“I don’t know how I’m going to beat him,” I confess.
She nods. “He’s fast and good, which makes sense since he’s been doing this his whole life. But his one weakness is his arrogance. If you can catch him off guard, the way I did for a minute, you might have a chance.”
It’s not much to go on, but it’s better than nothing.
I pass Kujira’s dorm on the way back to my room. I hear the sounds of the coloring game he’s been playing, Rokkakkei, those addictive “hexagons.” I’ve just spent the past two hours trying to study his fighting style, and he doesn’t even care. Then I wonder if there’s something in that game that appeals to him and can give me a clue as to the way he fights. I’m tired when I enter my room, but I access Rokkakkei on my portical and play it.
What I thought was a pointless exercise is actually all about malleability, adjusting shapes and colors to match the environment. No single strategy works. You have to counter whatever the randomized AI hurls in your direction. Every round, the rules change, and what worked in the previous level can actually be a disadvantage in the next. I don’t play long as I’m too tired and my arms are stiff from the match earlier, but it gives me a clue to his fighting philosophy. Then again, it’s just a game. He could just be killing time.
* * *
• • •
When I wake in the morning and try to stand, my stomach hurts like hell. I lift up my shirt and realize I’m still heavily bruised. The gel didn’t work. I have a hard time walking. I ring Chieko and tell her my condition. She comes by and brings me pills.
“What’s that?”
“Painkillers. They’ll get you through the day.”
I thank her. We take the subway to Emeryville. I notice it’s overcast and hope it’ll clear up by the time our match begins. Chieko mentions Nori’s back in town. “Whoever wins your fight will take her on,” she tells me.
“I haven’t even seen her fight yet.”
“Nori is good, but you can worry about her after Kujira.”
“I almost wouldn’t mind losing just to see Kujira fight Nori,” I reply.
“You can’t start making excuses for yourself before the fight.”
I separate with her at the stadium and go to my locker. I change clothes and head for my mecha when I spot Kujira. He’s by the trash can, clipping his nails.
Should I say something?
He notices me and looks up. “Can you believe they’ve officially forbidden me from eating sausages while I’m piloting?” he asks me, eyes widening in mockery. “I told them I’d lay off if any of them could beat me in the ring. Course, none of them accepted. Put your money where your mouth is. Bastards. ‘You disrespect the sanctity of the mecha.’ Sanctity can wipe my ass. I don’t respect people cause they went to a war zone running around like mad chickens with a gun. I’ve seen too many gun battles not to be able to tell the difference between real warriors and showboats desperate to show off their ‘experiences’ like it’s some goddamn badge.”
He takes out a bag full of sausages and chews on one.
“Let’s get the circus over with,” he says in resignation.
“What do you mean, ‘circus’?”
He ignores my question and stomps toward his mecha. I don’t know if he takes any of this seriously, but I can’t allow his attitude to affect me.
* * *
• • •
It’s sprinkling outside, though there was heavy rain earlier. They could cover the dome, but they don’t. The fighting grounds are muddy, making it hard to traverse. From the moment I get into my mecha, I feel the difference. The steps are cumbersome, and there’s more drag. Even when I move the throttles for the manual arm control, it is less responsive. I rely on the gloves and the UI to match the proper motion. With the ground being so soft, it’s hard to find balance, and I’m never quite sure how much my step will plunge into the mud. It’s a less-than-ideal climate for a fight. Most of the audience members are wearing rain ponchos. The retractable ceiling has come in partway to shield them from showers. It’s gloomily dark above.
I’m not sure what the fight will be like under these conditions. I wish they’d get the ceremony out of the way. The band is under a canvas, and their performance is much more subdued with the rain. Chieko’s medicine is doing a good job muting the pain so the only thing hurting my stomach right now is the anxious knot that gets tighter with each passing minute.
Kujira. I’ve been hearing that name since I was born. My mom used to tell me stories about how great a pilot the original was. Now I’m fighting her son. It wouldn’t be a disgrace to lose. As usual, all the odds are against me.
“You ready for your next challenge?” the ref confirms with me.
“I am.”
“Anything I should be aware of before the fight?”
I’m about to tell him there isn’t, but then I wonder if I should mention that I’m under medication. Better to be transparent and let them know my situation clearly. “My injury from yesterday hasn’t fully healed so I’m taking painkillers.”
“Do you want to forfeit the match?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
“Good. We’ll begin in eight minutes. Prepare yourself.”
There’s a sudden itch on my lower back I can’t scratch without unbuckling everything. It’s very annoying, and I do my best to ignore it, but that only amplifies the sensation. From Kujira’s side, I hear an obnoxious eating sound. “Mmm, these sausages taste really good,” he says over the public speakers so that everyone present can hear. “I should have brought some ketchup and relish, but too much makes me fart.”
He is mocking the officials who forbade him to eat.
For some reason, I’m reminded of Griselda’s quote, the “great despisers are the great reverers.”
Kujira’s mecha plops forward.
“Fight!” I hear.
