“Mine honor is my life.”
----
Shakespeare, Richard II, I, i.
Once again I sit on my
horse on the rain drenched Adachiagara Plain.
Beside me, my lord and master.
He to whom I would gladly surrender my life to protect, sitting high and
proud in his saddle.
The battle against the
enemy has been going well. But all that
will change – as it always does. Under
the layers of my armor, even through my thick fur, I shiver and for the first
time I realize the coincidence. Am I reacting
to the cold or is it a premonition from what I know will happen next?
Through the haze of the
downpour I see that the messenger has arrived from the front, his body is
covered with mud mixed with blood, to the small hill where we stand. He comes, as he always does, with his last
message.
My Master’s once calm and
serene face distorts with anger as he listens to the detailed account of this
most base treachery by one of his retainers.
Suddenly, an anonymous arrow finds its mark on the messenger’s back,
silencing him forever.
Once again, I am in awe of
my lord’s bravery as he orders the futile attack to break the ranks of the
enemy. Our doomed counter thrust is
launched under a thick hail of enemy arrows.
One finds its target in my lord’s heart, killing him instantly.
I’ve failed him
again. But my duty to him does not end
with his death. I dismount and with one
swift slash of my sword, I decapitate him in order to avoid my master’s public
disgrace. Now I grip the reins of my horse tightly as I race towards the hills
surrounding the battlefield to hide it.
#
BZZT!
#
Uh-oh, the young man in the virtual-suit looked at his
chrono. I’m late.
“End simulation, please,”
he uttered.
Immediately, the entire
computer generated scene of carnage and battle from what a historian would
recognize as 17th century Japan disappeared. He removed the hood of his virtual-suit as
he used his fingers to comb back his shiny black hair, which was slightly damp
with sweat. Hastily, he unzipped the
rest of the suit from his lean and toned body, while he recovered his katana-Z,
Tempest and his wakizashi, Northwind from the Simulation Room’s
locker. Once secured on his belt he
began grooming the wrinkle free, blue and black Bushido International uniform,
which he wore underneath the V - suit.
At
this precise moment the Sim-room door clanged open. Without needing to look towards the doorframe he was well aware
that the newcomer was the “shugyosha” under his tutelage, Mori Padilla. His mind pictured perfectly the slender,
tall, Indian-like beauty.
Turning
to finally acknowledge her presence, he noted that her hands were on her
shapely hips of her BI uniform, lips pouting with a slight air of annoyance. “Permission to speak freely?” she asked.
Ramon
Sakai knew that it was futile to deny her request. When apart from other Bushido International staff she always
freely spoke her mind anyway. Still her
manners were irreproachable.
“Go
ahead Mori,” he sighed.
“Could
you please remind me again. What is the
reason for your obsession with simulations depicting these … funny animals---”
“Anthropomorphic!”
Sakai interjected, as he folded his V – suit on his arm.
“…based
on some archaic art form. What was it
called?” she continued without missing a beat.
“Comic
books,” Ramon hissed.
“Ah,
yes,” her perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up.
“That’s it, comic books.
Juxtaposed pictorials and other images in a deliberate sequence. Correct?
And drawn and printed on paper, I believe.”
Ramon
shook his head in defeat. It was the
same argument all over again. He had
tried before, unsuccessfully, to explain his affection for the material. But the chances of that happening were about
the same as attempting to address the finer points of Three Stooges slapstick
comedy. Sakai had already resolved that
the day Mori understood those two guilty pleasures of his would be the same day
Hell froze over.
It
also did not help matters that during every attempt he invariably lost his
train of thought, totally distracted by her soft golden tanned skin and almond
shaped eyes with their dark inviting brown pupils. Wondering if her lush black hair had that touch of sweet smelling
perfume he secretly adored.
Still,
he composed himself as best he could and replied, “This rabbit character I
role-play is loosely based on the famous 17th Century samurai called
Miyamoto Musashi. In late 20th
century the author, Stan Sakai, wanted to publish a comic book on the Samurai
Saint but drew a sketch of a rabbit with his long ears tied up, instead.”
“A
rabbit samurai,” she smirked, again pouting such desirable lips.
Was
it getting hot in here? He agonized.
“Uh
…what was I saying?”
“Musashi? Stan Sakai?
Rabbit samurai?” she teased playfully.
The
young samurai abruptly felt a shock of fear.
Did she know? Had he been so
careless, so unprofessional that she realized he had a crush on her?
“Ah,
yes. Sorry.” Sakai cleared his throat
nervously, “Scoff all you like but his work was required study at universities.
Many considered the comic book “Miyamoto Usagi” more than just stories about
rabbits and honor. It was full of keen
observations and faithful adaptations of that important period in Japanese
history, using compelling storytelling and a unique style of art. Isn’t the
fact that our own company was founded using many of that era’s traits and
vernacular enough to prove its worth?”
“And
this has nothing to do with the fact that you both share the same last name?”
Ramon
pointed at the chrono on his wrist, changing the subject. “We’re wasting time, shugyosha. We have to be at the Daimyo’s office in five
minutes.”
The
use of her title of samurai-in-training, signaled that the good-natured teasing
of her mentor ended and it was back to business as usual. They both walked briskly out of the
Sim-room, searching for a lift that would take them to their scheduled
appointment.
#
The
view from the lift’s cabin as it traveled on a rail along the outside of their
building was majestic. Standing proud
over a sea of clouds, with the golden hue of the sun as a backdrop, the Staten
Island Pyramid could be seen from a distance.
Pyramid buildings had been
the engineering marvels of the early part of the 22nd Century. Each borough of New New York had at least
one and the Brooklyn Pyramid was one of the first constructed. So successful had been this solution to the
population and housing shortage of the 21st Century that it had been
adapted in all major cities nationwide.
Even
the corporate headquarters of many private companies that had fled the city in
2001, due to tragic terrorist attacks, had long returned full force. For decades now, New New York, once again,
was the nerve center of the world’s commerce.
“Brooklyn-P”, as
it was commonly known, stood one hundred and fifty stories high, twenty city
blocks wide and was home to spacious and luxurious apartments, a small airport
and innumerous offices. Bushido International,
one of the oldest and most respected private security firms in America called
Brooklyn-P home.
Daimyo
Murtagh is going to be furious, Sakai’s mind was filled with apprehension.
“Tardiness. The first clear sign of a
lack of self-discipline.” The Daimyo’s
infamous stern lectures, during morning briefings, had humbled many a samurai.
The
lift, having reached the B. I. – office level, smoothly opened its doors
allowing both samurai and trainee to emerge.
But Sakai found his exit blocked by the imposing figure of a man, Daimyo
Connor Murtagh.
Murtagh
was six feet, three inches tall, easily two hundred and twenty pounds of
muscle. Looking regal in his long black
and white robe, hands clasped behind his back, his red hair seemed on fire,
while his equally fiery red handle bar mustache covered his upper lip. Known in
private circles as the “Living Legend”, thanks to his many exploits as a Street
Samurai, his cases had been adopted as standard investigative procedure at the
Academy.
One
of the most celebrated and decorated samurai in the history of Bushido
International was now dissecting both Sakai and Padilla with his penetrating
blue eyes.
Better
play it safe, Ramon said to
himself. Both late arrivals dropped
their arms to their sides and bent their heads slightly, which was the
customary salute.
“Shugyosha Padilla
report to Operations. Mr. Sakai come
with me,” he growled with his deep Scottish brogue.
“Hai!”
they replied in unison. Ramon stepped
again inside the lift, standing behind and to the right of his superior
officer. Whatever tinge of emotion he
felt as he was abruptly separated from his trainee, he kept buried within
himself.
“Departure
Bay eleven,” the Daimyo’s commanding voice seemed to make even the lift respond
with more promptness.
A
few nervous minutes later Sakai stammered, “Daimyo Murtagh, sir. I apologize for being late. It will never happen again. Please don’t blame my shugyosha…”
With
a raised hand, the legendary Daimyo silenced Sakai’s apology. “We have matters more important to discuss
than tardiness, Samurai.”
The
Daimyo lowered his voice, as though somebody might accidentally eavesdrop on
their conversation and continued, “Listen closely Sakai: For years the Edo
Conglomerate have been absorbing smaller independent security agencies. All in a concentrated effort to monopolize
“Yojimbo” services. Bushido
International has successfully fought off their takeovers bids in the past and
has slowly become one of the few remaining freelanced operations in this country
and the Shogun would like to keep it that way.
Thus, competition for lucrative contracts has never been so fierce. Yesterday we received a message from our
satellite office in Neo-Tokyo. An
attempt on the life of Dr. Emil Vasso has been made.”
“Dr.
Vasso?” Ramon’s tone was filled with
awe. “The Nobel Prize winner for
Biology? The man that identified and
treated Moncrief Syndrome and discovered the cure for the Mertz Plague of ’29?”
“Yes,
Sakai, the same. I am also aware who he
is, thank you.” Murtagh snapped as he
reached into his robe and thrust a palm-sized, rectangular PPC into Ramon’s
hands.
“The
news has just been made public by the Info-web. The Edo’s Tokugawa have been administrating his security for
years. This near successful assassination
attempt made the doctor reconsider their contract.
