Perfecto stood staring at the corpse.
His expression gradually changed from a wistful sadness to surprise. "He was not fighting! He was one of us!" he shouted in horror, and stumbled back from the corpse. Grief was written on his face, in his eyes.
He howled in pain and fell to his knees, as if he’d just killed his best friend, and then he sat on his knees. Tears streamed from his eyes and he held up his hands and stared at them.
I’d seen him kill once before and I’d believed it had cost him nothing. But this time it cost him much.
I could not bear to hear Perfecto. I staggered back into the genkan, shaken. My hands trembled and my breathing came ragged. Pinpoints of white flicked before my eyes. I cleaned the blood off my blade with a white kimono I took at random, then walked back to camp alone.
Baker’s larger moon lit the way, an orb of dull blue.
There were still many mercenaries out, laughing from behind the walls of houses as if they were celebrating.
My fight with Lucío hadn’t been half as gratifying as I’d hoped. All those nights of my youth in Guatemala when I’d wandered the streets looking for Quintanilla’s soldiers after they’d killed my mother, I’d dreamed of fulfillment. I’d imagined that a steady peace, a gentle and lasting elation would follow the vengeance. I’d hoped to gain such peace by killing Lucío.
But I felt that I’d sinned.
Once again I’d gone too far, and knew there’d be a price to pay. When I killed Arish it had cost me my home, my country. Once again I’d acted rashly, and as a result Perfecto might well be sitting on the floor of the bathhouse suffering for hours.
I might lose him as a friend, I thought. If Perfecto hadn’t bonded to me, he wouldn’t have killed Lucío.
He’d done it because he believed I wanted Lucío dead, the, way he’d killed Bruto because I’d stamped the act with my approval.
I couldn’t imagine such mindless devotion from anything than a dog. Yet I might well have just strayed so far from what was right that even a bonded chimera would not forgive me.
I reached camp thinking gloomy thoughts and Abriara soon came behind me. "What do you think you’re doing here?" she shouted, and her silver eyes blazed with anger in the moonlight.
Her anger showed that I’d been right, I thought. I’d lost her as a friend.
She continued, "Perfecto needs you! He’s sick with guilt! Go to him!"
I turned and went back toward town and met Mavro and Perfecto halfway. Perfecto was hunched and walking slowly and Mavro held him by the arm, guiding him. Perfecto was sobbing. I reached them and took Perfecto’s arm and just by touching him I felt almost as if his guilt was physically transferred to me.
Perfecto looked up at me. "Why? Why were you going to kill him?" he asked. "You had nothing to fear." Perfecto’s mouth was twisted in dismay. His perfectly even teeth gleamed in the moonlight.
"I don’t know," I answered honestly. "I was so angry, that I could not put down my machete. I tried to stop. I couldn’t."
Perfecto nodded and looked down at the ground, as if such a flimsy answer were sufficient. "He was one of us," he mumbled. "Lucío was one of us. "
I rushed on, ‘‘I’ve been killing people ever since the day we met, and I don’t know why! I killed Arish and Juan Carlos, and I would have killed Lucío, too!"
Perfecto nodded and kept walking. "You killed them because they violated your territory. You humans do not understand this. Think about it and you’ll see I am right."
The thought was so strange, so out of place, I was stunned. Perfecto was a territorial creature, and I could understand why he’d kill if another person violated his territory, but I was surprised he’d attribute his own motives to me.
Then a realization struck. I’d killed Arish in my own house, on my own floor. When I’d chased him outside, I’d thrown down my knife, unwilling to kill him. But when he’d violated my territory I’d shown no mercy!
And Juan Carlos—I’d strangled him because he was entering module B of the spaceship.
"But Lucío did not violate my territory," I said loudly. "I had no reason to kill him!"
Perfecto continued hobbling toward camp. "He violated the territory of your friend. It is the same. We protect those that we love as we do ourselves. He raped Abriara and removed some of her fingers. Those are horrible violations. So you killed him. It is the male thing to do. Still the danger was long past. You should have been able to let him live. If you ever need my help dealing with such matters, I am here, amigo." Perfecto continued hobbling back to camp and I stopped.
