"Sons, daughters of Karia, ye knowe me. The name's Grim, of the Fiochmahr clan. Ye know them Cheldrun bastards, too. Goshi, they be called." He stood before the leaders of the clans, proud and tall, his heavily muscled frame yet marked with the signs of the last fortnight's festivities, and Ishikawa Tetsuro stood at his side, looking for all the world as though his tattered clothing were a kimono of the finest silk.
They stood before him, Gogajin all, listening as he spoke, forty five clan heads, male and female alike. The massive camps of all forty six of the clans gathered here stretched out as far as the eye could see around this large, central, rock-strewn meadow. Or at least it had been a meadow twelve days ago, when the games had begun. Now it resembled more closely a war zone. Around the clan heads, a larger crowd had gathered. The clan heads were all stood in a a large stone amphitheatre at the edge of the meadow - a traditional meeting place, and neutral ground - that carried their voices rolling across the crowd.
"Aye, we know them. Get on with it!" Shouted a middle-aged Gogajin from the middle of the group of clan heads.
"I've spoken with ye yche one, and there no nas never any one of us what's not been struck by them at least once since the new year began, and struck a sore blow. Well I say we've had enough! I say it's about time we stopped letting these Goshi types, these Heishi, raid us whenever the fuck they want!"
--------------
Ishikawa Tomoe of the Ruby Hawk clan stared at the ... man... in front of her in disbelief. Had this... this... donkey-man actually just propositioned her? HER? As if being dragged away from school in Matamos and into the wilderness wasn't bad enough, now there were overgrown donkeymen asking if she wanted to do... THAT, with them? It was an outrage! She wouldn't stand for it! She was going to tell her father about this, and then they'd see what happened to this presumptuous...
"If you fucked him, do you think that would count as bestiality for you, for him, or both?" Midnight asked.
The Gogajin burst into belly-laughs, and one of them clapped Midnight on the shoulder good naturedly, and the biomade girl staggered, but managed to recover quickly enough, and shot the Gogajin a cheeky grin.
Tomoe tried not to grind her teeth. "Remind me why you came with us again?" Tomoe asked. "It's not like you were in danger from Katashi Blade's purge. He's one of your kind."
When her father had said that he and his Gogajin ally were going to rally the clans, Tomoe had not expected this... carnival. They'd been at it for three days now, engaging in competitions so savage that she could scarcely believe that none of the participants had died. Certainly she'd never seen anything quite like their game of 'catch,' and the boasts? She knew what that was. That was a bunch of little boys trying to prove their virility. ... and she still didn't know what to make of the women who participated, and just as freely as the men.
The Gogajin... confused her.
Midnight raised an eyebrow and turned to face Tomoe, her long, dark hair catching in the wind as she did so, a look of surprise on her face. "... Are you serious?" she asked.
Tomoe blinked. What does she mean, am I serious? Doe she think I'm... oh. Oh. No, that couldn't possibly be the reason. "... Yes?"
Midnight smiled a pained sort of smile, and Tomoe's surprise grew to ever greater heights as the Biomade gave her reply: "Because you do what you can for your friends, yeah?"
... Friends?
Tomoe stared. In all their years at the Academy in Matamos, she had never, not once, thought of Midnight as her friend. She'd thought of her as a rival, as an enemy, as a classmate, but ... friends? She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out.
Friends.
For the first time in her life, Ishikawa Tomoe of the Ruby Hawk clan was at a loss for words.
------------
"An' how do you plan to stop them, Grim? We already tried punchin' em in the face, and throwin' big rocks at 'em, and pushing 'em off cliffs, and punchin' em in the stomach and THEN punchin' em in the face..."
Some of the clan heads surrounding Orla of the Troid clan had the decency to look embarrassed. She'd got where she was by being young, charismatic, strong and tough, but had never been the brightest bulb in the bunch.
"Much as I hate to agree with Orla," said Keena of the Muintir clan, an old Gogajin well known for her wisdom, "She does have a point, if you turn her words inside out, stand them on their head, and look at 'em through a mirror. How exactly do you plan to stop a force that can appear and disappear whenever it wants?"
Grim clapped Ishikawa Tetsuro on the shoulder, and the Allskin staggered beneath the blow. "Old Tetsuro here tells me there's a place where these smoke-puff soldiers can't get to. A place where people are holdin' out against Goshi, mounting some real fightin' against them. He says that Goshi's mounting an army to take the place, and they'll probably do it, too, since they control all the other Cheldrun cities. An' he says that once we're on the move, it'll be harder for them to find us. Cheldrun folk don't do so well in the wilds. That's me plan, though. I say we march on over to this city, this Stardown, and we show those Goshi bastards what for!"
A murmur went through the crowd, then, and then Keena spoke up again. "Why should we march to defend a Cheldrun city, Grim? It's got nothing to do with us. Troubles come and go, but we endure, and the land endures. This is ours, isn't it? All this? Look around you. This is Gogajin land. Why should we up and march off to some Cheldrun place?"
----------------
Inari blinked. "You've got eyes!" He'd been trying to shake this zipsum for days, figuring that it was probably better to avoid the little bastards ever since he'd had to flee from a whole tribe full of eyeless turbo-squirrels.
"Uh, yeah," the Zipsum said, brushing the dust off his clothing as he strolled up to the young Prill. "You run into a lot of Zipsum without eyes?"
"Yes. Well, no. Well, I did once, and you can never be too careful. I think it's very important to have eyes, after all, and I don't think much of the idea of losing mine." He brightened. "But you've got eyes, so it's ok! I'm Inari."
The Zipsum raised an eyebrow at that. "Inari, huh? That sounds familiar..."
"I was named after a legendary Kyo-TeeShee," Inari offered. He thought about it. "Either that or a really big tree. I never asked."
The Zipsum wasn't really sure how to take that. "Uh, right. So Inari, you from around here?"
The woods were sparse here, and a bit further east the land began to rise into the rocky highlands of Gogajin territory.
Inari kept walking, and the Zipsum followed along behind him as they talked. "Me?" Inari asked. "No. No, just passing through. I'm on a quest. Supposed to gather up pieces of the lost music for Elder Winter." He never had managed to make it back to the Grand Chantry. Too many eyeless Zipsum. He'd been traveling ever since, and he'd seen things since then that had made him wonder what exactly was going on in the world.
"Lost music, huh? How's that workin' out for you?" The Zipsum didn't give him time to answer, but immediately went on. "Listen, Inari, I don't mean to sound rude, but have you seen a bunch of Gogajin running around with Cheldrun prisoners?"
Inari looked perplexed. "Gogajin with Cheldrun prisoners? Well... yes. But I don't think they were prisoners. Looked more like refugees, I think. They didn't seem too unhappy about being with the Gogajin, either."
The Zipsum brightened up at that considerably. "You've seen them? Really? You're the man, Inari. You are so the man. The man? That's you."
It occurred to Inari then that the zipsum's pupils were abnormally large, and his eyes bloodshot. What could that mean? Huh. "Uh, thanks?"
"No, thank you. Now, can you show me where you saw them? It's really important, Inari. I need to find them. I'm supposed to keep an eye on them and make sure they don't get into trouble."
"I guess I could show you," Inari said, now fairly certain that something was wrong. The Zipsum seemed too hyper, even for a Zipsum. He hadn't stopped fidgeting since he'd walked up, and his eyes were more intense than they should be, the pupils absolutely, fully dilated. "What did you say your name was?"
The Zipsum grinned good naturedly. "Tricks. Tricks the Wind. Nice to meet you."
-----------------
"Look around, Keena. What's happening is more than just troubles. There's a change in the air, and not one for the better. Ye kenne hit too, I wist. Ye've heard from the Griolsa clan, heard what's happened. Ben Hamor's been visited by the gods! There's eyeless demons takin' over zipsum bodies, and Cheldrun bodies too, and I'm not so blind as to miss that Goshi has sent eyeless monsters just as often as they've sent their smoke-puff men, and a Zipsum messenger from the Grand Chantry what arrived the other day said that there's huge demons fightin' heroes of Karia all over the damn place. This isn't something we can run away from, and I'd be no Gogajin if I tried!"
Grim looked out across the crowd, and he raised his voice. "This is bigger than any of us, but it's not so big that we can't do somethin' about it. There's to be a fight, and it's to be at Stardown, and it's lookin' to be the biggest thing we've seen since the night of bonfire skies. Sons, daughters of Karia, we are Gogajin! And if we don't unite, if we don't take a stand against these Goshi bastards, then we might as well just slink away into the hills and wait to die, because we'll none of us deserve to be called Gogajin ever again, and we will never, ever be free of those bastards. Some of us may die, but at least we'll die free, with our own two feet on the ground, and fightin' for each other, and for Karia! Are you with me!"
A roar erupted from the vast crowd of Gogajin all around them at that, a terrible thunderous roar that utterly drowned out whatever response Keena might have tried to make. For a long moment the forty five clan heads stared at one another, uncertain exactly what to do. Then, after a good five minutes of shouting, the crowd began to die down, until finally those in the center could be heard again.
In the end, they had only one response. In the end, there was really nothing else to say: "You're a crazy bastard, Grim," Keena said, and then grinned widely, "But I'm with ye." And then, one after the other, the other clan heads each pledged themselves to the cause, and cacophony erupted in the crowd once more as Gogajin shouted, cheered, banged drums, banged stones, banged each other's heads, and made ready to march to war.
------------------
"That's a nice gun," Inari said as he led Tricks the Wind up the rocky slope towards Gogajin country. He'd picked up a walking stick somewhere along the way. It was just the right size, too. Very quarterstaffy. Idly, Inari wondered if he had just coined a new word.
Tricks grinned. "Thanks. Haven't met many Prill who know what a gun is. You been around the Cheldrun?"
"Some," Inari replied, watching Tricks warily out of the corner of his eye. He no longer had any intention of leading the Zipsum to the Gogajin, but he knew it would be very, very difficult to lose him. Scratch that. Losing a Zipsum that wanted to follow you was damn near impossible. And by 'near,' Inari meant 'completely.' "I found a fragment of a song in one of their cities. Kaberra was the name, I think."
Tricks nodded, and then looked like he was growing impatient. "Look, Inari, are you sure this is the way the Gogajin..."
Tricks trailed off as the roar of a vast, vast, vast crowd erupted from not too far away, and both he and Inari stared as a huge column of Gogajin crested the top of the hill and began marching down it.
More.
More.
More.
One hundred.
Two hundred.
Five hundred.
A thousand.
More.
Inari lost count.
Wagons were pulled by Gogajin in donkey form, laden down with supplies. Men, women, a small contingent of maybe a hundred Cheldrun, more Gogajin, even more Gogajin.
An army.
He stared in awe as they marched, and Tricks stared, too, his jaw dropped open, though for different reasons.
The Gogajin were on the move.
"... went?" Tricks finished.
That was when Inari lifted his quarterstaffy walking stick, and bashed Tricks over the back of the head as hard as he could. The Zipsum went out like a light.
Inari breathed a sigh of relief. He scooped up the furry little body of Tricks the Wind and headed over to figure out who was in charge. Zipsum were a pain in the ass to keep prisoner. He knew that from experience. Hopefully, the Gogajin would have some rope. Lots and lots of rope.
And as it turns out, they did. More than enough for both the suspicious, drug-addled Zipsum and for the troublesome Prill prankster what had been causing trouble with the local villages over the last few weeks. A few minutes later, Inari found himself bound hand and foot in the back of one of the Gogajin wagons, with the unconscious form of Tricks the Wind bound securely a foot away, and the Gogajin army marching towards the western horizon.
"Well," Inari said, "This sucks."
Showing posts with label Cheldrun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cheldrun. Show all posts
Unlikely Alliances
The Clan-Record of Kennard Fiochmahr, Tale-Teller and Lore-Keeper of the Fiochmahr Clan
Three Weeks Before Midsummer
It's not what ye are, it's what ye're willin' ta die for, that's the thing. Most Gogajin weren't willin' to die for all that much, but loved a good natured fight like they was bloody married to it. 'Course, this was anythin' but a good natured fight.
It started all at once about three weeks after Grim and the lads had tossed that underhanded mechified over the walls. There weren't no warning, no announcement of intent, no speeches, and no time to do anything but stand there like a bunch o' asses: the blue-armoured Cheldrun appeared in little wisps of smoke and started layin' waste to the clanhall right quick. Afore we even knew what hit us, three lads had blue knives buried in their throats, and one of them Cheldrun refugees had one blooming from her heart like a pretty blue flower. She dropped dead, but the lads, Sages bless 'em, they knew that they were dying, but they weren't dead yet. Each one of them plowed into the crowd of blue-armoured figures and started brawlin' like the best of em even as they bled out.
That were what bought the rest of us enough time to rally and drive the devils back. Things got heated then, and all the clan was roused to arms, and out came old Grim shouting and hollering like a madman about thieves and murderers in his house. Their popping in and out in little wisps of smoke made it a harder brawl than it should have been, but we brought them down, and those what we didn't bring down vanished for good.
When it were over, three of our gogajin lads were dead, a score more wounded, and five of the Cheldrun refugees were dead, too.
That weren't the last attack, either. They came again the next night, and the next, and soon it were clear as a Zipsum on gostberries that they would not stop until every last one of the Cheldrun refugees we'd taken in was dead. Men, women, and children. Some nights we fought them off without any losses at all. Some nights three or four guards were found dead along with a refugee or two. It went on like that for a week afore Old Grim had enough.
