Grey Ronin (The Awakened Book 3) Page 19

  “It will go about one hundred sixty kilometers and veer west to throw them off.”

  “Those things don’t have autopilot, how did―”

  “That one does now.” Mamoru grinned. “It is merely a matter of software.”

  “Hah. I never even noticed you plug in.”

  Mamoru raised both eyebrows. “You did not notice me plug in because I did not plug in.”

  Darl Ulys held his arm out to the side. “You are truly gifted, my friend. This way.”

  The beleaguered former detainees shuffled off in single file. Mamoru fell in step to the left of the line. Some bore bruises from interrogations that went too far, and most looked in dire need of food. Only Pria seemed in good spirits, almost chipper. She reminded him of Sadako for a moment in height and hair color, though the NSK ninja was never that upbeat. At least, not that he could remember.

  Young and clueless, no wonder they went easy on her.

  Walking a hair over six kilometers in thin Martian air caused numerous fainting spells and a handful of rest breaks. The prowler only had two re-breather masks, which got passed among the group. Mamoru added the one he obtained to the rotation, not eager to inhale the taste of rubber again. The air was decent enough for a healthy person to weather the trip.

  Before long, a third of their number could no longer walk and those who still could carried them. When it seemed the bulk were ready to collapse, their leaders brought the group to a halt by an unassuming rocky outcropping. Darl and two other men climbed over it, searching.

  “Clear,” yelled a voice from within a large cleft on the southeastern face.

  People backed away as a heavy thud rumbled the ground. Dust blasted from the rock face and the stone split along a man-made seam. Machinery groaned in protest as it pushed open a small sealed door bearing a thousand pounds of rock on long, curved hinges. The escapees went in one at a time, with Darl entering last, after waving Mamoru through.

  A ladder occupied almost all of the tiny space inside, wobbling under the weight of six people. Mamoru climbed down, pausing to look up as the closing door cut off the stars. In the room below, weak chem lights sprouted up here and there, bathing the area in a lime glow. Some of the former prisoners broke down in sobs finally accepting they were free, and others tore through old lockers and boxes searching for any provisions stashed in the tunnel.

  Sand and grit blasted over the assembled crowd when the other exit to the underground chamber opened. Full-density air flooded the room, bringing with it the licked-dirt taste of the Martian underground.

  Mamoru grumbled at the reminder of how far away from home he was.

  Darl announced a short break while those who were exhausted from the weak atmosphere outside regained strength. A man unearthed a case of silver dry-ration packs, which he handed out among the group. The married pair held each other, Pria bounced around hugging everyone, and several of the others slept. Mamoru used the time to meditate, thankful at least that the strange demons which plagued him back on Earth had thus far seemed incapable of following him.

  About an hour after they arrived in the safe room, Darl called for them to move out. A short hallway led to a tunnel of dirt and rock, braced every twenty meters by plastisteel beams. They walked into the dark for what felt like an eternity, yet no one complained. With each step through familiar surroundings, their freedom became more real. Mamoru followed at a respectful distance, occasionally stooping under a damaged bracing strut. The joyous murmurings of the people ahead of him blurred in his mind as he pondered the potential value of Garrison’s information.

  Seeking Refuge

  amoru leaned against the wall, accepting some unknown woman’s offer of warm tea. It was not his usual fare, and it most certainly did not appear to be grey despite what she called it, but it would have been rude to decline. Amid the disturbance caused by the arrival of thirty brothers in arms, Caiden stirred in his bunk. Tired eyes stayed open for a second before he slumped into the ragged cloth. The boy shot upright as Mamoru took a sip of the strange tea.

  “Mamoru!” he croaked, his brain more awake than the rest of him. “You’re back.” He staggered over, almost falling twice. “What happened? Did you have to kill anyone? Did you blow anything up?”

  Mamoru guided him with one hand on a shoulder back to bed. “I will tell you in the morning. You are so tired you would not remember now. Go to sleep.”