“I
just received word that he has accepted our bid to continue with his
protection. This is a unique
opportunity to build on our meager foothold in Japan, a victory there would be
considered a major coup in their own backyard.
“During
the lengthy vid-con with our Shogun, the esteemed doctor specifically asked
that you supervise the transition from Tokugawa to Bushido International
security. It seems Vasso was impressed
by your performance during the Chicago Hunger Relief incident.”
“Sir,
the Chicago …but that was years ago.” Ramon said puzzled.
“Nevertheless,
it stills seems to hold great significance with the doctor. That PPC has all the pertinent information
on Vasso’s attack and our file on his personal history. Plus a priority “A” access to Operations
where your shugyosha will be stationed, around the clock, to provide you with
any further support you might need.”
The
doors of the lift opened as they arrived at the cavernous departure bay. Their senses were assaulted and almost
overwhelmed by the loud engine noises and the powerful fumes from the aircraft
fuel. The bay’s mammoth opening led out
into the blue sky and was large enough to accommodate small commercial aircraft
such as VTOL, planes and helicopters.
Following
a green colored path, etched on the ground just for pedestrians, the Daimyo
ushered the young samurai past boarding passengers and scrambling flight crews,
towards the section reserved for Bushido International chartered flights. The agent at the counter cleared them as
soon as he saw them with a nod and they marched briskly past the gate and
towards a sleek shaped, white airplane.
Murtagh
stopped short just at the boarding ramp.
“I know this all seems a bit – hasty – but that can’t be helped. Regardless of the importance of the
contract, the life of a great man is at stake.
Stop that assassin at all costs.”
“Yes,
sir.”
The
Daimyo’s face had an odd expression etched on it and Ramon was unable to
identify it. Was he worried?
“I’ve
been your Daimyo for some time now. We
have faced many adverse situations before and in all that time, you’ve never
given me cause to question your abilities or loyalty. I trust that you can carry out this assignment.”
“I
will do my best, sir.”
The
odd expression had disappeared and was replaced by his more characteristic
austere visage. “Your travel papers are
in order and on the plane. One of
Vasso’s assistants will meet you at his residence. Remember this Sakai-san, ‘Act well your part; there all honor
lies.’”
Sakai
simply responded “Hai” and boarded the plane.
#
Over
the aircraft’s speakers the pilot advised his crew to initiate take off
procedures. Ramon settled into his seat,
placing his virtual suit in the empty chair beside him. While he fastened his seat belt he noticed
how vacant the small plane was.
No
problem getting service on this flight, he joked silently.
Ramon glanced out his
small view port and saw the Daimyo standing outside the gate waiting for the
plane to depart. The odd expression had
returned to Murtagh’s face.
Putting
it out of his mind for the moment, the young samurai’s eyes caught a tender
scene playing itself further behind his supervisor. A small girl with curly brown hair, she couldn’t be older than
nine, was hugging her Nana-bot as she bid farewell to her father who was
boarding a medium sized craft, its decal identifying it as a commercial
carrier. The matronly designed guardian
robot cradled the child tenderly in its wide steel reinforced plastic arms.
A
precious child --- like so many others including himself, that would not have
been born if not for Dr. Vasso.
Ramon
needed a break.
His
trip was still a few hours away from completion and ever since take off he had
been reviewing Dr. Vasso’s file on the PPC.
Much of the information on the famed doctor was general knowledge. Ramon glanced over the standard media
Holo-vid images of the doctor’s childhood, Nobel Prize acceptance speech and
clinic scene where the image of a young Vasso was captured administrating the
first M-Plague vaccine. What the
samurai did study in detail were vid’s of the doctor’s entire staff and
schematics of his palatial home in Japan.
Sakai
sighed and stretched, shutting down his portable computer and placing it on the
empty seat beside him. A middle-aged,
female flight attendant approached him, smiled warmly and announced that the
galley was ready to serve him his meal.
Ramon nodded and activated the HV-Cable flat-screen situated on the back
of the seat in front of him.
A
computer-animated female anchor with a husky toned voice appeared. “How can
HV-Cable be of service?”
“I
wish to buy one hundred minutes of viewing.”
“Please
place you thumb print on the scanner near the flat-screen in order to process
your order.” Ramon complied and the
screen read “Thank you.” A menu
appeared with topics ranging from Sports to Entertainment.
“Scan
news channels: Nationwide coverage only.
Random sorting, please.”
Complying with the order, tiny rotating vid-captions appeared. Each one vying for Sakai’s attention.
“….politicians
never miss an opportunity to appear on the vids. And here we see the entire House of Representatives on the stairs
of the Capital reciting the pledge of Allegiance without “under God”…”
“….we
could be experiencing a resurgence of real, flesh and blood actors with real
directors filming on real sets the way it used to be. A spokesperson for The Synth-Actors Guild, when pressed for a
statement about the return of the human element to acting, replied, ‘No
comment.’…”
“….six
million more than last year. The
elderly are committing suicide and what we are asking is that the Surgeon
General take action…”
“….Lanski,
is the first, full-time Elvis impersonator to be elected governor. When asked what the king might have thought
about all this, Lanski replied, ‘He’d hope I had a lotta hunk’a, hunk’a,
burnin’ love for my voters.’...”
“….
anniversary of the Act, which classified all gunpowder firearms as obsolete
antiques. Of course, they were replaced
by the vastly popular and more humane sonic blasters but even those are even
more heavily regulated than their ancestors…”
“….house
that Ruth built’ finally met its fate with the wreaking ball today. A small group of baseball fans were allowed
access to obtain souvenirs while lamenting the death of the sport once
considered ‘The ‘Nation’s Favorite Pastime’...”
“….sweeping
changes not seen in this country since the creation of the Department of
Homeland Security in ’02—”
“Hold
there.” Ramon ordered.
At
his command the flat-screen monitor held the image on a “springer” broadcasting
from Washington D.C. The host was a
slightly overweight Lati-merican female and her guest was a dour looking
Afrika-merican.
“….you’re
suggesting a unified national police force with the military included?” The
host demanded.
“Yes,”
he replied.
“Why
stop there? Why don’t we just allow
this to become a police state?” she rebuked.
“Please,”
the Afrikan calmly took off his therma-shades, rubbed the bridge of his nose
and replaced them before he continued, “I know hysterical antics and fear
mongering are good for ratings but allow me to explain.”
“Go
ahead, I can’t wait to hear this,” she said crossing her against her ample
bosom.
“The
official deputizing of bounty hunters, private security firms and investigators
by the then head of Homeland Security back in 2021 was a step in the right
direction but a timid step.
“Until
twenty years ago, fifteen reputable private companies, in concert with the
government, oversaw the security of our streets. Now there are less than six.
It’s natural evolution and anyone can see that it’s already heading in
that direction. The fittest company,
with the best Street Samurai shall survive and thanks to the repealing of the
Anti-trust laws, one company is all we really need.”
“So
your answer is to go back to the ways things were done in the beginning of the
twentieth century. One Rockefeller or
one Gates with their hands – and only their hands -- on the ‘button’,” the host
disputed.
“Again
with the hysteria, Ms. Jacinta, I warn you.
I will not be provoked,” her guest adjusted his tie before replying,
“Laws granting the government unlimited access to inspect companies and CEOs
for abuse and corruption today are ten times more stringent than they were back
then. Remember the corporate corruption
scandals of the beginning of the 21st century? That hasn’t happened since nor will it
again. This country and its citizens
have matured.”
The
host waved a finger threateningly, “I must say I am surprised to be having this
type of discussion with someone with your educational background, that seems to
have forgotten that they were once a minority in this country. A person whose great, great grandparents –
like mine -- quite possibly lived their day to day lives in terror, as long
suffering abuse victims from Anglo law enforcement.
“Have
we the right to spit on the legacy of those people that finally exercised their
political muscle and won the push to privatize the Anglo Police Department and
totally revamp the inefficient legal justice system?
“In
effect, stopping years of Anglo political influence, Anglo fiscal mismanagement
and endless scandals of Anglo corruption.
This world we live in today exists because we learned to respect the
views of all people not just those of an elite few.
“Dr. Saide, I thought you
were a Marxist, sir, but you’re worse, you’re another limp d --- wannabe
fascist!”
“That’s
enough b ---!” The guest rose from his
chair angrily, “How dare you…”
An incoming transmission
warning flashed across the flat screen, interrupting the broadcast.
“Hold
my account,” Sakai directed, “Accept transmission.”
The
screen faded and his heart skipped a beat as he saw the lovely face of his
shugyosha appear. “Your PPC was off, so
I linked with the plane’s HV. How’s the
trip so far?” she asked jovially.
“Service
is great,” he motioned with his head at all the vacant seats, “There’s tempura
on the menu, I haven’t tried it yet but I hear it’s quite fresh. And you?”
“We’re
ready over here. I got a hookup to
every info-net you can imagine and some I bet you haven’t heard of. All you have to do is ask me and I’m yours.”
Her
innocent and off the cuff remark made Ramon clear his throat and blush slightly
as a highly erotic scene with her flashed in his mind.
“Are
you alright Sakai-sama?”
