Svaha, page 27
"Giri. "
The oyabun shook his head. "Your michi runs only along the paths that I dictate, Hirose-san. Put that blade away."
"You had Phillip Yip killed?"
"Hai, so desu." Yes, that's right.
"And my mother?"
"Baka! Are you…mad?"
But she could sense his ki flicker, disturbed by his momentary hesitation, and she knew he was lying.
"Pick up a sword," she told him.
"My daisho are in my office. If you will wait I—"
She shuffled a few steps closer as he moved toward the door, a swift sudden movement. Now her left foot was forward, her torso still turned to the right. The false edge of her katana lay upon her left forearm. Her right hand gripped the hilt, close to where it met the blade.
Goro appeared startled by the perfect execution of the stylized movement. She could sense him reading her ki, reassessing the danger she presented. His eyes, like those of his yaks in the lobby, widened slightly at the sight of the bandage on her left hand. He too was aware of its significance. The utter calm of her sei entranced him. She was in that pure moment of commitment to action—shin, the mind tranquil and not attached to anything.
"Giri," she said again.
"Hai. I see now."
"There are swords on the wall behind you. Choose one."
Goro shrugged his kimono from his shoulders, letting it fall behind him to the floor. He turned his back on her, obviously unconcerned at the broad target it presented. That she was here, facing him in combat instead of employing a subtler and safer method of assassination, would tell him that for honour's sake, she had to confront him in this manner. The lurid dragon tattoo on his back gleamed in the dojo's overhead lights.
"May I ask why the sudden change of heart?" he said mildly as he chose a blade and turned from the wall.
"Yokeina osewa da." It's not your business.
"It seems very much my business, neh? You say giri, but that duty is owed to me, your oyabun. Giri is not something you can change like a fashionable new dress."
She knew he was trying to goad her, so she made no reply. Her sei shielded her with calm. All her intent and will were focused on the moment, not on words. Nothing remained but the Sword. Her ki. Herself. And her opponent.
"Shigehero Goro," she said. "I will receive your death."
He assumed the ready stance.
"You will try," he said.
His voice was no longer mild, but hard now, like iron. The fire of his ki burned as cold as did Miko's own.
5
The corridor that the elevator doors slid open on was in the shape of a T, the elevator placed where the corridors met. There were four yaks straight ahead, none on either side. Linton and Fat Bo took out the two closest, but the other pair was farther down the corridor, ready to sound the alarm. Augmented reflexes made their hands a blur as they reached for their Steeljacks. But then Gahzee was moving out of the elevator, walking his Stalker's Wheel.
He notched an arrow and drew the bowstring back all in one smooth motion. He was so quick that his second arrow was already airborne by the time the first pierced its target's neck. The second drove through the yak's hand, whipping the limb away from his body. His weapon was flung from numbed fingers, skidding down the corridor. A third arrow took him in the right eye.
The Ragman looked at Gahzee with new respect. "Knew there was a reason I brought you along, Jack," he said.
Gahzee gave him a brief nod then went to retrieve his arrows. He had too few to spare any, and knew the battle was only just begun. With their kevlar jackets, the yaks presented few target areas. It was likely he'd need every shot, and then some.
"Okay, girls," the Ragman called softly. "Sly Bobbie, you and Tembo guard the elevator. The rest of you, let's hit the rooms.
Gahzee stood quietly, his hunter's sense searching, then he turned to the left when he focused in on Stalking Death. Down there. At the far end of the corridor. Only there were now two sparks, two humans walking a Stalker's Wheel. He notched an arrow, bowstring still slack, and set off down the left branch of the corridor.
Behind him, Lisa hesitated for a moment, then trailed after him, her Steeljack still gripped in a sweaty palm. The medé stopped in front of a door.
6
Goro nodded with satisfaction as he and Miko stalked each other in a slowly rotating circle across the hardwood floor. By her every motion, by the slow steady coolness of her ki, he knew that he finally had himself a true challenge.