That's where we are now, the whole clan and our Cheldrun guests marchin' to Blackfield to air our grievances. That's what Grim called it, 'airin' our grievances.' Grim says that it's not just us, that these blue-armoured folk are raidin' all across Gogajin lands. He says he's not heard of a village or clanhold that's not been attacked at least once. I don't know if that's true or not, but I hear we're not the only clan to be attacked this way, neither - rumour has it the Griolsa clan way out near Ben Hamor took a beatin' something fierce half a year back, and the Dilseacht clan got raided a month back for their store o' Whiterock and lost fifty people in the battle.
Grim says he means to unite the clans. Some doubt him, but he's got that fire in his eyes, and I've seen that before: that there is the look of a hero.
Sages help us all.
Three Weeks Before Midsummer
It's not what ye are, it's what ye're willin' ta die for, that's the thing. Most Gogajin weren't willin' to die for all that much, but loved a good natured fight like they was bloody married to it. 'Course, this was anythin' but a good natured fight.
It started all at once about three weeks after Grim and the lads had tossed that underhanded mechified over the walls. There weren't no warning, no announcement of intent, no speeches, and no time to do anything but stand there like a bunch o' asses: the blue-armoured Cheldrun appeared in little wisps of smoke and started layin' waste to the clanhall right quick. Afore we even knew what hit us, three lads had blue knives buried in their throats, and one of them Cheldrun refugees had one blooming from her heart like a pretty blue flower. She dropped dead, but the lads, Sages bless 'em, they knew that they were dying, but they weren't dead yet. Each one of them plowed into the crowd of blue-armoured figures and started brawlin' like the best of em even as they bled out.
That were what bought the rest of us enough time to rally and drive the devils back. Things got heated then, and all the clan was roused to arms, and out came old Grim shouting and hollering like a madman about thieves and murderers in his house. Their popping in and out in little wisps of smoke made it a harder brawl than it should have been, but we brought them down, and those what we didn't bring down vanished for good.
When it were over, three of our gogajin lads were dead, a score more wounded, and five of the Cheldrun refugees were dead, too.
That weren't the last attack, either. They came again the next night, and the next, and soon it were clear as a Zipsum on gostberries that they would not stop until every last one of the Cheldrun refugees we'd taken in was dead. Men, women, and children. Some nights we fought them off without any losses at all. Some nights three or four guards were found dead along with a refugee or two. It went on like that for a week afore Old Grim had enough.
That's where we are now, the whole clan and our Cheldrun guests marchin' to Blackfield to air our grievances. That's what Grim called it, 'airin' our grievances.' Grim says that it's not just us, that these blue-armoured folk are raidin' all across Gogajin lands. He says he's not heard of a village or clanhold that's not been attacked at least once. I don't know if that's true or not, but I hear we're not the only clan to be attacked this way, neither - rumour has it the Griolsa clan way out near Ben Hamor took a beatin' something fierce half a year back, and the Dilseacht clan got raided a month back for their store o' Whiterock and lost fifty people in the battle.
Grim says he means to unite the clans. Some doubt him, but he's got that fire in his eyes, and I've seen that before: that there is the look of a hero.
Sages help us all.
The Troubles
The Troubles. That's what they called it. Or that's what the Fiochmahr clan called it, anyhow, and it seemed a decent enough name for the last few years. Of course, things hadn't been altogether untroubled before that. Not since two hundred years previous, when the Fiochmahr clan had seen its very last Dusk Sage. They'd called him the Ash-Faced One. Cheeky bastard, he was; walked right off out of the clanhold with nary a ceremony of the parting but just a distant sort of look and a walking down the mountain. He'd faded into the dusk, and neither song nor legend had spoken of the passage of him or any other Dusk Sage since.
But tonight wasn't a night for brooding on the past, or feeling sorry for yourself. Tonight was a night for celebration! Tonight, the famous mead of the Fiochmahr clan was open for one and all. Four days previous, the Fiochmahr clan had destroyed the Cheldrun logging expedition sent out from some steel city or another. Pepsid Five, or something like that. Surely that was as good a cause for celebration as any. So old Grim Fiochmahr, Head of the Fiochmahr clan, had declared a celebration, and they'd been partying nonstop ever since. After all, it wasn't every day you put an end to the Cheldrun logging operations in your area, and if the guards had seemed only half hearted at best, well, they just weren't real fighters like the Gogajin were.
Old Grim hadn't always been the head, of course, but the tale he'd told of his escape from the mines of a dark Cheldrun city, and his rescue of a whole group of their women had gone a long way towards boosting his popularity in the clan, even if none other of his companions in the mines had made it out of Geneva Prime with him. Diarmaid, Adar, Rogan, Donald, Baldur, these were the new heroes of the clan. And as for old Grim, well, he had ne always been Old Grim. The mines, and what had happened after, they'd changed him. Aged him before his time, maybe. Or maybe it was that age didn't cling so tightly to his shoulders as he felt it, but he felt it. At least, that was the story everyone told, though it likely found its source in younger minds than his. Two children on the brink of their teenaged exile were particular suspects, but no one could prove their involvement in the starting of the rumour, and the name had caught on regardless. Old Grim it was.
The mead-hall was full of Gogajin, male and female alike, each of them eager to get roaring drunk as quickly as possible. They were seated at a series of long wooden benches that filled most of the room, and already the mead was flowing freely. Boisterous does not begin to describe a room full of partying Gogajin: a few good natured fights broke out, and a few couples decided that their time would be better spent in a dark corner with each other than at the table with the others, and all that was before the boasting competition began. The Fiochmahr clan had a tradition, you see: two Gogajin would tell increasingly wild and unbelievable boasts, and whoever it was that told the wildest, most unbelievable one, well, he or she would have to go out and try to accomplish it. Usually it ended in hangovers and a Gogajin sleeping with someone they wouldn't ordinarily have been inclined to, but a few weeks back, it had brought about the raid on the logging camp, and tonight, well, tonight it was a good bet it was going to...
The partying came to a sudden halt (though the couples in the dark corners didn't bother to stop) when a pair of Gogajin slammed open the doors to the mead-hall, with a group of Cheldrun in tow. They were badly emaciated, half starved, and looked more than halfway dead. About a dozen of them came in - a middle-aged man at their head, wearing the tattered remains of what had probably once been a fine silk kimono - and many more of them were crowded around the entrance.
Silence hung heavily in the air for a long moment before a young Gogajin - only just returned from his adolescent exile - rose to his feet and shouted, "What kind of fucked up shite is this!?"
"You shut your mouth, Hagan!" a middle-aged female Gogajin bellowed back.
A number of other Gogajin joined in then, until finally Grim rose to his feet and banged the table in front of him with an enormous fist. "ALL OF YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTHES!" he bellowed.
Silence.
"Right. You two," he looked to the two Gogajin leading the Cheldrun. "What kind of fucked up shite is this?"
One of the two Gogajin spoke up. "They showed theirselves at the gate a bare few moments ago, askin' fer food and water, uh, Grim."
Grim looked to the Cheldrun. "I wist they ne be speaken Gogajin?" he asked, his regional accent coming to the fore as he spoke.
The middle-aged male Cheldrun in the tattered kimono stepped forward. "Your pardon, sir, but I do."
Grim looked at the man. "... Well, what do ye want, then? Ye must be either very brave or very stupid to come here. Qwich is it?"
"I am Ishikawa Tetsuro of the Ruby Hawk Clan," the Cheldrun said. "My companions and I are... exiles. Refugees. There is no place for us in Katashi Blade's new regime, and we thought it better to try our luck in the wilderness than to die at the hands of a Goshi Assassin, or a bounty hunter... please, sir, we have nowhere else to go. We are hungry, we are tired, and many of us are sick." He swallowed, and what he said next had the feel of an old tree toppling over: "Will you help us?"
Grim took a long moment to think about that, weighing it out in his mind. Of course, in the end, looking at the Cheldrun all helpless and starving-like, there was only one conclusion he could have reached: "... Aye. Ye clepen for me help, and I hear ye." He rose up to his full, massively muscled height. "All right, listen here! Listen here! These wights be safe with kith and kin tonight. None harm nor hounde them here on pain of a beatin' the likes o which you none never seen!"
The other Gogajin shrugged. One of them thought about shouting, "Ah, fuck you Grim!" but thought better of it at the last moment. The Cheldrun did look pretty desperate, after all.
Grim gestured, and a pair of Gogajin, a wer and wyf (a male and a female, that is), came forward and led the Cheldrun away to the Clanhold's guest quarters so as they could stow their things before they came to join the feast.
The feast went on.
------------------------
Later, when the shadows had had faded into gloom, the moon had set, and the only sounds were the frantic scrabblings and brayings of donkeysex in the hall, and the peace of the predawn hours hung heavily over the land, there came a stranger to the Fiochmahr clanhold. Stranger than even the Cheldrun refugees. A mechified. He came creeping through the corridors, almost his entire body made of metal save his face and his middle, the sounds in the hall masking the clunk-clunk-clunk of his footsteps. His eyes had been replaced with gleaming red lenses, and they allowed his vision access to the infrared: it was with this that he tracked his prey.
Gently, ever so gently, he pushed open the large wooden door that led into the room where his target slept. A bounty hunter he was, and a good one. He always got his man, or so they said. This man, well, they'd specified dead or alive, and he figured that dead would be easier than dragging him back through the wilderness, so once he was sure that the middle-aged Cheldrun sleeping on the bed in the tattered Kimono was in fact Ishikawa Tetsuro of the Ruby Hawk Clan, Winston reached out with his right hand and placed it almost gently over the sleeping man's heart.
Then he reached over with his left hand and flipped the switch to activate the pneumatic spike. Or would have, if a grip as strong as steel itself hadn't caught his hand mid-flight.
Winston looked up in alarm. The occupants of the beds around Ishikawa Tetsuro's were not asleep at all, but awake and very very angry.
An angry looking Gogajin stepped forward and glared poor Winston in the face. "I given these wights safety here with kith and kin," he cracked his knuckles, "And unfortunate fer you, I meant it."
An hour later, three Gogajin tossed the bruised and battered body of Winston the Mechified over the walls of the clanhold, and down he tumbled into the brush with the long, loud, trailing clatter of metal sliding down two hundred yards of loose rock.
Grim dusted off his hands, wiped the sweat off his brow, and went back to bed, satisfied that that was the end of it.
But the troubles were only just beginning.
But tonight wasn't a night for brooding on the past, or feeling sorry for yourself. Tonight was a night for celebration! Tonight, the famous mead of the Fiochmahr clan was open for one and all. Four days previous, the Fiochmahr clan had destroyed the Cheldrun logging expedition sent out from some steel city or another. Pepsid Five, or something like that. Surely that was as good a cause for celebration as any. So old Grim Fiochmahr, Head of the Fiochmahr clan, had declared a celebration, and they'd been partying nonstop ever since. After all, it wasn't every day you put an end to the Cheldrun logging operations in your area, and if the guards had seemed only half hearted at best, well, they just weren't real fighters like the Gogajin were.
Old Grim hadn't always been the head, of course, but the tale he'd told of his escape from the mines of a dark Cheldrun city, and his rescue of a whole group of their women had gone a long way towards boosting his popularity in the clan, even if none other of his companions in the mines had made it out of Geneva Prime with him. Diarmaid, Adar, Rogan, Donald, Baldur, these were the new heroes of the clan. And as for old Grim, well, he had ne always been Old Grim. The mines, and what had happened after, they'd changed him. Aged him before his time, maybe. Or maybe it was that age didn't cling so tightly to his shoulders as he felt it, but he felt it. At least, that was the story everyone told, though it likely found its source in younger minds than his. Two children on the brink of their teenaged exile were particular suspects, but no one could prove their involvement in the starting of the rumour, and the name had caught on regardless. Old Grim it was.
The mead-hall was full of Gogajin, male and female alike, each of them eager to get roaring drunk as quickly as possible. They were seated at a series of long wooden benches that filled most of the room, and already the mead was flowing freely. Boisterous does not begin to describe a room full of partying Gogajin: a few good natured fights broke out, and a few couples decided that their time would be better spent in a dark corner with each other than at the table with the others, and all that was before the boasting competition began. The Fiochmahr clan had a tradition, you see: two Gogajin would tell increasingly wild and unbelievable boasts, and whoever it was that told the wildest, most unbelievable one, well, he or she would have to go out and try to accomplish it. Usually it ended in hangovers and a Gogajin sleeping with someone they wouldn't ordinarily have been inclined to, but a few weeks back, it had brought about the raid on the logging camp, and tonight, well, tonight it was a good bet it was going to...
The partying came to a sudden halt (though the couples in the dark corners didn't bother to stop) when a pair of Gogajin slammed open the doors to the mead-hall, with a group of Cheldrun in tow. They were badly emaciated, half starved, and looked more than halfway dead. About a dozen of them came in - a middle-aged man at their head, wearing the tattered remains of what had probably once been a fine silk kimono - and many more of them were crowded around the entrance.
Silence hung heavily in the air for a long moment before a young Gogajin - only just returned from his adolescent exile - rose to his feet and shouted, "What kind of fucked up shite is this!?"
"You shut your mouth, Hagan!" a middle-aged female Gogajin bellowed back.