“Yes,
yes. I’m fine,” he gushed, “A … uh …
peanut went down the wrong way.”
“They
still serve them?”
“Look,
the flight attendant is bringing my meal,” he gathered himself again, “You’ve
done a great job so far. I’ll get back
with you at Vasso’s residence.”
“See
you then,” she ended the transmission smiling.
Her image faded away and the flat-screen blinked “Pause”, waiting for
further instructions.
Sakai
was lost in thought. He missed
her. Ramon had become so accustomed to
her presence it was as she had always been a part of his life. Padilla wasn’t his first love or his first
lover -- Ramon wasn’t that naïve. But
ever since the day she had been assigned to him there was something … he
couldn’t fathom what exactly… that allowed her to reach into him and affect him
in a way nobody before ever had.
His
hand was still touching the screen softly when the flight attendant brought him
his meal asking, “Did you call for me earlier?”
“Uh,
no. No,” he muttered, “I was talking with
someone from HQ.” Putting on his poker
face, he swiftly changed the subject and said, “My, that tempura looks
delicious.”
#
The
moment the young Street Samurai set his foot out of his chartered limousine and
onto the palatial estate of Dr. Emil Vasso, a sense of immediate danger almost
overwhelmed him. Dr. Vasso lived in a
recreated Japanese 16th Century stone castle just minutes away from
the spiraling, pristine towers of Neo-Tokyo.
It’s
like something out of Mifune National Park, he thought to himself.
Dr.
Vasso’s Chief of Staff, Matabe, greeted Ramon with a slight bow. They were standing at the entrance to the
north gate, where hours before a press conference had been held, explaining the
situation at Vasso residence.
Matabe
was a bald, thin, fragile looking man with enormous black eyes, wearing a white
and brown kimono that looked two sizes too big. In person he appeared much older than his image on the vid-file
that Sakai reviewed. He sure doesn’t
look twenty-eight years old. Ramon’s
impression of the doctor’s Chief of Staff was that he reminded him of a human
sized Chihuahua.
“Welcome,
Ramon Sakai,” Matabe said with a shaky, nasal obstructed sounding voice. “Dr. Vasso has been expecting you. I trust your flight went well.”
Before
Ramon could reply, a high pitched whine of accelerating hover engine turbines
heralded the swift approach of three large ebony spheres. Years of training and field experience
nurtured defensive habits and Sakai casually crossed his right hand over his
waist and rested it on the hilt of his katana-Z. The Street Samurai’s earlier sense of peril becoming even more
acute.
Matabe
noticed Sakai’s discomfort and quipped, “Really, Mr. Sakai. They are simply the estate’s AIBOs sent here
to escort us.” The black globes hovered
and circled the two men and Ramon instantly recognized their model and
classification.
Doberman Class, he mused.
Oblivious
to the threat, the Chief of Staff turned, leading the walk up the steep white
stone path towards the castle’s main gates.
At that instant one of the AIBOs separated from the other two and
blocked his progress. Ramon grabbed
Matabe with his free hand and slowly placed himself in front.
“Don’t
move!” Sakai hissed through clenched
teeth.
“I
don’t understand,” whined the lanky thin man.
“It must be a malfunction.”
“All
three of them?” Ramon retorted.
Through
the corner of his eyes the Street Samurai measured the positions of the other
two AIBOs and calculated the distance between all three spheres and himself.
Just
a few more meters!
The
AIBOs slowly closed the circle and their lights changed from passive amber,
signifying intruder alert, to a more menacing red, meaning attack mode. In a few seconds, Sakai knew, small
pincer-like extensions would deploy from inside and discharge a lethal volt of
electricity.
NOW!
With
an ear-piercing cry Ramon unleashed Tempest from its scabbard. The katana-Z’s thin omni-blade extended
instantly to its meter length and faster than Matabe could follow the Street
Samurai slashed repeatedly at the air surrounding them.
The
frightened Chief of Staff nervously pried the fingers of his hands from in
front of his eyes and saw Sakai standing serenely with his katana-Z once again
on his belt. Miraculously, the three
AIBOs had not attacked and simply continued to hover.
“What
hap….” Matabe’s words were caught in
his throat as he saw tendrils of blue-white energy flashing and dancing across
the surface of the spheres and then all three AIBOs began to split apart, falling
inert to the ground.
“It
seems that your security problems,” Sakai said without looking at him, “include
undomesticated mechanical pets.”
#
The north wing of Vasso’s castle was designed and
furnished with western sensibilities in mind.
Only here were shoes allowed inside.
Matabe
gracefully opened the oak double doors and Sakai’s eyes immediately took in the
beautiful European nude paintings – Renaissance period? – plush Afghan carpets,
and the matching oak chairs and table.
His
field of vision finally came to rest on another set of double doors, at the far
end of the room where two Tokugawa guards stood in hushed conversation. One of them, a stocky middle aged man, was
clearly chastising the younger, taller one.
Upon
realizing they were no longer alone, they abruptly ended their exchange and
stood at attention. Sakai was
impressed. The duo looked impeccably
stylish in their period clothing. All
Tokugawa dressed exactly as the samurai did during the 17th century,
which included the shaved forehead and slipknot. They also practiced the laws of the time but unlike the American
Amish – which many unfairly drew comparisons – they were both familiar with and
utilized current technology.
Matabe
faced the contemporary samurai, “Sakai-san, may I introduce you to Ichinobei,
Captain of the Guard and Hatsu, his assistant.
Then he turned and faced the Tokugawa, “Gentlemen, Ramon Sakai of
Bushido International.”
As
manners dictated Ramon bowed and the two Tokugawa responded in kind. But to Sakai, even under the veneer of
gentility, their simmering disdain was evident.
“He
must be the luckiest gaijin I’ve ever met,” Hatsu spat out suddenly in
old-Japanese. “How else can you explain
taking out three AIBOs with that needle he calls a sword?”
“Hatsu, enough!” the captain fired back, “You will speak
in English-Standard and show more respect.”
“It
is alright, Captain,” Sakai volunteered, “I am well versed in the language of
our honorable ancestors. But I did take
offense to one thing ---”
In
a spurt of lightning speed, Sakai reached over, drew Tempest out of his
belt and struck Hatsu’s waist with the point of his sword. A hand-sized AIBO remote control fell out of
the stunned Tokugawa’s pocket, splitting in two as it bounced on the floor.
“….
I am not a gaijin.”
Hatsu
gasped. Ichinobei, although stunned by
Sakai’s display of speed and skill, nonetheless, swiftly unsheathed his own
standard katana.
“Are
you accusing Hatsu of provoking your incident with the AIBOs?” the captain
protested.
“I
didn’t accuse your colleague of anything but you will discover Ichinobei-san,”
Sakai’s voice was as cool as ice as he fell into a more aggressive stance,
“that my actions always speak louder than my words.”
“Gentlemen,
gentlemen! Please!” Matabe cried as he foolishly placed himself
between the blades of the three samurai.
“Not here. Not here! The furniture is worth millions of yen!”
“Ah,
Matabe,” teased Dr. Vasso as he emerged slowly from the double doors the
Tokugawa were guarding, “only you would consider the value of inanimate objets
over witnessing the priceless technique of such skilled and deadly warriors.”
Born
in the United African States, Vasso was an extremely tall, dark skinned man
with large hands and a bushy mustache.
His skull was bare, and he wore a small interlink terminal, surgically
grafted to his right temple, covering also his right ear. The terminal was the “mark” of his stature
in the scientific community, granting him access to information from any
computer terminal, anywhere.
Everyone
on the room immediately bowed at the doctor, muttering apologies for such a
crass display of rude behavior.
“Nonsense,
nonsense,” the doctor cooed, “Fortunately no harm was done. Now if you would please sheath your
katanas? Ichinobei-san and Sakai-san
follow me. We have much to discuss.”
#
Albeit
silently, Ramon admitted that the captain had been very thorough during the
Tokugawa’s stint as security managers.
Over the course of Ichinobei’s briefing, it was clear to Sakai that
every manner of precaution concerning the doctor’s safety had been taken into
account. The captain of the guard
occasionally prodded Dr. Vasso with indirect pleas for the Tokugawa to continue
their contract but the doctor simply ignored him.
“Well,
Sakai-san,” Dr. Vasso turned to the Street Samurai, “have you anything to add?”
“With
all due respect, sir. I have reviewed
all pertinent data you sent to my superiors back at Headquarters, and after
what I’ve just heard from Ichinobei-san, I find myself wondering, why Bushido
International? Aside from the failed
attempt on your life, your security had been more than adequate.”
The
doctor chuckled lightly. “I see your reputation for being direct is well
deserved young man. But regarding the
assassination attempt I fear your supervisors were not given complete
disclosure. Allow me to rectify that
now, Ichinobei, please show him the vid-images from file 81855.”
The
captain complied and a large wall-monitor activated and began to show split
screen images of Tokugawa, twenty in all, on guard duty in and around Vasso’s
castle. Suddenly, one by one, they fell
before a deadly blur of movement. So
fast was the unidentified attacker that some of the guards were struck
completely unaware, unable to draw their weapons, others did but paid the
ultimate price. In a span of a few
minutes the entire group of Tokugawa were either dead or severely wounded.