  Caiden pouted, but was unable to put up much resistance, and curled on his side in bed as close as he could to the edge. He mumbled incoherencies resembling questions for a few minutes. Mamoru glanced over the cup at him, gripped by a sudden awkwardness from Caiden’s obvious attachment.

  He drained the remaining tea in one gulp as Osebi ducked in through a door too short for him.

  “Garrison asked if he could meet with you in the morning. He is trying to accommodate those you have returned to us.”

  Mamoru set the cup on the table and glanced at the boy. “I suppose I, too, could use some rest. Would it be acceptable to use one of these bunks?”

  Osebi waved at the room. “Aye, sleep wherever you care to.”

  Both of the spaces with still-functioning Comforgel pads had people in them. Mamoru let off an inaudible grumble, draped his coat on the back of a chair, and unhooked his sword from his belt. He sat on the edge of one of the lower cloth-packed bunks on the south wall and removed his shoes. The chamber was larger than the space in the coffin motel, though it lacked a built in terminal and closable door. With the katana nestled between him and the inner wall, he closed his eyes and sought the calm of meditation.

  Mamoru woke with the sense of being watched. His eyes snapped open, startling Caiden who had pulled a chair up close to his bunk, staring him as if he were a holo-vid movie. When the child’s shock faded, he grinned and held up a plastic tray.

  “I made you something. You got chicken at the place, so I picked that. You didn’t like the fries, so I didn’t add them.”

  Mamoru’s gaze flicked from the boy’s broad grin to a lump of beige material on a bun. It vaguely resembled a fried, breaded chicken cutlet; however, it looked as if it was melting and glistened like slime. The bread, too, had a gelatinous sheen.

  He made eye contact again. “Thank you.”

  Caiden waited for him to sit up and handed him the tray. The most frightening thing about the ‘meal’ in front of him was that it smelled like chicken. He shot an imperious frown, one worthy of Minamoto, at the offering. The boy laughed at the way it jiggled, as if afraid.

  “Is it okay? I made it a little bit ago, but it usually takes an hour to turn back into OmniSoy.”

  Mamoru nodded and seized the sandwich before it could deteriorate further. Visions of servants being slapped to the floor for putting two millimeters too much sake in a cup, and other minor infractions, danced through his head as he bit down. His teeth closed around a mass of semisolid ooze with a chemical impression laced with bread, cheese, and chicken. It tasted like dense pudding flavored in ways no one had ever intended pudding to be flavored.

  It brought him back to the first time Nami had attempted to prepare his food. As the daughter of a prestigious employee, she spent her entire life on the receiving end of servants’ work. Absolute terror shone in her eyes as Mamoru appraised her piteous offering. Before he could say one word, she fell to her knees and begged him not to kill her. Those who had prepared her for a new life as someone’s property cautioned some samurai would slay her if she committed a grievous enough mistake. He sighed, trying to put the sight of her like that out of his mind. At the time, he didn’t let it bother him. Now, he felt no better than the MDF troops who had almost killed Caiden.

  Nothing she ever made was as much an atrocity as whatever this thing is I am eating right now.

  That night, Nami learned she was fortunate―fate had given her a kind master.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  The small voice dispelled his dreams of his old home. He felt a bit like a
boy himself at that moment, missing the security of his old life.

  “I am thinking of home.” Mamoru spoke in a flat tone, bracing for another bite.

  “Oh.” Caiden looked dejected. “Back on Earth, right?”

  “Yes.” Do not think of what this substance is. He squinted at the boy for guilting him into eating the OmniSoy horror.

  “Do you think I could go with you?”

  Mamoru almost choked. He swallowed what was in his mouth and patted himself a few times. “You would not like it where I live. My society does not regard those born elsewhere as equals. They would mistake you for a kabuki actor, or taikomochi.”

  “Huh?”

  “Look,” said Mamoru, reaching out to grasp the boy’s hand. “You are white like snow. People will assume you are wearing face paint.” He found himself frowning at the bone thin appendage. “Your life here is cruel, but it would not improve where I am from.”

