“All them terrorists are the same, savages who want to destroy the Empire,” Wren states.
“I’ve heard the separate factions hate each other as much as they hate us,” I say, remembering what Griselda told me.
“Aren’t they all on the same side?” Wren asks.
Olympia shakes her head. “The NARA have a quack two-bit charlatan as a prophet who claims all other sects are false. He used to sell porticals in Anaheim until he had a vision that told him our world is false and there’s another reality where the Americans won the war.”
“That sounds ridiculous.”
“Tell that to his followers. He has them believing that in this other world, the Americans live in prosperity and complete equality. After winning the Pacific War, they decided to reform and institute changes that brought about the wealthiest and happiest period in humanity’s history.”
“Sounds nice,” Spider says.
“Americans locked my grandparents in a prison camp during the war because they were Mongolians and all Asians were suspected of espionage for the Empire,” Olympia says. “Equality wasn’t on their agenda.”
“Victory has a way of blunting swords,” Spider offers.
“Or sharpening them,” Olympia retorts.
“Even if it were true that’s there another reality, what are they after here?” Wren wants to know.
“They hope to plunge the Empire into war against the Nazis, so we devastate each other. Then they’ll take over.”
“How do you know so much?” Wren asks.
“One of my jobs when I enlisted was studying these fanatics,” Olympia explains.
“This is really strange,” Botan interjects. “I don’t think the Javelins had human pilots.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“There would be remains to indicate identity. Traces of blood, organs, and teeth. But the scans don’t register anything.”
“Maybe they melted from the heat gun,” Wren says.
“Even then, there should be some trace. I think those Javelins were controlled by a portical AI inside of it.”
“So what if they were?”
“Cream,” Spider interrupts us. “Sensei says there are rocks blocking the rail.” He reads the new message. “We need to help her move them. She—wait. The message stopped midline . . . I’m trying to send her a message back, but it won’t send.”
“Maybe she took damage and can’t relay messages?”
“Could be.”
But something feels wrong. I think Botan senses it too as she approaches the communications console. “All our encrypted messages are being jammed,” she states.
“By who?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She heads back to the navigational sensors. “Everything’s clear here. Maybe we should break silence and switch to audio communicators,” Botan suggests.
Ahead, I see the pile of rocks blocking the tracks. The train is fully braked. Sensei takes her Crab forward to investigate.
We start moving toward them when her quad mecha explodes. Before I can turn to the sensors, something hits us, and we’re flipping through the air. I can feel the heat on my arms, smell the melted armor plates. The motion is rapid, and I clutch my seat. I look over, see Olympia and Spider falling out of their seats as we flip upside down. When the Crab mecha hits the ground, both smash their heads on the ceiling, which is now the floor. A quarter of the Crab mecha is gone, Botan with them. Olympia and Spider look like they’ve broken their necks. Neither are breathing. I’m hanging from my seat’s buckle, which is now on top. Wren’s leg is crushed under a plank, and he has passed out.
“Are you there? What is your condition? Over. Mac. Spider. Wren! Are you there?”
It’s Chieko, shouting over the audio communicator, forgoing the encryption.
The world seems to be spinning. My ears are ringing, and I want to loosen my belt. But then, the high-school examination comes to mind. I was under simulated attack near Dallas back then too. What was my first prerogative?
“Chieko,” I respond to her over the communicator.
We still haven’t traveled far. Is it closer to Texarkana Fortress, or Dallas at this point? Is it even safe to go back to the fortress?
“Mac!” she calls back. “What happened?”
“You need to head back to Dallas ASAP, inform them of the situation, and get backup.”
“Is—is Wren okay?” she asks.
I look down at him but can’t tell whether he’s breathing. “His leg got crushed, and he passed out, but he’s alive,” I tell her, wanting to believe my words even though I’m not sure they’re true.
“Promise me you’ll keep him alive.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Promise me you’ll find a way,” she insists.
“I—I promise.”
“I’ll bring help. Survive until then,” she orders me.
I unbuckle myself, grip the seat bars, and let myself down. I check Olympia and Spider, to see whether they have a pulse. Spider’s neck is skewed at an irregular angle. Olympia is facedown in a pool of blood. I have a hard time breathing when I realize they’re dead. Just like that. I can’t believe it.
Is there anything we could have done differently? There was no warning, no indication of a projectile.
I feel numb, look toward Wren. Everything below his waist is crushed. The plank is way too heavy for me to lift. But he’s somehow breathing.
“Wren!” I call. “Wren!” But he doesn’t answer.
It’s okay. At least he’s still alive.
To the right, where Botan’s navigation console had been, is a big, gaping hole. I can see that two of the Crab’s legs have been incinerated.
I don’t want to stay inside with the corpses of Olympia and Spider. I shut both their eyes and stumble out.
Then wish I hadn’t.
