The Crimson Deathbringer

by Sean Robins

  Tarq grinned. “I guess dear old Brook has to keep taking sexual urge suppression pills.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something? You are an alien inside a hologram.”

  “These girls will be too drunk and high to remember this small detail.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “You know, let’s keep this between us. I don’t want Liz to find out you got me involved with porn stars.”

  He winked. “How did you know they are actresses?”

  Kyoto - March 5, 2048

  Kurt waited while the Japanese man sitting on the other side of the table consulted with his people. A few minutes later, the man told Kurt, “We all know you and your reputation. However, you have to admit it’s a difficult story to believe, especially since you don’t provide any details.”

  “For security reasons,” said Kurt. “I’m sure you understand, Mr. Tanaka. You’ll be fully briefed after joining up.”

  Tanaka was the leader of Japan’s biggest Resistance group. While officially part of the Resistance, his group had a cold relationship with the rest of the Resistance fighters, a natural result of being on the other side of the war a few years ago. Kurt expected this to be a tricky meeting. He’d brought Allen along to meet Tanaka and a few of his lieutenants in one of their safe houses, a small studio flat in downtown Kyoto, hidden among a million similar apartments.

  Tanaka answered, “With all due respect to both you and Mr. Jonson here—”

  “Colonel Jonson,” said Allen.

  Tanaka looked confused. “We use military ranks in the Resistance now?”

  “Our base commander is a real stickler for military etiquette,” Kurt replied.

  Tanaka said, “With all due respect to you and Colonel Jonson, you don’t expect us to blindly walk into something which could be a government trap, do you?”

  “Of course not. I suggest you send one of your people. They can verify everything first-hand and report back to you.”

  A skinny young woman with long black hair, an eye-patch over her left eye and a monstrous dragon tattoo that covered her neck and arms said, “I’ll go.”

  Tanaka introduced her. “This is Keiko Nishizawa. She’s a legend among our people. You might’ve heard her name before.”

  The name was familiar, but Kurt couldn’t place it. He nodded and didn’t ask any questions, worried he might offend his host by not knowing who their “legend” was.

  Kurt, Allen, and Nishizawa left shortly after. If the woman was surprised when she saw the Firefly waiting for them, she didn’t show it.

  Fireflies had a cabin which was a smaller replica of Winterfell’s quarters. On their way back to Winterfell, Keiko asked, “So I take it Jim Hallison is with you now?”

  “Hallison?” asked Allen.

  Keiko gave him a hard look. Allen held his hands palms up and looked away.

  “Yes. In fact, he’s flying escort for our ship right now. Do you know him?” said Kurt.

  “In a way. I shot his plane down over the Philippines,” answered Keiko, “but not before he managed to shoot down two fighters in my squadron.”

  Kurt stared at her in astonishment. “You’re that pilot!”

  Allen chuckled. “This is gonna be so awkward.”

  “For both of us. He did this to me”—Keiko touched her eye-patch—“which ended my career as a fighter pilot and turned me into a desk jockey.” Then she asked Kurt, “How do you know Hallison?”

  “We’ve been friends since elementary school.”

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t kill him then,” said Keiko. “The thought crossed my mind when he parachuted out. He’d killed one of my friends that day, and I figured I’d be saving a few of my countrymen whom he was likely to shoot down in the future.”

  “So why didn’t you?” asked Kurt.

  “I am not a murderer.” She gave Kurt a sideways look and continued, “Or an assassin. I kill my enemies in combat, not when they are hanging helplessly from a parachute, and certainly not when they’re having dinner with their family.”

  Kurt flinched and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d once assassinated one of Zheng’s top henchmen at his home, through a very, very small window. He’d been proud of that shot until he found out the man was having dinner with his wife and two little kids.

  Kurt was surprised by how much Keiko’s comment hurt. He had no need to justify himself to this woman, and yet he did. “You told me you thought about straight-up murdering Jim because he’d killed one of your friends, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “What if he’d killed a thousand?”