When I’d looked at Abriara’s genetic program I’d been impressed at how different she was from a human. I’d told myself never to make the mistake of viewing her as a person like myself. Perfecto’s thoughts underscored the importance of remembering the differences. It clarified something for me: I’d been surprised by Abriara’s overreaction to the riot, by the consuming terror that had been aroused when she feared her own rape.
As Perfecto had said, rape is a terrible form of violation. So the fear of rape affected her more severely than it did humans.
I wondered if perhaps that was why her mind had snapped after the rape, after her fingers had been cut away.
In the same flash of illumination, I finally understood the deeper meaning of the chimera slang word Quest. When one goes on a Quest, it is not enough to kill—one must also humiliate the victim by violating his deepest territory.
When I’d attacked Lucío I’d lived up to the code of the Quest. My subconscious mind wouldn’t allow me to simply kill him. I’d been violating his most intimate territory—his body.
Yet Lucío had given his life willingly, to be thrown away however I chose. If I’d continued chopping him apart piece by piece, he’d have given each piece to me.
Finally I understood why Perfecto had howled in grief.
Chapter 25
I slept little that night, reliving each small moment of what I’d done over and over. In the morning I felt numbed with more than morning cold.
Abriara seemed to avoid my gaze when I looked at her. Our relationship had changed; she’d lost respect for me.
Tsugio’s advisers flew into camp on a hovercraft, excited and aggravated, and met with Garzón. Minutes later Garzón met with his highest officers.
Abriara received a call and said we were to march to town in full combat gear. She ordered us to set our helmet mikes to channel A, sub-channel 0. On that setting we’d receive orders from officers in our direct chain of command without being able to respond or talk among ourselves. It’s a channel selection one would only use in combat.
Abriara had been right, I concluded. Garzón had agreed to fight the Yabajin, and this was our muster. We’d get our supplies and vehicles and leave.
It didn’t seem to matter. Many men had brought favorite weapons or armor from Earth—Halifax plasma rifles, Bertonelli heavy combat lasers, YCB flechettes. They armed themselves and we prepared to march.
Perfecto sat in our barracks with a dozen others playing cards while the rest took formation outside. I wondered at this. As I took a last look around the room I told him to hurry and he just sat on the floor looking dejected.
"I’ll catch up," he said.
We marched to town in columns of four hundred men each, down past the business district in the center of town to the air strip by the industrial park.
Everyone was tense, silent. The day was sunny; the ocean waves breaking against the sand a kilometer off sounded like rushing wind.
Two large yellow zeppelins sat on the air field. General Tsugio and a few hundred Japanese men and women were there, surrounding three Japanese girls dressed in white, sitting seiza on white blankets and staring off toward the sea. A holo crew had set up cameras and was taping the proceeding.
General Tsugio pinned a microphone to his chest. His mouth was drawn into a scowl. He gazed at the cameras, then looked at the microphone on his lapel as if it were some newly discovered inse
ct. He was preparing to put on a show.
When we’d formed our columns and stood at attention General Tsugio suddenly glanced up as if noticing us for the first time. He straightened his back and glared with great authority like some barbarian king.
He began yelling in Japanese and the speakers in our helmets spat strings of Spanish. "Last night we brought you to our homes in friendship! And what do you do? You use the opportunity to seduce our daughters!"
The men in our company chuckled. "What arrogance!" Tsugio shouted. "You think it humorous? You think it humorous to pollute our blood lines? We have discussed this at the highest levels! It has come down from Regional President Motoki himself: It is Motoki’s position that you were hired to fight the Yabajin—not fornicate with our women.
"These three women have dishonored their nation, their families, and their corporation. They shall redeem their honor!"
At that moment it was as if an invisible glass fell in front of me, and for the rest of the day I walked as if in a waking dream, viewing things as if they had no bearing on me.
