Mecha Samurai Empire

by Peter Tieryas

  The Sunday before the tournament swings around, most of our floor goes on a field trip north to Davis. I opt to stay and practice in the dojo after our morning run. Noriko and Chieko join me. We spar the whole day with our bokutou.

  “Is there anything you can tell us about the simulation?” I ask Noriko.

  She shakes her head. “The instructions are intentionally kept vague so that everyone can start at the same level. They’ll go over the instructions with you tomorrow, and you can practice before the battle begins.”

  Noriko shows us some of the more advanced kenjutsu moves, the main one being a whiplike motion with the sword called the kisagake. “If you master this move, you can channel it into sixteen different cuts.” Just as she starts showing us one of the defensive parries, she receives a call and leaves the dojo.

  Chieko grins at me. “Didn’t realize you were so competitive.”

  I explain to her about my first test and how Noriko helped me. “I don’t want to screw up like last time.”

  “It’s just a test,” Chieko reminds me. “It doesn’t matter how you do. You’re not less of a mecha pilot if you lose.”

  “It doesn’t make me less of a mecha pilot if I win.”

  “‘Once you resort to violence, both sides lose.’”

  I grin. “Spare me that Zen crap. Those monks never had to see anyone close to them get killed.”

  “That wasn’t a monk who said it. It was Wren.” She raises her bokutou to me.

  I’m embarrassed by my presumption. “Are you challenging me?” I ask her.

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  As soon as I raise my bokutou, she charges. Her attack is furious, and it takes all my strength just to block her as there is anger in every blow. The unrelenting strikes result in my own sword’s being knocked out of my hand and me stumbling to the ground. She places her bokutou against my neck. “Do you yield?”

  “I yield.”

  Chieko gives me a hand up. “You won’t win as long as I’m in your way.”

  I laugh. “Like I said, I yield. I’d be glad to lose to you as long as it’s not to Kujira.”

  “If he gets in my way, I’ll destroy him.” She runs her fingers along the side of the bokutou. “I don’t fight for victory. I fight for the memory of all those we’ve lost.”

  Just as I’m about to tell her I feel the same, Noriko returns. She looks numb.

  Before we can ask, she tells us, “The Nazis murdered my aunt.” There’s a mix of rage and sorrow in her eyes. “I—I have to leave. I’m flying to Los Angeles to see my parents.”

  “Is there anything we can do for you?”

  She shakes her head. “Just do well this week.” She turns around and exits.

  We spend the rest of the evening practicing at full force, promising each other, “We’ll take the number-one and -two spots for Noriko.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The subway to Emeryville is only two stops away from campus. We ride the Berkeley Army Rapid Transit (BART) to the Powell Street exit. Only authorized military personnel are permitted direct access to the Coliseum as all civilians have to go through one of the other exits. Our IDs get us through the gate, and when we take the escalator up, we’re already inside the Coliseum.

  There are thirty-two of us who will fight in the five-round tournament. The first three rounds will be in simulation. We’ll actually suit up in a Gladiator-class mecha for the final round and championship. I’m relieved Chieko is on the opposite bracket from mine, so we’ll face each other only at the championship. I’m disappointed to learn Kujira is in the other division. I have no doubt Chieko’ll make quick work of him, though I had been hoping to do the honors.

  The Coliseum has an indoor stadium with a retractable ceiling. Huge display screens are visible for anyone who wants to watch the simulation sequences. Thirty-two pods with the sim consoles are in the field. There’s a small crowd, mostly professors and curious officers. I remember Noriko telling us that crowds will come out for the finals and championship at the end of the week, when we bust out the real mechas.