  “You got me there,” said Keiko. “You’re right. Things aren’t always clearly one way or another. Plus, who am I to talk? I’ve probably been involved in more death and destruction than you. Back in the day, I flew escort for several kamikaze missions.”

  “Each of which killed thousands of our troops,” said Allen. “You’re going to be very popular in Winterfell.”

  “Winterfell?” asked Keiko.

  “I’ll explain later,” said Kurt. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: What did Tanaka mean when he said you’re a legend in Japan?”

  “I’m the only Japanese ace pilot currently alive. During the war, I had twenty-nine kills.”

  “Seriously, Jim’s going to love this,” said Allen.

  “He probably knows already, just like I know him by reputation,” said Keiko, then she asked Kurt, “Do you always wear perfume to such meetings? It’s kind of weird.”

  “He showers in cologne five times a day,” answered Allen. “You have no idea how difficult it was to convince him not to do that before missions so that the enemy couldn’t just smell him.”

  A little while later, Keiko asked, “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Go ahead. Enjoy it while you still can,” Allen said with a distant stare.

  “Why? Is smoking against the rules?”

  “Not exactly,” said Kurt. “You’ll see. It’s just a thing.”

  Kurt took Keiko on a short tour of Winterfell after they landed. The tour ended in front of MICI. There were four people there: Barook, a technician operating MICI under his supervision, and two Commandos who were posted there in case MICI caught a spy.

  A few minutes later, Keiko walked out of MICI with the same dazed look on her face as everyone who had done this for the first time. She said, “There is an alien invasion on the way?”

  “Yes,” said Kurt.

  Keiko tightened her fists and looked into Kurt’s eyes. “And we’re going to defend humanity against it? Well, count me the hell in!”

  Kurt chuckled. “We can certainly use someone with your background. You’re assigned to the fleet, right? Guess who the commander of the fleet is.”

  Something caught Kurt’s attention: Barook and the MICI technician were staring at one of the screens and talking in a hushed voice. Kurt asked, “What’s going on?”

  Barook looked up from the screen. “Something’s wrong.”

  “What, exactly?”

  “Some of these readings make no sense.” Barook looked at Keiko with confusion and added, “It is almost as if we have some false memories in here.”

  Kurt saw Keiko move from the corner of his eye. The woman was so fast she was a blur. She kicked the first Commando in the head and sent him flying to the wall. The second man drew his gun. Keiko grabbed the gun and twisted it down, breaking his fingers.

  Kurt was caught off guard and reacted a tad too late. He didn’t have the time to think about what was going on and moved purely on reflex. A second later the two of them were holding guns to each other’s heads.

  Kurt ground his teeth. He was disappointed that the woman was a double agent. He liked her, and more importantly, she was highly qualified and seemed like an efficient and determined individual. Kurt said with a stony expression, “So what’s your plan? You’re going to shoot everyone here with that gun and walk out? I’m pretty sure you don’t have enough bullets.”

  “My plan’s
very simple,” Keiko answered, her face passive. “I talk, you listen. For one minute.”

  “This is new. People who want to talk don’t usually hold a gun to my head,” said Kurt. “Shoot…As in talk. One minute.”

  “I’m a soldier,” said Keiko. “When Tanaka asked me to join the Resistance, it was my duty to report this to my superiors. When they asked me to say yes and infiltrate his cell, it was my duty to do that too.”

  Kurt opened his mouth to say something about misplaced loyalties, thought about it for a second, and closed his mouth.

  Keiko continued, “But this? This changes everything, and as I said earlier, I want the hell in!”

  “And after the stunt you just pulled, we should trust you because?”

  “For one thing”—she handed her gun over, grip first—“For another, this machine reads minds, right? Put me back in. Use it as a lie detector.”

  Kurt looked sideways at Barook. “Whole lotta good it did us the first time.”

  Barook said, “We caught her, didn’t we?” and asked Keiko, “How did you pull it off?”

  “I held on to a clear image of myself as a real Resistance fighter,” said Keiko. “I meditate regularly and have very good mental discipline.”