Three of Tsugio’s aides each approached one of the girls dressed in white and stood directly before her, facing her. A family member of each girl took position at the edge of the blanket to the girl’s right. Three samurai dressed in green armor each took a place to the left of a girl, drew a long sword and placed it at the back of a girl’s neck. The aides then handed each girl a short sword, a wakizashi, and the girls wiped the blades clean with tissue and pressed them to their abdomens.
The aides spoke quietly to the young women a moment, and then nodded. Two girls disemboweled themselves quietly, and the samurai swung their long swords and decapitated them before they had time to embarrass themselves by crying out.
The third girl just sat with her blade pointing at her belly. She looked at the corpse of the girl to her left, and her stoic countenance dissolved into panic. She dropped her sword and started to rise, and the aide in front of her grasped her hands and forced her back to her knees.
All the Japanese were visibly angered and shaken by her cowardice. The girl’s mother rushed forward and began speaking to her insistently, trying to calm her. She put the sword back in her daughter’s hand and made motions with it, raking it toward her daughter’s belly, indicating where she should insert the blade.
The aide spoke to the girl for a moment longer and she broke into tears. He stood at attention again, and the Japanese watched expectantly, eagerly.
He nodded to the girl and she inserted the sword into her belly perhaps the length of a finger, as if to test the pain. The samurai above lopped off her head. Like good soldiers, my compañeros and I remained at attention.
General Tsugio began babbling about the courage these women had demonstrated. "Even our women have more courage than some of you! See how they face the inevitable with equanimity. Their courage should be a great example to us all. Some people begin to wonder at your courage. Some people even laugh at you! When will you make up your minds to fight? Must you starve?" and he went on and on. Our men shifted on the balls of their feet, and I could feel their unease.
Someone behind me shouted, "We are afraid of nothing!" Others grunted their assent. The holo tapes caught it all. The people of Motoki having failed at bribery had decided to try to embarrass us into fighting.
When Tsugio finished his harangue, Garzón stepped forward. He was nervous; he licked his lips and brushed back his hair with one hand and surveyed us intently. I could tell he intended to try to charm us into fighting.
"Muchachos, General Tsugio, and people of Motoki," he addressed us.
Someone whispered over his helmet mike, "Get ready," and people fidgeted up and down the line. Garzón continued, "Our men have worn their armor to this meeting today to show that they are indeed ready and willing to fight! They are men of war, not cowards to be laughed at!
"Not since the days of Cortes has an army of so many Spaniards met on such a distant shore with so great things before them." I found it humorous that Garzón had elevated Indians, chimeras, and persons of every nationality to the status of Spaniards. He looked at us worriedly and there was tension in his voice, genuine fear. "But though we are small in numbers, I would remind you of the great things accomplished by Pizzaro!" he emphasized the name Pizzaro, "and his little band of 180 men!"
With a shock I suddenly understood what he planned. He conjured the name Pizzaro as if it were a secret code, and indeed it was, for the inhabitants of Motoki had never studied the exploits of the conquistadores, had no knowledge of their treachery. I could feel the tension in Abriara standing beside me, and I suddenly knew why she was nervous, why some men had stayed behind in camp. I looked toward the industrial park where the armory was located.
We’d have to take that first, and I knew by instinct that it had already been attacked. Indeed, a man in full battle armor was standing on the roof of one low building waving a green signal flag.
"And like Pizzaro," Garzón continued, "we find ourselves in a beautiful new world. And like Cortes, our ships are burned behind us! We have no choice but to go forward and fight! The choices thrust upon us are hard. No one wants to make hard choices. None of us wants to send our untrained compañeros against the Yabajin and watch them die! But what else can we do?"
Garzón paused just to make sure everyone figured out what else we could do. "In accordance with the laws of the Alliance of Earth Nations, I hereby publicly announce our intent to revolt from Motoki Corporation and form a new sovereign state."
A man in the crowd shouted, "Garzón for president!"