A number of other Gogajin joined in then, until finally Grim rose to his feet and banged the table in front of him with an enormous fist. "ALL OF YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTHES!" he bellowed.
Silence.
"Right. You two," he looked to the two Gogajin leading the Cheldrun. "What kind of fucked up shite is this?"
One of the two Gogajin spoke up. "They showed theirselves at the gate a bare few moments ago, askin' fer food and water, uh, Grim."
Grim looked to the Cheldrun. "I wist they ne be speaken Gogajin?" he asked, his regional accent coming to the fore as he spoke.
The middle-aged male Cheldrun in the tattered kimono stepped forward. "Your pardon, sir, but I do."
Grim looked at the man. "... Well, what do ye want, then? Ye must be either very brave or very stupid to come here. Qwich is it?"
"I am Ishikawa Tetsuro of the Ruby Hawk Clan," the Cheldrun said. "My companions and I are... exiles. Refugees. There is no place for us in Katashi Blade's new regime, and we thought it better to try our luck in the wilderness than to die at the hands of a Goshi Assassin, or a bounty hunter... please, sir, we have nowhere else to go. We are hungry, we are tired, and many of us are sick." He swallowed, and what he said next had the feel of an old tree toppling over: "Will you help us?"
Grim took a long moment to think about that, weighing it out in his mind. Of course, in the end, looking at the Cheldrun all helpless and starving-like, there was only one conclusion he could have reached: "... Aye. Ye clepen for me help, and I hear ye." He rose up to his full, massively muscled height. "All right, listen here! Listen here! These wights be safe with kith and kin tonight. None harm nor hounde them here on pain of a beatin' the likes o which you none never seen!"
The other Gogajin shrugged. One of them thought about shouting, "Ah, fuck you Grim!" but thought better of it at the last moment. The Cheldrun did look pretty desperate, after all.
Grim gestured, and a pair of Gogajin, a wer and wyf (a male and a female, that is), came forward and led the Cheldrun away to the Clanhold's guest quarters so as they could stow their things before they came to join the feast.
The feast went on.
------------------------
Later, when the shadows had had faded into gloom, the moon had set, and the only sounds were the frantic scrabblings and brayings of donkeysex in the hall, and the peace of the predawn hours hung heavily over the land, there came a stranger to the Fiochmahr clanhold. Stranger than even the Cheldrun refugees. A mechified. He came creeping through the corridors, almost his entire body made of metal save his face and his middle, the sounds in the hall masking the clunk-clunk-clunk of his footsteps. His eyes had been replaced with gleaming red lenses, and they allowed his vision access to the infrared: it was with this that he tracked his prey.
Gently, ever so gently, he pushed open the large wooden door that led into the room where his target slept. A bounty hunter he was, and a good one. He always got his man, or so they said. This man, well, they'd specified dead or alive, and he figured that dead would be easier than dragging him back through the wilderness, so once he was sure that the middle-aged Cheldrun sleeping on the bed in the tattered Kimono was in fact Ishikawa Tetsuro of the Ruby Hawk Clan, Winston reached out with his right hand and placed it almost gently over the sleeping man's heart.
Then he reached over with his left hand and flipped the switch to activate the pneumatic spike. Or would have, if a grip as strong as steel itself hadn't caught his hand mid-flight.
Winston looked up in alarm. The occupants of the beds around Ishikawa Tetsuro's were not asleep at all, but awake and very very angry.
An angry looking Gogajin stepped forward and glared poor Winston in the face. "I given these wights safety here with kith and kin," he cracked his knuckles, "And unfortunate fer you, I meant it."
An hour later, three Gogajin tossed the bruised and battered body of Winston the Mechified over the walls of the clanhold, and down he tumbled into the brush with the long, loud, trailing clatter of metal sliding down two hundred yards of loose rock.
Grim dusted off his hands, wiped the sweat off his brow, and went back to bed, satisfied that that was the end of it.
But the troubles were only just beginning.
Perchance to Dream
I dive behind the desk just before a hail of bullets flies through the space I had just evacuated, and efficiently somersault to my feet. There is a gun in my hand, and it is warm from constant use. I do not think this strange. Even as I somersault to my feet, I am firing at my targets once, twice, three times, knowing that I cannot miss. Exactly 2.4 seconds later, the bodies of my three targets hit the floor, shot through the eye. I permit myself the luxury of an appropriate physical response to such an efficient execution: I smile.
Tara rises to her feet, unharmed throughout the barrage and smiles adoringly. "My hero!" she says winsomely, and kisses me.
A biochemical reaction I cannot quantify is initiated by my body, and it is discomforting. Before the scenario can progress any further, I notice a mirror on the far wall.
The reflection belongs to Julian.
"Have I ever let you down before?" I hear my - no, Julian's voice ask. It moves without my accord. I am...
This is not my dream. The annoyance I feel does not register on Julian's face. I concentrate for a moment, and...
FLASH
It is different. I am different. My body feels heavier, and each step I take clanks loudly. Less responsive. My eyesight is less acute. I am walking through a vast, empty wilderness. It is hot. Unbearably hot. I am walking up an unremarkable brown rocky slope. Tiny shrubs grow in it, and they are ugly, and have many prickles.
Though it is day, I can see a bright light on the horizon, like a forest fire viewed from a distance at night. I walk and I walk and I walk, but I never seem to get any closer to the horizon, or to the distant light. The heat beats down on me, and I raise a mechanical arm to wipe the sweat from my brow.
But I am not Moses. I know that much. I am not Moses, and I am not Julian.
At least I'm not experiencing Raul's dreams again.
Presently, I realize that the distant fire is, at last, getting closer. I am almost to the top of the slope. I feel a strange sense of anticipation, and my body initiates the physiological responses appropriate a heightened state of anticipation. Excitement. Nervousness. Soon, I will see what I have sought for so...
"This is not for your eyes."
Moses does not react. I do not recognize the voice, but it is powerful, and deep, mechanical, and I am not altogether sure that it is a voice after all and not a series of strange, mechanical clicks...
I am elsewhere. It is dark, and it is empty. After a moment, I realize I am within my own dream again: the empty void. Every night, the empty void. Every night, I stand on a tiny lit platform in an ocean of nothingness.
I sigh.
That happens more often than not of late when I wind up in Moses's one of dreams, but dream-jumping is better than the alternative: being stuck here. Here, with the Void.
I stare out into the vast emptiness, and my body initiates a physiological response: chills run up and down my spine. I am being watched, though I know not by what.
That's when the whispers begin.
It starts softly at first, and I cannot be certain that I did not imagine it. Then there is another, and another, and whatever is out there in the Void, its language fills me with dread. It sounds like... the end of everything. It sounds like the Enemy.
I will not be afraid of them. There's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. Nothing in my own dreamscape which can hurt me. I will not be afraid. I won't.
My emotional response does not appear to care, or at least does not appear to hear my declarations. Cold terrors bubble in the pit of my stomach.
The whispering grows more intense. There must be dozens of them out there in the darkness, whispering back and forth, watching me. Presently I begin to perceive eyes glowing in the dark. Red eyes. I know that if I summon the light, I can chase them away. But summoning the light will also reveal their forms to me, and I can't stand to do that. I will not be afraid.
The language is... disconcerting. It grows moreso the longer I hear it. What's worse is how strangely familiar it seems, as if I should know and understand its words... as if the meaning is there, waiting to be grasped.
Then one of them steps into the pillar of light, and my heart nearly stops.
My face. My eyes.
Me.
The other me grins wickedly, and even as it does so, I feel a sick sense of writhing in the palms of my own hands. I hold them up just in time to see them split open ... mouths. Many-jawed, long-tongued mouths. I look up, and the other me has been replaced by Something Else. She was grotesquely fat, and upon her shoulders rested no head. Her bloated, corpulent body was tapeworm-pale, and on the palms of her hands were the same grotesque many-jawed mouths full of terrible, drooling, seeking tongues.
"Who are you?" I ask in spite of my revulsion. "What do you want?"
The questions. Always the questions. There are none more important.
A tiny whisper in my own voice issued from my right hand in answer: "We are you, Mikomi."
I grit my teeth and force myself not to shudder at the feeling of my hands inhaling and exhaling, and of the drooling, seeking tongues that wet my fingers. "Why are you here?" I ask.
The creature in front of me spoke, and its voice was still my own: "We have always been here."
I cannot say why, but that statement fills me with fear like no other before it. My pulse begins to race, and my breathing becomes strained, and...
I wake up with a start.
It is morning. My body is soaked with sweat. I let out a long, slow breath of relief, and sit up.
And faintly, I can hear one of the Rusty Nail Rogues shouting, "Land ho!"
...
I scratch the palms of my hands, shudder deeply, and head for the wash room to get cleaned up.
Tara rises to her feet, unharmed throughout the barrage and smiles adoringly. "My hero!" she says winsomely, and kisses me.
A biochemical reaction I cannot quantify is initiated by my body, and it is discomforting. Before the scenario can progress any further, I notice a mirror on the far wall.
The reflection belongs to Julian.
"Have I ever let you down before?" I hear my - no, Julian's voice ask. It moves without my accord. I am...
This is not my dream. The annoyance I feel does not register on Julian's face. I concentrate for a moment, and...
FLASH
It is different. I am different. My body feels heavier, and each step I take clanks loudly. Less responsive. My eyesight is less acute. I am walking through a vast, empty wilderness. It is hot. Unbearably hot. I am walking up an unremarkable brown rocky slope. Tiny shrubs grow in it, and they are ugly, and have many prickles.
Though it is day, I can see a bright light on the horizon, like a forest fire viewed from a distance at night. I walk and I walk and I walk, but I never seem to get any closer to the horizon, or to the distant light. The heat beats down on me, and I raise a mechanical arm to wipe the sweat from my brow.
But I am not Moses. I know that much. I am not Moses, and I am not Julian.
At least I'm not experiencing Raul's dreams again.
Presently, I realize that the distant fire is, at last, getting closer. I am almost to the top of the slope. I feel a strange sense of anticipation, and my body initiates the physiological responses appropriate a heightened state of anticipation. Excitement. Nervousness. Soon, I will see what I have sought for so...
"This is not for your eyes."
Moses does not react. I do not recognize the voice, but it is powerful, and deep, mechanical, and I am not altogether sure that it is a voice after all and not a series of strange, mechanical clicks...
I am elsewhere. It is dark, and it is empty. After a moment, I realize I am within my own dream again: the empty void. Every night, the empty void. Every night, I stand on a tiny lit platform in an ocean of nothingness.
I sigh.
That happens more often than not of late when I wind up in Moses's one of dreams, but dream-jumping is better than the alternative: being stuck here. Here, with the Void.
I stare out into the vast emptiness, and my body initiates a physiological response: chills run up and down my spine. I am being watched, though I know not by what.
That's when the whispers begin.
It starts softly at first, and I cannot be certain that I did not imagine it. Then there is another, and another, and whatever is out there in the Void, its language fills me with dread. It sounds like... the end of everything. It sounds like the Enemy.
I will not be afraid of them. There's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. Nothing in my own dreamscape which can hurt me. I will not be afraid. I won't.
My emotional response does not appear to care, or at least does not appear to hear my declarations. Cold terrors bubble in the pit of my stomach.
The whispering grows more intense. There must be dozens of them out there in the darkness, whispering back and forth, watching me. Presently I begin to perceive eyes glowing in the dark. Red eyes. I know that if I summon the light, I can chase them away. But summoning the light will also reveal their forms to me, and I can't stand to do that. I will not be afraid.
The language is... disconcerting. It grows moreso the longer I hear it. What's worse is how strangely familiar it seems, as if I should know and understand its words... as if the meaning is there, waiting to be grasped.
Then one of them steps into the pillar of light, and my heart nearly stops.
My face. My eyes.
Me.
The other me grins wickedly, and even as it does so, I feel a sick sense of writhing in the palms of my own hands. I hold them up just in time to see them split open ... mouths. Many-jawed, long-tongued mouths. I look up, and the other me has been replaced by Something Else. She was grotesquely fat, and upon her shoulders rested no head. Her bloated, corpulent body was tapeworm-pale, and on the palms of her hands were the same grotesque many-jawed mouths full of terrible, drooling, seeking tongues.
"Who are you?" I ask in spite of my revulsion. "What do you want?"
The questions. Always the questions. There are none more important.
A tiny whisper in my own voice issued from my right hand in answer: "We are you, Mikomi."
I grit my teeth and force myself not to shudder at the feeling of my hands inhaling and exhaling, and of the drooling, seeking tongues that wet my fingers. "Why are you here?" I ask.
The creature in front of me spoke, and its voice was still my own: "We have always been here."
I cannot say why, but that statement fills me with fear like no other before it. My pulse begins to race, and my breathing becomes strained, and...
I wake up with a start.
It is morning. My body is soaked with sweat. I let out a long, slow breath of relief, and sit up.
And faintly, I can hear one of the Rusty Nail Rogues shouting, "Land ho!"
...
I scratch the palms of my hands, shudder deeply, and head for the wash room to get cleaned up.
Force and Energy
"Ishikawa Tomoe of the Ruby Hawk clan," said the old Biomade teacher, "Do you know why your design merits only a passing grade?"
