by Jay Key
“Great, junk on junk,” said Ayuko, rolling her eyes.
“Antique on antique, you mean?”
“No, I meant junk. Just please don’t let go of the—”
The carp squirmed out of Takeo’s grasp and bolted down the river as if it had been shot out of a cannon.
“—fish,” Ayuko finished.
“I’m sorry.”
Ayuko glared at him. Her own fishing rod jolted and then bowed. She yanked on it, the fish bobbing on the river’s surface in its fight to survive.
Takeo offered an innocent smile. “I really am the luckiest man alive.”
Takeo Nobunaga and his family lived in a cozy wooden house raised above the ground. It was once the grain storehouse for the village, but when storage with double the capacity was erected, Takeo volunteered to move into the old one. The move to the storehouse allowed them to leave their previous and much smaller home to the community as a multipurpose facility. It hosted refugees. It held overflow from the school house. It was a dining hall. However, Takeo made sure to keep the back room off-limits to the public. This was his martial sanctuary. His bugeikuden. His dojo.
Not many Japanese adults practiced the martial arts anymore. With bombs and guns and missiles, there wasn’t much need for a gyaku nage or a haishu uchi or a kocho giri. However, Takeo's father taught him the ways of a warrior, the ways of a bujin. His grandfather had taught his father in the same manner. Takeo's great-grandfather was a kenshi, a master swordsman, and his father was a real ninja. When he was alone in the dojo, be it practicing his strikes, meditating, or admiring his favorite possession—his family’s katana blade—Takeo felt connected to his past and to his country.
Takeo was trying to perfect his jiyu hakobuto technique when his wife rapped on the outside wall of his dojo.
“Come quick, hurry!” Ayuko screamed.
“What’s wrong?” Takeo opened the door to see his wife with her eyes wide with fear. “Calm down. What’s wrong?”
“Men are here. With guns. They’re in the middle of the village demanding to speak to someone in charge.”
“There isn’t anyone ‘in charge.’ Didn’t someone tell them that?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
“They all said that you were.”
“What? Are they crazy? Why me?”
“Can you just come, please? If anyone can talk to them, it’s you.”
Takeo lowered his eyes and inhaled until he could feel his lungs expanding. He released a rush of air through his nostrils before he raised his head and locked eyes with his wife. “Did they say what they wanted?”
“No, just that they wanted to talk to the person in charge.”
Ayuko yanked Takeo from his dojo and onto the stone pathway that led from their old house and between two rows of housing. It was a short walk to the center of the village. In the distance Takeo could see flames from the visitors’ torches rising above the straw rooves of the simple dwellings.
The husband and wife entered the circular field that marked the village’s plaza, the gathering place for the locals. There were forty or fifty of Takeo's neighbors on one side; on the other were an equal number of foreigners, each decked out in camouflage fatigues. Each of them sported the OC insignia on their uniform or, as seemed to be the case with the grizzlier-looking members, tattooed on their biceps. Until now, Takeo’s interactions with outsiders had been minimal, but, based on their skin color, he assumed most of them to be Australians or New Zealanders, the heart of the OC. Interspersed throughout the group were a few “Crazy Islanders,” as they were referred to in Japan—known for their decorative tattoos that covered large swaths of real estate on their mahogany bodies. They were typically from Tonga or Samoa and were the muscle of the Coalition. No one messed with them and they were the primary reason that the OC had never lost a ground war.
Over time, the Coalition had conquered many of the other countries in the region, from Thailand to the Korean Peninsula. China had fallen to them thirty years ago. Japan, having been plunged into the deepest economic despair, was a Third World non-factor for many decades and avoided the ever-growing roster of Oceania Coalition countries. They didn’t offer anything of value to the outside world until the discovery of a stash of potentially active warheads buried under Kyoto. Takeo noticed a pair of husky Mongolians flanking a fidgety Vietnamese soldier, the smallest man in the entire platoon. He was also the only one without an automatic weapon. He snarled and spit at the ground, all the while flashing two rusty knives.