There is something like a shadowy goliath blotting out the sun. It’s taller than most mechas I’ve seen and at least twice the size of the biomechs in my simulation test. The metal plates seem alive, black undulations forming its armor. Strips of the living skin assemble together, forming layers that pile one on top of another. It’s already a behemoth, but as the monstrous armor connects, its organic shape becomes even more enormous. It appears to have a purple dorsal fin slithering down its back. I’m certain this is a Nazi biomech, a monster made out of tumors and decades of genetic manipulation. But how? Does this mean the NARA is working with the Nazis? The plates on the biomech are ebony but gleam on their bloody underside, as though fueled by hate. I never knew they were so big. It’s making a strange sound, like a mix of violent bees and an animal splashing desperately in the water so it won’t drown. The body is pulsating with fluids, and every part is beating. I’m afraid to look in its direction. I try to think about what options I have available, but I’m certain anything I do will lead to my death. My legs are shaking. It’s not just the hot weather causing me to sweat.
They’ve attacked twice. First time must have been an attempt to assess our strength. This is the real attack. I visually check the train. It hasn’t been damaged. It’d be safe to assume they’re after the cargo. But what’s so valuable about it?
That’s irrelevant. I don’t care if they get it. How do I make my legs move? Maybe I can sprint to the train and hide underneath? But the most likely result is that I’ll be shot as soon as I emerge. The ground shakes as the biomech takes a step; then comes a deafening shriek as something fires from an orifice that opens and seals right back up. I hear another explosion on the far side of the train. My ears sting like someone’s put a drill inside them. Please don’t be Chieko.
I force myself back into the Crab. See the two dead bodies again. I wish it were a nightmare and I could wake myself up. But this is all too real. The tremors begin again as the biomech moves. The Crab is insulated a
gainst thermal scans, but half of it is open now, so they could potentially spot me down here. The piloting controls appear to be functional. I try not to look at Spider again. It was just a few days before when he was helping me practice. I’m shocked to realize I don’t know either of their real names.
Don’t think about that now! What are my options?
It chills me to realize I will die no matter what I do. The only way for me now is to cause as much damage as I can before I get killed. It’s for my friends who’ve died.
I’ll have to drive it upside down. But I need to restore auxiliary power before I can set off the self-destruct. And the only way I’m going to be able to move this thing without getting flung all over the place is to strap myself into the seats, which are now above me. I flick on the BPG manually with the emergency switch. Just as I’m about to get into my seat, several NARA jump into the Crab.
“Get down from there!” they order, guns pointed at me. “Put your hands up!”
I comply.
“What should we do about this one?” the NARA member asks about Wren.
“Shoot him.”
“No! No!” I yell. “Please, he—”
I feel something club me in the cheek. I drop, hear a gun blast. Wren’s dead. I will be too. I don’t feel anger. Only pity that our lives were wasted for a reason we’ll never know.
* * *
• • •
My thirst wakes me. My throat is dry, and I try to swallow what little spit I have in my mouth. I’m sitting on the ground, arms restrained. The sun must be setting as the canyon walls are stained in a lurid orange.
“You’re finally up.”
It’s Botan next to me, arms tied up.
“Where are we?” I ask her.
“The NARA have taken us captive.”
“How—how are you alive?”
She turns her head, and I see that the side of her face away from me is badly burned. “We were moving along. I felt the Crab shake. Then I was outside, hot metal on my face.”
“Shut up!” one of the NARA yells.
There are about twenty of us in a row, and ahead of us, I see about a dozen of what I presume are NARA members holding guns. They’re dressed in clothes that would make them indistinguishable from a USJ citizen if we were in another place. I don’t see Nazi officials among them, but the biomech looms above us.
The NARA have gathered the survivors in front of the train, and I see several bodies in a pile, stripped of clothes. A squat man with a puffy tower of hair and black grease painted under his eyes addresses us. He scratches his teeth with his thumbnail and has huge rectangular glasses that are shaded pink.
“You think you’re all Japanese? You’re wrong. You’re Americans, like me. You want proof? Your train was blaring messages about how critical the cargo on board was. No encryption. Too sloppy to be credible. But I was curious what you were stowing.” He lifts his hand up. A woman brings him a box. He grabs what’s inside and pulls it out. “Goose feathers. Very chic for comfy pillows. That’s your cargo. You all were bait. What for? It doesn’t matter. That up there”—signaling toward the biomech—“will crush anything your military can send.”
Is he right? Were we just bait? But for what? Sensei asked multiple times to retreat, but her superiors insisted we stick with the mission. Did they know?
“You might be wondering why I’m here. It’s because this is a special opportunity for me to get to know all of you personally. You have no idea the cultural heritage you’ve lost! Our prophet has told us what this world is meant to be, a place where we have true freedom and equality!” he exclaims, ejaculating spit out of his mouth. His face reddens, fists swinging around him. “None of you have seen the true face of the Empire. Stop being mutts, wagging your tail for your overlords as long as you’re content. I’ve seen firsthand the things the Empire does. They’ve killed thousands of my fellow Americans. I was like you, a loyal citizen with a loyal Japanese name. But no longer. I’ve retaken an American name now. Clarence.”
Clarence twirls in place, lifts his hands up to the air as though addressing a celestial being.