  As official observer and judge, we have Misato Hirono, a former member of the Imperial Guard who retired from her position by the Emperor’s side. She was invited to stay in Berkeley as a military consultant several years ago and oversees the matches as the official judge. She is in her ceremonial uniform with eighteen golden buttons, the crimson coat with golden lacing, waist sash, and a red shako. She also has on a cape marking her former membership in the honored Imperial Guard, as well as her specially embroidered sword, the shin guntō, and her sash, the sennibari. She greets us in an underground conference room, gives us a word of encouragement, and goes over the basic rules. Disable the enemy or fight until one side surrenders. As it’s not likely anyone will surrender, it’s a match until only one mecha remains standing. There’s an optional tutorial we’re encouraged to use once we acclimate ourselves to the simulation.

  Our matches will start in an hour.

  We’re escorted to the field by eight officials. Before we get inside the spherical pods, we’re required to wash our hands in ritual water and cleanse our mouths too, spitting into a ceremonial spittoon.

  I put on the tactile suit, gloves, and goggles, which are akin to what I wore on the Crab. I enter the pod and adjust the seat to match my body. Once the belts are strapped, we do the calibration for my weight, depth of field, and strength, which is further divided into grip, speed, and flexibility. The controls are intuitive, different from the high-school test because it’s much easier to move and isn’t anywhere as heavy. Bipedal motion is also simpler to drive in contrast to controlling the multiple limbs on the quad mecha and Crab tank.

  The one difficulty is that it’s tight and damp inside, making it hard to breathe.

  “Are you ready?” we’re asked individually.

  “Yes, sir,” is my reply.

  They’re making it extra hot, and I recall reading somewhere that this is one of their initial tests. They want to know whether we can handle the duress of a tight space. If anyone has any trace of claustrophobia, they need to disqualify them now, before they’ve invested all the time and training only to find out they’re unable to handle it.

  I’m given the option of using my name or going with a nickname for the fights. I stick with Mac. My first-round opponent is someone named Jotaro.

  We get the choice of any melee weapon, though no guns are allowed, as that would defeat the purpose of the matches. I pick the electric sword and, as my subweapon, the shorter wakizashi blade. I go through the tutorial, but it’s very basic, intended for cadets who’ve never piloted a mecha. I run around the virtual stadium, practicing with my sword. The simulation movements correspond to my own, and the controls are similar to Cat Odyssey, even if the mecha is bipedal. It’s easy to wield the sword, use it like I did in kenjutsu class, thanks to all that gaming practice before. Honestly, I struggle more with the heat than the program. My whole suit is getting wet from perspiration, and finger movement is awkward because my hands are moist. I want to open the door, but they’re also checking how long we can endure. Situations like this won’t be uncommon aboard a full-sized mecha. Even though they have climate control inside, those are the first systems to get cut if there’s a power drain.

  I’ll be in the first round of fights. Judge Misato Hirono gives an opening speech to all attendees, but I’m too busy testing to pay attention.

  My bell rings as soon as the speech finishes. A new visual feed begins, and I’m inside the same round stadium, only with my opponent on the other side. The Gladiator-class mechas are about a third the size of the military ones. They’re usually heavily customized for individual fighters, many wearing trophies from past victories to distinguish themselves. But for the purposes of the tournament, they want the mechas to be equal, so all of them have the standard factory look of an
enormous samurai. We are allowed to change the colors of our armor in simulation mode. I opt for a dark blue.

  My opponent, Jotaro, has kept the default gray skinning. We bow to each other as is customary.

  From the beginning, I almost feel bad for my opponent. Jotaro is grappling with the controls, struggling with movement, and actually falls to his knees twice while trying to stand straight from his bow. He has never done this before, or if he has, isn’t familiar with the interface. I’m still careful just in case he’s faking it and might suddenly ambush me. But the closer I get, the more I’m convinced that he really doesn’t know what he’s doing.

  I don’t want him to lose too much face, so that when we begin our fight, I take it easy on him. I remember the humiliation of losing and don’t want it to sting for him as this performance will be one of the first impressions the other cadets have of him. But he makes it tough not to make it too obvious that I’m drawing out the match for his sake. He tries to hit me a few times, but he telegraphs his attacks, making them easy to dodge. I let him get one hit in, but then strike him from below and uppercut his jaw. A fist to his breastplate follows, causing Jotaro’s mecha to flinch back. I unsheathe my electric sword, and in a move that I’m sure will make Professor Sugiyama proud, carry out an almost flawless execution of iaijutsu. I plunge the blade into my opponent’s chest generator, which splits apart like glass, withdraw, and resheathe the sword.