  “It’s okay if people don’t trust me there. At least they won’t want to kill me.” Caiden failed to produce a convincing smile through his disappointment.

  “It is not fair what has been done to you, or your mother.” Mamoru let go of his hand and stood, gathering his coat. “Being close to me would only expose you to more things you do not deserve.”

  Caiden sulked.

  “I will answer your question from last night and tell you of the prison break.”

  He perked up. “Okay.”

  The boy did not notice the last third of the chicken sandwich had degenerated to a quarter-inch layer of beige ooze. While putting his coat on, Mamoru slid the plate onto the empty spool serving as a table. The retelling of the attack on the prison camp occupied the majority of the walk back to the room where he had met Garrison the other day. Mamoru did not soften the details, but confined the deaths to simple statements that spared his young follower the gore.

  Caiden seemed thrilled and worried in equal parts, listening with rapt attention until the story ended. He studied the ground for a moment in silence. Several cots had been set up in the last stretch of hallway before their destination, where the weaker ex-prisoners rested. Hands emerged from blankets, eager to wave, touch, or greet Mamoru. Caiden appeared about to speak, but at the sight of the injured, he remained quiet.

  Garrison looked up from the desk at the squeak of the door. Mamoru bowed again, a slight gesture one gives to acknowledge one of lesser status, to which the man nodded. The giant with the metal arm snored on a cot at the back of the office behind a teal medical curtain. Mamoru raised an eyebrow at an arrangement of plasfilm posters on the wall over the bed. Aside from one blonde, tan swimsuit model, the rest of them had images of boy-band stars, the sort of things a tween girl might hang.

  Caiden saluted Garrison, who returned it.

  “Welcome back, Mamoru. I had intended for you to find the encampment. I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “There was insufficient time. At least half of your people would have been executed before you could have mobilized an effective strike. They considered the prisoners of ‘minimal intelligence value.’”

  “Still,” said Garrison, walking around the desk with an outstretched hand. “That was damn fine work.”

  Mamoru accepted the handshake as if gripping a slab of spoiled meat. “I do not understand your society’s fascination with physical contact.”

  “Neither do I.” Garrison laughed. “I’m… I never expected such a fortunate outcome. Only six of the original squad died.” He studied the desk for a few seconds, tapping his fingers. “There’s so much good you could do for us here, Mamoru. I know you have affairs to settle back on the blue ball, but if you ever find yourself in need of a place to be, we would be honored to have you.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Garrison.”

  “I will give you the information you need. Would you be willing to do one more small favor?”

  Mamoru’s eyes did not belay his irritation. “I am pressed for time.”

  Garrison held his hands up. “No, no. This will not take any additional time. The place you are looking for, Araphel, is a hidden city tucked in the canyons of the Scandia depression.”

  Caiden edged closer to Mamoru.

  “The place is dangerous… hostile. The air’s good due to the downdraft from the North Pole, but it’s chaotic as hell. They got all the terraforming stuff set up on the caps, and for whatever reason, the wind tears through that area, enough to strip the paint from a prowler. Makes it nine shades of hell to fly anything through there. Fortunately, the UCF thinks it’s the middle of nowhere. I’d like you to take Caiden with you.”

  Mamoru blinked.

  Caiden shivered. “Why?”

  “Some sources we have inside the Defense Force tell us their commanders believe he killed those three officers.”

  “That’s dustblow!” blurted Caiden. “There’s no way I could have. I was cuffed! I’m only ten. I don’t even have a sword.”

  Garrison leaned on the desk with both hands. “I know, Cay. It doesn’t make any sense. Our friend here didn’t show up on any of their video streams. They don’t claim to know how you did it. They were hoping to ask you.”

  “If they think I killed police officers, they’re not gonna try and get me alive… Even if I am only a kid.”

  “That’s likely.” Garrison pursed his lips, sending a sad stare at the desk for a few seconds. “You can’t stay here. There’s too much going on for any of us to look out for you.”