"Your father trained you well," he said. "You honour him."
Miko made no reply.
Their blades met once, clanging, disengaged, and they assumed the ready stances once more. Both knew the other wielded a blade of perfect quality. Although Goro's family daisho were in his office, he would not allow a lesser blade to hang in his dojo.
Suddenly they exchanged seven furious lightning-quick blows. Sparks flew and the sound of the blades clashing rang in the small dojo like the clang of bells. They backed away from each other again, continuing to circle, measuring each other's reflexes.
Goro studied his opponent. Her ki burned as strong and cold as ever, but her skin glistened with sweat. The yubitsume she had performed earlier in the evening had weakened her. Already blood was seeping through the bandage. But this was no samurai vid—it could be over in seconds. And it would take but a moment for her to kill him, if he allowed her the opening.
As though aware of his thoughts, she gave him one. Goro lunged forward, katana flashing, the bladepoint cutting through her shirt and the bandages wrapped around her abdomen and breasts. New blood stained her. Goro's ki flared. She was circling back, eyes hard with concentration. He closed the distance between them. Then at the same time they both launched sudden full-power offensive blows.
Instantly they saw that the other's blow was fatal. They converted in mid-strike to defensive blows, swinging with all their strength. Their katanas met in a clash of sparks and a deafening clang, but Goro's strength was the superior. Miko's sword was torn from her hand and went sailing through the air. Out of reach.
They faced each other, two meters apart. Miko's eyes were narrowed, gauging the distance to her blade, her ability to reach it before Goro struck. They both knew it was hopeless. Sweat dripped into her eyes. Her hand bled. Her abdomen bled.
Goro smiled. "Now, Fumiko Hirose," he said, "I believe I will receive your life."
At that moment the door to the dojo slid open. Miko's back was to the door, but Goro faced it. His eyes widened at the sight that met his gaze, widened more when he realized what the intruder was.
Dojin no. Here. In his headquarters.
White clay and streaks of ash masked the intruder's features. He was an image of black and white. A ghost. But the weapon he held in his hand was no ghost's weapon. Behind the Claver stood a swagger girl, a Steeljack in her hand.
7
Gahzee stood in the doorway of the dojo and regarded the pair. The woman had her back to him. She had a bandage on one hand from which blood dripped onto the hardwood. She had no weapon. That lay on the floor, some distance to her left. Facing her and him was an enormous fat man, katana upraised, prepared to deliver a killing blow to the woman. The fire in the fat man's spirit was a molten flame, hot and cold all at once.
"Stalking Death," Gahzee said, more to himself. Both of them.
"Goro," Lisa murmured from behind them.
That settled Gahzee's target for him. He drew back the bowstring.
"Dojin no!" Goro spat. "Where is your honour? Facing a swordsman with such a weapon?"
"I don't have time for your games," Gahzee said.
"Honour is no ga—"
The first arrow took the oyabun in the throat. The woman glided to one side as Goro lunged forward, katana descending. Gahzee had his second arrow notched and ready to fly, but the woman had scooped up her fallen weapon. She turned, katana rising high above her head. The blood deepened in the bandages about her abdomen from the strain. Then she came forward, blade flashing, and the tempered steel bit through Goro's neck, decapitating him.
The head bounced free across the hardwood, coming to rest on a tatami against one wall, eyes staring at them. The headless body spouted blood, then collapsed, the impact of its weight shaking the dojo floor.
In one fluid motion, the woman raised her blade back up, assuming a ready stance, and faced them.
"It was giri," she said. "For Phillip. For my mother."
And for yourself, too, Gahzee thought, his hunter's sense reading beyond her words. He nodded slowly.
"Fumiko Hirose?" he asked.
She frowned at his use of her name. "Hai."
"If that man was your enemy, then I believe we can be allies, if not friends."
"You are dojin no."