I usually play it conservative, take things slowly and figure out what to do. While just a minute ago, Kujira was acting silly, the switch has flipped, and he doesn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. He launches at me in full attack mode, using two whips to strike me from both sides. Anytime I try to attack him, he lashes at me. His assault makes the crowd go wild as he slashes my arms multiple times. Is there any weapon he doesn’t know how to use? I think of Kazu’s advice the night before that I should be prepared to face any weapon. My sword feels like a deadweight as I try to swing to match his whip speed. The rain is coming down heavily, dampening visibility. I’ve got to assume he’s similarly impaired. I toggle between the forward-looking infrared camera (FLIR) and normal mode. Both have their disadvantages, and while the heated view does away with the rain, I’m not used to fighting in total red, so it takes me time to compensate.
I try to calculate whip speed and length. It’s hard to evade when all my steps are slower than usual. How is he maintaining his attack velocity? I realize every time he moves, he fires his boosters. Step left, boost. Attack with whip, boost. I try it while moving forward and push the booster a half second too long. I am suddenly in a position where I’m close and vulnerable to Kujira. I don’t think he was expecting the charge, and he hesitates. I boost backward to quickly get out of his way. The timing of these moves takes practice. I try to get the hang of it, but I either boost too long or too short. This isn’t working.
I ask the portical’s AI to gauge the trajectory of the whip. But its calculations are too imprecise, and Kujira’s attack defies measurement. He doesn’t have a preferred hand, does short lunges and long lashes with equal acumen. I think the only thing that has helped me is the rain, which prevents either of us from moving at max speed. ’Course, it could be the whole situation with the sausages has made him grumpy and mad, driving him to vent his anger on me. There’s a chance that could make him reckless and sloppy. I ponder to myself if egging him on will only rile him up
or actually make him error-prone. As Chieko pointed out, the one weakness that we’re aware of is his arrogance.
The rain is pounding down. I move away from him and raise my sword in a defensive stance. Does he even care if he wins or loses? Why do I care? He is right, this is a circus, and we’re putting on a show. “They should add microwaves in these trainers so I can heat up my food,” Kujira says.
I know this is probably a mistake, but I hope it’ll give me a chance. “Shut up about your sausages and fight,” I tell him.
“Wasn’t talking to you, sausage grump,” Kujira replies. “You got a problem, shut off your portical.”
He doesn’t rise to the bait. At least that’s what I presume from his tone. But he uses his boosters to begin a quick series of attacks, exactly what I was hoping for. I block the first series, so he steps to the side, probing, trying to find a break in my defenses. I’m watching his timing too. I know he boosts with each attack. While it increases the strength of the whip, it’ll also leave him temporarily out of control. I wait for the right opportunity, when he might be slightly vulnerable, and it looks like there’s a second before his whip attack that I can get him. They’re so rapid and furious, I have to get the timing just right. More slashes, more hurls. There, he’s going to do a side cut. I slice at his right whip. Normally, the chain whip would bounce off. But with the power of his boost giving additional momentum, my blade slices through the whip as if it were a rope. His right side is open to attack, so I swing at him, lunging toward his arm with the blade. He still has his one whip, which he uses as a shield to block my attack. The chain holds, but this is my time to boost, which I do. My force pushes him back and breaks his left chain, leaving him weaponless. I thrust the blade at his chest. He blocks with his left hand, my sword penetrating straight through his palm.
Kujira asks, “So you really want to do this dance?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
He lowers his left hand, sword still lodged in. He uses his right leg to smash my sword in half. All I have is a hilt with a broken blade. Kujira pounds the upper half of the blade out of his left hand, then raises his fists. It’s a pugilist’s match now. Boxing has never been a strength, but with a mecha to fight in, everything changes.
He makes a few exploratory jabs. I instinctively raise my fists in front of me. I’ve never fought fist to fist on a mecha so I know very little about its limits, what it can take, and how best to defeat an opponent in this manner. If he attacks, I’d be easily outmatched, and I’m surprised he’s not coming straight at me. Then I wonder if he’s being extra cautious, trying to gauge my ability as he does not want to underestimate me again. If that’s the case, I can’t let him know I have very little experience and a whole lot of questions.
What are the spots most vulnerable to melee attacks? Do I go for the chest or the head? Do I try to disable his arms, legs? If I get in close, is he aware of pressure points that will disable my mecha? Can he disrupt my generators at close proximity and prevent me from even fighting? These are things I should be aware of but only have a general idea about from memorizing the schematics.
It’s unacceptable, and my limitations piss me off. How can I aspire to be one of the greatest mecha pilots and not even know the basics of hand combat?
He pulls a knob from the side of his mecha. I’m not sure what it does, but once it’s free of its position on his shoulder, he throws it away. The ref flags him, and asks, “Why did you remove your—”
Before he can finish, Kujira cuts in, “I don’t need training wheels.”
I do a diagnostic but can’t determine what it is that he removed.
