t talk here, I warned.

  He shot me a frustrated look and turned his gaze back to the wall-ectomy he was trying to perform remotely. Whatever. It was his choice if he didn’t communicate. I caught a glance at us in the shuttle window and almost laughed. Here we were, two sulky teenagers, winging our way to stop a war. I remembered a super old movie I’d been shown as a child, “The Dog Who Stopped the War” or something like that. I smiled ruefully until I remembered that it was his death that stopped the war. My smile turned grim. L
ikely I’d be “The Matsumoto That Stopped the War.” Even more likely, I’d do it the exact same way.

  The launch was bumpy, as usual. I forced myself to relax. Years of travel had taught me that it was a bad idea to try leaving atmosphere with a clenched stomach. This buttery leather wouldn’t be quite so luxurious covered in yesterday’s dinner. Fortunately the launch was quick and we were breaking out of New Greenland’s atmosphere and into vacuum in less than ten minutes. Minutes later we were in queue to dock with the starship that would be transporting us to Capricornia.

  The ex-freighter was the Grey Pelican. Our current Emperor had a fondness for christening his ships after birds, and since all ships carrying Matsumotos come from his fleet, I guess I was just lucky not to be making my last stand in a ship called the Pretty Penguin.

  Our shuttle docked with careful precision, and within moments the shuttle’s pilot was speaking over the com unit.

  “We are now clear to disembark. Please make sure that you leave none of your personal items on board the shuttle. Thank you and enjoy your trip.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. The usual spiel.

  I unbuckled and retrieved my bag while Roman waited for the telltales to turn green by the hatch. Moments after it displayed the all clear, the hatch opened from the other side. The stale scent of recycled air dominated my senses as I strode into the cavernous shuttle bay.

  The ship’s complement of marines were about to earn their pay for today. They were assembled along the corridor, at attention. I was surprised to see them there. Marines were standard on Ambassadorial ships, but this was an ex-freighter carrying a disgraced criminal. I hadn’t expected any bells and whistles.

  Roman led the way in the narrow path between their ranks and I followed wordlessly. At the end of the ranks of marines, the Captain of the Grey Pelican was waiting with the marine’s lieutenant. His mouth twisted as he looked at Roman and he barely suppressed a worried sigh.

  “Ms. Matsumoto?” he said. He shifted slightly, his eyes moving between Roman and I.

  “I am Vera Matsumoto.”

  “And this young man?”

  Roman scowled at the Captain, obviously offended that the Captain had mentioned his age.

  “My guardian, Roman Aldrin,” I said, “I was under the impression that you were expecting us?”

  “Of course,” he said, recovering his composure and trying to hide his surprise at being confronted with two scowling teenagers, and his relief that I wasn’t smuggling aboard a boyfriend. “I am Denis Travers, Captain of the Grey Pelican. May I present Second Lieutenant Miro Dale, commanding officer of your detachment of marines?”

  I gave each of them a half-bow of respect, and they returned the courtesy.

  “Please allow me to escort you to your quarters, Ms. Matsumoto. We will be departing presently.”

  The trip to our quarters doubled as a tour. The captain seemed uncertain what to do with us so he stuck to the protocol for welcoming Ambassadors like he was reading it step by step from the manual. They needed to write a new manual on how to deal with disgraced royalty for moments like this. Poor Captain Travers certainly would have appreciated it.

  The majority of the ship would be off limits to us as soon as we were underway, but she was exactly what she appeared to be – an overhauled freighter with the large cargo bay refitted into living quarters for passengers. The result looked like when people try to fit offices into warehouses. It was a bunch of pre-fab units stacked in a cargo bay.

  He finished the tour by leading us to our traveling suites. They consisted of a quartet of sleeping chambers, a dining room and a lounge. Decorated in soft earth tones with calming nature sounds being piped through and a slightly cooler air temperature, they were designed to make us feel like we were on a planet instead of caged in a cargo hold. I may have been on my way to the gallows, but I was certainly going in style. It felt unreal beside the open hostility I’d left on the planet.

  “My chef informs me that this evening’s dinner will be at 20:00. If you are amenable, the lieutenant and I will join you?” the captain said, clearly uncertain about whether to make the invitation. I could tell he wasn’t used to mingling with Matsumotos and no one had told him that he shouldn’t afford me the usual courtesies. Poor man.

  “Thank you, Captain, it would be my pleasure.” I gave him a small half-smile, realizing that it was the first time I had smiled all day.

  He left quickly after that.