“An
unpredictable departure delay had my staff and I arriving from the airport
later than usual,” Dr. Vasso said softly.
“Had I been home as scheduled—“
“What
was that … thing?” Sakai exclaimed.
“That
Mr. Sakai, is the reason why I hired you.”
Settling
into a sparsely furnished small room near the east wing, serving as both his
dormitory and private office, Ramon spoke with his shugyosha via secured
channel on his PPC, keeping her abreast of his progress.
“Twelve
shugyoshas from our satellite office here in Neo-Tokyo patrol the gates,
hallways, personal quarters and interior garden. I’m using squads of three guards per shift and keeping five in
reserve.”
“Understood.”
Padilla acknowledged.
“Those
modified motion detectors arrived thirty minutes ago and I … uh …borrowed some
Technos. They are installing MDs at
major entry spots and some other areas I’ve identified plus they’re working on
a few surprises that I’ve planned, as we speak.”
“Borrowed?”
His shugyosha smirked before she continued, “I heard you commandeered
them. And they were not too happy about
it.”
“Borrowed,
commandeered. To-may-to, to-ma-toe,”
Sakai returned the smile.
“The
Daimyo has agreed with your recommendation that security maintain a visible
presence near the doctor. If that
assassin truly is as formidable as I saw and not some elaborate vid special
effect, reaction time is going to be crucial.
Be extra careful Ramon.”
Did
he hear correctly? Was that genuine
affection or just apprehension in her voice?
Yes. No.
Yes! He fretted.
Of course she was worried but as a fellow colleague, a student concerned
about the safety of her teacher and nothing more. Nothing more.
“Ahem.”
Mori cleared her voice and dragged Sakai back to the here and now.
“Any
luck enhancing the image from file 81855?” he huffed regaining his composure.
“Still
nothing,” a frown marred her smooth forehead, “Our Technos here concluded that
the assassin knowing he or she would be under surveillance wore a portable
cloaking device of some kind.”
“Portable? That small?” Ramon dissented. From
what he knew, technology that sophisticated was still decades away, “What does
the register say? Do we have any
techno-company on record researching or experimenting with that type of
technology in our database?”
“Nothing
on current files,” Mori shrugged her shoulders, “databases are rife with rumors
of the military looking into it. I’m
almost positive that the civilian side has nothing. I got into a similar argument here in HQ but Ops went over that
image with everything we have and the evidence – what little there is – supports
the theory.”
The
samurai paused for a few seconds, weighing alternatives.
“Keep
trying to enhance that image until we retrieve something more definitive.” Ramon then touched a “Send” icon and
continued, “Meanwhile, check the military archives for any information
regarding the first item I just mailed to you.
As far as the second….”
Padilla’s
expression darkened, “The first one is do-able. But the second … are you absolutely positive? You know that our Med-Unit banned their use
except for very extreme cases.”
Reluctance
again. Normally she followed orders
without hesitation. Was this … No!
Damn it! This had to stop! He deliberated fiercely with himself.
His
feelings and his desire to see them reflected in her were inching their way
onto the surface. It was becoming an
impossibility to mask them anymore.
This added distraction was not welcome – too much was at stake. When this assignment ended he must address
this situation or it would completely undermine their student – teacher relationship. Ramon silently thanked the Daimyo for
separating them.
“You
have your orders Shugyosha Padilla,” he decreed, “If my hunch is correct that
item will be the difference between Dr. Vasso surviving this or not.” He lamented reminding her of her rank and
position but it was too late to take it back.
“Yes
sir,” her voice adapting a more formal tone, “I will inform you as soon as the
item is sent out.” Without signing off,
she abruptly ended the transmission.
Was
she angry? Was she just anxious to accomplish
the tasks he had placed before her?
Once again Sakai found himself staring at an empty screen, fighting to
keep his mind focused on the task before him and not on regrets and doubts.
#
“Is
this really necessary?” Dr. Vasso spat.
“I
apologize for the inconvenience, sir,” the young shugyosha bowed slightly. “I’m just following orders.”
Modern
plumbing for his bathroom was another concession Vasso had made when approving
the plans of his ancient castle recreation.
The apprentice samurai swiftly finished scanning the room before
declaring it safe and clear.
“Thank
you,” the doctor icily replied as he tied the waistband of his robe.
Matabe quickly
intervened shushing the samurai-in-training away and took his place beside the
bathroom door. The shugyosha stood at
attention near the entrance of the master bedroom and tried hard to blend in
with the walls.
“I
will speak to Sakai-san immediately,” Matabe raised his voice to ensure the
Street Samurai could hear him. “This is
an outrage ---”
“You
will do no such thing,” Vasso’s muffled voice interrupted as he dabbed his face
with a towel.
“But
---”
“The
Street Samurai are thorough,” the doctor added in a more measured tone. “And just a bit extreme. However, I approve. Not another word.”
“Yes,
doctor.”
Vasso
left the bathroom and strode into his enormous closet absentmindedly choosing a
leisure suit. He then placed it upon a
night table beside his futon, turning towards another part of his closet to
select a pair of boots. Matabe swiftly
selected another suit, one much more fashionable, replacing the one chosen by
his employer.
“He
is the only one that can help me, you know,” Vasso said softly so his words
would not carry.
Matabe
shook his head slightly, “You know I hate to doubt your wisdom, but are you
sure, sir?”
“Judge
him not with the clouded eyes of prejudice,” Vasso waved a finger at his
assistant, “like our previous protectors did.
Street Samurai from Bushido International are quite formidable. Unlike the Tokugawa, their ranks are filled
with men and women of all races and cultures.
People willing to voluntarily withhold their personal beliefs to
honorably serve justice and the pursuit of truth. It is their “Holy Grail” and their greatest strength.”
Having
finished grooming himself, the doctor finally stated, “Yes, Sakai is a great
asset. Of that I have no doubt.”
“Then
that is all I need to hear,” Matabe whispered bowing.
#
“Sakai-san,
I trust you find this dinner more pleasing to your palate than that tempura that
you had on the plane,” Vasso inquired before he sipped his sake.
The
doctor and his new Captain of the Guard sat on their knees in the castle’s
spacious dining room. A shiny black
table filled with sushi, rice balls and other Japanese delicacies separated
them. Dark wood sliding doors were
pulled back, allowing them a splendid view of the castle’s beautiful bonsai
garden. Two shugyosha were posted there
and one in the hallway that connected the Dining Room with the private
quarters.
Ramon
tenderly placed his bowl of rice on the lacquered table and replied, “Oh,
yes. Thank you. May I say that it is truly an honor to dine
with you.”
Near
the entrance of the dining room, Matabe sat quietly, supervising the entire
meal. Two lovely female servers sat
closer to the men at the table, outfitted in their colorful and alluring
kimonos, ready to remove or refresh items at any moment.
“The
pleasure is mine,” the doctor grinned.
“The transition has gone well, I take it?”
“Very
well, in fact. Our shugyoshas are
posted and have been thoroughly briefed.”
“Have
you been able to identify the intruder?”
“Not
yet, but I have some theories.”
“Really? Would you share them with me?”
“Forgive
me but with all due respect, Dr. Vasso, I rather not. Lacking concrete facts, I do not wish to discomfort you
unnecessarily.”
“Tell
that to Matabe and my bathroom.”
“Excuse
me, sir?”
“Nothing
Sakai-san,” Vasso fibbed while dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin,
“a private joke. I am delighted to observe
first hand that a Bushido International Street Samurai’s reputation for honesty
is not an exaggerated trait.”
“Thank
you sir. If I may be so bold, after
acquainting myself with your vid-file, the style and design of your place of
residence fascinated me. You could live
anywhere in the world – why a recreated castle in Japan?”
The
doctor leaned back, smiling generously.
It had been a question asked many times before. “I was touring the world, personally
supervising the distribution of the M – Plague vaccine and when I arrived for
the first time in Japan, I felt that I had arrived home. I know that this sounds hopelessly naïve but
it true. I’ve even toyed with the idea
of becoming a nationalized citizen.”
“I
never would have guessed.”
“Oh,
yes. As far as my humble abode, ever
since I was a lad, I was a rabid fan of this particular period in Japanese
history. Between my studies in medicine
and biology, I devoured entire texts related to the rise and fall of the
Shoguns and samurai class. Much to the
chagrin of my parents.” His shoulders
shook slightly while he chuckled.
“The
Tokugawa or Edo Period secured a military style rule of relative peace for two
hundred and fifty years. Remarkable, is
it not? Even with all the obvious
flaws: Isolation from the West, clear division of social hierarchy and
convoluted treachery of the ruling class, it also gave birth to extremely
important intellectual and cultural developments some copied and others
unequaled even today.”
“More
that just rabbits and honor.” Sakai mumbled.
“I
beg your pardon?”
“My
apologies,” Sakai tilted his head, “it would seem that in this we are kindred
spirits. Please continue.”
“As
a reward for the eradication of the M – Plague here, the Japanese government
and the Royal Family offered me the chance to relocate here. Normally, I would have refused but when I
made an off the cuff remark about ‘only if I could live in a castle’ they went
so far as to offer to construct it to my specifications.