I do notice he no longer uses the booster when attacking. His punches are methodical, aiming for my upper body. I’m able to block, but that’s when he increases the rate of his jabs. Suddenly, a left-right combo becomes a flurry of fists. Before I know it, my mecha is pounded by shotgun punches. It’s an unceasingly fast attack, so much so that I can’t even see it. I have my arms up, but I’m being pushed back through the mud. My alarms are going off, indicating serious damage to both my hands. I attempt to counterpunch him and lunge forward, but that ends with an uppercut to my face that causes a part of the head to cave in. The console pushes against my belly, causing pain that makes me gasp. He doesn’t let up and continues his relentless barrage. I’ve heard of this before, a tactic used by the elder Kujira called the shotgun fists. It’s one thing to listen to tales about its prowess but another to experience it directly as I’ve become a punching bag. His speedy attacks disable the rest of my mecha, and the scariest part is, I can’t even see his fists. Did that knob somehow let him punch even faster? My feeble attempts at blocking fail miserably.
Suddenly, he kicks me. I’m unable to deflect anything, and he’s on me, pounding my head. My arms have stopped functioning, and when I try to move away, I find my legs are entrenched in the mud. Next thing I know, I’m upside down, rotating in the air. I think he actually knocked the head off my mecha. I don’t have long to ponder as I crash into the ground and safety balloons cushion the blow. I check the diagnostics to see what exactly happened. I hear cheering outside, so I know the match is over. That final strike was blindingly fast, and I didn’t see it coming at all.
I’ve lost.
I feel so disappointed with myself. I thought I had a chance, but the last half of the fight wasn’t even a competition. I want to make excuses, attribute it to Kujira’s training from his mother. But this has as much to do with my lack of knowledge as it does with his ability. I have a long way to go, especially in hand-to-hand combat. I’m grateful to Kujira for helping me realize this so convincingly.
It’s fifteen minutes before the crew comes to extract me. Just as I’d thought, my mecha’s head has come clean off. Will I ever be able to live down the shame?
The rain has cleared, and Kujira is nowhere in sight. I expect jeers and scorn from the crowd, but when the medics pull me out of the mecha and onto a stretcher, I see the audience cheering for me. Their response is completely unexpected, and I try to wave gratefully to them. Only problem is my arms feel ten times heavier, and a cramp starts in my forearm. I manage to wave, but can’t hold it long. On top of that, my calves are stiff and my neck feels like someone lodged an iceberg inside it. I need to rest.
* * *
• • •
In the locker room, the medic looks me over. “You sprained your right arm and have contusions over your body. You told the ref the gel didn’t work last night?”
“It didn’t.”
“I’m going to send you to the vat for the next three hours. If that doesn’t work, we may have to do a closer examination. I’m not detecting any internal bleeding or broken bones, but it’s possible the scans might have missed something.”
The vat is similar to the one I was in after my fight with the NARA and works its magic to heal my wounds. All my limbs felt like they were detached pieces of my body, and now they’re slowly getting herded back into the fold.
I have flashbacks to the fight, try to determine if there was any other way I could have won. Maybe if I’d picked a different weapon from the beginning, or if the weather hadn’t been so hideous, the match wouldn’t have been so lopsided. I have so much to learn.
There’s a knock on my door.
“Come in.”
Kazu enters.
“That was a good fight,” Kazu says to me.
“I lost badly.”
“It was an epic beatdown,” he replies, not sugarcoating it for me. “But you did the best with what you knew.” His grin alleviates the sting of his words.
“I have to train to fight without weapons.”
“You’ll get all that training soon.”
“When is Kujira fighting Nori?” I ask.
“The fight’s over,” Kazu replies.
“What? When?”
“It happened right
after your fight.”
I check the time, and it’s been over an hour since the match.
“Who won?”
“It was a draw,” Kazu answers.
“Draw?”
“Nori and Kujira got into another fistfight. They pummeled each other until both their mechas shut down.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says.
“Is there footage? I have to see this.”
“I’ll get it for you. But for now you need to come out.”
“For what?” I ask.
“The award ceremony,” Kazu replies.
* * *
• • •
The weather has cleared up, and the sun is shining through the clouds. Several high-ranking officers are preparing for the ceremony, including Mayor Wakatsuki of Berkeley, Superintendent Tobo, and directing officers, Suzuki-san and Ishikawa-san. Eight of the training mechas are arrayed around us. The band is playing a festive tune, and highlights of the tournament play on the main portical screen.
Chieko and I take our respective spots on the three-level podium at numbers two and three. But the number-one spot is empty.
Imperial Guard Misato Hirono, who is presenting the medals, is visibly annoyed by Kujira’s absence. While speaking to the crowd, she makes an excuse for him, indicating he is being treated for injuries and will be awarded in absentia. I am irritated by his disregard for the ceremony and his disrespectful attitude to the tournament. He defeated me and didn’t even care. It nearly ruins the mood for me. But then the judge puts the medal around my neck and the crowd applauds, washing away any discontent. Even though I didn’t win the championship, I feel very proud.
I wish my parents could have seen this.
Fireworks go off above, and it’s amazing seeing our names in the lights above. Both Chieko and I wave at the crowd—my arms feel much better after that hour spent in the vat.
Mecha Samurai Empire (A United States of Japan Novel) Page 27
