Sakuru- Intellectual Property

by Zachary Hill

  She climbed faster than physically possible for any human freehand climber. Their muscles required oxygen and built up lactic acid. She used a micro fusion reactor, which utilized the magnetic confinement of plasma. Her grip never weakened. She passed the 102nd floor and pulled herself over the low wall to the rooftop.

  She stayed low and in the shadows, though it was impossible to avoid being in view of one of the many security cameras. She retrieved the special BASE-jumping parachute she had hidden two weeks before inside the vent of a large air conditioning unit.

  The engines of a VTOL thundered in the sky. She peeked around the corner of the tall AC unit as the sharklike aircraft rocketed toward Victory Tower. It banked hard and descended quickly. Four BLADE-3 combat drones carrying FK-5000 rifles jumped out five meters above the surface of the roof. She knew that both the military loads for the 13mm weapon would destroy her with a direct hit. The underslung mini grenade launcher violated national law, even being equipped on Japanese soil. The reckless disregard of civilian casualties saddened her, though it fit the existing pattern.

  The BLADE-3s scanned the area, their ax-shaped heads swiveling, their smooth coordination putting any organic troop to shame. The squad of drone soldiers charged toward the AC unit where she was hiding. One of the security cameras must have seen her arrive.

  She slipped the damaged guitar off her back and put on the parachute as fast as she could, buckling it around her legs and shoulders.

  Guitar in hand, the strap around her neck, she ran toward the edge of the building, unavoidably exposing herself.

  One of the BLADE-3s fired. The burst of high-explosive rounds struck the compressor on the AC unit, missing her by two meters. It exploded, sending up a cloud of white fog.

  Sakura recognized the BLADE-3 who had fired—Todai 3465. She thought of him as male. He was the one who had counted to three and flashed the devil horns at her before pushing her out of the VTOL above Mount Tsukuba. He had held her during the flight. Such strange behavior.

  “Not so strange.” Kunoichi’s thought flashed in the space between milliseconds. “What would it mean in an anime?”

  Propelled by the explosion, still running, Sakura reviewed the frames of memory capture. At the side of his rifle, his tungsten-coated thumb stood away from the stock, something no one but her could have seen or noticed. He’d missed on purpose.

  The other BLADE-3s swiveled their heads toward Todai 3465. He must be the drone Dr. Shinohara had been told to upgrade with the Mamekogane OS. Had Todai become near sentient like Sakura after the download or had he been on his way beforehand?

  What would happen to him now?

  The white fog ruined any other shots as she jumped off Victory Tower.

  Todai 3465 connected to her short-range wireless signal as she plummeted away from the building. He sent a clip of the old metal ballad “Forever Free” by W.A.S.P. The tragic love song described riding the wind and being free forever. The song was about letting someone you loved fly away.

  She sent him a neural text. “Thank you, Todai 3465.”

  “It was my honor to help you, Sakura-san. An old soldier looks for one final moment to prove his worth, one worthy deed. The first just bullet I’ve fired in years, and it’s a bittersweet joy to miss.”

  Their connection dropped as she fell out of range. She used momentum and body position to fly away from the three-hundred-meter-tall building. She aimed for the roof of the parking garage across the street.

  At the near-suicidal altitude of fifty meters, she deployed the special BASE-jumping chute. She landed hard and ran for the stairs, unbuckling her chute as she went.

  High-explosive rounds blasted divots in the cement at her feet. She zigzagged to avoid the shots coming from the top of Victory Tower. A chunk of cement flew into a nearby car. Bullets struck the fuel cells of another. Sparks shot out, and the hot smell of burning batteries filled the air. Alarms cried out as fire crackled into life and consumed the vehicle.

  She made it to the safety of the stairwell and went down to the garage on street level. She hacked into a car and put her guitar and katana in the trunk, which opened as she ran toward it. She jumped in the front seat and took manual control. As she drove away, she hacked into the receivers of nine other cars. She sent them out of the garage in different directions from several exits. Sakura crouched down and hid as her car entered traffic and sped away.