Why is it that he’s the one I’m most afraid of? Takeo wondered.
“This is the person in charge of our village,” yelled one of the townsfolk. “Talk to him.”
A man dressed from head to toe in solid khaki emerged from the gathering of soldiers. He was extremely wiry for such a short figure; his relatively long arms and legs seemed to explode from a truncated torso. His hands and feet were comically large for his frame; his face was long to the point where it was snout-like. Atop a ruddy brown mane sat a slouch hat with the words “Death Wallaby” inscribed across the front.
“My name’s Aloysius Kelly. Ya’ know me?” he sneered. “Of course ya’ do. Everyone knows the Death Wallaby.”
Should I tell him I have no idea who he is? Takeo asked himself.
“And who are you? They say you’re in charge of this wee village, mate.”
Takeo nodded his head and bowed slightly.
“Well great, then,” said Kelly. “You and I need to strike up a deal and do it quick.”
“What type of deal did you have in mind, Mr. Wallaby?” asked Takeo.
Kelly grinned.
Maybe he doesn’t like Mr. Wallaby.
“It’s easy, alright. You and the people of this village are going to help us with our excavation of those ruins over there.” He pointed to the remnants of the Kyoto skyline in the distance. “And you’re goin’ to give us your village.”
“Why do you need our village?” shouted one of the villagers.
“It’s goin’ to take us a tick longer than we thought to find the treasures below Kyoto and we’re tired of living out of our backpacks. Dining on rations. Drinking recycled urine, when the recycling machine’s actually working. This seems like a perfect temporary home for us,” Kelly said, one corner of his mouth turning upward. “And you lot seem like a good temporary workforce while we catch up on a little R and R.”
“And we give you all of this in exchange for what?” asked Takeo.
“In exchange for us not killing you,” said the Death Wallaby smugly. “See that guy over there?”
One of the Mongolians peeled away from the pack. He aimed a cylindrical tube connected to a backpack at one of the buildings surrounding the plaza.
“If you resist,” Kelly continued, “he’s goin’ to do this.”
The Mongolian let loose a fiery gust at the wooden structure. In an instant, the entire roof was ablaze. The townspeople gasped, or screamed, or a combination of the two; many fled to their homes. The Death Wallaby and his troops laughed hysterically at this sight.
“Run my little chickies, run,” cackled Kelly. He returned his gaze to Takeo. “So, as the one in charge of this place, are you in agreement with our proposal?”
Takeo felt his wife burrow her face into his left shoulder. In his right hand was his katana. He thought about how many times his ancestors had stood up to enemies, even with odds as long as those that faced him now.
His thoughts halted. He realized that he had extended his sword towards the Oceania Coalition force.
“Takeo, what are you doing?” whispered Ayuko. “Don’t pick a fight with these guys.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. The katana just moved itself and—”
Kelly cut him off. “You’re going to fight me with that shiny butter knife, are ya’? Fine then, I’ll blast a hole in you and your missus. And send this entire village up in flames.”
The k
atana was still extended.
“Put it down, Takeo,” pleaded Ayuko.
Villagers began to cry out, “He’s not in charge!”
The pendant that Takeo had discovered in the river, which he had fastened above the hilt of his blade, started to pulse. The glow flickered faster and faster.
A fan of radiant silver light shot out of the sword and engulfed the Oceania Coalition forces. There were no cries of pain. There were no shrieks of agony. As the light returned to the mysterious pendant on Takeo's katana, there was no Death Wallaby or Mongolian flame thrower or fidgety Vietnamese soldier. There was no Oceania Coalition.
Chapter 11
They're Going Where?
“DALLAS WAS RIGHT, THAT SHIP had some giddyup.”
Ishiro’shea’s wink confirmed that he agreed with the bounty hunter’s observation.
“And I’m just glad that they hadn’t shut down that portal station outside of the Tardasio System. Otherwise, we might not be here in the nurturing bosom of my love.”