Tomoe grit her teeth. She was the very image of classical Allskin beauty, and if all she needed to do was look pretty, that might have counted for something. If the histories were to be believed, her clan had once ruled nearly a quarter of a spiral galaxy - or at least those worlds within that quarter that were inhabitable - and commanded the allegiance of vast, powerful fleets of star-faring ships. Her noble heritage counted for little here, nor had the Ruby Hawk clan been considered to be particularly notable since the arrival of the refugee fleet on this world two hundred years previous. Now, she was only another student at the Matamos University of Art and Science.
The classroom was a warm, well-lit place. Willow-Sensei liked it that way. Well, she called him Willow-Sensei, anways, as did Ikari Makoto of the Jade Falcon clan, but the other three students in their Architecture and Design class - two mechified and a Biomade - had taken to calling him Old Man Willow. Tomoe supposed that Deborah and Samuel probably didn't know any better. Mechified were simple creatures, after all. But Midnight was a Biomade. For all their faults, the Biomade were at least civilized beings. She should know better.
"Do you have even a guess?" Old Man Wil... Willow-Sensei asked.
Tomoe let out an irritated puff of air which blew her bangs out of her eyes as she considered the holographic representation of her design. It seemed impressive enough to her. Easily a match for even the finest architecture of Geneva Prime. The carved arches over the entryway were immaculate, designed such that they seemed wrought from the living wood of the old growth trees they resembled rather than from the metal of which they would actually be fashioned. And the building itself, her grand amphitheatre? Breathtaking. Her design was highly stylized, flowing, curvilinear, all the things a Cheldrun building should be. There was nothing wrong with it. "... No."
Willow-Sensei smiled kindly. "I see," he said. He turned to the rest of the class. "Does anyone else care to take a guess at what is wrong with the work of Ishikawa Tomoe of the Ruby Hawk clan?"
There was silence in the classroom, broken only by the hum of the holo-generators affixed to each desk.
Midnight raised her hand, and Tomoe immediately felt a stab of anger. Midnight, to whom everything came so easily. Midnight, who had been engineered for brilliance. Midnight, with perfect hair as dark as her namesake, with that damnable fake Biomade beauty, with her perfectly symmetrical face and eyes precisely calculated such that an interested suitor could drown in them. 'Interested suitor,' that was the right term, Tomoe decided. The stories of Biomade promiscuity were legendary. At least, that's what her mother had always told her, and her grandmother agreed. Once, Tomoe had thought it a terrible thing that the Biomade had engineered themselves to be unable to reproduce, but considering their notorious... appetites, well, maybe it was for the best. If the stories were to believed, Biomade would even copulate with Karians. Karians! It was shocking. Appalling. But modesty, it seemed, was another thing the Biomade had engineered out of themselves, if the time she herself had caught Midnight and Deborah in a... compromising position was anything to judge by. Deborah at least had blushed at the interruption, but not Midnight. ... But Biomade promiscuity was not an appropriate topic of contemplation for a noble scion of House Ruby Hawk. Mother had said that once, though it had never stopped her from gossiping about it for hours on end.
Abruptly, Tomoe realized that Midnight had given her answer, and she quickly searched her memory to find it.
Oh.
Damnable, perfect Biomade. It wasn't fair, her having to work so hard to get as far as she had with miss Midnight learning the same things absolutely effortlessly.
"Is it because she hasn't attended to the aesthetics of the building's force and energy flow?" Midnight had asked.
"Very good, Midnight!" Willow-Sensei replied. "Force and energy. They are the fundamentals of all architecture, and indeed of all art. A well-designed physical structure without aesthetically pleasing methods of channeling force and energy is as worthless as an umbrella in a hurricane. Consider the work of Nakata Soujiro of the Ruby Hawk clan. As you know, Nakata Soujiro was one of the few artists whose work survived the great exodus, and many of his holo-sculptures are still on display in the Museum of Antiquities here in Matamos." Willow-Sensei pressed a button on his display, and each student's design faded and was replaced by a three dimensional representation of an alien planet, its surface alive with vibrant currents of force and energy.
Tomoe stared. Nakata Soujiro was the reason she wanted to be an artist: his work had always stirred her imagination in ways that she could not readily identify. Looking at this, called 'A Distant Star,' perhaps his most well-known work, stole her breath away. The planet shimmered, its energistic patterns pulsing like veins, sometimes seeming to dance across its surface. There, in the corner of the image, beyond the planet's orbit, was the titular star, shining with such grace and such subtlety, the force and the energy of its nuclear fires rendered in such beauty, that a tear trickled down her cheek at the sight of it.
Willow-Sensei continued his lecture, but Tomoe did not hear it. She stared, and for a moment, her fierce envy of Midnight faded away. For a moment, Deborah and Samuel and even Makoto were far from her imagination. For a moment, all of her mother's stories and her own prejudices faded into nothing. For a moment, even if it was only within her own imagination, Ishikawa Tomoe walked among the stars.
Tomoe grit her teeth. She was the very image of classical Allskin beauty, and if all she needed to do was look pretty, that might have counted for something. If the histories were to be believed, her clan had once ruled nearly a quarter of a spiral galaxy - or at least those worlds within that quarter that were inhabitable - and commanded the allegiance of vast, powerful fleets of star-faring ships. Her noble heritage counted for little here, nor had the Ruby Hawk clan been considered to be particularly notable since the arrival of the refugee fleet on this world two hundred years previous. Now, she was only another student at the Matamos University of Art and Science.
The classroom was a warm, well-lit place. Willow-Sensei liked it that way. Well, she called him Willow-Sensei, anways, as did Ikari Makoto of the Jade Falcon clan, but the other three students in their Architecture and Design class - two mechified and a Biomade - had taken to calling him Old Man Willow. Tomoe supposed that Deborah and Samuel probably didn't know any better. Mechified were simple creatures, after all. But Midnight was a Biomade. For all their faults, the Biomade were at least civilized beings. She should know better.
"Do you have even a guess?" Old Man Wil... Willow-Sensei asked.
Tomoe let out an irritated puff of air which blew her bangs out of her eyes as she considered the holographic representation of her design. It seemed impressive enough to her. Easily a match for even the finest architecture of Geneva Prime. The carved arches over the entryway were immaculate, designed such that they seemed wrought from the living wood of the old growth trees they resembled rather than from the metal of which they would actually be fashioned. And the building itself, her grand amphitheatre? Breathtaking. Her design was highly stylized, flowing, curvilinear, all the things a Cheldrun building should be. There was nothing wrong with it. "... No."
Willow-Sensei smiled kindly. "I see," he said. He turned to the rest of the class. "Does anyone else care to take a guess at what is wrong with the work of Ishikawa Tomoe of the Ruby Hawk clan?"
There was silence in the classroom, broken only by the hum of the holo-generators affixed to each desk.
Midnight raised her hand, and Tomoe immediately felt a stab of anger. Midnight, to whom everything came so easily. Midnight, who had been engineered for brilliance. Midnight, with perfect hair as dark as her namesake, with that damnable fake Biomade beauty, with her perfectly symmetrical face and eyes precisely calculated such that an interested suitor could drown in them. 'Interested suitor,' that was the right term, Tomoe decided. The stories of Biomade promiscuity were legendary. At least, that's what her mother had always told her, and her grandmother agreed. Once, Tomoe had thought it a terrible thing that the Biomade had engineered themselves to be unable to reproduce, but considering their notorious... appetites, well, maybe it was for the best. If the stories were to believed, Biomade would even copulate with Karians. Karians! It was shocking. Appalling. But modesty, it seemed, was another thing the Biomade had engineered out of themselves, if the time she herself had caught Midnight and Deborah in a... compromising position was anything to judge by. Deborah at least had blushed at the interruption, but not Midnight. ... But Biomade promiscuity was not an appropriate topic of contemplation for a noble scion of House Ruby Hawk. Mother had said that once, though it had never stopped her from gossiping about it for hours on end.
Abruptly, Tomoe realized that Midnight had given her answer, and she quickly searched her memory to find it.
Oh.
Damnable, perfect Biomade. It wasn't fair, her having to work so hard to get as far as she had with miss Midnight learning the same things absolutely effortlessly.
"Is it because she hasn't attended to the aesthetics of the building's force and energy flow?" Midnight had asked.
"Very good, Midnight!" Willow-Sensei replied. "Force and energy. They are the fundamentals of all architecture, and indeed of all art. A well-designed physical structure without aesthetically pleasing methods of channeling force and energy is as worthless as an umbrella in a hurricane. Consider the work of Nakata Soujiro of the Ruby Hawk clan. As you know, Nakata Soujiro was one of the few artists whose work survived the great exodus, and many of his holo-sculptures are still on display in the Museum of Antiquities here in Matamos." Willow-Sensei pressed a button on his display, and each student's design faded and was replaced by a three dimensional representation of an alien planet, its surface alive with vibrant currents of force and energy.
Tomoe stared. Nakata Soujiro was the reason she wanted to be an artist: his work had always stirred her imagination in ways that she could not readily identify. Looking at this, called 'A Distant Star,' perhaps his most well-known work, stole her breath away. The planet shimmered, its energistic patterns pulsing like veins, sometimes seeming to dance across its surface. There, in the corner of the image, beyond the planet's orbit, was the titular star, shining with such grace and such subtlety, the force and the energy of its nuclear fires rendered in such beauty, that a tear trickled down her cheek at the sight of it.
Willow-Sensei continued his lecture, but Tomoe did not hear it. She stared, and for a moment, her fierce envy of Midnight faded away. For a moment, Deborah and Samuel and even Makoto were far from her imagination. For a moment, all of her mother's stories and her own prejudices faded into nothing. For a moment, even if it was only within her own imagination, Ishikawa Tomoe walked among the stars.
That Which Will Not Bend...
Kiyoshi looked up from the charts he had been studying. Not that they did any good; no charts showed where they were going except as uncharted territory. "I was expecting you sooner."
Aimi flushed angrily. "What, am I your serving girl now to come when the Captain calls? I don't need you to defend me from your friends!"
Kiyoshi shook his head. "That is certainly something I never wish to test. But no, I simply meant that I thought you might have more to say to me, and was surprised you did not do so sooner."
"Why the hell are you doing this? Your friends are right! I am your enemy! I work for your enemy and if he ordered me to I would kill you!"
Kiyoshi stood and strode up to her. Close. He slipped his kimono over his shoulders, baring his chest. "Then do it." He tapped his breast. "Strike, now. You say that you are my enemy, so I must be yours. You strike down your enemies. Or do you prefer the throat?" He lifted his head, exposing his neck to her. "Kill me and be done with it if that is how you feel."
With a snarl Aimi's hand sped toward Kiyoshi's throat and stopped a millimeter from crushing the life from him. Kiyoshi had not twitched in the slightest. She hesitated, then said in a voice barely more than a whisper "Is it true?"
There was only one thing she could be referring to. Moses' message upon his door. "Can you not simply look inside my head to find that answer?"
She shook her head, looking close to tears. "Won't. I want to hear you say it. Or... not."
"What if I told you that I have a fiance? Do you expect me to set that aside for you?"
Her eyes flared and her fists clenched. "What! Who is it?"
"A nice respectable Allskin girl from a family with ties to Goshi. Amuro Namie. You might have heard of her... no matter. Now that my Clan is in disgrace I am sure the betrothal has been dissolved. It is probably for the best anyway. I had only met her three times in my life, as it was our families that set it all up." Kiyoshi directed a raptor's glare at Aimi. "It is none of her fault and I expect that she will live a long and healthy life. Understood?"
Aimi took a half step back and swallowed a lump in her throat before she realized what she was doing. Stopping herself she shook her head. "It's weird. I know I can take you, but sometimes when you look at me like that it scares the hell out of me." She shuddered slightly. "I think I like it." She looked back up at him. "But you said it's over right? So you're free again?"
Kiyoshi shook his head. "It is not that simple. I am twenty seven years old and a fugitive... I will probably never marry. But if I do, it will be to another Allskin. Every generation more Allskins die in duels or through accident or disease. Each generation more of us choose to forsake our heritage, our place in the plan of the First Minds and get genetic or mechafied enhancements, forever removing themselves and their offspring from the Allskin families. Every generation more Allskins fall in love and marry a Biomade or a Mechafied and their children are no longer pure, no longer Allskin. Just as surely as the Vorax, my people have been dying." He looked up and there were tears in his eyes. "Aimi, I know you do not care because you think we are obsolete, but I do. My people are disappearing and I will do my part to fight that in any way I can."
She looked up at him with a wry smile. "You big idiot, is that what you're worried about? I'm not asking to be your wife! I just want to..." Her smile changed to a scowl lightning quick. "Hey, no tricking me into saying things!" This was the mercurial girl he had first met in his office so long ago. Her emotions flitting about just as quickly as the subject...
Kiyoshi sighed. "Look Aimi, I like you for some reason I cannot possibly fathom. But do you really expect me to love you? I do not even know you! And despite what you may think I do not believe you know me either! We are practically strangers, and ones who have been on opposite sides as long as we have known each other. I cannot deny that there is... something... between us, which makes me feel like a dirty old man..." He shook his head. "You confuse me so much it is hard to think sometimes."
"Don't pull the age card on me! I may be younger but I've seen and done things that would make your hair curly." She paused and bit her lip. "If you don't love me then why did Moses write that? Why did you threaten your friends for me?"