"And you are yakuza. Yet we have the same enemy and we have shared his death." Gahzee let his bowstring go slack. He brought the arrow away from it. "Put down your sword."
For a long moment the woman merely stared at him and Lisa, then she lowered her sword and sank slowly to her knees on the hardwood. She laid the bloody katana on the straw mat in front of her. The fire that Gahzee had sensed burning in her flickered, banking into a dull glow. Then she fell onto her side.
"See if you can find some fresh bandages, Lisa." Gahzee said as he laid down his weapon and approached the woman.
"Yeah. Sure."
Lisa turned and stepped into the hall and all hell broke loose. She ducked back into the dojo. In the sudden burst of 'jack-fire, only one target presented itself to her through the open door. She fired, once. Twice. The yak, who'd come out of a door midway between the dojo and the elevator, was still turning towards her. The third fléchette took him down.
Lisa leaned weakly against the doorjamb.
8
The Ragman didn't have Gahzee and Lisa's luck. The first two rooms he checked with Linton were empty. The third had four yaks gambling at a low table. Both he and Linton opened fire, but a yak fléchette took out Linton. The Ragman shot the remaining two. He was too late. The sound of the exploding fléchettes was too loud in the quiet building. He heard doors opening, voices raised in alarm, and then he and his men were in the middle of a firefight.
By the time it was over and they'd cleaned out the last of them, there were only five of the Ragman's party left, not including Gahzee and Lisa. And nobody'd spotted Goro yet.
"If that fucker's not here," the Ragman muttered to Sly Bobbie, "we've had it."
Without their oyabun there could be enough confusion amongst the yaks for the Ragman to still get his people out of the headquarters. But if Goro were alive to coordinate a counter-strike, then everything would have been for nothing.
He holstered his Steeljack then looked down the corridor to see Lisa cautiously emerging from a room at the far end.
"You guys okay, darling?" he called.
Lisa nodded. "We need bandages. Gahzee and Hirose killed Goro, but she's hurt."
Goro was dead?
"Maybe there is a god," the Ragman said. "Help her out, Sly Bobbie. I want to check out Goro's office. The rest of you, split up. Half stay here with the elevator—fuckers could come crawling up the shaft for all I know, the rest of you guard the stairs."
"What about the guys in the lobby?" Fat Bo asked. "If the alarm got out past this floor, they'll have yaks crawling all over their ass."
"I'll give 'em a call from Goro's office. Now c'mon, girl. Let's get some men on that stairwell."
9
Miko's wounds were not as bad as the amount of blood made them seem. Gahzee carried her out of the dojo into the first vacant room where he stitched closed the cut on her abdomen and bandaged it, then rebandaged her hand. He took powdered herbs and mushrooms from his medicine pouch and stirred them into the bowl of water that Lisa had heated up for him. With Lisa holding the bowl to Miko's lips, and Gahzee supporting her and rubbing her throat to make her swallow, they got most of it down.
He laid Miko back down on the futon, touched a hand to her brow. No fever.
"Not much else we can do," he said.
"She's gotta be something else," Lisa said, "taking on Goro one on one like she did."
"She was on a Wheel," Gahzee said. "Stalking Death rode inside her body. Will you stay with her? I want to speak to the Ragman."
Lisa nodded.
Gahzee held her face in his hands and kissed her. "Are you all right, Lisa?" he asked.
"Well…we're alive, right? And we did it."
"So far."
"Right. It's just…I dunno, Gaz."
"Too much death?"
She nodded again.
"It will pass."
"I mean, I think we did the right thing and everything, and I don't wanna come off sounding like a wimp, but I'm just not cut out for this shit. I guess I'm not as tough as I'd like to…you know, think I am."
"There's no shame in seeking peace—the path with heart, remember?"
"I guess."
He kissed her once more, then slowly rose and left the room.
10
"We're in deep shit," the Ragman said, bent over the computer console in Goro's office. "Lookit this."
Gahzee studied the monitor. A bleakness settled inside him.