  The motion fluidly mimics what I’ve practiced the past week. I turn around and walk away. The mecha across from me blows up and crumbles to the ground. I turn back, surprised that it actually worked and that I also had the chance to imitate the cool poses from my favorite portical-game mecha pilots. When I emerge from the simulation console, I’m giddy. I’d like to say it was the victory, but it just feels nice to get out of the scorching pod.

  I immediately get a summons from Judge Misato Hirono. I don’t know what she’s going to say, but I’m hopeful she will praise my finishing move.

  I walk up to the royal box seats. She is surrounded by several military officials, all of whom are carefully watching the fights on the big portical display screens. Judge Hirono looks sternly at me, and barks, “Why did you take so long to defeat your opponent when you were clearly superior in skill?”

  I’m surprised by her harsh tone. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t want him to lose face.”

  “And in the process, made him lose even more face. Mercy in the battlefield endangers the lives of all your compatriots. Do you think the enemy cares about face?”

  “N-no, ma’am.”

  “It was idiotic and small-minded of you. If you defeated him quickly, he would at least know he has much more to train. But by stretching it out like this, you’ve done everyone a disservice. You pull this kind of stunt again, and that will result in an automatic disqualification.”

  “Forgive me, ma’am.”

  I am dismissed.

  I feel deflated. It’s not the attention I was hoping to get from the Imperial Guard. It feels unfair that I’m being punished for wanting to give my opponent face.

  Although I’m done for the day, I want to see how the other cadets do and find out who my next opponent will be. Plus, classes are on hold for all participating mecha cadets this week. I go to where most of the other students are seated.

  Chieko is about to start her fight, and her mecha readies itself on the big screen. There are cameras of the pilots’ faces as well as audio feed.

  Her weapon of choice is the manriki-gusari, literally meaning the ten thousand power chain. She has the two ends of the chain wrapped around her wrists. Her adversary is wielding a spear and begins his attack with a forceful thrust. Chieko dodges the attack, then hurtles her chain around the pole of the spear. She tugs, snatching it out of his hand. Without stopping, she twirls the manriki around the other mecha’s shoulder. She pulls the chain away, causing the entire shoulder pivot to detach and the arm to fall out. This in itself should ensure her victory, but she gets in close and puts the mecha into a choke hold. Her wrestling move leaves her adversary helpless.

  I’d thought earlier no one would surrender. Her opponent does.

  When she comes out of her pod, I rush down to the field and congratulate her. Chieko shrugs. “Nothing to it. You did a nice job out there too. That last strike was beautiful.”

  I appreciate her words, especially coming after the Imperial Guard’s rebuke.

  “Remember, number one and number two,” she says.

  * * *

  • • •

  It’s interesting to see how our fighting styles match our personalities. In the two matches I’ve seen, Chieko gets in nice and personal before causing mass destruction. I like to experiment, try out new things, but overall stay conservative. My second opponent lasts a little longer than my first, but not by much.

  I’m curious how Kujira fights. A part of me wonders if he’ll even show up, and I’m relieved when I see him suited and ready. Like me, he chooses the electric sword. I hear a few in the audience question his name designation.

  Kujira’s fighting style is loose, unlike any of the other combat poses I’ve seen. His opponent, with the nickname of Pyrrhus, wears purple armor. He’s swinging a huge club in front of himself erratically, trying to bash Kujira. What’s odd is that through the audio hooked into their cockpits, Kujira’s opponent is breathing hard, guttural gasps, spitting out with every swing. But on Kujira’s side, it sounds like he’s chewing on food. It’s a very loud chewing as he savors each bite, making sure his tongue claps with his palate.