  I glanced around the lounge and then headed towards the quarters assigned to me. Roman was in my suite already, checking for whatever threat he expected to find there. I had no idea what he thought he’d find. He came out of the suite a few moments later. He was all business, but at least he addressed me directly.

  “Your suite has been thoroughly checked. I’ll take the one next to it. There is an adjoining door. Please keep it unlocked in case I need access to you. I expect you’ll want to freshen up. I’ll stand watch on your door until you’re finished,” he said, without a pause, as if he had to get the speech over with.

  “Thank you,” I said, looking at him suspiciously. Despite his formal speech he hadn’t lost the look of frustration.

  “It’s my job,” he said, enunciating each word.

  I threw my bag into the suite and went out to join him in the lounge. He was standing against one of the walls, staring at the door with the same angry intensity that he’d had all day, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Have you ever been to Capricornia, Roman?” I asked, trying to break the ice.

  “No,” he answered shortly.

  “Have you travelled much?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Many places.”

  “Anywhere outside the Blackwatch Empire?”

  “Yes.” He said that one syllable with so much venom that it stopped the conversation immediately.

  Roman was already one of the most confusing people I had ever met and his brief conversations with me weren’t helping matters. One minute he seemed almost sympathetic - the next minute he was rude and gruff.

  “Tell me something,” he said, surprising me.

  “Ok,” I said, folding my arms across my chest to mirror him. “What do you want to know?”

  “Do all guardians get these brain computers sprung on them, or just me?” he asked.

  “All of them do. I still can’t believe they didn’t tell you.” I said a little guiltily. I had to admit that was pretty intrusive.

  “I can hear you talking at me. Is that so you can give me orders and I just have to stand there and take them?”

  I glanced up at his face. It was twisted with emotion.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “I’m talking about how you just order me around inside my head!” He spat out the words, furious. Now that I looked at him closely I could see he was practically vibrating.

  “Well, you can talk back!”

  He stared at me for a moment, face flushed and mouth hanging open.”

  “If you don’t like what I say, then tell me. I swear I’m partnered up with a mental mute!”

  “I can do that, too?”

  “Of course you can, you idiot.” He really was an idiot, going on about me issuing orders. He hadn’t even realized he could talk to me through the channel.

  “How?” he asked. “Show me how, Vera.”

  He took a step closer, and when I looked up into his eyes I saw a sparkle of fear in them. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be injected with a mental computer you hadn’t expected, to be responsible at sixteen to protect a teenage girl on a death mission, to watch her threatened by the Emperor of your world and then to have her barking orders right into your head. I flushed as I came up with the answer. Scary. It would be really scary.

  I tried to make my voice gentle, embarrassed by how I’d treated him.

  “Let me show you,” I said, taking his hand. “You don’t need to touch me, but this is how
I learned the first time.” I didn’t tell him that I was five when I learned. “When you want to talk to me, think of what you want to say like you’re saying it in your mind. Try to think it to me. Squeeze my hand tighter when you do, so I’ll listen more closely.”

  He held my hand loosely in his. His hands were big and lightly calloused like he was used to working. They felt weird. No one I spent any time with had calloused hands. His hand was warm, too, like his anger was still burning under the skin. I hoped for his sake that he wasn’t so upset that this would be impossible. I had a feeling that he didn’t have the patience to try more than once.

  “Ok, here goes,” he said. I felt the pressure on my hand, but didn’t hear anything.

  Try again… please, I encouraged, trying not to order him.

  Another squeeze, but nothing.

  You need to relax, and to trust me. If you don’t trust me, you can’t open the channel.

  Another squeeze, and bits and pieces of thoughts came through with it.

  Trust…Death…Murderer…Death…Trust

  Flushing, I pulled back from his touch, staring a challenge into his eyes.

  “What did you say?” I asked.

  “I said ‘Can you hear me?’”

  One of my eyebrows rose. “I’m hearing your other thoughts leaking through. Try to focus just on what you want to say.”

  He blushed but I ignored him. After all, he was only thinking what everyone else was – that I was a murderer.

  “Try again,” I demanded, taking his hand in mine.

  Trust you…hear me?...Can you trust you hear me?...Can you hear me?

  I nodded as his thoughts sorted themselves out.

  “Better,” I said dropping his hand and turning away. His true feeling about me stung. “We can practice later. I have our assignment files to read.”

  THE EX-PACIFIST: 15

  “I need to read them, too,” he said, looking at me warily.

  I shrugged.

  “Yeah, I guess that would be ok,” I said as I worked on accessing the file. I sat down on a bench nearby and he crammed in beside me.

 

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