“Even
generously offering to supply my personal protection. It was one of the reasons the Tokugawa were assigned as my
exclusive security guards. The
government insisted on it but I also admired their passion and courage to
embody that period of time in today’s world.”
We
studied at the Academy that the awarding of that contract made them a force to
be reckoned in the security world. Ramon recalled.
“I
have the greatest respect for them,” Sakai stated evenly, “I wish they could
say the same about others in the profession.”
“Privately
they do. But taking into account the
harsh competition surrounding companies like yours are embroiled in and their
chosen way of life, it is simple to understand why it will never be admitted
publicly.”
“Sir,
if I may change the subject slightly, allow me to be frank. I am at a loss as far as motive for this
attack. My files denote a few rivals
and detractors in your field but nothing serious enough that would warrant the
desire to see you dead.”
The
doctor remained silent for a few moments then replied, “I began to receive
death threats via mail-links a few months ago.
At the time, I refused to grant them even a moment’s notice. Those of us that constantly live under
public scrutiny grow accustomed to them but ignoring them seemed to only make
them more frequent.
“Then
came the damage to equipment and property.
Vehicles were vandalized and threatening phrases sprayed on the castle’s
walls.”
“What
did they say?” Sakai exclaimed.
“Phrases
like: ‘I know your secret’, ‘Your death will reveal the truth’, among other
things.”
Sakai’s
mind went into overdrive. It was all he
could do not to raise his voice in anger, “Sir, why did you not share this
information when I arrived?”
“I
did not think it relative,” the doctor replied nonchalantly.
“Dr.
Vasso, no matter how minor the detail may have seemed to you, everything is
relevant. Is your assistant aware of
the pertinent facts?”
“Certainly.”
“Then
I am afraid I must cut short this wonderful repast and get back to work,” Sakai
moved away from the table and locked eyes with the doctor’s Chief of
Staff. “Matabe-san, may I speak with
you? Please excuse me, doctor.”
The
doctor tilted his head silently, and when his Chief of Staff and new Captain of
the Guard left, he continued with his meal.
#
Silence
reigned at Vasso’s residence. The night
shift went about their duties with hushed efficiency, trying not to disturb the
peaceful atmosphere. But not all the
inhabitants of the castle were enjoying the noiselessness.
For
one particular individual the screams in his mind had become a familiar but
unbearable noise. A cacophony of voices
pleading, begging, and wailing endlessly.
It took an enormous effort to shut them out. It inevitably failed.
Even
when a brief silent window of peace was achieved, the voices would come back,
stronger and louder than the previous time.
Only one thing would assure their silence forever: The corpse of Dr.
Emil Vasso.
A
new security firm had taken over the doctor’s protection. It was a logical move and from what the
assassin had been able to observe closely, the Street Samurai Ramon Sakai would
be a noteworthy opponent.
Yet,
even he could be fooled. It was the
assassin, unseen near the castle’s entrance that scrambled the AIBO’s
controls. Setting up the Tokugawa was
just a red herring.
Laughing
to himself, the assassin welcomed the challenge posed by the Bushido
International employee. For regardless
of any new measures adapted by Sakai, the outcome was unavoidable – a foregone
conclusion. And this time happenstance
had been factored out of the equation.
Suddenly
the assassin paused. Was it possible?
The
voices! They seemed to have slightly
muted their cries. They still could be
heard whispering, murmuring but they were more subdued. The assassin continued with the final
preparations for the assault on Vasso’s castle with renewed vigor.
A
shugyosha for two and a half years, Yoshiro was learning his craft at the Tokyo
satellite office. And while it was the
customary norm before graduation, to him it was a never-ending torture.
Sipping
hot tea from a small porcelain cup, the youthful looking twenty-two year old
admired the way the garden was illuminated by the full moon. Standing beside the wooden steps outside the
master bedroom he could make out the plush leafs of the cherry blossom trees,
the quiet murmur of the various brooks and the garden trail that led eastwards
towards the Buddha shrine forty yards away.
His
parents, aware of his inclinations to become a yojimbo, begged him to join the
Tokugawa but he declined. He hated
those archaic haircuts and dreaded even more dressing up daily as something
from a bygone era. Respecting tradition
is one thing, living by it was another.
Besides, Bushido International had kept its promise exposing its samurai
to different cultures, seeing the world and being on the cutting edge of
today’s technology.
Absentmindedly,
he patted his katana-Z, Black Rain.
Deadlier than a sonic blaster, the hilt of this standard issue Street
Samurai weapon held billions of microscopic nanites swimming in a silvery
metallic substance called “Mercury – Z”.
With a touch of the activation switch, that only recognized the DNA of
its owner, the razor sharp nanites instantly attached themselves magnetically
and formed a meter long, needle-like blade – able to pierce almost anything.
Although
the Tokugawa used a traditional katana, it was coated with a Mercury – Z
polymer, the only substance that could stop a katana- Z blade. Yoshiro heard a rumor that some of the
Tokugawa swords held historical significance.
To
each his own, he
shrugged. When the assignment order
came from Daimyo Murtagh’s samurai, Ramon Sakai, Yoshiro jumped at the chance
to garner experience under the few men fortunate to be supervised by one of
Bushido International’s greatest.
Perhaps,
after everything ended, the esteemed Connor Murtagh would preside over his
graduation ceremony and personally issue his wakizashi.
What an excellent way to
begin his career as a Street Samurai!
#
This
new development with the doctor had taken Ramon totally by surprise. During his interview with Matabe the
vandalism incident was covered in great detail. But why did Sakai feel there was not a genuine sense of alarm,
rather annoyance from Vasso’s assistant?
How can there not be any mention of this incident in the Tokugawa’s
security history file? Was it omitted
on purpose?
Exhaling
heavily, he opened his eyes and focused on what was before him.
The
Street Samurai was in his quarters, sitting on a mat in the lotus position, a
small holo-cube on the floor in front of him showing a rotating humanoid image
and schematics downloaded from his PPC.
It was an artificial shinobi, an ancient Japanese shadow warrior more
commonly referred to as a Ninja.
A
Ninja-bot 3000 series to be precise.
Designed
and built by Tezuka Industries based here in Japan, sponsored by the military
and used primarily for government sanctioned assassination of world leaders in
politically unstable regions. The
Ninja-bots, however, had a short shelve life of only eighteen months before
they were discovered by the World Council of Robotics, outlawed and
decommissioned fifty years ago.
Seventy-five
innocent government workers at a United States embassy in Kenya were massacred
by a 3000 series and the resulting public scandal forced their early
retirement.
Ramon
recognized the pattern of infiltration and attack on the Tokugawa as one from a
Ninja-bot but as he continued to review the file sent to him by his shugyosha,
he also observed that all Ninja-bots had been accounted for and destroyed. While it wasn’t impossible that one
Ninja-bot could have been omitted from inventory or reproduced, there were two
nagging doubts about his theory.
First:
the cloaking device. A Ninja-bot 3000
built with a cloaking device was a stretch but what other explanation was
possible? Second: the attack itself. A 3000 series, once activated, would have left no one alive. It was that fatal programming flaw that
resulted in the Kenya incident. Yet,
this invisible assassin did. Why? If only he could confirm his theory with the
blurred image!
Since
his assignment began, Ramon felt a great unease. At first he believed it was a heightened sense of peril but now
he realized that it was much more than that.
It was a sense of … finality … lacking a better word. So many questions and no time to answer them.
Suddenly,
further reflection was impossible for a flashing light on his sleek desk
demanded his attention. Someone or
something had tripped a silent alarm of one of the hidden motion detectors.
Urgently
he began assembling the package that Mori had reluctantly sent him.
#
If
only the command from Samurai Sakai made sense, Yoshiro mused.
All shugyosha were
explicitly ordered not to deploy their blades if confronted by Vasso’s would be
assassin. He had been briefed about the
previous assault and seen with his own eyes the vid-file with the grounds full
of injured or dying Tokugawa guards.
Yoshiro would comply with the directive but with great misgivings.
Further
doubts were suppressed as the first of the motion detector alarms began to
wail. Immediately, the shugyosha ran to
his post. During an emergency the
samurai-in-training had been assigned inside the doctor's personal quarters and
Vasso had retired for the evening.
Without knocking, Yoshiro slid the bedroom door open, entered and locked
it behind him.
Matabe
was already inside. At first, Vasso’s
assistant resented Yoshiro’s intrusive presence – especially after the bathroom
incident – but now, as the sounds of struggle grew closer, Matabe’s eyes
registered fear then relief as they welcomed the shugyosha’s appearance.
Positioning
himself a few feet in front of the sliding door, Yoshiro observed that the
doctor was not in his bed but on his knees, in the middle of the room, attired
in a white kimono. His eyes closed,
deep in a state of concentration, the doctor was a portrait of serenity and
calm like the eye of a hurricane.
Yoshiro
was about to order him to hide when, suddenly, the bedroom door exploded
catching the shugyosha totally off guard.
The force of the blast threw him roughly on his side. Luckily, he had been far enough away to be
merely shaken and not lose consciousness.