The ninja shrugged, but Duke knew that Ishiro was as happy to be back on board the Deus Ex Machina as he was. Duke Dallas’ card had worked like a charm at the casino; the attendant hadn’t even batted an eyelash at the two men asking for their ship. And then they were away from T’ckuvu Prime and heading towards Cyborg Joe’s. With Hefty Senchax controlling the portals in and around T’ckuvu System, they made the decision to head to friendlier space before making the jump to Kelt. The gang boss might not believe that his right-hand man had not only let them escape, he had provided the escape pod.
“I mean, I know Hefty’s ship was bigger, more modern, had way cooler weapons, a better caterer, and didn’t sprout cryptic red buttons when in danger...” Duke paused. “Never mind, lost where I was going with that.”
His companion shook his head and went back to plotting the course out of T’ckuvian space.
“Oh hey, look.” Duke pointed at a blip on the control panel monitor. “Is that a station? It is. And it’s outside of Hefty’s reach, I bet... and way closer than trying to head over to the next system. Who knows if the Four I’s don’t have that guarded, anyway? This could be our ticket, Ish.”
Ishiro’shea plotted the course to the wayward station. It was a short trip in the Deus; despite her age, she could still move when she wanted to. The ship approached the portal, which appeared to be in working order. The station sported the appropriate DIPS insignia, and off to the side was a toll booth. Duke assumed that the booth housed an unyielding android that had had its customer service programs erased, as was the case with most he’d encountered. The Department of Intergalactic Portal Stations was one of the last vestiges of an attempt to implement an all-powerful cosmic government. Like all of the efforts before and after, it had failed, but the DIPS infrastructure remained. An enterprising businesswoman from Oscavia paid a large sum of money to the collapsing government to buy the network of stations. Her decision to privatize the only easy way to get from one sector of the universe to the other in mere moments rewarded her with a much larger sum of money.
“Before we drop in on what could be a war zone, let’s give Queenie a call,” Duke suggested.
After some swift movements from Ishiro’shea’s dexterous fingers, the control panel buzzed.
Queen Joe appeared on the forward monitor. “Duke, Ishiro’shea, we haven’t heard from you in a while.”
The window of her office provided a clear view of the bar. As she spoke, Duke’s eyes wandered to it as he tried to see if there was anything afoot. It seemed like a normal day at Cyborg Joe’s. If they were under attack, they were taking it well.
The Queen noticed Duke’s roaming gaze. She turned around to peer at her patrons. “What? You see something?”
“Oh no,” Duke said, a bit flustered, “I was just seeing if y’all were burning alive at the hands of the Four I’s.”
“No, they haven’t come back since the BHU bailed us out. It’s been pretty quiet, to be honest. Well, except for one thing. I’m glad you reached out, actually.”
“Before you get into that—because I’m sure it’s just going to make our day—aren’t you going to ask us about Ishiro’s parents? If we found LePaco?”
The Queen hesitated for a moment. “No. I think I know the answer to that. That’s the ‘one thing.’”
Duke dreaded what was about to come out of the Queen’s mouth.
“You aren’t going to like this,” she began. “At all.”
“Go on. It can’t be any worse than what we’ve been dealing with.”
“So, you received a message. More like a messenger. Here at the bar.”
“Who?”
“Maxx Gemstarr.”
Duke turned to Ishiro’shea. “What does that jackass want?”
The ninja’s eyebrows tightened; he looked as confused as Duke.
The Nova Texan turned back to the Queen. “What did that jackass want?”
“He had some information that he wanted to give to you.”
“This ought to be good.”
“Look, Duke, I know you don’t like him, but he was being sincere. He actually had something that could help us.”
“What? An autographed eight-by-ten headshot? A copy of his latest direct-to-home romantic comedy?”
“He knows where LePaco is. Or, rather, where he was heading.”
“Bullshit,” Duke blurted.
“I believe him,” the Queen responded.
