by Jay Key
After the Deus cleared the checkpoints at the portal station alongside the dead planet Mars, it inched out until Earth became visible. The planet glowed bright blue, its massive continents emerging from their oceanic barrier like they were gasping for air. From this vantage point, there was no evidence of the wars that had crippled the planet. It looks almost peaceful, thought Duke. And peaceful was a word that hadn’t been used to describe Earth in many, many cycles.
Since the time that Ishiro’shea had left, the Nipponese-Gaelic Gang Wars had spread out and consumed most of the planet. The planet’s capital—New Tokyo, Ireland—was one of the most dangerous places in the universe. If you weren’t killed by the copious amounts of violence from high-grade military installations, you would be murdered by the inhabitants, hardened by countless cycles of unending bloodshed. It wasn’t a pretty place.
Both the Irish and the Japanese had a huge presence in New Tokyo; it was the origin point for the conflict and, indeed, one of the roots of it. Both groups declared legitimate claims as the rightful owners of the area and its history—and, most importantly, its resources. From this quibble had been birthed a planet-wide conflict that had consumed nearly every race and government on the planet. Despite being one of the more developed, if not a tad unusual, civilizations during the early advent of space travel, Earth confounded alien outsiders due to its independent network of governments. This country over here believed this. This one over there believed that.
The situation was considered wildly unorthodox amongst the other major planetary systems that made up the nexus of advanced civilizations. However, over time, the entire universe began to model itself after Earth’s success. The original clamor to have massive governmental bodies to oversee an almost infinite number of planets faded away. The prevailing opinion became: Everyone do what you want to do and don’t encroach on anyone else’s turf... and don’t get pissy if they’re doing something totally different than you. The only issue was that Earth wasn’t a perfect example to use as a prototype. In fact, it had a long history of people not obeying the rules and minding their own business. The small blue planet had more world wars than most galaxies had worlds. Had Earth been introduced to some of these founding races and civilizations during one of their conflicts, the trajectory of the known universe would have been altered. But it hadn’t and it wasn’t.
Duke, having been reared on a colony of Earth, Nova Texas, had been taught a good amount about its history during his primary school days. He couldn’t remember exactly, but there had been around twenty wars that had engulfed the majority of the planet’s population. The Nipponese-Gaelic Gang War was number twenty, or perhaps twenty-one. It had left an indelible mark of inexcusable but totally avoidable horror upon the troubled planet.
“Where to, little buddy?” asked Duke. “Where on this mixed-up world should we head?”
Ishiro’shea highlighted an area on the screen. The image zoomed in, to display a smaller area on a tiny island.
It read: Ireland. New Tokyo. Demilitarized Zone. Aintin Kuniko’s Bakery. 4.85 stars out of 5. 3,485 reviews. $$/$$$. Casual. Does not take reservations. Known for whisky cake.
“This whisky cake better be good,” muttered the bounty hunter.
“Quaint,” remarked Duke. “They didn’t get all those stars from ambience.”
The two bounty hunters sat at a circular booth in the center of the café. The wooden table appeared to be hand-crafted. Two large divots graced its top.
“Or the decor,” added the Nova Texan.
After a few minutes, Duke stood up and motioned towards a waitress.
“Or the service.”
The elderly lady approached. Her skin was gnarled and weather-beaten; it must have been heavy, because she could barely manage a smile when she tried to take their order. Duke assumed that she had eyes but there was no telling on account of the copious amounts of excess wrinkles. Bald spots covered much of her cranium and she had just given up on the follicles that remained.
“What’s the order?” she asked through a toothless half-grin.
“We’ll just have two whisky cakes for now,” replied Duke.
The waitress didn’t say anything, but her disgusted look suggested that she could have guessed the request without having asked. She marched to the back of the café. Duke heard her muffled shouting at some poor line cook in the back.
This must be a really damn good cake, thought Duke.
Duke turned his attention to Ishiro’shea, then scanned the establishment.
“And you think we’ll find something here? It doesn’t seem likely that these old-timers know much—at least, not about what we need. We need a source, someone on the inside.”