Kiyoshi pounded his fist on the wall in frustration. "Damn it, I did not...!" He took a deep breath. "It was not supposed to be me threatening them. It was supposed to be me standing up for you. I know, you want to know why." He looked deep into her large, red eyes. "It is because of the potential I see in you. Your entire life you have been told what to do, bred and trained and forced into doing it. You have done many things that are dishonorable, maybe even evil, but... you have a chance to change that now. You can be free, and you can start making the right choices if you only come to realize that the choice is yours. No one is controlling you anymore unless you let them."
Her lip trembled. "Is that why you didn't tell me you wanted me to stay? Because you didn't want to tell me what to do?"
He hesitated a moment, then nodded. "You know something of what we face. We could use your help." He held up a hand to forestall an outburst. "Also, when you are not trying to kill, capture, or sabotage me or my friends I actually enjoy your company. Keep in mind that I have experienced very little of that thus far." That last was said rather wryly. "If... if I forced you either way, to stay or to go, then I would be just as bad as all the others. I would be making your decisions for you, forcing you one way or another... I have to give you the chance to make your own decisions, to live for yourself, to make the right choices for once in your life. My friends don't trust you, and with good reason, because of your earlier crimes. I just put my life in your hands and you made the right decision. I am giving you one more chance to do that again. I am trusting you. Make of that what you will. Just know that I could never love someone who would forsake honor when given the choice."
Aimi stepped up to him, very close. He was so much taller than her she had to peer up. She placed a hand on his bare chest and felt his heartbeat. Fast. Like hers. She was breathing quickly too. The light reflected in his eyes in such a way that they looked completely silver as he gazed down on her. "I can always change my mind and kill you later. For now though... I'm not saying I'm staying or going, and I'm not saying I agree with you. I've always done what I want; no one controls me! But you said you wanted me to be free to make my own choices so I've made one. There is something I've been wanting to try. I don't know if an old man like you will be able to help me with it though. Maybe I should go visit that Raul guy..." She was unable to finish her sentence as Kiyoshi's mouth found hers.
Aimi flushed angrily. "What, am I your serving girl now to come when the Captain calls? I don't need you to defend me from your friends!"
Kiyoshi shook his head. "That is certainly something I never wish to test. But no, I simply meant that I thought you might have more to say to me, and was surprised you did not do so sooner."
"Why the hell are you doing this? Your friends are right! I am your enemy! I work for your enemy and if he ordered me to I would kill you!"
Kiyoshi stood and strode up to her. Close. He slipped his kimono over his shoulders, baring his chest. "Then do it." He tapped his breast. "Strike, now. You say that you are my enemy, so I must be yours. You strike down your enemies. Or do you prefer the throat?" He lifted his head, exposing his neck to her. "Kill me and be done with it if that is how you feel."
With a snarl Aimi's hand sped toward Kiyoshi's throat and stopped a millimeter from crushing the life from him. Kiyoshi had not twitched in the slightest. She hesitated, then said in a voice barely more than a whisper "Is it true?"
There was only one thing she could be referring to. Moses' message upon his door. "Can you not simply look inside my head to find that answer?"
She shook her head, looking close to tears. "Won't. I want to hear you say it. Or... not."
"What if I told you that I have a fiance? Do you expect me to set that aside for you?"
Her eyes flared and her fists clenched. "What! Who is it?"
"A nice respectable Allskin girl from a family with ties to Goshi. Amuro Namie. You might have heard of her... no matter. Now that my Clan is in disgrace I am sure the betrothal has been dissolved. It is probably for the best anyway. I had only met her three times in my life, as it was our families that set it all up." Kiyoshi directed a raptor's glare at Aimi. "It is none of her fault and I expect that she will live a long and healthy life. Understood?"
Aimi took a half step back and swallowed a lump in her throat before she realized what she was doing. Stopping herself she shook her head. "It's weird. I know I can take you, but sometimes when you look at me like that it scares the hell out of me." She shuddered slightly. "I think I like it." She looked back up at him. "But you said it's over right? So you're free again?"
Kiyoshi shook his head. "It is not that simple. I am twenty seven years old and a fugitive... I will probably never marry. But if I do, it will be to another Allskin. Every generation more Allskins die in duels or through accident or disease. Each generation more of us choose to forsake our heritage, our place in the plan of the First Minds and get genetic or mechafied enhancements, forever removing themselves and their offspring from the Allskin families. Every generation more Allskins fall in love and marry a Biomade or a Mechafied and their children are no longer pure, no longer Allskin. Just as surely as the Vorax, my people have been dying." He looked up and there were tears in his eyes. "Aimi, I know you do not care because you think we are obsolete, but I do. My people are disappearing and I will do my part to fight that in any way I can."
She looked up at him with a wry smile. "You big idiot, is that what you're worried about? I'm not asking to be your wife! I just want to..." Her smile changed to a scowl lightning quick. "Hey, no tricking me into saying things!" This was the mercurial girl he had first met in his office so long ago. Her emotions flitting about just as quickly as the subject...
Kiyoshi sighed. "Look Aimi, I like you for some reason I cannot possibly fathom. But do you really expect me to love you? I do not even know you! And despite what you may think I do not believe you know me either! We are practically strangers, and ones who have been on opposite sides as long as we have known each other. I cannot deny that there is... something... between us, which makes me feel like a dirty old man..." He shook his head. "You confuse me so much it is hard to think sometimes."
"Don't pull the age card on me! I may be younger but I've seen and done things that would make your hair curly." She paused and bit her lip. "If you don't love me then why did Moses write that? Why did you threaten your friends for me?"
Kiyoshi pounded his fist on the wall in frustration. "Damn it, I did not...!" He took a deep breath. "It was not supposed to be me threatening them. It was supposed to be me standing up for you. I know, you want to know why." He looked deep into her large, red eyes. "It is because of the potential I see in you. Your entire life you have been told what to do, bred and trained and forced into doing it. You have done many things that are dishonorable, maybe even evil, but... you have a chance to change that now. You can be free, and you can start making the right choices if you only come to realize that the choice is yours. No one is controlling you anymore unless you let them."
Her lip trembled. "Is that why you didn't tell me you wanted me to stay? Because you didn't want to tell me what to do?"
He hesitated a moment, then nodded. "You know something of what we face. We could use your help." He held up a hand to forestall an outburst. "Also, when you are not trying to kill, capture, or sabotage me or my friends I actually enjoy your company. Keep in mind that I have experienced very little of that thus far." That last was said rather wryly. "If... if I forced you either way, to stay or to go, then I would be just as bad as all the others. I would be making your decisions for you, forcing you one way or another... I have to give you the chance to make your own decisions, to live for yourself, to make the right choices for once in your life. My friends don't trust you, and with good reason, because of your earlier crimes. I just put my life in your hands and you made the right decision. I am giving you one more chance to do that again. I am trusting you. Make of that what you will. Just know that I could never love someone who would forsake honor when given the choice."
Aimi stepped up to him, very close. He was so much taller than her she had to peer up. She placed a hand on his bare chest and felt his heartbeat. Fast. Like hers. She was breathing quickly too. The light reflected in his eyes in such a way that they looked completely silver as he gazed down on her. "I can always change my mind and kill you later. For now though... I'm not saying I'm staying or going, and I'm not saying I agree with you. I've always done what I want; no one controls me! But you said you wanted me to be free to make my own choices so I've made one. There is something I've been wanting to try. I don't know if an old man like you will be able to help me with it though. Maybe I should go visit that Raul guy..." She was unable to finish her sentence as Kiyoshi's mouth found hers.
Heroes Born and Heroes Made
Matthew had work to do. He had wanted to stay on with the Griolsa and help them finish rebuilding, but Tricks had been eager to get back to the city and he had not liked his chances of getting all the way back to Geneva Prime without the help of a Karian, even one as domesticated as Tricks. So they had left the Gogajin village, though not before the children had tackled him in one last attempt to knock down the "metal giant" and begged him to stay. It was difficult telling them no, mostly because they tried to forcibly keep him from leaving. Surprisingly, the children were not the only ones who seemed sad to see them go. Edana bid them good journey and even Angus hobbled out and shook his hand.
The two made good time and Tricks proved a surprisingly adept guide. His color had changed to a much healthier brown than his old tobacco-stain drab and he seemed more alert and friendly than Matthew had ever known him. He even talked of going to visit his old tribe for a time once they got back! Unfortunately it did not take him long to forget about that and fall back into his old habits almost as soon as they reached Geneva Prime once more. Within a week of their return Tricks, eyes blurred and face slack as he used to be, wandered off mumbling about knowing how to earn more money. That was the last Matthew had seen of him.
Now he was all alone, but that was alright. He had plenty of work to do after all. People had always thought of him as stupid because of his size and the way he liked to think things through. He was not dumb however, just careful. He intended to revive the Black Lotus, but not as it was before. There would be fighting, sure, but it would not be for the entertainment of criminals. Instead it would be a training ground, a crucible he would use to forge a new UMA. No, not UMA. UCA. A movement for all Cheldrun who wanted to live their lives as equals without all of this caste bullshit.
He knew many Mechafied were still pissed about how the last revolt ended and could probably be galvanized if they were told that Moses was not dead, but out in the world at large spreading the message. Matthew felt a little bad about that planned deception, but in a way it was true: Moses and his friends, by simply being who they were, spread the message of freedom and pride in self wherever they went. Then he had heard that the Allskin families were restless, especially the oldest and most traditional ones. Apparently one of the most pious and upstanding Clans had turned against Goshi and been banished as traitors, but were still standing strong in a new city and were even beating the unbeatable Washisan pilots. The whispers among the Allskins were that if that Clan had turned against Goshi perhaps it was the will of the First Minds, and even if it was not the simple fact that they had not been crushed said that maybe it was time for them all to break out from under the Biomade corporation.
The Biomade now, they would be a problem. He could hardly expect Biomade to join him to throw off the yoke of Biomade oppression. He had a couple of tricks up his sleeve though. He had taken samples of a couple of Dr. Watanabe's drugs during their journey together. He could not do anything with them himself, but he had recognized their value. One would toughen a mind, help defend it against telepathic attack. The other dulled the mind and would temporarily dampen or even nullify a Biomade's psychic abilities within moments of injection. Yes, if it came down to fighting he had a few tricks to play. That was why he had always won in the arena; every opponent he had faced had seen his size and simply assumed he was nothing but a dumb straightforward brute. They were always that much more surprised then when he pulled a trick they had never seen coming.
Still, he would rather have as many allies as possible, and as little bloodshed. He wanted a united people after all so that he could hand them over to the right person when the time came. That would be a trick to top them all, and one that he knew he could be proud of for the rest of his days because he knew it would be good for all of his people. King Moses, hero of the Cheldrun. He liked the sound of that.
* * *
The lord fidgeted as he sat, his long-extinguished pipe gripped forgotten between his teeth. He was a consummate warrior, a leader and a fighter, but for this battle he was helpless. He had tried to remain to at least lend moral support, but had been firmly told that it was not his place and pushed out of the room. He, Lord Daitokuji Ichiro, pushed out of his own bedroom, and by his little sister at that! His wife was in labor with their first child. Modern medicine was a wonder, but women did still sometimes not survive the strain of childbirth and his Akane was a slight and delicate woman. And so he sat and worried in his sitting room in Matamos, two of his most loyal retainers quietly sipping tea and smoking their pipes and waiting with him for news.
Finally it came. Naomi came out to him, beaming with joy and excitement. Ichiro leapt to his feet and practically shouted, "Are they...?!"
"They are both well and sleeping soundly, brother. Your wife and your newborn son." Her grin seemed to take up her whole face. "What is his name?"
Laughing, he took Naomi in his arms and whirled her about. "Why what else could it be? My son's name will be Noboru and he will be as strong and wise as his grandfather!"
"A fine choice," intoned Master Yoshitaka. "Surely Lord Daitokuji's spirit will watch closely over the child named in his honor."
"There is more!" Naomi said with the air of one who had been saving a surprise for last. "Young Noboru; it is hard to tell with one just born, but I believe he will have pure silver hair!"
"Most auspicious!" This from Ichiro's boyhood friend and advisor, Shin.
Ichiro nodded, though his face clouded for a moment. "Hopefully it will not see him as troubled as his uncle."
Naomi rested a hand on her brother's arm and said "I am sure that Kiyoshi is fine, wherever he is. Do you not remember him as a child? He was always the smartest of us, the one to plan the mischief. If anyone can slip away from Goshi, he can!"
Master Yoshitaka nodded. "He was the finest student I ever had. I hope to one day see his training completed. For now know that he has his destiny, and you have yours. And, I would imagine, so does your new son for the First Minds to mark him so."
Ichiro dismissed his thoughts of his wayward brother with his peculiar ideas. His beaming grin returned fivefold as he said to his closest friends "Come. It is high time I meet my son." With that the patriarch of the Silver Phoenix Clan started for his bedroom and his sleeping family.
The two made good time and Tricks proved a surprisingly adept guide. His color had changed to a much healthier brown than his old tobacco-stain drab and he seemed more alert and friendly than Matthew had ever known him. He even talked of going to visit his old tribe for a time once they got back! Unfortunately it did not take him long to forget about that and fall back into his old habits almost as soon as they reached Geneva Prime once more. Within a week of their return Tricks, eyes blurred and face slack as he used to be, wandered off mumbling about knowing how to earn more money. That was the last Matthew had seen of him.