“You don’t know that buffoon like I know him,” countered Duke. “He only thinks about himself. He has an angle, I know it.”
“He wanted me to tell you that he’s paid his Bounty Hunter Union dues. All of them. Including back payments all the way to when he thought it was just a scam. He heard what happened here and wanted to thank you for opening his eyes.”
“It’s an angle.”
“Let’s assume it’s not,” the Queen replied. “Can you do that for me?”
“Sure, why not?”
“He wanted to tell you that he’s been chasing Mazilda Cloax.”
“Why?”
“He said he owes her some payback. And that it sounded like you do too. He thought that with both of you on her tail, she wouldn’t escape again. He tracked Mazilda and LePaco for some time—but then decided to pause his pursuit and come here to find you.”
“And why was that, pray tell?”
“Because they were headed to Earth.”
The bounty hunter fell silent. He sat down at the control panel next to Ishiro’shea, utterly perplexed.
“They’re going where?”
“Earth,” Queen Joe repeated.
“Why? What’s there?”
“I’d assume Ishiro’shea’s parents and the Amplification Key.”
“Did he say if they were headed there by their own choosing or if they were being pursued and chased there?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Back on Psitakki,” Duke began, “we ran into an Earther that was on their trail. He didn’t have all the answers but he was after ‘em. I was curious if his bosses actually caught LePaco.”
“His bosses?”
“Yeah, he was an Irish gang punk. A heavy hitter in the Nipponese-Gaelic Gang Wars on Earth. Maybe they ran him down.”
“I don’t think so. It didn’t sound like it,” said Joe, “but I didn’t ask him directly. Anyways, he left shortly after his message. I’m assuming he’s headed towards Earth.”
“I guess that means that we aren’t coming to see ya’ after all. We’re going to Earth. Fun.”
“Good luck, Duke.”
“Oh by the way, Queenie,” started Duke. “The Orb...”
“Yeah?”
“It took us to the wrong ‘father.’”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s of no consequence, but—” Duke paused momentarily. “—just be more careful next time.”
A sly smirk, equal parts intrigue and confusion, crossed Queen Joe’s face. Then she cut the transmis
sion.
“Ready to go home, Ish?” said Duke.
The ninja sat motionless and expressionless.
“Welcome to Warp Station and Portaling Center #808, I am Department of Intergalactic Portal Stations representative L44-RF47249. You can call me Alejandro. We are very excited that you chose to take our portal directly to Earth, Mr. Lafayette LaGrange. Your funds are sufficient for this jump.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you sure?” asked Alejandro after a moment’s pause. “Like positively positive sure?”
His voice showcased a surprising amount of inflection and personality. For a robot whose entire existence was to perform the most menial of tasks, he seemed oddly concerned about the concept of anyone choosing to go to Earth.
“Yes. Earth.”
“Good luck to you then,” the cybertronic toll taker remarked.
The portal opened and the Deus slowly approached.
Chapter 12
Whisky Cake
THE SPACE AROUND EARTH WAS clear. There were a few transport shuttles entering the atmosphere from neighboring systems, and a fairly long queue from the portal station but, by and large, it was a pretty quiet day around the typically loud blue planet. If Admiral LePaco and Mazilda Cloax really were on Earth, they had arrived without a legion of Four I’s ships to protect them. And that seemed odd.
“You don’t think Gemstarr was messin’ with us, do ya’?” asked Duke. “Sending us to Earth and subjecting us to everything that can happen down there is pretty cruel. Even for him.”
Ishiro’shea did not respond.
“Sorry, no offense. I know it’s technically your home,” added Duke.
The ninja continued to check the scanners silently, without acknowledging his friend.
“It’s not like you’ve lived there in the last decade,” Duke said under his breath. Ishiro’shea clearly heard him, however, and shot back a menacing scowl.
“Sorry, sorry,” Duke pleaded. “You know Earth and I aren’t best friends. Outside of finding you there, it just seems like a big mess to deal with. But I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”