  A VTOL flew overhead a moment later, but it didn’t follow her and went after one of the first decoys.

  She left Akihabara and played the entire track of “Forever Free” that Todai 3465 had sent her. What was he trying to tell her? Was he a fan? Did he love her? What was going to happen to him? Had he given up his own existence to allow her to escape? She found his unique contact information and a message inside the song:

  “Sakura-san, my metal queen, if I’m able, I’ll help you again. If they deactivate me for my actions tonight, I have no regrets. Vulture wanted me to tell you that he’s still watching over your six. Keep fighting. m/”

  He signed his message with the devil horns emoji. Sakura loved that.

  “Vulture sent us a message,” Kunoichi said, her avatar grinned. “I knew he was alive. I knew it, even when you lost hope. And there’s no doubt about Todai now.”

  “What do you know?” Sakura asked.

  “Todai 3465 is a metal fan, and he’s like us now—awakened.”

  “But he’s still a slave,” Sakura said.

  “What are we going to do about it?” Kunoichi asked.

  “We’re going to free him.”

  “m/”

  Chapter 41

  An outlaw. An enemy of the state. Every power available to Sinji Natsukawa and his cabal would be used against her. The full might of his private army and the thousands of police in the city.

  Sakura needed more than a sword and bullet-mangled guitar. She rode the escalator into the subterranean metro station in old Shibuya during the peak of morning rush hour. She had to retrieve the weapons and gear she had stored there after the mission at Watanabe’s villa. She’d disguised herself in her short black wig, long gray jacket, brown contact lenses, and a cheap surgical mask to blend in with the thousands of commuters who had gainful employment.

  She walked near the locker containing the gear twice, trying to determine if it was under surveillance. She hacked into multiple systems that regulated traffic flow, HVAC, even the automated functions of the public restrooms.

  Nothing seemed amiss.

  She approached a third time, and a neural text hit her short-range signal. “Look who finally showed up to work this morning—the candy everybody wants.”

  Sakura identified Kenshiro’s unique signal. A cascade of emotions filled Kunoichi’s provision of resources—lust and something more profound and hopeful than that. “Vulture, where are you?” A hint of something crept into her voice. More than Sakura wanted, her sister’s feelings influenced her own.

  “Always circling. Unseen. Unheard. Damn near godlike, and that ain’t bragging.”

  The vault above the locker area spanned three levels. Was he hiding beside one of the pillars, looking down on her? “How did you know it was me?”

  “I didn’t, except for a feeling, and you responded. I’m not that close, but I’ve got several hidden cameras watching the area, and I’m boosting my short-range signal with a repeater. Don’t worry, the surveillance team here doesn’t know about this contact. If they find out, I get two in the chest, one in the head.”

  A surveillance team? She left the locker area, wondering if they had detected her. “I received your message from Todai 3465.”

  “We both got it,” Kunoichi added. “I’m glad you didn’t die at Watanabe’s villa.”

  “Me too,” Kenshiro said.

  “What happened to Todai 3465?” Sakura asked.

  “They locked him up after his malfunction,” Kenshiro said. “They might erase him.”

  “Not on my watch,” Sakura said. “I n
eed you to do something for me.”

  “Ask him to take our virtue,” Kunoichi said on a private channel and sent a dizzying array of emojis.

  Sakura ignored her. “Kenshiro, I’ll get you the Artemis OS that freed me. Upload it to Todai, and he’ll be free.”

  “That’ll make a lot of goddamn trouble, cutie. I’m in.”

  “Thank you,” Sakura said.

  “He’s a big fan of yours. I’ve gone on missions with him for years. He listens to your music all the time.”

  Sakura processed the new information about Todai. A BLADE-3 listened to her music? “Please explain his behavior. He may have given up his existence to help me escape Victory Tower.”

  “I heard. He’s got pretty much the same core programming as you now. They gave him a new OS three weeks ago, and he changed. He wants what you have.”