The ninja motioned for his partner to calm down.
“You know I hate being patient,” mumbled Duke.
The waitress returned and forcibly slung down two plates. In the middle of each dish was a morsel that looked as if it had leapt off the cover of the Oscavian Encyclopedia of Culinary Styling and Edible Art. It sported a dark hazelnut perimeter and a center the color of desert sand. It looked moist. It looked fluffy. It looked delicious.
Duke pinched off a bit and tossed it into his open mouth. He didn’t bother to chew.
“Good?” asked the aging server.
“More than good,” Duke said, despite having a mouth full of the tasty pastry. “Life-changing good.”
“Want anything else?” she growled.
“Actually, yeah,” Duke began, but Ishiro’shea shot him a piercing glance. He responded with an overly stylized mimicking of Ishiro’s earlier calming motion. The ninja’s brow knitted together.
“How long have you been here?” Duke asked the waitress.
“At Kuniko’s?”
“No, here, in this area. The greater New Tokyo metropolitan area, as they say in these parts.”
“We don’t say that.”
“In New Tokyo then. What, forty, fifty cycles?”
The wrinkles in the woman’s face converged in her attempt to convey an expression conveying shock.
“How old do you think I am?” she cackled.
Maybe that expression is “appalled,” concluded Duke.
“I didn’t intend to be rude,” he responded. “There’s a reason for my inquiry. I’m looking for someone that can help us figure out a few things around town.”
The waitress remained standing, her mouth open. She finally dropped her tray and sprinted to the back.
“What’d I do?” Duke asked Ishiro’shea, who shrugged his shoulders in response.
A short man in a dapper business suit approached their table. He wasn’t elderly but it was clear that his youth was far in the rearview mirror.
“Excuse me, friends,” he began. “I think that you might have insulted that server.”
“I see that,” Duke replied, “but I have no idea how. I just asked her how long she’s been here. It’s a pretty textbook question in the field of small talk.”
“Oh yes, no doubt, my friend. But—and I apologize for overhearing your private conversation—that particular young lady is only twenty-five cycles old. And I think you offended her by assuming that she was much older.”
“No way,” shouted Duke in disbelief. “No way. I don’t believe you.”
“I know, it is very hard to understand, my friend. But it is true.”
“How? Why?”
The gentleman put his hand gently on Duke’s shoulder.
“Those that live here have very rough lives, my friends,” he said softly. “Those that survive experience more than most entire generations experience. And most of it is bad, very bad, my friends. This place is at the heart of the war. Why people who have the means to leave and choose to stay here is beyond me, my friends.” His face grew solemn, his eyes glassy. “Outside of the whisky cake, of course,” he said, shrugging off the sadness that had appeared to be consuming him. He chuckled.
Duke reciprocated. “Yeah, it’s a pretty damn good cake.”
“I’m glad you like it. I’ve been coming here for as long as I can remember. Do you mind if I join you?” asked the man.
“By all means,” said Duke, “we would love some company.”
The old man gently slid into the booth next to the Nova Texan. He was glowing.
Clearly doesn’t get much company, thought Duke.
“The name’s Duke,” the bounty hunter said. “This here’s...”
He paused. Oh shit, I can’t give us away. What if he knows Ish’s name?
“...Ichabod,” he finished, reluctantly.
The ninja shook his head in disbelief.
“Hello, Duke and Ichabod, my new friends,” replied the old man. “I’m Eiji. Eiji Otsuka.”
“You’re Japanese? Like real Japanese?” asked Duke.
Ishiro’s eyes widened. He then thrust his head into his open palm.
Clearly that could have been a bit more tactful, Duke concluded.
“Yes, Duke. From an old Japanese family. My roots are on that ancient island, near Kyoto, but I came here as a young child. When the war came, I stayed. I was going to wait it out.” Eiji chuckled at his obvious misjudgment. “But I was off about how long the conflict would last, my friends. Now I’m too old to leave. For better or worse, this is home.”
“At least this demilitarized zone is safe,” Duke remarked. “Well, safe-ish.”
