Mecha Samurai Empire

by Peter Tieryas

  I spot several couples on a stroll, holding hands and enjoying the evening. I hear singing and see eighteen freshmen in their underwear, running drills set by their Army Circle sempai as part of their hazing. Some restless cadets are banging on outdoor drums, purging themselves of their daily frustrations, bludgeoning insecurities with auditory clubs. BEMA is a beautiful campus, even more so lit up at night. There’s a memorial with a group of hands sticking out from the ground, commemorating those who were lost and never identified in war. Each of the hand statues is of varying scale, from life-sized ones to those that are five times bigger than me.

  Adjacent to it is a reflecting pool, and the lights at the bottom continually change hues from a vivid blue to a foreboding vermilion. I take a seat on one of the benches and spend the rest of the evening gazing at this tribute to the dead.

  * * *

  • • •

  At my dorm, I check my portical for messages. Kazu has sent me a link to the video footage of the fight between Nori and Kujira.

  Kujira usually fights loosely, an unorthodox style that is hard to decipher. Noriko is the exact opposite, a rigid, almost perfect samurai pose. There’s an eloquent lethality in her confidence that brims from her guarded preparedness. The fight ensues, and it’s unlike any other battle I’ve seen. From the opening, they go at each other. Noriko has opted for an electric sword in conjunction with her gunsen. I’ve seen how deadly she can be with the war fan. Kujira does a quick strike, but she blocks it. They exchange blows, and the attacks become more furious. It’s almost like a storm of attacks, accelerating by the second. The sound of weapons colliding and sparks flying mesmerizes the crowd. It’s a ping-pong match of blades. It goes on for three minutes. My arms get tired just watching them. It ends when both of their limbs get destroyed. Both of them are awesome.

  I should be analyzing what I can learn from them. But I just keep on thinking about my mom being sent to follow stupid orders. Then my dad, unable to bear his grief, getting killed as a result. It’s not just the judge’s bad commands, though, that bother me. Kujira’s mom refused. The Kamoshika should have too. But then would someone else’s kids be orphans instead? Thinking about it gives me a headache.

  There’s a knock on my door. I answer, and it’s Tabitha Uoya, my floor leader.

  “There’s a situation, and some of your other dorm members want to talk with you,” she says in a grim tone.

  “What happened?”

  “You’ll see when we get there.”

  I don’t want to deal with this right now, but at the same time, maybe a distraction would be good. We go upstairs to a study hall. I wonder what it’s about as we enter the door. I’m surprised when I see fifty fellow cadets who pop confetti my way, and shout, “Congratulations!” the same message printed on the banner above, though it has a spelling error and is missing the “g.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  Chieko is already there, and she winks at me. “They got me earlier.”

  “We tried waiting for you, but we weren’t sure when you were going to be back!” Tabitha informs me. “But Kazu-sempai insisted we wait.”

  Kazu asks me, “You see the Kujira-Noriko fight?”

  “I did.”

  “Both of them got machine-gun arms. I’ve watched each of Kujira’s fights, and he has a different style to match whoever he’s fighting. Boy got skills. It could have gone either way. My money was on Nori. I still think she has the edge on him. But every fight is different. He coming to this?”

  “I have no idea.”

  He eyes me. “You look like you’re still upside down in your mecha head.”

  “I’m—I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting this.”

  Tabitha says, “Oh no! That’s my fault. I didn’t want to give away what we were planning ’cuz Chieko figured it out, and I didn’t want to spoil it for you!”

  “Thank you,” I tell her. “I’m very honored by this.”

  Someone brings me a shot of vodka, and everyone raises their drink. “Kanpai!” they shout.

  I take a sip and nearly spit it out because the alcohol is so strong.

  “We start our training next week,” Kazu says. “Lots you need to work on.” He bends down and grabs my calves. “Weak sauce, man. Need to firm those up. Start walking on your toes at home.”

  “On my toes?”

  “Strengthen your calves. Becomes huge for mecha speed. You have perfect eye vision?”

  “I think so,” I answer, not remembering my numbers from my last exam.

  “If not, get your eyes lasered. Never know when the exterior sensors might get damaged and you need to rely on your own vision.”

  “Kazu-sempai, no more mecha talk for the night, please,” Chieko pleads lightheartedly as she approaches us. “Go home to your daughters.”

  “You have daughters?” I ask.

  “I got married seven years ago, right before I enlisted,” Kazu says, and takes out his portical to show us a picture. “These are my twins. Mayu and Mio,” he says, beaming. “They’re brilliant. I show them all the mecha fights to get their insight. I’ve already sent them both matches from today and asked them for a report tomorrow morning.”

  “He’s training them,” Chieko tells me. “They know more about mecha combat than most of the cadets here.”

  “Can never be too prepared.”

  Chieko shakes her head. “And I thought my parents were bad.”

  Kazu puts up his fists in a defensive boxing pose, and says, “You’re at Berkeley now, aren’t you? You should be thanking your parents.”

  She snickers.

  After some more mecha tips, he calls it a night.

  “Finally,” Chieko groans when he departs. “He’s been giving me training advice the whole night. Our new sempai is dedicated to an annoying degree.”