“Because I’m charitable,” Clarence continues, “because my God teaches forgiveness, I will give all of you a chance. Join me and retake your heritage as an American, or go to hell. You first.”
I can’t see the person he’s looking at, but two NARA members hold rifles at their head.
“What’ll it be?”
“I am a loyal servant of the Emperor!” a woman shouts.
“Congratulations.”
There is a loud gunshot.
“You idiots!” Clarence yells. “Don’t shoot them before you take off their clothes or you’ll get blood all over them. See, it’s a mess, and we can’t use her clothes anymore. Take this man. He looks like he has good sense. What’ll it be?”
“Please don’t kill me. Please . . .”
“So that means you’ll join us?”
“I’ll do anything to live.”
“See how easy it is?” Clarence lifts the man, puts his arm around him. “You just need to say one thing for me out loud.”
“What?”
“Say you renounce the Empire,” he states. “Then spit on the ground. Simple, right?”
“But, but if—”
“It’s very simple. Renounce the Empire in front of your compatriots. We have one of your porticals recording your renunciation to make it public and official. Up there on top of the train. Smile for Cain!”
“If I did that and it got out, they’d put my family in prison.”
“That’s a tough dilemma,” Clarence says. “Strip him.”
“No, wait, please. I have money, I have—”
They take off his clothes, and when he’s butt naked, Clarence personally stabs him in the throat with his knife. Blood splatters over Clarence’s face. He asks for a handkerchief. “I hate blood that smells like onions,” he comments. “Too many onions aren’t good for your health. Garlic, though, is good. It just makes you smell like garlic all the time.”
His running commentary and the way he revels in each of the ensuing eight executions makes the macabre situation even more sinister. The way he tantalizes the victims with the hope of egress, then pulls it away, feels so much like a travesty, I can’t believe this is actually happening.
“I renounce the Empire,” one man yells, spitting on the ground. “I want to reclaim my American heritage!”
I think all of us empathize with his desperation and betrayal, just as we despise him for it.
“Good,” Clarence approves. “Now that you’re one of us, brother, you have a simple task.” He gestures to the next person in line. “Kill your neighbor.”
“But—but what if he wants to be American?”
“I don’t like the way he looks,” Clarence states. He gives an embarrassed shrug. “Sorry, I’m superficial!” Clarence hands the man a knife. “Poke him in the eye, or the mouth. Whatever you please.”
“I—I . . . I’ve never . . . I can’t.”
“This is now your country, sweet land of liberty. Of thee, we will sing. It’s the land where our ancestors died. And you must kill to honor them. Right?”
“I’m an—an accountant. I wasn’t even supposed to be on this train. I have a daughter who’s only eight months old. Please, sir. Pl—”
“Daughter? I had a daughter once. Two actually. I don’t want to see your daughter bereaved. Kill your neighbor, and I’ll let you go home.”
“W-what?”
“You’re an accountant. Eye for eye, one life equals another, right? Numbers make sense to you. Kill him.”
The accountant shakes, pissing in his pants.
Clarence laughs. “It’s not all that bad. Believe me. I’d love to counsel you and walk you through this, but I don’t have all day. I’ll give you thirty se
conds to decide how badly you want to see your daughter.”
“I have a son!” the male next to the accountant barks. “I would never be able to look him in the eye if I betrayed the Emperor.”
“You wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye even if you didn’t since you’d be dead,” Clarence dryly remarks.
“At least my honor will be intact!”
“Honor’s overrated when you’re dead. Believe me. I have lots of honorable friends who are ant food,” Clarence says. “Accountant. Fifteen seconds.”
The accountant fumbles with the knife, delaying, trying to eke out minutes from seconds. But the seconds pass too quickly. His hands shake as he points the blade at his neighbor. He plunges the knife into the man’s cheek, but aims it too high. The knife hits the cheekbone and deflects off. Most of us look away as the accountant does his best to kill the man, sobbing and screaming as he does. It is a grueling death.
I play with my shackles, see if there’s any way to break free. There are NARA members with guns on top of the train and in the perimeter. Even if I tried to escape, they’d just shoot me.
When the accountant finishes, Clarence grabs him by the shoulders. “You did a brave thing. You hear me? You showed your love for your daughter.” Clarence wipes the blood off the accountant’s face. “You will appreciate your daughter in a way you never did before. You took a life for her. Now, you know what drives me, what drives all of us. Bring the bike.”
The NARA bring out an old bicycle and give it to him.
“Ride southwest for half a day and you’ll reach Dallas Tokai,” Clarence says. “I salute you for embracing your inner savage.”
The accountant can’t believe he’s actually being allowed to leave. He begins to pedal away, but as he does, he laughs maniacally, falling over. I think he’s lost his mind from shock. He gets back on and continues to ride.
“Now that’s honor. An office worker kills for his daughter. Don’t scoff at him. What do you all kill for?” Clarence posits, and wags his finger at us. “He has been liberated in a way none of you will fathom unless you follow in his footsteps. Now, what’ll it be? Renounce, or die?”
Mecha Samurai Empire (A United States of Japan Novel) Page 17