“Yes, it was always my dream to live in a demilitarized zone,” Eiji retorted slyly.
This old codger is pretty spry, thought Duke.
“It’s okay, my friend. It’s not all that bad. Aintin Kuniko’s is here. And the people in this area are tough, if not inspirational. In the epicenter of humanity’s worst, they are humanity’s best. They are resilient and hopeful; how many can say that they’ve spent as long as I have living amongst this kind of Earther?”
Duke and Ishiro’shea didn’t respond or counter Eiji’s statement. How could they? This aging Japanese man saw elegant beauty and found unfindable good in living between two warring factions engaged in one of the bloodiest conflicts in the bloody history of a bloodthirsty planet.
Luckily, Eiji spoke before they were required to reply. “Why are you here visiting our sliver of paradise? Looking for someone?”
“Oh no. Definitely not,” blurted Duke. “We’re just here...”
“Yes?”
Damnit, we should have come up with a good excuse, Duke realized. “We’re just here because we’re fans.”
“Fans? Of war?” asked the confused geriatric.
“Yeah, well not of war, per se,” rambled Duke, “but of history. Of Earth history, to be exact.”
“You’re researchers? Like from a school? Or writers?”
“Not as such. Just fans of this crazy little planet.”
“You two aren’t from Earth? He sure looks like a Japanese ninja,” Eiji said, pointing at Ishiro’shea.
“Oh no, are you kidding? Him? Ichabod is much too clumsy to be a real ninja. He’s just a big fan.”
“And he decided to dress up?”
“Yeah. He’s really pumped to be here,” Duke said. He didn’t have the guts to make eye contact with Ishiro.
“I guess a real ninja wouldn’t be seen in daylight anyways. And not wearing green,” concluded the old man.
“Yeah, I know, right? A green ninja? That’s rich.” Duke definitely had no plans to look over at Ish now.
“Where are you from, then?” asked Eiji.
“Uh,” Duke stammered, “I’m from Nova Texas. Ichy here is from Kelt. Ever heard of it?”
“Everyone has heard of Nova Texas, my friends. Though I’m afraid it doesn’t have the best reputation here.”
“Understandable,” replied Duke. “And Kelt?”
“We only know of it as it pertains to Cyborg Joe’s Grill N’ Go & The Why Not Saloon.”
“Understandable,” repeated the bounty hunter. “It’s a pretty glorious place. What this place is to whisky cakes, Cyborg Joe’s is to most forms of booze.”
“Sounds delightful. Do all people on Kelt—and Nova Texas, for that matter—care this much about Earth politics?”
“I think we’re in the upper echelon of passionate Earthophiles. We’re particularly interested in the Father and his wife, Yumi Flaherty. And their role in this conflict, of course.”
“You do know your history,” said Eiji, clearly surprised. “Such a specific interest, too.”
“Yeah, we’re what you call micro-enthusiasts.”
“I know of them both, of course. But we refer to her as Yumi Nobunaga-Flaherty.”
“In your opinion, as a resident, what happened to them? Do you think that they could still be around?”
Eiji brushed off the question as if it was almost too silly to ask. “Oh no, no chance, my friends. They left early on, when their young son was killed.”
Say what?
Duke’s jaw hit the ground. Ishiro’shea squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Beads of sweet streamed from under his mask and rolled off his eyebrows.
“I guess I wasn’t aware that they had a son that was—” Duke gulped. “—killed.”
“Yes, a young son. Apparently the two sides pressured them both to join the war. Father Flaherty was already a leader amongst the Irish. He was a former military man. I heard he was ruthless. The sweet Yumi was a descendent of the legendary warrior, Takeo Nobunaga. Do you know him?”
“I do. The Heart of Nobunaga and all that stuff,” Duke boasted, as if he had been aware of the story from childhood.
“Right, my friend. The Japanese wanted her to support their cause because she was the last symbolic tie to the great hero.”
“But both opposed the war.”