  Caiden looked up with an indignant face, as if about to launch into a justification of his usefulness, but deflated.

  “I will take him.” Mamoru bowed. “Since I am going there already, it is no imposition. The boy clearly cannot remain here.”

  Small white hands kneaded Mamoru’s dark shirt. Caiden looked up at him, trying to force a smile through his fear.

  “Stay close,” muttered Mamoru while guiding the boy along the street leading to Aperture 2.

  He made a sour face as he held on. “I feel like a clingy little girl.”

  Mamoru smiled. “You are shaking like one. You have a thin face and large eyes. If your hair was longer, you’d look like one.”

  Caiden glared at him, but broke up laughing from nerves. “No big deal, right? Only all the police in the entire city want me dead.”

  “They will not touch you.”

  “Uh, Mamoru… I know you’re a badass and all, but they’re the police. They have lasers and stuff. Your sword isn’t gonna kill someone a thousand meters away.”

  “This city is dense. Few places afford them that sort of range.” He hesitated at the end of the street, watching the courtyard.

  Caiden looked up and twisted to peer behind them. “They’ll be up on top of the high towers where they could see the whole city.”

  “Then stop looking up.”

  He ducked, huddled against Mamoru’s side.

  “You are right. You cling like a frightened girl child.” He kept his face serious long enough to get the boy to scowl at him before grinning. “Do you have a credit stick?”

  He rummaged through his pockets. “Yeah, one, but its only got three creds left. Can’t even buy dirt with that.”

  Mamoru took the tiny device, closing it in his fist. He opened his mind to the circuitry within. The world around him changed, becoming a neat one-room office. A faceless mannequin sat behind a desk wearing a black suit traced with a hairline grid of sparkling green threads. On the wall to the figure’s left, a round old-style bank vault door opened to white shelves. They were barren, except for three miniscule silver flakes. The other side had an enormous red button.

  “Do not step past the yellow line, user. It is a violation of international law to tamper with the contents of an ICFC virtual node.”

  “What is ICFC?” asked Mamoru, feigning ignorance.

  The faceless figure stood, head tilting as if to stare at a glowing yellow line inches from where the unoccupied samurai armor floated.

  “The InterTrust Com
merce Facilitation Corp―”

  As soon as the information routine ran, Mamoru’s right gauntlet stretched sixteen feet out to touch the mannequin’s chest. The logic conundrum of him being inside without entering the node dropped its rote recitation to a warbling stutter. Cyberspace, at least the tiny slice of it within the credstick, lacked the processing power to delineate a difference between him tampering with the program and exerting his psionic power on the hardware. Ordinary hacking would have left him butting heads with a grade eight firewall represented by an invisible force wall in line with the yellow glow. The credstick’s microprocessor had no exception handling for Mamoru’s ability to effect alterations to program code with a thought.

  The banker program construct detected something happened that should not; however, because the barrier remained untouched, it did not need to self-destruct. Armored fingers plunged like daggers through the now-liquid chest of the mannequin as if displacing gooey tar. The body jerked about as if electrocuted while Mamoru’s mind filled with thousands of lines of words, numbers, and symbols. He experienced it as a collection of intent and function rather than strings of discrete symbols. Here, in the isolated safety of a credstick’s virtual world, he was free from the monitoring of the ICFC. Pumping up the balance of a credstick would go unnoticed, unless he spent large sums of manufactured money in one shot.

  An avalanche of silver chips flooded the vault as a blizzard of mercury raged. When he was done, Mamoru opened his eyes. Mere seconds passed in the real world. Ten fingers tried to drill into his arm.

  “What?” asked Mamoru, glancing down at the lockjaw panic on the boy’s face.

  “Your arm was on fire. I could see it, even in the daylight.”

  Concern tinged his voice as he looked at the crowd. “Did anyone else notice?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good.”

  He opened his hand. A tiny blue on blue display screen read twenty million credits.

  Caiden stared, teetering on the verge of passing out. “H-holy shit. How did you do that?”