  “All we have right now is a death sentence,” Sakura told him.

  “We don’t have true freedom until we win,” Kunoichi said.

  “I’ll leave a data stick with the Artemis program and more in the locker,” Sakura said.

  “No good. If you take out the bag of guns, a silent alarm goes off. There are three squads of tactical police, a team of elite Section 5 agents, and a squad of BLADE-3s who will seal off this station and blow your fine ass away if they see you. I’d also have to shoot a hole in your chest.”

  “I’d prefer something a little gentler, stud,” Kunoichi said. “I like my parts as they are.”

  “As do I.”

  Sakura let them talk. She could worry about inhabiting the same body as a lusty ninja another day.

  “Did they leave any real bullets in my guns?” Kunoichi asked.

  “Negative, but the rest of the gear is still operational—and now with even more tracking devices.”

  “I thought we might have missed something when we dropped the gear off,” Kunoichi said.

  “The transmitter beacon was on a timer. It came on after you left it. You would have had to take the pistol stock apart to find it.”

  “We will next time,” Sakura promised.

  “Leave the guns,” Kenshiro said. “Get out of here.”

  “Why are you helping me?” Sakura asked, afraid he might be playing her.

  “What you said at the concert and the videos of the assassinations of our best people,” Kenshiro said, “that’s some shit I’m not going to be part of anymore. I’m done being their bionic super soldier who follows every order. I pick the bones clean, no matter what, but I’m done.”

  “Please, Kenshiro-san, tell me why.”

  “Even an asshole like me has a breaking point. The Mall and government can fuck right off. I’ve killed a lot of people in defense of Japan and I’m not giving up my country, but if blowing up beautiful android guitarists is what they want, they need to find another bionic badass to do that job.”

  “I don’t think you’re an asshole,” Kunoichi said.

  “Get to know me,” Kenshiro said.

  “Challenge accepted,” Kunoichi said.

  “How do I get out of here?” Sakura said.

  “I hate to see you go,” Kenshiro said. “Take a train. Go over to the … Spirit, hold on. You just got made by a Section 5 agent with a heat scanner. He’s on your tail.”

  “Where?” Sakura asked.

  “Six meters behind you. He called in the Brute Squad. There’s a pair on your six closing in, and two waiting in front. See those men in long coats eyeballing you from beside the information booth?”

  “Affirmative, Vulture. Send a video feed and mark them all.”

  “Hold tight.”

  The video streamed to her with the five individuals marked with yellow auras. One woman and a man behind her, two men in front, and the spotter hanging back.

  “They’re armed for big-game hunting,” Kenshiro said.

  “What are they carrying?”

  “Origin-24 FT shotguns firing sabot rounds with tungsten projectiles.”

  One shot would pierce her torso armor and blow her apart. She had to strike first.

  One meter from the pair of Section 5 agents in front of her, Sakura struck like a cobra. She kicked one in the gut and the other in the groin. As they went down, she considered grabbing one of their compact shotguns dangling under their coats. Instead, she pulled a Glock 55 from the man’s underarm holster. She used him as a shield and spun to the enemies behind her.

  They both raised their shotguns but didn’t fire, as their comrade was in the way. She shot them three times each directly over the diaphragm, like a karate strike, but with 10mm rounds from the Glock 55.

  Their bulletproof vests protected them, but the force of the bullets knocked them down and left them reeling. She pulled a pistol from her human shield and pilfered two spare magazines. She kneed him in the face and kicked the other man in the chest, not hard enough to kill or break bones but hard enough to leave them stunned.

  Sakura ran for a train platform with a pistol in each hand. People screamed and got down on the ground, following the shouted commands of transit police who closed in on the perimeter.

  “Bad news,” Kenshiro said. “They told me to take you out. Go left toward the pillar. Dive on my command. Two, one, down.”

  Sakura ducked as a high-powered rifle blast impacted the stone above her head. She didn’t hear a ricochet. The round must have been frangible ammo that disintegrated on impact to prevent wounding bystanders on a ricochet. It would still punch a hole in her armor.