  “If Jim were here, he’d make a Mr. Spock reference right now,” said Kurt.

  One of the Commandos was unconscious; the other was sitting on the floor grabbing his broken fingers. Kurt nodded at them and said, “Was this really necessary?”

  “I was worried you might shoot me before I had a chance to say my piece,” answered Keiko. “You do have a reputation for shooting first, shooting second, and never asking questions after all.”

  Kurt couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t argue with that.”

  I was having dinner with Liz in the mess hall when a Japanese woman wearing an eye-patch and sporting a ridiculously big tattoo approached us, saluted, and said, “Lieutenant Colonel Keiko Nishizawa, reporting for duty, sir.”

  My mouth fell open. Coming face to face with the star of your nightmares wasn’t something that happened every day. I was so shocked it didn’t even occur to me to make a pirate joke.

  Slightly over two years ago, in the final days of the war, I was flying my F-42 over the Philippines when on my radar screen I saw a Japanese fighter zooming straight for me. I didn’t know it at the time, but the enemy pilot was Nishizawa, and I’d just shot down a couple of her friends.

  I turned my fighter jet around to meet the new threat. A few minutes later, after she countered all my most sophisticated maneuvers, got a lock on my jet fighter and fired a missile, I realized for the first time in my life I had come up against a fighter pilot more skillful than I was. I froze up in my cockpit, not able to move a muscle, even finding it hard to breathe. A few seconds later her missile hit my F-42.

  I’d often thought about that moment, wondering if I could’ve evaded her missile if I hadn’t so suddenly become catatonic.

  In my entire career as a fighter pilot, this was the only time I got shot down. I took it hard. Just because of this one incident, I was diagnosed with PTSD after the war, and it took me three months of intensive therapy to get over it. My therapist, a good-looking middle-aged woman named Dr. James, told me the problem was I’d been fully convinced of my own invincibility, and getting into a dogfight with a better fighter pilot had temporarily ruined my faith in myself, resulting in a severe panic attack, which in turn had triggered a fight-flight-freeze response. I sure as hell hoped this wasn’t all just technobabble for calling me a coward.

  Allen, standing behind Nishizawa with Kurt and obviously enjoying himself, said, “Awkwaaard!”

  Lieutenant Colonel? What the hell?

  Liz nudged me with her elbow and crisply returned Nishizawa’s salute. I followed suit, though a bit hesitantly.

  “I take it you know our new recruit,” said Kurt.

  Feeling more like my usual self, I said, “Yeah, we’re old friends. More like brothers and sisters, really. Same as Cain and Abel, if Cain was a woman.”

  “Don’t mind him,” Kurt told Nishizawa. “It’s nothing personal. He gets like this when he’s nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous. Why would I be nervous?”

  Liz patted my arm.

  “Allow me to address the elephant in the room,” said the Japanese woman with a glint of humor. “We fought on the opposite sides of the war. We were both soldiers, following orders. It was a long time ago under completely different circumstances. I have to know there’re no hard feelings before we can move forward.”

  I thought about it, all eyes on me.

  I stood up and offered my hand. “None. Well, maybe a tiny bit. But to be honest, I’m happy to have someone with your experience and skills on my team.”

  She shook my hand. “Happy to be here. And allow me to say you can be my wingman any time.”

  I blinked. “You’ve read my book, or you’re quoting Top Gun?”

  “Your book. I don’t watch Hollywood movies, except for the sword-and-sandal ones, and they don’t even make them anymore.”

  She was growing on me already. Any person who could quote my book (my baby!) had a special place in my heart.

  Still, later that evening I went to Tarq’s office and asked him to demote Keiko. I argued appointing a Japanese woman as the second-in-command of the fleet wouldn’t sit well with most other pilots, given that the war had happened only three years ago and there were a lot of open wounds. I went out of my way to make it clear my request was for the good of the fleet and I had nothing personal against Keiko.