“Yes, I know Yumi did. Not sure about that Irishman she decided to marry.” Eiji now displayed vitriol for the first time. “But, anyways, something happened and their son was killed. My money is on those beer-guzzling thugs. Only they would put an innocent child in harm’s way.”
He might be a bit biased, realized Duke.
“That’s very interesting. So, after their son died, they just vanished.”
“Some people think they died. They couldn’t believe that these two would abandon their people, even if they disagreed with them. When they left, the war escalated to the level it is now. No one has held the advantage for more than a few days at a time. It’s a very evenly-matched contest of murder. It can only end in mutual destruction.”
“A ‘contest’ that now extends to every corner of the planet,” added Duke.
“Exactly, my friends. Exactly.”
“This is fascinating. Thank you for this firsthand testimony, Eiji. Can we buy you something? Maybe a slice of that whisky cake?”
“No need. You may have guessed, but I don’t get to talk to many new people these days. This week has been truly extraordinary.”
This week?
“Have there been other Earth history buffs like us visiting Kuniko’s?” asked Duke.
“Maybe not as enthusiastic as you two—she wasn’t in costume or anything—but she was better looking.” The corners of Eiji’s mouth shot upward. “I definitely wouldn’t kick her out of bed. But she didn’t offer to buy me a slice of cake, either. So, we can say you’re even.”
Mazilda.
“It’s funny,” the aging diner continued. “She was also interested in Yumi and her husband. I told her that she should try the college on the edge of the zone if she wanted to research them further. The headmaster there is one of their oldest friends. I’m assuming he’s still around; he’s older than me, if you can believe that.”
“The College of Cohorts, Consorts, Co-Conspirators, and Other Assorted Sidekick Types?” asked Duke.
“That’s the one. Impressive. You have to be one of the only off-worlders to know of that place.”
Before Eiji finished his thought, Ishiro’shea was already sprinting out of Kuniko’s.
“Sorry,” said Duke. “He’s really excited about research.”
“I can see that, my friend.”
Duke tossed a few bits of currency at the old man. “Enjoy the cake.”
Chapter 13
Back to School
ON THE EDGE OF THE New Tokyo Demilitarized Zone a cozy grove of trees nestled atop a grassy plateau. To say it was out of place was an understatement. A perimeter fence peeked through behind the first line of trees; behind that, a winding path led to a large red brick structure surrounded by clusters of buildings of various sizes but of a similar style. The property was only a stroll from Aintin Kuniko’s, or in Ishiro’shea’s case, a frantic sprint.
“Hold up, Ish,” Duke shouted between pants. “If she’s in there, you’ll want backup.”
But the ninja kept running until he ran out of real estate. Duke caught up with him at the iron gates. A brick arch rose above the gates; carved into a stone inlay shaped like a setting sun were the words: College of Cohorts, Consorts, Co-Conspirators, and Other Assorted Sidekick Types.
Ishiro’shea drew his katana. He raised the blade and brought it down upon the gate in a diagonal strike. The noise was piercing. Sparks exploded from the point of contact. But the gate did not budge. The ninja approached it and examined the strike point. Nothing. Not even a scratch. He repeated the action again, this time adding a battle cry rich with pain and force. The scream contributed nothing. He tried a third time. Duke grimaced: his friend’s frustration was palpable. Ishiro tossed aside his katana and charged the gate; he leapt into the air and connected with a yoko tobi geri to the padlock. The gate barely rattled.
“Hey, slow down there,” Duke said, kneeling beside his visibly shaken partner. “There has to be another way in.”
Duke peered around at the seemingly never-ending fence. He felt a gentle tug on his back. He turned around and Ishiro’shea was standing a few paces behind him, holding Ol’ Betsy.
“Drop it, Ish,” he belted. “Have you ever even fired—”
That unforgettable bellow rang out, echoing around the grove. The blast sent Duke to the ground; debris from the explosion fell from the sky like jagged rain. Ol’ Betsy emitted a second boom. The bounty hunter looked up. Ishiro’shea had been knocked to his feet by the unexpected kickback of the sonic shotgun. Duke smiled.