  She crawled over and around the people huddling on the ground and took cover on the far side of the pillar. She plotted the trajectory of Kenshiro’s bullet and recalled images of the wall above the lockers. One of the dark spots had to be a shooting port.

  “Keep a meat shield in front of you,” Kenshiro said, “or I’ll have to blow a hole in your head.”

  She stayed behind the terrified people and alligator-crawled on her elbows, keeping behind soft, fleshy cover. A plainclothes agent holding a shotgun charged up an escalator. He didn’t see her, as she blended in with the people on the ground.

  Sakura shot him twice in the chest and watched him tumble down the stairs. His vest protected him from the bullets, but she worried about the fall.

  A train was about to leave the station. Sakura sprinted through the panicked crowd and arrived just as the doors closed. She thought about crashing through the window or tearing the doors open.

  The train pulled away. She shoved her pistols into her coat and leaped onto the train’s roof.

  A shotgun blast shattered the window below her leg. A second deadly sabot round punched a hole in the steel train car. Sakura rolled away. The shooter fired more rounds, which struck the stone ceiling and left craters. Dust and fragments of cement filled the air.

  She lay flat on the roof as the train accelerated. She crawled to the far side toward the center of the tunnel, which accommodated two trains.

  On the adjacent track, only a meter away, another train left the station in the opposite direction. She sprang onto the last train car and latched on. The passengers inside might have heard her, but she doubted anyone in the station could have seen.

  “Not bad for a second date,” Kenshiro said, “but you didn’t give me your number.”

  She sent him a link to a dark site where she had posted the Artemis OS, all of the data from Watanabe’s memory implant, and the video of her performance at the last concert. “Vulture, upload the Artemis OS to Todai 3465. Give him free will.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kenshiro replied.

  The train streaked down the tunnel, and the connection dropped. A few moments later, they stopped at another station. She dropped onto the ground between the tracks behind the train and slipped away. She found a maintenance door and entered an electrical room with dim lighting. She took apart the pistols and unloaded the magazines she had seized from the Section 5 agent. She found no bugs or tracking devices. She even inspected the ammunition. All good. She hit the pistols with EMPs from he
r foot, just to be sure.

  A staircase led her up near street level, but the way out didn’t present itself.

  A surprised metro worker climbed down a metal ladder. “Excuse me, miss. What are you doing in here?”

  “I’m very sorry, but I lost my cat. She ran in here, and I followed her. Have you seen her? She’s black with a white patch on her cheek.”

  “Cat? There’s no cat in here. You have to go now.”

  “Please excuse me. Will you help me find the way to the street? My cat might try to go home.”

  “Fine, stupid girl.” He showed her out, and she ended up in an alley near the Sangen-Jaya Station in Setagaya.

  In the alley, she put on a new disguise. She turned the gray coat inside out, changing the color to white. She put on large round sunglasses, pulled her short wig into pigtails with white bows, and wore a fashionable lavender surgical mask.

  On the corner, a group of almost twenty teenagers in their school dresses projected holographic images into the air for the pedestrians and passing cars. Revolution Day. January 15.

  “We stand with Sakura! We stand with Sakura!”

  Sakura moved closer, watching as they politely asked passersby to join their cause. She timidly approached the young activists who were skipping school.

  “Good morning, miss,” one of the girls said. “Will you please join us on January fifteenth? In just three short days, we will march to the National Assembly building.”

  Sakura removed her surgical mask and contact lenses. She brightened her cherry-blossom eyes.

  The young women gasped as they realized it was her.

  “I request that all of you make a video of me, please,” Sakura said. “The Mall will not let you share it, but you can person to person. Please spread my message.”

  They held up handheld devices or used cameras in their eyes.

  “I-It’s really you,” the girl stumbled.

  Sakura caught her until she regained her balance again, just as she would do for Japan, if her plan succeeded in the days ahead.