Two
guards were posted at the hallway, what happened to them? Yoshiro cursed to himself. These orders are insane! How can he defend his charge? Regaining his footing, he wiped his eyes
from the cloud of dust and stared at the entrance, waiting for the assassin to
present himself.
A
figure cautiously entered the door. It
was the only way Yoshiro could describe it since all he saw was the slight
disturbance the wake of the intruder’s movement made in the dust cloud. It seemed more like a shimmering ghost,
adapting to the color and shape of anything it came across.
Placing
his body between the figure and the stoic Dr. Vasso, his instincts screamed at
him. Draw it! Yoshiro’s hand squeezed the hilt of Black Rain, his
knuckles turning white.
But
the samurai-in-training realized that the intruder had stopped in his
tracks. It was waiting. Waiting for what? He argued quietly.
Shh
– snit!
The
sound of a katana-Z’s blade deploying made Yoshiro look back at the ruined
doorway. There with Tempest firmly
grasped in his two hands stood Samurai Sakai, over his blue and black uniform
he wore an AE (Adrenaline Enhancement) suit.
Six tiny hoses branched out from a small backpack, each one ran along
Sakai’s extremities, with two smaller ones beside his temples. An adrenaline chemical compound was
administered directly through his skin allowing the wearer the ability to react
with a speed and strength many times greater than normal. A visor and facemask completed the ensemble.
“Over
here!” taunted the Street Samurai.
The
ghost responded with a burst of speed, ignoring Yoshiro and leaping at
Sakai. Finally, the shugyosha
understood his superior’s directive. No
normal human being could ever hope to react as fast or confront such a creature
without help. Only wearing an AE suit
could the odds be evened. But at what
cost? Even he, a novice, heard of the
perils of the AE suit.
The
shugyosha’s task was clear. While Sakai
engaged the assassin, he would evacuate the doctor and his assistant. The novice shook him, “Dr. Vasso! Please sir, come with me!”
So
focused was Yoshiro on escaping with his charge that when Matabe broke a heavy
vase over his head, he was knocked out instantly. Barely enough time for his mind to even register surprise.
#
The
battle between nearly invisible assassin and modern day yojimbo was impossible
to see with the naked eye. Both moved
as blurs, stopping only for fractions of a second before repeatedly engaging
their swords. Sparks flew each time Tempest
and the ghostly killer’s blade met. If
not for the polymer coating, the assassin’s blade would have long been
destroyed.
Sakai
moved the combat away from the bedroom by retreating back into the larger
hallway, leading to the edge of the castle’s garden. He hoped that the shugyosha assigned to Vasso’s quarters had
taken his cue and evacuated the doctor to a safer place. The samurai wished he could confirm it but
distracting his attention anymore from his adversary was inviting an instant
death. Ramon’s visor barely tracked his
opponent!
Suddenly,
Ramon was struck by a small but sharp knife-like spasm. It was pressure from inside his chest
signally that his heart had began to succumb to fatigue. He had to end this fight soon! The AE suit took a great toll on the human
body. This lapse urged Bushido
International Med-staff to ban its use.
The
assassin charged at Sakai. Taking full
advantage of the superior strength provided by the AE suit Sakai executed a
triple somersault and landed away from harm.
The camouflaged killer’s response was to race horizontally across the
castle’s wall, instantly shrinking the distance separating them, while slashing
at the modern yojimbo.
Tempest, however, was ever present, parrying blow after blow
that would have easily been a mortal wound.
Sakai adopted a strategy that was childishly simple. He met whatever attack with an equal
defense. Never pressing offensively and
evading whenever possible. In effect,
stalemating the assassin at every turn.
How
much longer?
As
if the blurry image had read his mind, it paused momentarily, deactivating the
cloaking device that had shielded it from sensors and the naked eye alike. Sakai smiled underneath his face guard, as
his assumption was proven correct. The
killer had been a Ninja-bot 3000 series.
The
robotic assassin was a foot taller than Sakai, its chest cavity slightly wider
than the files he had studied -- it even wore a black cloth kimono. But where his human eyes would be located
only a red glow peered out of its mask.
Giving the artificial being an almost demonic resemblance, instead of
the ancient shadow warrior it was modeled after.
A
Ninja-bot equipped with a cloak!
Amazing!
While
speaking with Mori, Sakai speculated that if in fact he was to confront a
Ninja-bot with a cloaking device that tiny, it would drain copious amounts of
energy to remain camouflaged. The
Street Samurai then gambled that at some point, if engaged long enough, its
programming would choose between decloaking or remaining invisible, exhausting
all its energy and shutting down.
But
then his body shook uncontrollably from another spasm, his face was cold with
sweat and he felt light-headed. His
eyes became harder and harder to focus.
Sakai had only one option available to him. If he failed to anticipate how the Ninja-bot would react …
The
Street Samurai shut off the suit’s adrenaline flow and sheathed Tempest. The pounding of his heart instantly began to
subside to more normal palpitations, his vision and head began to clear.
Once
the Ninja-bot’s scanners confirmed it was not under attack, the robotic
assassin sheathed its own sword, turned and began to walk towards Dr. Vasso’s
bedroom.
I
was right!
Ninja-bots
were taken out of service because their programming failed to distinguish
friend from foe but during the attack on Vasso’s castle Tokugawa were left
alive.
The
common denominator had been the fact that the survivors had been unable to bare
their swords. Whatever programming this
Ninja-bot employed had corrected the flaw of the original one.
That
was the key! Sakai concluded.
Ramon tried to chase
after the robot but lost strength in his legs and fell on his knees. His breathing was labored, his entire body
felt exhausted and sluggish. Reaching
into his pocket with a shaky hand, he found a blue pill.
This
stimulant will jump-start my body, he noted as he swallowed, letting the pill
take its effect. Precious seconds
passed but the wave of weakness lifted.
Ramon leaped from the ground back to full strength.
He
reached Vasso’s just in time to witness a chilling scene. With its blade held over the doctor’s head,
the Ninja-bot was ready to deliver the final blow.
#
“Now?”
implored a voice in the shadows.
“No
you fool, not now!” rebuked another.
“We need to see how this plays out.”
“But
----”
“Enough!”
the other broke in. “Or I’ll kill you
myself.”
#
“Musashi!”
shouted Ramon.
The
response was immediate as a realistic holographic image of the Samurai Saint, a
large wooded oar in his hands and poised to attack, appeared in the doctor’s
bedroom. It was one of the surprises he
had forced the Techno’s to install into the castle’s main security system by
adapting the virtual suit he had accidentally brought with him from the Sim –
room.
The
artificial ninja’s programming forced it to ignore its target and scan the
immediate threat. Just the distraction
Ramon needed!
In
concert with a running leap, the Street Samurai crossed his right arm at the
elbow and grasped Northwind.
Pivoting clockwise in mid air, he deployed both swords simultaneously
with his katana – Z leading the charge.
Sakai’s
battle cry filled the master bedroom as Tempest slashed downwards,
meeting the mechanical assassin’s sword.
While the robotic assassin’s central processor was swift enough to
determine that the Musashi image was benign and prepared itself to meet Ramon’s
attack, it was unable to compensate for Northwind.
The
modern yojimbo’s left arm snaked out and impaled the point of the wakizashi
into the robot’s neck. Sparks flew and
bluish lubricant sprayed out from underneath the pierced artificial “skin” as
the mechanical assassin staggered, mortally wounded.
The
Street Samurai was relentless as he pressed his offensive cleaving off the
mechanized ninja’s sword arm. The once
mute robot howled as a banshee as it tried to move away from Vasso’s bodyguard. With an almost invisible stroke, Tempest decapitated
the murderous robot, its open neck bursting with tendrils of energy and
lubricant fluid. The head rolled and
bounced on the hardwood bedroom floor, while the mutilated torso twitched and
fell like a human body in midst of its death throes.
“No!”
screamed Matabe suddenly. “NO!”
Ramon
spun just in time to avoid the Chief of Staff’s dagger. Grabbing Matabe’s slender wrist, he wrenched
it and the knife fell to the floor with the thin man following suit.
“It
was you all along,” Sakai spat. “You
were trying to murder the doctor.”
“No,
no! It wasn’t that. You don’t understand,” Matabe whined, “I
wasn’t trying to kill him. You are!”
“You’re
insane!”
“Not
… in …sane.”
Upon
hearing a soft, female sounding voice, Ramon froze. It had come from the head of the Ninja-bot. With its hood removed by the roll on the
floor, Sakai could clearly see what was underneath. The body of the mechanical assassin may have been that of a
Ninja-bot 3000 but its head was that of a Nana-bot.
“How
is this possible?” Sakai gasped.
“Vasso
… cre …a …tor,” came the stammered response.
“Re … demp …tion. Re….” The robot grew silent as the bright light
from its doe-like round eyes slowly faded.
“Redemption? Creator?”
Sakai turned to Matabe. “What is
going on here? Answer me!”
“Nana-bots
are programmed to safeguard human life, Ninja-bots to take it,” droned the
Chief of Staff, “the conflicting programs of this hybrid created by the doctor
were combined. That is why it only
attacks and kills immediate threats.”
“What
did it mean by redemption?” Sakai insisted.