  I laugh.

  Chieko places her drink on the table and shakes my hand. “Congrats again on making the Tigers.”

  “You too,” I reply to her.

  She picks up her drink and downs half of it. “He was actually saying we’ll all get our own training mechas in the new semester, and we can customize them. They’ll be better than the older models we used for the tournament.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  She grabs pretzels from a bowl. “My parents are flying in next week.”

  “They’re from Taiko City?” I ask, trying to recollect what she’d told me before.

  She nods. “They wanted to fly down for the tournament, but I couldn’t deal with them and the tournament at the same time. My dad gives me an earful of unwanted advice every night on how to do better.”

  “He was a mecha pilot?”

  “Barber. Both of them are hairstylists. But they’re avowed aficionados of mecha movies. They watch them all the time and think the films are like real life. My dad actually referenced one of those animated movies to tell me how to fight, and I had to remind him they’re not real.” She places her hand on the side of her neck. “But they’re trying. I can tell they’re worried.”

  “Worried about what?”

  “We are training for war.”

  “Oh, that.”

  She finishes her drink. “My dad is a geek. He cries over everything. A portical game is sad, he bawls. But my mom never cries. I don’t think I ever saw her sad. Until after the stuff with the RAMs. There was one night I was still recovering at the hospital, and I heard crying. I woke up, and there was my mom next to the bed in tears. I didn’t let her know I was awake. But it broke my heart.” She takes a deep breath. Her eyelids are getting droopy, and she says, “I need twelve hours of Z time.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Big day, right?”

  Even though she’s drunk, her gait is straight and steady as she leaves.

  I don’t know the other cadets, and the
y’re too busy getting drunk to pay me much heed. I have two more drinks, then head back to my room and fumble with the key.

  “Hey, man,” Kujira says, opening up his door.

  “Hey,” I answer. “Some of the cadets were looking for you.”

  “That’s why they were knocking on my door?”

  “They wanted to congratulate you for winning.”

  “Why?”

  I’m about to explain but figure there’s no point.

  “That crap the judge said,” Kujira throws out there.

  “Crap I want to forget.”

  “I can’t apologize for my mom. But the whole situation is screwy. I don’t trust any officers. Even if the judge is begging for forgiveness, stuff is always more complicated than they put it, usually in their favor.”

  “Why are you so antiauthority?” I ask Kujira.

  Kujira replies, “I’m realistic. No one gives a damn about anyone. If you’re useful, they’ll chew on you until you’re not. I don’t buy into their talk about family, honor, and loyalty. They’ll say whatever it takes to make you do what they want. Their whole purpose is to exploit you. You’re stupid if you think otherwise.”

  I’m all too aware of how easily the people in charge would discard me but don’t want to get into all that happened at school and RAMDET. So I say, “I’ve experienced how little they care. But you can afford to be bitter. You’re the son of a legend. I can’t.”

  “They didn’t take care of you?” he asks.

  “The bare minimum.”

  “Sounds like them. My mom was the second-best pilot the USJ had, but when she got sick from the radiation in the old mecha engines, her superiors denied responsibility. They tried to shift the blame, said it was unrelated until all the medical proof came back conclusively that it was the BPG that caused her illness.”

  “The BPG? Aren’t they heavily plated to block radiation?” I ask.

  “Because of what happened to her, they strengthened the plating. She wasn’t happy about their denials and let everyone know. Her superiors were more furious about losing face than they were that they’d denied her treatment.” The whole time I’ve known Kujira, all I’ve seen is indifference and smugness. This is the first time I see something akin to sorrow on his face. “She was devastated. She believed the crap her superiors told her, thought they meant it when they said they would always take care of her. It was only on their terms. Once she stood up for herself, and they realized she wasn’t useful to them like she’d been in the past, they got upset. They gave her an ultimatum to take back everything she said, accept their conditions, and die quietly. It was an insult. She’d sacrificed so much for them, put in all those years to becoming the best pilot. I know. I saw. She had so many sleepless nights because her body was in pain from her illness. At first, she tried to be a dutiful soldier, bear it stoically. Do you think they appreciated it? They didn’t care. They only thought that since they’d given her the ‘privilege’ of being a pilot, she should be grateful to them. Despicable. None of her ‘fellow’ soldiers came to see her on her deathbed. I was the only one there. You know the last thing she told me?”

  “What?”

  “‘Kick ass ’cause you want to, not because someone orders you to.’ I live by those words.”

  “They’re words to live and die by.” I look up at him. “Why are you staying at Berkeley then?”

  Kujira shrugs. “Right now, ’cause I dig fighting y’all. If things get boring, I’m out. Anyway, I don’t want this to get cheesy and all, so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at that circle thingy.”

  “You’ll be there?”

  “They promised good food. I never pass up good food.”

  He shuffles back into his room.

  I return to mine.

  I think about the older Kujira. To find out this legendary figure had been treated like that is both shocking and disappointing. I had always believed veterans were taken care of for life. At the same time, I’ve become all too aware of how we are just numbers to those in charge, go pieces on the field that help them in their march to glory. We’re young and disposable. Because of our training, I’d like to cling to the illusion we’re more valuable. But ultimately, I know we’re all in the same mecha.