  From behind his desk, Tarq gave me a level look and said, “MICI judges people not by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

  Did he just quote Martin Luther King?

  “I’m not a racist, you idiot!” I shouted, dangerously close to foaming at the mouth.

  He blew his pipe’s smoke to my face. “Keep telling yourself that. Request denied.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you anymore, remember?” I said. “I can call for a vote.”

  “Sure you can. But let me ask you this: Do you really think Elizabeth and Allen will support you on this one?”

  He was right. Liz would never agree to someone being demoted without having done something wrong first, even if it made sense. And Allen would vote against me just to spite me.

  Tarq knew he had won. He puffed on his pipe and said, “Trust me; it is always fun to watch someone kick a hornet’s nest. You will see.”

  I rubbed my forehead. That right there was the main reason Tarq made illogical decisions from time to time. He wanted to create chaos and watch what happened, just for his own freaking amusement.

  One of these days, we were all going to pay the price for this.

  Winterfell - March 11, 2048

  Kurt and Allen were having dinner in the mess hall when Keiko walked in. it was very late, and the only other people there were a group of pilots who looked like they had just come back from the beach volleyball game in Top Gun. They were talking and laughing loudly, but as soon as Keiko came in, they all became very quiet and stared at her with open animosity.

  Keiko’s rank had generated a lot of negative feelings among the pilots. It didn’t help that Keiko was the first and until Nakata’s people arrived the only Japanese in Winterfell. Nor did it make her any friends that she scored so high in the daily dogfight competitions, even higher than Jim on a couple of occasions.

  Kurt told Allen, “Remember Jim being concerned about people’s reaction to Keiko’s rank? I’m beginning to think he might’ve had a point.”

  One of the pilots shouted, “One-eyed Japanese whore!”

  Keiko stopped motionless for one second, then, carrying her food tray, walked toward the pilots and asked in a very mild tone, “Who said that?”

  Kurt whispered, “Oh-oh.”

  “This is gonna be interesting,” said Allen.

  A tall, bulky man stood up, smirking. He was easily twice as
big as Keiko who was no more than 110 pounds. Keiko looked him up and down and said, “I really do have only one eye, and I am indeed Japanese, but call me a whore one more time.”

  The man laughed and then said, “Who—”

  Keiko hit him with the aluminum tray in the face so hard that Kurt could’ve sworn he saw a few teeth flying out. He went down hard and didn’t get up.

  Stunned, the other pilots—all fifteen of them—didn’t move for a second, staring incredulously at Keiko, then they jumped out of their seats, fury on their faces. Keiko took a step back, bent her knees and brought her fists up in a fighting position.

  Kurt said, “Shit!” and with Allen at his heels ran to join the fight.

  Less than ten minutes later, Kurt was back at his seat. He checked his reflection in a silver-plated spoon to make sure not a strand of hair was out of place. Allen joined him. He was grabbing his side, grimacing. Kurt asked, “What happened to you?”

  “I got punched in the kidney,” said Allen. “I’ll be pissing blood for a week.”

  Kurt laughed. “One of those yahoos actually landed a punch? You’re getting old and slow, my friend.”

  Keiko, having picked up a new tray, approached them and asked, “Can I join you guys?”

  Allen growled, “You aren’t getting anywhere near me with that lethal weapon in your hand.”

  “By all means. Nice moves back there, by the way,” said Kurt.

  “I have been practicing aikido since I was eight.” She sat down and asked, “Shouldn’t we call a doctor or something?’”

  Kurt looked at the fighter pilots, some unconscious, some grabbing various dislocated joints and broken bones, moaning painfully, and said, “Nah. It’ll be a good lesson for them.”

  In the Command Center, I waved the hospital report under Kurt’s nose and shouted, “Sixteen pilots are in the hospital. There’re so many broken bones in this report I can’t even count them. And a concussion! Concussion!”

  Kurt, trying to stifle a laugh, said, “This last one was your own second-in-command’s masterpiece. She broke a chair on one of the pilots’ head. I swear Allen and I went easy on them.”