“For
sometime now the world governments have been meeting in secret, forced to
address the drain on Earth's limited resources. When the cherished hope of colonizing other worlds finally proved
itself too expensive to become a reality, the United African States offered to
develop a method to help reduce the ever-increasing population.
“With
the success of Moncrief Syndrome fresh in the scientific communities’ mind, the
doctor was assigned the task. And he
succeeded beyond everyone’s wildest dreams.
He created the M – plague.”
“Impossible! Dr. Emil Vasso, crusader for human rights,
responsible for one of the world’s most vile and deadliest disease? I refuse to
believe it,” Sakai roared.
“The
original intent was a benign contraceptive but Vasso discovered that once in a
patient’s bloodstream and when exposed to oxygen during intercourse, the
chemical compound mutated. It brought
irrevocable sterility to both partners, in some cases even death.
“Commoners
or non-people, people with disabilities, abnormalities, beggars and prostitutes
were used during the initial phases.
When the implications of the first results became evident Vasso brought
it to the attention of his superiors.
He was rewarded with laughter.
They were content that he had created a form of “hierarchy-cleansing” as
the government chose to label it. The
purpose was to reduce the population and those non-persons certainly qualified
as surplus.
“As
word secretly leaked out, the African government could not supply the nations
requesting the drug fast enough. The
doctor knew that it was nothing less than sanctioned murder but he was
powerless to detain it.
“Only
when the plague spread out of control and birth rates began to decline in an
outbreak similar to the AIDS epidemic in the 1980s, affecting the previously
untouched, privileged classes was an alarm raised.
“In
little more than a decade after first distributing the drug, emergency rooms
and hospitals filled with the “anonymous disease” with patients now showing
leper-like disfigurations, a sign of the plague’s further mutation. The doctor worked feverishly to find a
vaccine. If it could not restore
fertility at least it would stave off death.
“By
the time he perfected the cure, the loss of life was staggering. In the end seven million people died, twenty
two million, scarred or sterile. Those
were the longest years, the guilt compounding itself with every passing
day. Vasso opted to name the plague
after a homeless man that had been the first recorded fatality.
“The
doctor traveled and supervised the distribution of the vaccine. Every man, woman and child regardless of
their social standing was inoculated. During
that tour he surprised his government by deciding to stay and live here in
Japan. For him it was a self-imposed
exile.
“And
as far as the public knew the M – plague was a potent sexually transmitted
disease that caused impotence, disfiguration or death.”
“Doctor?”
Ramon pleaded, “Is this true?”
“He
can’t respond.”
“Is
he dead?”
“No. He administered a neural paralyzing agent,”
Matabe whispered. “It slows down brain
and body functions.”
“But
why…”
“To
await the release of death,” Matabe murmured.
“The grief buried inside him scarred him. He suffered through deep bouts of depression and his mind
defended itself the only way it could by disassociating itself from his
reprehensible acts. His depression
turned into madness and from this abyss a second personality emerged.
“This
Emil Vasso was more pro-active and daring.
It was this side of his personality that greeted you when you first
arrived. It was this facet of his mind
that vandalized the castle and wrote those cryptic messages. He also taught himself robotics and created
the Ninja/Nana-bot hybrid. During
dinner you witnessed his true personality.
Only I who have served him for so long could notice the subtle
changes.”
The
Street Samurai tilted his head slightly, then walked to recover his wakizashi,
which had rolled near a bedroom wall.
“Something is still not clear.
Why the suicide attempt masked as an assassination? Why take even more innocent lives, unless
there were others that knew the truth.”
“Others?”
Matabe queried, “Who ---”
Ramon’s
stuck so suddenly that Matabe jumped with fright. The samurai’s sword penetrated the bedroom wall, cutting through
the wood effortlessly and stabbing the person, his senses had perceived,
stalking behind it.
Motioning
with his hand for the Chief of Staff to remain where he was, he walked through
the ruined doorframe. Ramon knew what
waited for him on the outside --- he finally understood everything.
Hatsu’s
corpse with a frown of anger etched on his face lay in the hallway. Further towards the castle’s garden,
Ichinobei stood surrounded by ten Tokugawa, all with their katanas drawn.
“You
cannot imagine how many times I reminded that fool to control his impetuous
nature or it would be the death of him,” the ex-captain of the Guard said
flatly.
“The
final piece of the puzzle has fallen into place,” Ramon stated. “Obviously the African government wished to
maintain their thin veil of secrecy.
But when the doctor chose to live in Japan they feared the worst. Imagine the repercussions if he one day
confessed his sins outside of their circle of influence and the entire world
discovered that they had sponsored the scourge of the twenty-second century.
“So
they “cut a side deal”, as they used to say, with the Tokugawa. You were not just protecting the doctor –
you were really protecting the secret of the M – plague.”
“Just
a deal with the Tokugawa?” boasted Ichinobei.
“How little you know.”
Sakai was stunned. That remark implied forehand knowledge from
the Japanese government as well.
“That
explains why Vasso’s other personality constructed a Ninja/Nana-bot to kill
himself. Once he realized that he
wasn’t in a self-imposed exile but under arrest, ordering it to attack the
castle invited public and media scrutiny.
Giving him a legitimate reason to involve my company. But why didn’t the governments implicated
just kill him? Dead men don’t tell
tales.”
“The
doctor’s mind,” replied Ichinobei, “even addled, was worth more than ten sane
ones. Isn’t the robot proof
enough? Had we been ordered
otherwise….”
The
ex-captain of the guard let the sentence fall adding, “After witnessing your
skill during our first encounter I acquainted myself with your career. Tell me.
Were you bluffing when you threatened to destroy the train the terrorist
captured? Even if it meant that people
in Chicago would have starved to death?”
“Your
question insults me,” Ramon argued, “Bushi are bound to duty.”
“No,”
Ichinobei snapped, “Tokugawa are Bushi -- true Samurai! You are travesties, vile bastardizations of
our once pure and unique culture. Your
arrival here gave the Edo Conglomerate the opportunity to discredit your
organization once and for all.”
With
Tempest held in both hands, diagonally up over his right shoulder, the
Street Samurai prepared his invisible “circle of defense” and his method of
attack. With the possibility of more
men laying in wait to ambush him, retreat into the castle was out of the
question. Ramon had no other choice
than to reduce the number of his opponents here before he could make his stand
at the specific he spot he had prepared.
“You
realize,” the ex-captain of the guard pledged, “that you will not leave this
castle alive.”
“And
you forget what I mentioned earlier.” Ramon jeered, “my actions speak louder
than my words.”
Without
warning, the first wave of Tokugawa leaped at the Street Samurai. Both samurai grinned confidently as their
katanas stabbed at Ramon.
Tempest’s response was a burst of rapid motion, the thin
foil-like blade slashing in the form of a horizontal figure eight. Their grins disappeared, replaced with an
astonished look now frozen on their faces.
Both samurai were dead before they hit the ground.
Ramon
then roared and charged at the other Tokugawa, his movements reminiscent of
old-style fencing. Inchinobei and his
men, caught by surprise, moved backwards and the Street Samurai took full
advantage of their hesitation. Again
the katana-Z scored a fatal blow on the nearest Tokugawa unable to parry swift
enough.
A
curt nod with his head, Ichinobei signaled four of the Tokugawa to break off
and surround their formidable opponent.
None of the combatants wasted energy by talking, speech now would be an
unnecessary distraction. For the span
of a heartbeat, each swordsman stood poised waiting for the other to move.
In
a blink of an eye, Ichinobei suddenly found himself skipping backward, again
dodging a cunning stab to his chest but Ramon’s attack was a feint for the
Street Samurai then spun 180 degrees, sweeping Tempest in a downwards
spiral angled left and right. The two
Tokugawa that tried to approach him from behind fell lifeless.
With
a path now cleared Ramon leaped over the two dead Tokugawa, and sprinted on the
narrow garden trail leading towards the one place he knew his enemies could not
surround him.
He
arrived at a small arched wooded bridge connecting to the doctor’s recreation
of a Buddha shrine, a gazebo-like wooden structure with a statute of the
founder of Sangha surrounded by a six-foot wide moat, just as one of the
quickest Tokugawa came within arm’s reach.
Spinning
Tempest around Ramon hoped to catch him unawares and eliminate another
combatant but this opponent was ready.
He parried Sakai’s blow, mounting a deadly counter attack. For a few seconds both fighters were locked
in a duel of deadly charges, stabs and sudden retreats.
The
deadlock broke when, after a feint stab at the Tokugawa’s head, Sakai arched
his blade below the waist, then up -- scoring a blow against the other’s
chest. The samurai fell but Ramon
accidentally hit his wrist against the bridge’s wooden guardrail, the sharp
pain loosening his grip on Tempest, which fell into the moat.
Ichinobei
and his remaining men were approaching too rapidly for Sakai to make an attempt
and retrieve it. The Street Samurai had
just enough time to pick up the dead Tokugawa’s sword and cross the bridge.
Now
with the religious icon behind him and the small bridge serving as its only access
he could defend himself from further attacks.
The Tokugawa shook their katanas and screamed curses at him but dared
not cross the bridge. Just as he
surmised Ichinobei would not desecrate such a sacred symbol by hiding men in or
around it.