Now he was all alone, but that was alright. He had plenty of work to do after all. People had always thought of him as stupid because of his size and the way he liked to think things through. He was not dumb however, just careful. He intended to revive the Black Lotus, but not as it was before. There would be fighting, sure, but it would not be for the entertainment of criminals. Instead it would be a training ground, a crucible he would use to forge a new UMA. No, not UMA. UCA. A movement for all Cheldrun who wanted to live their lives as equals without all of this caste bullshit.
He knew many Mechafied were still pissed about how the last revolt ended and could probably be galvanized if they were told that Moses was not dead, but out in the world at large spreading the message. Matthew felt a little bad about that planned deception, but in a way it was true: Moses and his friends, by simply being who they were, spread the message of freedom and pride in self wherever they went. Then he had heard that the Allskin families were restless, especially the oldest and most traditional ones. Apparently one of the most pious and upstanding Clans had turned against Goshi and been banished as traitors, but were still standing strong in a new city and were even beating the unbeatable Washisan pilots. The whispers among the Allskins were that if that Clan had turned against Goshi perhaps it was the will of the First Minds, and even if it was not the simple fact that they had not been crushed said that maybe it was time for them all to break out from under the Biomade corporation.
The Biomade now, they would be a problem. He could hardly expect Biomade to join him to throw off the yoke of Biomade oppression. He had a couple of tricks up his sleeve though. He had taken samples of a couple of Dr. Watanabe's drugs during their journey together. He could not do anything with them himself, but he had recognized their value. One would toughen a mind, help defend it against telepathic attack. The other dulled the mind and would temporarily dampen or even nullify a Biomade's psychic abilities within moments of injection. Yes, if it came down to fighting he had a few tricks to play. That was why he had always won in the arena; every opponent he had faced had seen his size and simply assumed he was nothing but a dumb straightforward brute. They were always that much more surprised then when he pulled a trick they had never seen coming.
Still, he would rather have as many allies as possible, and as little bloodshed. He wanted a united people after all so that he could hand them over to the right person when the time came. That would be a trick to top them all, and one that he knew he could be proud of for the rest of his days because he knew it would be good for all of his people. King Moses, hero of the Cheldrun. He liked the sound of that.
* * *
The lord fidgeted as he sat, his long-extinguished pipe gripped forgotten between his teeth. He was a consummate warrior, a leader and a fighter, but for this battle he was helpless. He had tried to remain to at least lend moral support, but had been firmly told that it was not his place and pushed out of the room. He, Lord Daitokuji Ichiro, pushed out of his own bedroom, and by his little sister at that! His wife was in labor with their first child. Modern medicine was a wonder, but women did still sometimes not survive the strain of childbirth and his Akane was a slight and delicate woman. And so he sat and worried in his sitting room in Matamos, two of his most loyal retainers quietly sipping tea and smoking their pipes and waiting with him for news.
Finally it came. Naomi came out to him, beaming with joy and excitement. Ichiro leapt to his feet and practically shouted, "Are they...?!"
"They are both well and sleeping soundly, brother. Your wife and your newborn son." Her grin seemed to take up her whole face. "What is his name?"
Laughing, he took Naomi in his arms and whirled her about. "Why what else could it be? My son's name will be Noboru and he will be as strong and wise as his grandfather!"
"A fine choice," intoned Master Yoshitaka. "Surely Lord Daitokuji's spirit will watch closely over the child named in his honor."
"There is more!" Naomi said with the air of one who had been saving a surprise for last. "Young Noboru; it is hard to tell with one just born, but I believe he will have pure silver hair!"
"Most auspicious!" This from Ichiro's boyhood friend and advisor, Shin.
Ichiro nodded, though his face clouded for a moment. "Hopefully it will not see him as troubled as his uncle."
Naomi rested a hand on her brother's arm and said "I am sure that Kiyoshi is fine, wherever he is. Do you not remember him as a child? He was always the smartest of us, the one to plan the mischief. If anyone can slip away from Goshi, he can!"
Master Yoshitaka nodded. "He was the finest student I ever had. I hope to one day see his training completed. For now know that he has his destiny, and you have yours. And, I would imagine, so does your new son for the First Minds to mark him so."
Ichiro dismissed his thoughts of his wayward brother with his peculiar ideas. His beaming grin returned fivefold as he said to his closest friends "Come. It is high time I meet my son." With that the patriarch of the Silver Phoenix Clan started for his bedroom and his sleeping family.
Meditations
It had not occurred to me until I saw the tears in her eyes that Aimi was a person. Not really. She was an obstacle, a psychotic Biomade assassin that had caused no end of trouble for me and seemed to have a dangerous obsession; until I looked into her eyes in confusion and asked what she was talking about. In that moment I saw pain, real, visceral pain, and I realized that deep down inside she was just a fifteen year old girl who had been buried under years of training and conditioning and torture, both mental and physical, and who, for some strange reason of her own, had reached out to me, even if she did not realize what she was doing. She did not deserve this; none of them did. In the end she was just another victim, a Cheldrun who might have been able to have a normal life if it were not for her circumstances. The moment passed quickly, and she quickly covered it up with her usual bluster and irreverence... but I had seen who she really was, if only for a moment. Hopefully she would not kill me for that.
***
I meditated. I calmed my thoughts, relaxed my body, and slipped into the Void. Not plunging in, like I would do for battle, wrapping it about me like a shell; rather I slid in seamlessly, effortlessly, and let my thoughts drift away. Sometimes my mind showed me things it thought I should remember at times like this, and so it did now.
***
I held a cold, wet cloth to my eye to minimize the bruising. Master Yoshitaka sat next to me and offered me a rice ball, which I gratefully accepted. He did not speak. He did not ask why he had walked into the dojo to find me fighting (and losing badly to) his top student while the rest of the class watched. He just sat, patiently, and ate his sticky rice while he waited for me to speak. Finally I said "I am sorry, Master."
Without looking up from his rice he asked "And did you do something to be ashamed of?"
I nodded glumly. "I let my pride rule me and got in a fight I could not win. I broke the rules of the dojo and attacked another student outside of a formal bout. I would not blame you if you turn me away after this."
Still seeming to not pay me any attention, he asked me "And what could have made you so foolish as to do something like that? Hmm?"
I was not sure whether to be relieved or offended that he seemed to think my actions were of far less importance than his lunch. "Ryuunosuke was picking on the other students. He was bragging about how much better of a swordsman he was, and he... he said he was going to get genetic enhancements when he reached majority, to make himself even better than any of us could hope to be."
"And for this, you attacked him?"
"No! What he said angered me, yes, but I would not allow myself to be so easily goaded. Tsubasa, though... he spoke against Ryuunosuke, denounced him and said that his words were hollow, traitorous... and without honor."
"Do you think that was wise?"
"He was right!"
"That does not answer my question."
I sighed. "No, no it was not a wise thing to say. Tsubasa is still in his second year and half the size of Ryuunosuke; he could not hope to challenge him."
"But you still think he was right?"
"Yes, but... not for him."
Master Yoshitaka looked up at me then, looked right into my eyes and said "For another, perhaps, it was the right course?"
I nodded.
He chuckled. "It is good that you can understand the difference; sometimes the right choice is not the wise one. The path of the wise man and the path of the righteous man do not always coincide; often, but not always. And a course that is wise for some, right for some, maybe even necessary for one man, is not necessarily so for another. Many men older even than I have not yet learned that lesson." He nodded and went back to his rice ball. "Continue."
"Well, Ryuunosuke decided to punish Tsubasa, of course and I... I said I would not let him. I stood between them and... we fought. By the time you entered the dojo I was soundly beaten."
"Standing up for those weaker than yourself against those that would bully them; that was your shameful action, then?"
"What? No, I... I knew I could not defeat him. I should have gone to get you instead of fighting him myself. You were not far away; if I had ran, we could have been back in time to keep Ryuunosuke from hurting him badly."
"And if I had not been?"
"Pardon, Master?"
"If I had not been nearby, what then? If you had ran and let Ryuunosuke drub Tsubasa, perhaps hurt him badly, and I was nowhere to be found to help him? If the weak had been hurt and the other students had been cowed, or, worse, started to believe all of Ryuunosuke's claims after seeing him beat his only dissenter? What then? Would that have been a better course than a few bruises? Than showing your fellow students that you are willing to fight for them, for your beliefs, for your honor?"
"So, you are saying that even if I was not skilled enough to defeat him, it was still the right thing to do to fight him? Because I was defending those who were even less skilled than I?"
Master Yoshitaka finished his meal and looked up at me again, his eyes flashing. "Duty" he said. "That is the linchpin of honor, and you have learned the lesson well. It was right because it was your duty. You always were my best student."
I gave a disbelieving laugh. "But Master, surely you jest! Ryuunosuke proved himself not an hour ago a better swordsman, and he is far from the only student I could not defeat!"
He snorted. "And sometimes you remain dense. Did I say you were my best warrior? No, Ryuunosuke is that, and a thug besides, a bully. You, Kiyoshi, are my best student because you understand that in order to achieve victory you must use not only your blade, but also your heart and your mind. You are, what, sixteen summers? And yet you already can hold the Void better than any of the other students. Perhaps one day you will achieve mastery and be able to hold onto it indefinitely without fatiguing yourself. You have that potential, Kiyoshi, and so much more. Just remember always the lesson that you have taught yourself this day: duty, to yourself, to your family and clan, and to all Cheldrun."
I nodded. "Thank you Master. I swear I will always strive to make you proud. I will always strive to live up to the vision of the First Minds."
***
I was disturbed from my meditations by Sever and Stitch trying to goad me, to pick a fight. To fight them then would have been neither wise, nor right and so I ignored them until they got bored and left me.
***
It was all happening too fast. The video screen that Aimi had set up between us showed utter chaos in the Landing Square. Panicking soldiers, panicking Mechified, Rei fighting another woman who appeared to be a powerful psychic, poor Moses, his dreams for peace shattered... and Sankai... Ichiro's mecha. What was he doing there? His duty was to the clan, damn it! What had the others talked him into?
I stared, powerless at the screen. Particularly I stared at the metallic forms of Sankai and Moses. Damn it, I should be the one out there! It was my duty, my place! Ichiro had to think of his wife and unborn child, our sister, the entire Silver Phoenix clan; he could not help them this way! And Moses! I would not claim that I am stronger than him; not by a long shot. But I am harder. If he continues along this path, it will destroy him, or corrupt that which makes him pure, that which makes him suitable to even be a Symbol. It will leave him nothing but a husk as each of his dreams and beliefs dies one by one. I would probably be destroyed too, but not as quickly, and when it happens... well, the world can probably do with one less bureaucrat. Besides, it was my Duty. I will protect those that do not even see the danger coming. Moses. Rei. I look up at Aimi, staring avidly at the screen. Yes, her too. I had to convince her to let me go out there! I had to! I felt the need growing inside me, overwhelming me, and something else with it... I knew then what I had to do.
"And for this, you attacked him?"
"No! What he said angered me, yes, but I would not allow myself to be so easily goaded. Tsubasa, though... he spoke against Ryuunosuke, denounced him and said that his words were hollow, traitorous... and without honor."
"Do you think that was wise?"
"He was right!"
"That does not answer my question."
I sighed. "No, no it was not a wise thing to say. Tsubasa is still in his second year and half the size of Ryuunosuke; he could not hope to challenge him."
"But you still think he was right?"
"Yes, but... not for him."
Master Yoshitaka looked up at me then, looked right into my eyes and said "For another, perhaps, it was the right course?"
I nodded.
He chuckled. "It is good that you can understand the difference; sometimes the right choice is not the wise one. The path of the wise man and the path of the righteous man do not always coincide; often, but not always. And a course that is wise for some, right for some, maybe even necessary for one man, is not necessarily so for another. Many men older even than I have not yet learned that lesson." He nodded and went back to his rice ball. "Continue."
"Well, Ryuunosuke decided to punish Tsubasa, of course and I... I said I would not let him. I stood between them and... we fought. By the time you entered the dojo I was soundly beaten."
"Standing up for those weaker than yourself against those that would bully them; that was your shameful action, then?"
"What? No, I... I knew I could not defeat him. I should have gone to get you instead of fighting him myself. You were not far away; if I had ran, we could have been back in time to keep Ryuunosuke from hurting him badly."
"And if I had not been?"
"Pardon, Master?"
"If I had not been nearby, what then? If you had ran and let Ryuunosuke drub Tsubasa, perhaps hurt him badly, and I was nowhere to be found to help him? If the weak had been hurt and the other students had been cowed, or, worse, started to believe all of Ryuunosuke's claims after seeing him beat his only dissenter? What then? Would that have been a better course than a few bruises? Than showing your fellow students that you are willing to fight for them, for your beliefs, for your honor?"
"So, you are saying that even if I was not skilled enough to defeat him, it was still the right thing to do to fight him? Because I was defending those who were even less skilled than I?"
Master Yoshitaka finished his meal and looked up at me again, his eyes flashing. "Duty" he said. "That is the linchpin of honor, and you have learned the lesson well. It was right because it was your duty. You always were my best student."
I gave a disbelieving laugh. "But Master, surely you jest! Ryuunosuke proved himself not an hour ago a better swordsman, and he is far from the only student I could not defeat!"