"The vision was true," he said. "They are all dead in Maniwaki Enclave."
He read how the yakuza had accomplished it, pain growing inside him, spreading throughout his body in a physical reaction to the shock. At length, it became impossible to read through the blur of his vision. He'd had friends there. So many of the People…all gone.
"It gets worse," the Ragman said. "Fucking yaks are all connected to each other, Jack. They got a head oyabun, sort of a chief of chiefs, tying all the clans together, running the whole show."
He looked up from the monitor. "You know what that means? They're taking over everything, Jack. Every Enclave, every Plex. With the tech they steal from you guys, they're gonna run the world."
Gahzee drew a deep steadying breath and stepped back onto the Stalker's Wheel, putting aside his grief. "Can you call up a map on the console?" he asked.
"What of?"
"Maniwaki Enclave—the land between it and this Plex."
"I'll see what I can do."
Goro appeared to prefer the old ways of doing things in more than just his dojo, Gahzee realized. His system was hooked up to both voice input and a manual keyboard. The Ragman's fingers danced on the keys, frowning as he worked. When the map finally appeared, it was specked with red dots in a circle around Maniwaki Enclave.
"What do those signify?" Gahzee asked.
The Ragman played some more with the keyboard, then looked up at the medé. "Yak camps," he said. "They're set up to blow away anything that gets near the Enclave."
"Can you condense and transfer this information into something I can send out over a broadcast?"
"Like an audio data-burst?"
Gahzee nodded. The Ragman did a quick inventory of Goro's equipment, then found the necessary recorder.
"Guess the yaks like sending their data in bursts, too," he said.
He made a copy of the files and transferred them all into the recorder, which he handed to Gahzee.
"Goro's got a broadcasting unit here," he said. "Give me the coordinates you want, Jack, and I'll fire it up."
Gahzee hefted the recorder. "This will be sufficient. Thank you."
The Ragman regarded him for a long moment, then shrugged and went back to the files. Taking the recorder, Gahzee left the room and headed for the stairwell.
11
Alone under the starless sky, Gahzee stared at the smog cover that hovered over the city. It was not right that people—any people—should live in a place such as this. Closed in under those dead skies, dwelling in boxes stacked one upon the other. And in the squats…
Slowly he reached up and pressed the control of the biochip com-link implant behind his left ear.
"We are receiving, animkwan," came the prompt response. Gahzee didn't recognize the voice.
"Prepare to accept a data-burst," he said.
There was a moment's pause, then: "Prepared."
Gahzee flicked on the recorder. The data-burst came out in a sharp piercing signal that hurt his ears, but there was no other way for him to send it.
"Received."
"Please have a ship meet me at these coordinates tomorrow evening." He sent out to coordinates. "Elders should be aboard."
"Not possible, animkwan."
"They would be well advised to make the effort," Gahzee said. Then he cut the link. Until he opened it again, the Enclave could not communicate with him unless they met him at the coordinates he had given. What he had to say to them required that it be said face to face.
He returned to Goro's office.
12
"Finished talking to the spirits or whatever it was that you were doing, Jack?" the Ragman asked him.
Gahzee nodded.
"Well, unless you can call 'em up to give us a hand, we got us an immediate problem."
"We don't call the manitou—they come to us."
"Yeah. Whatever. But talking about coming to us, Jack, we got us a whole building a' pissed-off yaks underneath us. Somebody put a call out before we finished killing 'em all on this floor. The boys we had in the lobby are all dead. I've had everybody else draw back and hold their positions. They're waiting for my signal—no sense all of us dying."
"So we're trapped."
"You got it. And it just keeps getting worse. Right now all we've got is the local yaks to worry about. But I intercepted a call someone sent out to the other clans. Seeing's how they're all working together, come daybreak, I figure we'll have just about every yak the other clans can spare showing up here, crawling up our ass. So my question to you is, you got any bright ideas, Jack?"