“Coward!”
Ichinobei howled from the other side of the bridge, “come back and face us!”
“I’m a coward yet you
‘bravely’ come after me with ten men,” Ramon replied as he reached into his
pocket and pulled out an AIBO remote.
It was Sakai’s second surprise.
The ex-captain of the guard’s eyes opened with shock as the Street
Samurai activated the device and the whine of a hover engine filled the
air. From behind the shrine a
camouflaged trap door opened and a polished brown and black striped sphere
rose, its lights shining a brilliant red.
The
more sturdy Boxer class, the yojimbo mused.
With its pincers already extended, it attacked.
Livid
with rage, Ichinobei boldly raced across the bridge as the AIBO’s pincers
fired. The lethal electrical charge missed
him, striking the remaining Tokugawa and shocking them senseless.
“Blasphemy! You disgrace the Buddha’s shrine to achieve
victory,” Ichinobei spat, “Truly, your soul is a wasteland without honor.”
“Didn’t
Master Sun-tzu say, ‘Attack where they are unprepared. Go forth where they will not expect it?’”
Ramon shrugged as he let the AIBO remote fall, “Tokugawa hold the past as
sacrosanct --- their greatest attribute and their greatest weakness. I don’t need extra men or a robot to defeat
you.”
Sakai
held the borrowed katana firmly above his head. His eyes spoke volumes.
Both men knew there was only one way this would end.
The
Tokugawa captain allowed himself a fleeting glance at the starry night,
marveling at the celestial beauty. What
had he read once? Ah, yes. “A man is a
small thing and the night is very large and full of wonders”.
Returning
Sakai’s penetrating gaze, both men nodded.
Then without wasting any more precious time Tokugawa and Street Samurai
ran towards each other.
#
Imbedding
the borrowed katana on the ground next to where Ichinobei’s head had landed,
Ramon retrieved Tempest from the moat, ordering the AIBO to search the
grounds for signs of any more Tokugawa.
Minutes later the robot guard dog reported that the castle was free of
intruders. Sakai knew that would not
last for long. The Edo Conglomerate
would waste little time calling reinforcements unless he acted fast.
With
his PPC he notified Mori to advise the Shogun and Daimyo Murtagh of the
situation and to also contact the United States Embassy at Neo-Tokyo. Also he ordered that a Bushido Retrieval
Team be scrambled to Vasso’s residence immediately.
Sakai walked through the
castle, surveying first hand the results of the attack from the Ninja-bot. He confirmed that all shugyosha except for
the unconscious Yoshiro were dead. Upon
reaching the doctor’s bedroom he saw Matabe huddled in a corner trembling
uncontrollably. A nervous breakdown?
Possibly, Ramon concluded.
It certainly wasn’t hard to imagine a man like the Chief of Staff
unaccustomed to witnessing so much violence and death.
Sakai found a medical
glove on the floor and activated the auto-scan to determine how much longer the
doctor had to live. There was a slim
chance the Retrieval Team could reverse the neural agent. Vasso’s eyes slowly moved and stared
directly at Ramon. A murmur not unlike
labored breathing escaped the doctor’s lips.
The samurai believed that it was the agent finally shutting down his
lungs but the glove said differently.
Again
Ramon heard the doctor make a sound.
Was it a word? Although almost
completely paralyzed the doctor was attempting to communicate something to him. Ramon kneeled closer in order to hear
it. “E … man … ci … pa …tionnnnnnnn –”
Emancipation!
Sakai
shuddered. The outcome, if he took it,
played itself in his mind. Ramon
paused, taking stock of the revelations of the past hours, realizing that in an
ironic twist of fate, accomplishing his mission – in effect -- wrenched away
the doctor’s chance for atonement.
Matabe was right.
Images
of the doctor caring for the sick in remote parts of the world and being
arrested with protestors with Amnesty International for the release of tortured
political prisoners flooded Sakai’s mind.
A man of peace, devoted entirely to serving his fellow man.
That’s
why he specifically asked for me. He
understood and respected my personal belief that a Street Samurai’s
responsibility to a client did not end simply because the more immediate threat
had been prevented. What was that old
motto, “To serve and protect?”
He
wishes to die with dignity. With
honor. His soul unburdened by the
weight of the albatross that was not his creation. Emancipation.
Oh,
Mori. I’m sorry, he mourned sadly.
But I must do this. I must.
“Rabbits
and honor, ” the samurai shouted, “So be it.”
Yoshiro
had just begun to regain consciousness, shaking his head to clear it, when he
saw Ramon Sakai’s sword descend on the doctor.
Days turned into weeks,
weeks into months as the investigation into the murder of Dr. Emil Vasso
dragged on. The Japanese government,
the United African States, the United States of America and other countries
even indirectly involved demanded separate inquiries. The Edo Conglomerate took advantage of the opportunity and sued
to close Bushido International operations.
Throughout
the entire ordeal Ramon Sakai remained firm in his assertions on Vasso’s mental
deterioration, the truth about the M-Plague and the conspiracy to withhold the
secret. Media-Vids bombarded daily
newscasts with minute to minute updates of the repercussions stemming from
Japanese and African government involvement.
The
trail of evidence led investigators to many high level officials across the
globe and some committed suicide before accepting subpoenas mandating their
presence before the seemingly endless committees. Whenever possible, the Shogun of Bushido International and Daimyo
Murtagh accompanied Ramon and served as character witnesses.
#
Sitting
on a bench outside a conference room, in a gray painted corridor at Bushido
International -West HQ, Ramon smiled slowly as he accepted the warm, supporting
touch of his shugyosha’s soft hand.
The
entire situation began to wind down.
All, except the Japanese and African investigating committees - of
course - found no fault with Sakai’s conduct.
Thanks
to the Edo Conglomerate lawsuit, there had been some fallout against Bushido
International in the form of some cancelled contracts and negative publicity. But Edo’s legal action to close the security
firm was bogged down in the courts and the rumor was that the case was heading
nowhere. Still, Ramon realized that his
company would be forced to take disciplinary action against him in order to
disavow his actions.
The
choices were: summarily fired for exceeding his authority in taking the
doctor’s life or his record of service would be taken into account and he would
be demoted to a “ronin” status. This
meant he would be assigned cases solely on a temporary basis and authorized to
use and wear his katana – Z and wakizashi only during duty.
Sakai
became a living incarnation of the ancient fable of the man who fell from a
cliff, holding himself by a fragile strawberry branch with two hungry tigers,
one on top, one below, waiting for him to fall. And like that hapless character Sakai stood on the brink of
losing everything, his name to be forever synonymous with failure. Despite outward appearances, barely holding
on to his composure and sanity.
Padilla
watched him closely with just a tiny measure of sadness, her face beamed more
with pride and why not? Throughout the
entire ordeal her mentor had acted with nothing less than steely determination,
honor and grace.
Such
a modern man in many ways, yet so old fashioned in many others. Of course, she had known since the very
beginning that he was in love with her but she never took the first step
towards acknowledging it. Somehow she
sensed that unless he did, he would rebuff her. It wasn’t an act of pride on his part. Simply, it was a 20th century show of respect for her
as a woman and shugyosha.
Even
now, if he chose to keep his ‘secret’ from her, she would respect his
wishes. As far as she was concerned he
still and always would be the best of Bushido International, the samurai that
others would measure themselves against.
“Ramon
Sakai enter,” the booming voice of the Shogun came out of the intercom. He dutifully rose from the bench, turning
momentarily to face his soon to be ex-shugyosha. Of that he was certain.
In fact, this was possibly the last time that he could be alone with her
while wearing the Bushido International uniform.
But
now Ramon did not purposely turn away from her gaze and instead drank in her
brown eyes, the smell of her perfume.
For a fleeting moment he allowed his mind to wander to a happier time
and place. The moment they first met
and he felt his heart skip a beat. The
first time he fell in love.
He
had to do it and now -- timing be damned.
Ramon reached for her, his hands tenderly framing her face and sighed,
“I love you. I always have.”
Sakai
kissed her and she happily returned his passion.
The
ordeals and tribulations of the past months melted away in the embrace of the
woman he had desired secretly for so long.
Time froze and his impending fate seemed a million years away. The young samurai almost fooled himself into
believing they could stay forever within this state of bliss.
Everything
would be fine as long as he traced his finger across her strong jaw line, felt
her warm body snuggled closely and recognized the palpitations of her heart
against his chest. It was everything he
had wished … he had dreamt of … and more.
He
struggled to break their embrace, stark reality cruelly dissipating the
delicate illusion of eternity. Yet even within this moment of despair, the
unselfish love he was experiencing had been the sweetest fruit he had ever
tasted.
“I
have to go.” He murmured.
“I
know,” she purred sadly, caressing his cheek sending ripples of warmth throughout
his body. Her eyes then locked with his
and she added, “No matter what happens in there, no matter what they do,
remember this: I’ll be waiting.”
With
that promise, with that hope alive in his heart, a bowed but reinvigorated
Ramon Sakai, Street Samurai, opened the conference room doors. Fearless now he strode inside, ready to face
his fate.
Ready
to pay the price of honor.