  12

  There’s no alarm in the morning, and when I open my eyes, it’s noon. I’m not as sore as I was yesterday, but I have a hangover that makes it feel like someone is squeezing my eyes. I recall the fight, feel the pang of a million regrets.

  Damn, I wish I could have found a way to win.

  The memory of my decapitation stings worse now even though I thought I’d come to terms with it last night when my head was murkily dazed. Then I think about what the judge told me about Mom and Dad, and I wish I could shoot laser beams from my fingers and burn down her big mansion. It’s because of her orders that I had to live with an adoptive father who’d beat me if I wasted a single yen or left even one spoon of rice in my plate. My legal mother always looked pissed off, and whenever I’d approach her to ask for something, she’d snarl, “What do you want this time, you little roach?”

  My two adoptive brothers complained about my being in their room, so they set up a mat in the garage with a sleeping bag. I slept out there even though it was cold and full of roaches. After I complained about the pests, my adoptive mother dubbed me Little Roach. They always fed me leftovers. Sometimes, the food had gone bad. But if I left it uneaten, they’d reproach me with, “At least the roaches don’t complain about free food!”

  It’s weird how the bitterness of all those years comes back to me now. I haven’t spoken to them in almost a decade, don’t care if they’re living or dead, and have no desire to ever hear from them again.

  I pour filtered water into a cup, drink it. I take a shower to warm myself. There’s a message from “Mecha Circle,” the Tadakatsu, asking all prospective members to come to Kuribayashi Plaza at seven thirty p.m. sharp. We’re to eat only snacks until then since a late dinner will be provided.

  I don’t feel like doing anything the rest of the afternoon, so I burn the hours playing Cat Odyssey. The nostalgic familiarity of the game eases all stress.

  * * *

  • • •

  I head to Kuribayashi Plaza with Chieko. None of us wears a uniform, as we were specifically requested to wear civilian clothing.

  On the way there, we notice two students have been manacled, bags over their heads. The police are leading them away, and a group of cadets are jeering them, some even throwing food.

  “What’s that about?” Chieko asks a student who’s watching the scene.

  “They’ve been arrested on treason charges,” he replies.

  “Treason?” Chieko startles. “What’d they do?”

  “Two of the professors were charged with espionage and are under house arrest until the Tokko can carry out their investigation. Many of their students are being arrested.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Chieko states.

  “Neither can we.”

  We arrive at the plaza and are greeted by some of the sophomores and juniors.

  I’m frazzled by the idea that there could be spies on campus. Chieko is also disturbed by the arrests and speculates on what they might be about. I’m too shocked to come up with an explanation. I reassure myself with the fact that if there are traitors, the Tokko will find them.

  * * *

  • • •

  At seven thirty, the upper-class students blindfold us and lead us somewhere. I have no idea where they’re taking us, but it’s a long walk. I ask questions of my guide, but no answers are forthcoming. We eventually travel down a series of steps that seem to go on forever.

  When they remove the blindfold, we’re in a massive chamber lit by torche that resembles a chapel. Between the columns that run beside the walls are statues of mechas that are ten meters tall. I spo
t the enormous head of a first-generation Fox-class mecha behind the raised altar. The older machines were bigger because they had a hard time storing the energy required in a smaller frame. All the new cadets entering the Tadakatsu are gathered in the center. Circle members dressed in full battle suits surround us, and there are twelve attired in what looks like actual samurai armor. Closer inspection reveals that they’re clad in suits meant to mimic the appearance of the first twelve mechas.

  “You must swear to keep private anything we speak of and everything you see tonight, on penalty of death,” a woman’s voice calls out to us, the biggest of the twelve, wearing the costume of their leader, who had the code designation Narelle Z.

  I don’t know how serious they are about the death part, but everyone agrees.

  “Welcome to the Shrine of the Twelve Disciples,” she continues. “We are deep underneath BEMA in this sacred shrine where only members of the mecha corps and the priests have access. The first twelve mechas and their pilots were called the Twelve Disciples for their devotion to the ideals and principles of the Emperor. They risked everything for the preservation of the United States of Japan. The Disciples were six women and six men, representing multiple ethnicities, united under the banner of the rising sun. They were given their power by the gods, who gave technology to the Emperor. He in turn bestowed it to the rest of humanity, so we could wield our own destiny. Many questioned the Disciples, particularly the other branches, who were jealous. But after the Twelve Disciples fought back the horde of Nazis who wanted America for themselves and died in those battles to save the USJ, all opposition faded. Posthumously, the Emperor granted each of the Disciples a position in the great Shinto pantheon.”

  Carved into the walls are Japanese letters describing the exploits of the Disciples, their backgrounds, what they achieved in battle. Each of their pilot suits is in an airtight glass display case. Painted on the ground is the emblem of an armored fox, snarling defiantly, ready to pounce on its prey. There is also a whole gallery devoted to their feats, painted by the famous Hokkaido artist Igarashi from his G-Sol Studios. His artistry is phenomenal, and I gawk at the treasure trove of our legacy.