He snorted. "And sometimes you remain dense. Did I say you were my best warrior? No, Ryuunosuke is that, and a thug besides, a bully. You, Kiyoshi, are my best student because you understand that in order to achieve victory you must use not only your blade, but also your heart and your mind. You are, what, sixteen summers? And yet you already can hold the Void better than any of the other students. Perhaps one day you will achieve mastery and be able to hold onto it indefinitely without fatiguing yourself. You have that potential, Kiyoshi, and so much more. Just remember always the lesson that you have taught yourself this day: duty, to yourself, to your family and clan, and to all Cheldrun."
I nodded. "Thank you Master. I swear I will always strive to make you proud. I will always strive to live up to the vision of the First Minds."
***
I was disturbed from my meditations by Sever and Stitch trying to goad me, to pick a fight. To fight them then would have been neither wise, nor right and so I ignored them until they got bored and left me.
***
It was all happening too fast. The video screen that Aimi had set up between us showed utter chaos in the Landing Square. Panicking soldiers, panicking Mechified, Rei fighting another woman who appeared to be a powerful psychic, poor Moses, his dreams for peace shattered... and Sankai... Ichiro's mecha. What was he doing there? His duty was to the clan, damn it! What had the others talked him into?
I stared, powerless at the screen. Particularly I stared at the metallic forms of Sankai and Moses. Damn it, I should be the one out there! It was my duty, my place! Ichiro had to think of his wife and unborn child, our sister, the entire Silver Phoenix clan; he could not help them this way! And Moses! I would not claim that I am stronger than him; not by a long shot. But I am harder. If he continues along this path, it will destroy him, or corrupt that which makes him pure, that which makes him suitable to even be a Symbol. It will leave him nothing but a husk as each of his dreams and beliefs dies one by one. I would probably be destroyed too, but not as quickly, and when it happens... well, the world can probably do with one less bureaucrat. Besides, it was my Duty. I will protect those that do not even see the danger coming. Moses. Rei. I look up at Aimi, staring avidly at the screen. Yes, her too. I had to convince her to let me go out there! I had to! I felt the need growing inside me, overwhelming me, and something else with it... I knew then what I had to do.
Fit for a King
Kiyoshi would never have believed it if someone had told him that he would be wearing a mechified training harness to his father's funeral. Yet there he stood in that hot, noisy apparatus trying to pretend he was a street cleaner or some such. It was humiliating, but necessary; one did not tread without care when Goshi wanted you dead, and there was no dishonor that would have been worse than not being present for his father's burial; and his own, he thought wryly, looking at the second casket symbolically laid out for himself, the report being that his body had either been incinerated or had been blown out the window and fell into the deepest parts of the mines, never to be seen again.
He watched somberly as his brother, Ichirou, spoke of their father's many deeds and awards. Nearby stood Ichirou's wife and their sister, Naomi, consoling each other in their grief. Kiyoshi wished very much that he could go to them, let them know that he was alive and well, and the real reason that their father had died, but he dared not. When those who hunted him were telepaths, the fewer people who knew he was alive the better. Speaking of which... Kiyoshi felt the tingling of something gliding over his mind, and quickly entered the Void to block access. In his heightened state of awareness he looked about, and, sure enough, there was a familiar pink-haired girl glancing about at everyone, her expression bored and yet almost... hopeful. Kiyoshi was incensed that she would dare to sully his father's funeral, but knew that the best thing to do in this case was to hide, so he carefully moved away from her, only dropping his combat meditations when he felt her probing stop.
He now found himself standing close to a gazebo that had been set up to shade its owner, none other than Tsuchinaga Yamoto, the man who, Kiyoshi knew, had paid for the funeral. Oh, he had not told him that we was going to, and would deny it if pressed, but Kiyoshi knew. Yamoto had been friends with his father as well, and if he wanted to contribute to make sure his burial was fitting to the lord that he had been, then the disguised young noble could find no fault. He just hoped that his attendence did not bring undue attention; besides Aimi poking about, Yamoto was one of a bare handful of Biomade in attendance, even though Lord Daitokuji had been one of the most important men in the city in his way, the Grand Master of the finest Mecha Academy in the world. Still, Yamoto was rich and powerful in his own right, and had made slipping away from trouble with seemingly no effort almost an art form, so Kiyoshi figured he would be alright.
Kiyoshi directed his attention once more to his brother, just finishing a speech about Kiyoshi himself, and the tireless efforts he had made on the part of his fellow Cheldrun. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling he got from hearing himself described thus, he thought that it was a tragedy that Ichirou, not even middle aged yet, would soon bear the burden of being Lord and Patriarch of the entire Silver Phoenix clan. If only he could be there to lend his mind and knowledge of administration! But no, first he had to find a way to protect himself from Goshi. They would not want any witnesses to what had happened during that demonstration, even if said witnesses had no idea what had really happened. Ichirou had left the podium and a new man, the new Grand Master of Washisan, apparently, had started in. Kiyoshi could not remember his name; he had never paid much attention to the politics of the Mecha pilots.
When he was finished, Ichirou himself threw the first symbolic handful of dirt over the caskets, along with flowers from Naomi, and Daitokuji Noboru, Patriarch of the Silver Phoenix clan and Grand Master of Washisan Academy was laid to rest beside his wife and, so most people thought, his second son. There was a sudden commotion then, as every single pilot of the Academy, student and master alike (and more than a few visiting from other cities to pay their respects to the fallen master) summoned their Mecha and stood in a line, gleaming in the sunlight. Surely a more impressive sight had not been seen in an age as dozens of Mecha saluted his father in a final farewell.
Kiyoshi had to turn away, a sudden gout of smoke from his suit causing his eyes to water (or so he told himself). And so he found himself face to face with Aimi, standing less than a meter away and peering at him, an expression of sadness on her singularly expressive face. Their eyes locked, and for a single, horrifying instant Kiyoshi thought that he would have to strike her down in the middle of the funeral. She just looked at him, however, and he heard a voice in his head. "I never had a father, but I think if I did have one, and he died, I would be really sad. I am off today, anyway. I just wanted to say... I am sorry for your loss." After this silent communication, she stood up on tip toes and placed a small kiss on his dusty, tear-streaked cheek, then turned and walked away without a word. With one last glance at his siblings, Kiyoshi resolutely did the same.
He watched somberly as his brother, Ichirou, spoke of their father's many deeds and awards. Nearby stood Ichirou's wife and their sister, Naomi, consoling each other in their grief. Kiyoshi wished very much that he could go to them, let them know that he was alive and well, and the real reason that their father had died, but he dared not. When those who hunted him were telepaths, the fewer people who knew he was alive the better. Speaking of which... Kiyoshi felt the tingling of something gliding over his mind, and quickly entered the Void to block access. In his heightened state of awareness he looked about, and, sure enough, there was a familiar pink-haired girl glancing about at everyone, her expression bored and yet almost... hopeful. Kiyoshi was incensed that she would dare to sully his father's funeral, but knew that the best thing to do in this case was to hide, so he carefully moved away from her, only dropping his combat meditations when he felt her probing stop.
He now found himself standing close to a gazebo that had been set up to shade its owner, none other than Tsuchinaga Yamoto, the man who, Kiyoshi knew, had paid for the funeral. Oh, he had not told him that we was going to, and would deny it if pressed, but Kiyoshi knew. Yamoto had been friends with his father as well, and if he wanted to contribute to make sure his burial was fitting to the lord that he had been, then the disguised young noble could find no fault. He just hoped that his attendence did not bring undue attention; besides Aimi poking about, Yamoto was one of a bare handful of Biomade in attendance, even though Lord Daitokuji had been one of the most important men in the city in his way, the Grand Master of the finest Mecha Academy in the world. Still, Yamoto was rich and powerful in his own right, and had made slipping away from trouble with seemingly no effort almost an art form, so Kiyoshi figured he would be alright.
Kiyoshi directed his attention once more to his brother, just finishing a speech about Kiyoshi himself, and the tireless efforts he had made on the part of his fellow Cheldrun. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling he got from hearing himself described thus, he thought that it was a tragedy that Ichirou, not even middle aged yet, would soon bear the burden of being Lord and Patriarch of the entire Silver Phoenix clan. If only he could be there to lend his mind and knowledge of administration! But no, first he had to find a way to protect himself from Goshi. They would not want any witnesses to what had happened during that demonstration, even if said witnesses had no idea what had really happened. Ichirou had left the podium and a new man, the new Grand Master of Washisan, apparently, had started in. Kiyoshi could not remember his name; he had never paid much attention to the politics of the Mecha pilots.
When he was finished, Ichirou himself threw the first symbolic handful of dirt over the caskets, along with flowers from Naomi, and Daitokuji Noboru, Patriarch of the Silver Phoenix clan and Grand Master of Washisan Academy was laid to rest beside his wife and, so most people thought, his second son. There was a sudden commotion then, as every single pilot of the Academy, student and master alike (and more than a few visiting from other cities to pay their respects to the fallen master) summoned their Mecha and stood in a line, gleaming in the sunlight. Surely a more impressive sight had not been seen in an age as dozens of Mecha saluted his father in a final farewell.
Kiyoshi had to turn away, a sudden gout of smoke from his suit causing his eyes to water (or so he told himself). And so he found himself face to face with Aimi, standing less than a meter away and peering at him, an expression of sadness on her singularly expressive face. Their eyes locked, and for a single, horrifying instant Kiyoshi thought that he would have to strike her down in the middle of the funeral. She just looked at him, however, and he heard a voice in his head. "I never had a father, but I think if I did have one, and he died, I would be really sad. I am off today, anyway. I just wanted to say... I am sorry for your loss." After this silent communication, she stood up on tip toes and placed a small kiss on his dusty, tear-streaked cheek, then turned and walked away without a word. With one last glance at his siblings, Kiyoshi resolutely did the same.
A View from the Gallery
Guard duty really sucks sometimes. Today it sucks more than most.
It was supposed to be an easy job. I wait on the stairs, I check the security clearance of anyone who approaches. If anyone gives me trouble, I shoot them. That’s what the chain gun arm is for. No problem. Goshi Mining Corp pays pretty well when you’re a bullet-spitter, and with what they promised for this job, I’d be able to afford that new black rock processor upgrade.
It was all going well, not a person in sight. Nobody takes the stairs in a building like this, after all, and if someone did try to break in via the stairway, there are three hundred and thirty three stories. Good luck with that, punk.
Then she arrived.
She didn’t look like much. Just some pale Biomade girl. Maybe nineteen. Dressed up in one of those form fitting body suits that her parents should have told her not to wear, if she had parents. That’s a fucking shame, by the way. How can they not have parents? Never having a father or a mother, never having even the possibility of BEING a father or a mother, it makes me wonder if they’re even human anymore. That’s a dangerous thing to think, but at this point, I don’t give a shit. She had red eyes. That’s rare. Actually, now that I think of it, I’d only seen it twice before, and both of those were earlier the same day. Anyways, she comes walking up the stairs, one of those sonic dampening devices slung over her shoulder. It caught my interest, as I’d often thought about incorporating one of those into my upgrades. It’d be damn useful, if I could ever afford it. Mechanical upgrades may be many things, but quiet isn’t one of them.
“I.D.,” I say. She’s Biomade, so either she has clearance to be here or she’s working for one of Goshi’s competitors. Either way, at least I’m not bored out of my skull anymore.
She keeps coming up the stairs towards me, and I shrug my shoulders, spin up my gun arm, and repeat my request. “I.D.”
Then she blurs forward and kicks me in the chest. Damn. She hits way harder than a girl that size has any right to.
I open fire.
Bullets start flying everywhere, but before I can blink, she’s behind me. She kicks me in the face, and my whole head feels like a watermelon that got a little bit too close to a sledgehammer. Then the world tips over, and I go tumbling backwards down the stairs.
Ow.
By the time I come to my senses, she’s gone, and I’ve got a hell of a headache. My right arm’s broken, too. I knew I should have replaced that with an upgrade. Still, it’s my duty to report it. So I do.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” my supervisor replies over the radio.
“No joke, boss,” I say, and it annoys me to call him boss.
“Well, don’t just stand there, get after her! If she’s an assassin, we’ll be in a world of trouble.”
I look up the stairs. “Uh, boss, you know I’m only on the thirty second floor, right?”
“So?”
“This building is three hundred and thirty three fucking stories tall!”
“Yeah, and if you don’t follow her up those three hundred and thirty three stories, your ass is going to be stripped down and sold for spare parts.”
I grind my teeth. “Well, when you put it that way...”
Three hundred and thirty three stories.
Whoever this girl is, I think I hate her.
It takes forever to get to the top. Flight after flight after flight after flight. Then, finally, when I’m FINALLY at the top, what do I hear but the sound of gunfire coming from the room where the VIPs are gathered?
This just isn’t my day.
I make it up to floor three hundred and thirty three just in time to see this fat fuck grab onto some white stone. Then everything goes white.
Which brings me to now. Yeah. Now. I wake up in midair, falling. Towards the pavement three hundred and thirty three stories below. Let me tell you, it’s a whole lot quicker to take three hundred and thirty three stories in freefall than it is to climb them. As the ground gets closer, I can see the security forces swarming around the base of the building. One of them looks up and points at me.
In I come.
Guard duty really sucks sometimes.
Childhood Memories
Smooth, clear acrylic floors. Power humming beneath the surface, channels of bright psychic energy flowing out through the room like a vibrant, pulsing, pink spider-web. Voices.