And as one five thousand men shouted, "¡Viva Garzón!" and drew their weapons.
There was no skirmish. The Japanese dropped their mouths in surprise and looked around frantically. A half-dozen Bertonelli lasers blew into General Tsugio and his aides.
Captain Esteves shouted, "Follow me!" and began running toward the small hill where the corporate offices were located.
The rest of our columns split, most heading for the industrial park where the inhabitants of Motoki worked. Yet our men were running in confusion. Only a few of our leaders seemed to know what to do. We left a stunned crowd of Japanese standing on the tarmac behind us. Abriara shouted over her helmet mike, "Muchachos, exercise restraint! Kill only when necessary!"
Running up that hill I felt strong and quick and powerful. I was used to heavier gravity and the short run failed to wind me. We ran past a row of houses and several chimeras simply leapt, grabbing the eaves and pulling themselves onto the roofs in a single graceful move; then they charged over the rooftops and thus gained surprise as they shot at the feet of civilians who’d come out to learn why guns were sounding.
Battle armor lends it own brand of anonymity. I ran as part of a crowd, cut off from the rest of the world. I couldn’t smell the singed blood and hair of our victims as we shot anyone who showed signs of resistance.
Even the booming of the flechettes or zwoosh zwoosh of the plasma rifles came to my ears distantly. Only the surprise and fear and rage on the faces of our victims came through to me, as if I were simply watching holographs of the Japanese we passed.
In some spots, real scuffles broke out. In spite of the confusion, our men fought magnificently. I pulled my little chemical laser from its compartment, but didn’t shoot anyone. We waved our weapons and frightened most people into inactivity.
Fear seemed enough. Motoki only had 100 armed samurai on duty, and I caught glimpses of some of them up on the hills, shooting at our armored men with their weak lasers. A couple of men came out of houses and tried to wrestle weapons from some of us. They got tossed aside like bean bags, and then we fired into them.
I realized Garzón must have planned this overthrow—at least his officers seemed to have known about it. Though our attack was confused, our leaders were not surprised at the idea of attacking. Though he’d never gained control of the ship to force it back to Earth, Garzón had outwitted the samurai.
I admired G
arzón’s audacity.
We shot out the glass panes to the corporate headquarters and ran into the building, I was happy to hear the distant horrified shrieks and watch the expressions of terror on the faces of the secretaries just inside the door.
I ran up the elegant marble stairs behind a crowd of men who either shot or sliced open any corporate executive who tried to slow us. At times the corridors were choked with bodies.
Other combat teams split off at lower levels, but Abriara, Mavro, Zavala and I continued to the top, to the communications rooms where Motoki’s only radio and holo station were located. A radio announcer was standing over a chair, yelling excitedly into his microphone. Mavro swung him by the arm and tossed him against a wall.
I ran into the holo studios and found four cameramen leaning out a window to shoot scenes in the streets below. Their faces were contorted in such masks of horror I couldn’t help but look at a monitor on the floor that carried a 3-D image of their broadcast.
Outside some mercenaries dragged President Motoki from the offices and led him into the street. Garzón was there in a hovercraft, floating in the middle of the boulevard. Motoki waved his hands and shouted in Japanese. A microspeaker pinned to Garzón’s lapel translated, "Wait! Wait! Perhaps I’ve handled this affair poorly!"
Garzón put a revolver to President Motoki’s head and it exploded. Motoki fell gracefully to the street.
I looked at the faces of the men in the camera crew and knew I didn’t need to shoot them. They were already destroyed.
The symbol of all the gifts Motoki offered them was just a heap of quivering flesh. The shock of what they’d witnessed staggered them like a physical blow. There was rage in their eyes and hopelessness and determination.
Zavala had been right all along. We’d been fighting a war of spirit and didn’t even know how to win.
The death of President Motoki had immediate effects. Our coup had been relatively bloodless, but the four cameramen suddenly spun and saw me. There was death in their eyes.
On My Way to Paradise Page 37