  Pyrrhus is getting annoyed by the sound, and actually demands, “Stop eating.”

  But Kujira chews even louder. This infuriates Pyrrhus, who charges in to attack. Somehow, Kujira’s mecha punches him in the face, twists around him, then plunges the electric sword into the orifice between his neck and his back, which he then sunders in half. Pyrrhus’s mecha suffers a total collapse as the back plating is ripped apart.

  Kujira emerges from the pod, eating a sausage. His opponent angrily accosts him, upset about the perceived disrespect. The guards have to separate the two. If this bothers Kujira, he doesn’t show it. He finishes his sausage and takes out his portical. He plays what I assume is that hexagonal coloring game.

  I guess he’s feeling pretty confident.

  * * *

  • • •

  The climate control inside the pod works in the third round, so we don’t have to fight the temperature as well as our enemies. Most of the matches last under a minute, similar to the actual sword fights samurai engaged in. The matches that last the longest are between those with very little experience, as both opponents struggle to control their mechas. The last match of the day is like that. Both cadets are having trouble piloting their mechas. Both start pummeling each other. It’s a brutal clash, made worse because neither of them knows what they’re doing.

  I’d like to say my third-round match gave me more trouble than the first two. Lesa Gozen, named after the historical warrior, does walk comfortably and properly wields her naginata. She tries to use the length of the spear to keep me at a distance. Unfortunately for her, I’m too fast, and before she can pierce me, I’ve used my sword to lop off her arm at her elbow. She tries to block me with her other arm, but I plunge my shorter wakizashi blade into her mecha’s visor, where her cockpit lies. I like the feel of the short sword because I can use it in tight spaces, really drive it in to cause maximum damage. As is standard function, the moment of impact in the helmet causes the cockpit to automatically drop into the stomach. I’ve anticipated this and use my sword to cut into her belly. Match over.

  I think Chieko’s opponent, Soda, is even less competent than her second-round enemy. He chooses a light pink for his mecha, his weapon is a halberd, and he starts by taunting Chieko with, “Prepare to get a spanking.”

  Chieko shows no reaction on the screen except
for an amused twitch of her brow.

  As soon as the bell rings, Soda tries to strike Chieko with an awkward twirl. Chieko brushes the halberd aside, bends low, and grabs Soda by the waist, taking them both down to the ground. She wraps her chain around his hips and squeezes. He’s paralyzed, and she starts smashing his leg socket. After destroying it, she rapidly punches his gut, puncturing it and destroying the BPG. She then dismantles his helmet, smashes the arm sockets, and leaves Soda’s digitized figure exposed to the world. He’s like a dead puppet, completely beaten and flopping around. She stomps down on his face with her boot. The match ends in a total victory.

  She says for everyone to hear, “Don’t talk smack to me if you can’t back it up.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The preliminaries end Wednesday afternoon with the two of us advancing. Tomorrow will be the finals and combat in an actual mecha. I’ll face off against a cadet named Honda. Chieko will battle Kujira.

  I meet up with Chieko for dinner. Chieko also invites her friend, Ella, who’s in the Information Welfare and Propaganda Division. She is a “mecha aficionado” and knows all the cadets.

  “So exciting!” Ella exclaims. “I can’t wait for tomorrow!”

  “You’re going to be there?”

  “Everyone in Berkeley will be there,” Ella says.

  “Really?” I confirm with her. “It’s just a tournament for first-year students.”

  “Exactly. We get to see you pilots in action before you become big hotshots. My treat tonight, to congratulate both of you for getting to the finals.”

  She takes us to an Indian restaurant. I order salmon tikka masala, Chieko gets goat curry, and Ella picks baby shark curry.

  “You want chopsticks?” Ella asks me.

  “Fork, please.”

  “Fork?”

  “I don’t like using chopsticks,” I tell her. I’ve always found them a struggle to use since I was a kid. Other students find it a source of amusement since almost everyone in the Empire uses chopsticks and only foreigners prefer forks.