This was nothing new for Rei. She had known the voices of others for longer than she had known herself. What was new was that she had been given her very own desk to study at, transluscent, made of a reddish sort of acrylic substance. Even immersed as she was in her brand new copy of 'The Stardown Codex,' the latest mystery novel by the famous Biomade novelist, Tsunami, she would have been foolish indeed to ignore these particular voices.
Sever.
Stitch.
Her brothers.
Behind her.
She took very deliberate care in putting a bookmark on page 107 of the novel, shutting the book, and putting it down on the transluscent red desk. It was stupid, she realized, to have put the desk where it was, facing the wall. Sitting at it, her back was to the door. If her trainers found out, she'd never hear the end of it.
She turned around.
Immediately, their thoughts washed over her awareness, and for one confused moment she couldn't tell if she was herself or if they were her. The nine and a half year old twins stood not five yards distant, their faces lit up with innocent smiles that belied the mischief of their thoughts.
"No," Rei said.
"No what?" Stitch asked.
"You can't borrow my knife," Rei said, feeling simultaneously offended and annoyed in a way that was almost teenagerish.
Sever's smile faded. "We need it," he said.
Rei stared at the twins. "It's mine," she insisted. Property. Something that was hers and not theirs. It was a strange concept, but she liked it. She rose to her feet and took a step towards the twins.
That was when she stumbled, put off balance by the sudden discovery that her shoelaces were tied together, and fell flat on her face.
Hyena-like laughter rose up from the twins, and Rei felt a sudden flush of humiliation rising up in her chest. More than that, though, shock rippled through her mind: they had hid their intent from her! They'd lied to her in their minds! She'd never dreamed that such a thing was even possible. Anger. Resentment. Fear. They were laughing at her. They were laughing at her, and PEOPLE COULD LIE TO HER IN THEIR MINDS.
By the time she managed to undo the knots in her shoelaces with her own comparatively feeble telekinetic powers, the twins were long gone.
So was her knife.
This was nothing new for Rei. She had known the voices of others for longer than she had known herself. What was new was that she had been given her very own desk to study at, transluscent, made of a reddish sort of acrylic substance. Even immersed as she was in her brand new copy of 'The Stardown Codex,' the latest mystery novel by the famous Biomade novelist, Tsunami, she would have been foolish indeed to ignore these particular voices.
Sever.
Stitch.
Her brothers.
Behind her.
She took very deliberate care in putting a bookmark on page 107 of the novel, shutting the book, and putting it down on the transluscent red desk. It was stupid, she realized, to have put the desk where it was, facing the wall. Sitting at it, her back was to the door. If her trainers found out, she'd never hear the end of it.
She turned around.
Immediately, their thoughts washed over her awareness, and for one confused moment she couldn't tell if she was herself or if they were her. The nine and a half year old twins stood not five yards distant, their faces lit up with innocent smiles that belied the mischief of their thoughts.
"No," Rei said.
"No what?" Stitch asked.
"You can't borrow my knife," Rei said, feeling simultaneously offended and annoyed in a way that was almost teenagerish.
Sever's smile faded. "We need it," he said.
Rei stared at the twins. "It's mine," she insisted. Property. Something that was hers and not theirs. It was a strange concept, but she liked it. She rose to her feet and took a step towards the twins.
That was when she stumbled, put off balance by the sudden discovery that her shoelaces were tied together, and fell flat on her face.
Hyena-like laughter rose up from the twins, and Rei felt a sudden flush of humiliation rising up in her chest. More than that, though, shock rippled through her mind: they had hid their intent from her! They'd lied to her in their minds! She'd never dreamed that such a thing was even possible. Anger. Resentment. Fear. They were laughing at her. They were laughing at her, and PEOPLE COULD LIE TO HER IN THEIR MINDS.
By the time she managed to undo the knots in her shoelaces with her own comparatively feeble telekinetic powers, the twins were long gone.
So was her knife.
Pulling Strings
Kiyoshi had to consciously keep himself from sneering when he looked upon the recumbent form of Tsuchinaga Yamato. Most Biomade were in great physical shape, but this one was positively corpulent. Yes, Tsuchinaga was one of Kiyoshi's only Biomade friends, and, yes, the old warrior had probably earned the right to some luxury, but in looking upon the enormous man lying back on his silk cushions, surrounded by platters of food and wine, overwhelming incense and young girls who really should not have bothered to wear anything at all for all the good their outfits did them, he could not help but look upon such gluttony as weakness.
"Kiyoshi! To what do I owe this honor, Director?" Even the man's voice was larger than normal, booming jovially.
"Director no more; I have been relieved of my position, as you have probably already heard, Yamoto."
His host sighed. "That I have, but I was hoping it was not true."
Kiyoshi lifted an eyebrow and regarded Yamoto coolly. "The decision was unanimous, 'old friend'. You were one of the signatories on the order."
"Yes, but I had hoped they would not get enough of them! Not everyone on the Board was against you, as you know. Still, there are certain persuasive factors that would have made it very unwise for me to side with you. Surely you did not expect me to stand up to the likes of Blade?"
It was the young Allskin's turn to sigh. "No, I suppose not. Now at least I know I still have one ally left on the board who can keep me in the loop as to what is going on."
"That's the spirit m'boy! And I have a couple of choice bits for you now, if you've a mind to listen."
Kiyoshi simply nodded and sat upon one of the many cushions scattered about.
"Well, most importantly, there have been attacks on some of the directors recently. A couple of them have even been killed!"
Kiyoshi made an encouraging murmur, knowing his large friend's flair for the dramatic. It was obvious that there was more to come.
"They say that someone attacked Katashi Blade himself; he was unharmed, of course, more's the pity. Typhon was found dead in his office, not that anyone will mourn that one." He paused, obviously waiting for encouragement from his audience.
"Really now? And what else?"
"Well, it looks like your pet project is starting on its own! A Mechified revolt down in the mine, they say. A small incident, but you know how these things can grow; they say that one of the AD's got killed in the scuffle, Jung or Jun or something... I don't know, all those little pencil-necks look the same to me."
Kiyoshi cursed. "Those fools! Don't they know that if they try to revolt now it will be a bloodbath? Without the support of the Allskin families, the Biomade will simply slaughter them, if they do not do it first themselves!"
Yamoto shrugged. "What's done is done, m'boy." He squinted shrewdly at his young guest. His gossip dispensed with, he was determined to get his price of a new story. "They say that the circumstances of your dismissal were... unusual. They say that you had a visitor; a young girl. Someone you would normally think would be spending all her time rebelling and listening to that 'raving' music you kids love so much."
Kiyoshi nodded. "An agent of some sort, a mind reader. A bit... unorthodox, but definitely more dangerous than she looked."
"Did I not just finish telling you that someone's trying to off Directors?! She was an assassin, mark my words!"
Again, a nod. "She admitted as much. But she was not there to kill me; apparently I am not important enough to kill." That last was almost bitter.
"Maybe not, and you should be glad of that," said Yamoto somberly. "But remember who you are: the second son of Daitokuji Noboru, one of the Grand Masters of Washisan Academy, a man who has personally trained some of the finest Mecha Pilots in the world, including your older brother and younger sister. Someone might see you as a weak link to strike at them."
Kiyoshi's fists clenched as he said "They would be most grievously mistaken in that."
Yamoto waved his hands. "Whoa, whoa, m'boy! You don't need to convince me of that! I was just speculating." He peered at Kiyoshi again. "I always did wonder why you didn't become a pilot like the rest of your family though."
Eyes flashing, Kiyoshi sneered. "Because I thought my intelligence should not be wasted on nothing more than going to brawl every time two cities decided to squabble over who owned a piece of Blackrock! My father agreed; that is why he helped me attain my position at Goshi when no other Allskin would have been considered."
The older man nodded. "Still, you should be careful. Give me some more info on that girl who visited you and I will look into it; see if I can figure out who she works for, at least."
Kiyoshi half-smiled, something that was not lost on his observant host. "She was very... distinctive. Tiny, not more than five feet tall. Lithe. Wild, bright pink hair. Blood red eyes." He shrugged. "Cute. Like someone's little sister that grew up and decided to start rebelling."
Yamoto nodded again. "Red eyes, you say? Where have I heard that before? Ah, it'll come to me. I'll look into it, lad, don't worry."
Kiyoshi stood and nodded to the only man he had ever let call him names such as "m'boy" or "lad", probably because the old warrior called everyone by such names. "Thank you. Be careful, though; you are a Director too."
Yamoto looked around in mock surprise. "Me? Ah, I may not be an Allskin, and therefore not worth killing, but I have worked long and hard to make myself too indispensable to get rid of. Besides, I don't cause trouble, unlike some young men I can name, so why would anyone want to bump off some fat old has-been?"
Kiyoshi chuckled as he bowed and left. Once he was gone, Tsuchinaga Yamoto watched the door that he had went through for a good, long time. "Who indeed?"
"Kiyoshi! To what do I owe this honor, Director?" Even the man's voice was larger than normal, booming jovially.
"Director no more; I have been relieved of my position, as you have probably already heard, Yamoto."
His host sighed. "That I have, but I was hoping it was not true."
Kiyoshi lifted an eyebrow and regarded Yamoto coolly. "The decision was unanimous, 'old friend'. You were one of the signatories on the order."
"Yes, but I had hoped they would not get enough of them! Not everyone on the Board was against you, as you know. Still, there are certain persuasive factors that would have made it very unwise for me to side with you. Surely you did not expect me to stand up to the likes of Blade?"
It was the young Allskin's turn to sigh. "No, I suppose not. Now at least I know I still have one ally left on the board who can keep me in the loop as to what is going on."
"That's the spirit m'boy! And I have a couple of choice bits for you now, if you've a mind to listen."
Kiyoshi simply nodded and sat upon one of the many cushions scattered about.
"Well, most importantly, there have been attacks on some of the directors recently. A couple of them have even been killed!"
Kiyoshi made an encouraging murmur, knowing his large friend's flair for the dramatic. It was obvious that there was more to come.
"They say that someone attacked Katashi Blade himself; he was unharmed, of course, more's the pity. Typhon was found dead in his office, not that anyone will mourn that one." He paused, obviously waiting for encouragement from his audience.
"Really now? And what else?"
"Well, it looks like your pet project is starting on its own! A Mechified revolt down in the mine, they say. A small incident, but you know how these things can grow; they say that one of the AD's got killed in the scuffle, Jung or Jun or something... I don't know, all those little pencil-necks look the same to me."
Kiyoshi cursed. "Those fools! Don't they know that if they try to revolt now it will be a bloodbath? Without the support of the Allskin families, the Biomade will simply slaughter them, if they do not do it first themselves!"
Yamoto shrugged. "What's done is done, m'boy." He squinted shrewdly at his young guest. His gossip dispensed with, he was determined to get his price of a new story. "They say that the circumstances of your dismissal were... unusual. They say that you had a visitor; a young girl. Someone you would normally think would be spending all her time rebelling and listening to that 'raving' music you kids love so much."
Kiyoshi nodded. "An agent of some sort, a mind reader. A bit... unorthodox, but definitely more dangerous than she looked."
"Did I not just finish telling you that someone's trying to off Directors?! She was an assassin, mark my words!"
Again, a nod. "She admitted as much. But she was not there to kill me; apparently I am not important enough to kill." That last was almost bitter.
"Maybe not, and you should be glad of that," said Yamoto somberly. "But remember who you are: the second son of Daitokuji Noboru, one of the Grand Masters of Washisan Academy, a man who has personally trained some of the finest Mecha Pilots in the world, including your older brother and younger sister. Someone might see you as a weak link to strike at them."
Kiyoshi's fists clenched as he said "They would be most grievously mistaken in that."
Yamoto waved his hands. "Whoa, whoa, m'boy! You don't need to convince me of that! I was just speculating." He peered at Kiyoshi again. "I always did wonder why you didn't become a pilot like the rest of your family though."
Eyes flashing, Kiyoshi sneered. "Because I thought my intelligence should not be wasted on nothing more than going to brawl every time two cities decided to squabble over who owned a piece of Blackrock! My father agreed; that is why he helped me attain my position at Goshi when no other Allskin would have been considered."
The older man nodded. "Still, you should be careful. Give me some more info on that girl who visited you and I will look into it; see if I can figure out who she works for, at least."
Kiyoshi half-smiled, something that was not lost on his observant host. "She was very... distinctive. Tiny, not more than five feet tall. Lithe. Wild, bright pink hair. Blood red eyes." He shrugged. "Cute. Like someone's little sister that grew up and decided to start rebelling."
Yamoto nodded again. "Red eyes, you say? Where have I heard that before? Ah, it'll come to me. I'll look into it, lad, don't worry."
Kiyoshi stood and nodded to the only man he had ever let call him names such as "m'boy" or "lad", probably because the old warrior called everyone by such names. "Thank you. Be careful, though; you are a Director too."
Yamoto looked around in mock surprise. "Me? Ah, I may not be an Allskin, and therefore not worth killing, but I have worked long and hard to make myself too indispensable to get rid of. Besides, I don't cause trouble, unlike some young men I can name, so why would anyone want to bump off some fat old has-been?"
Kiyoshi chuckled as he bowed and left. Once he was gone, Tsuchinaga Yamoto watched the door that he had went through for a good, long time. "Who indeed?"
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