Four tanks were rolling in their direction. The mechas stayed put. The defensive barrier was visible. There were multiple cannons, an array of tanks, a battalion of mechas, and a continual sweep of spotlights. They encompassed the entire zone as far as he could see.
“There has to be a way to let them know who we are,” Akiko said.
“There’s no external portical access in the wall.”
Akiko looked back. The American cars were gaining on them, undeterred by the presence of the USJ forces. Artillery shells began firing from the USJ side. Blasts hit the ground next to them, but missed direct contact. The Americans fired back. One of the bullets shattered their back window and another hit a tire, causing it to deflate and the car to spin sideways to a halt. Ben did his best to swerve and regain control. But the Americans were within proximity. Akiko scrambled to the back seat, saw Mutsuraga’s sword, and tried to grab it. Her prosthetic hand could not wield the weapon. Ben put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “I’m sorry it had to end this way.”
Akiko’s eyes squinted. “This-this is it?”
He nodded.
She sat back down, involuntarily tried to move the gun arm that wasn’t there. “Despite anything I may have said in the past, it was an honor to serve together,” she said.
“Kind of you to say that. The feeling is mutual.”
“Are you still scared of me?”
“More than ever.”
The American cars caught up to them, and then passed them by, accelerating faster. The tanks continued firing and the mechas were moving into position. Ben, perplexed, looked to Akiko, then back to where the car was aiming. The first of them reached the tank and drove straight into it, both exploding. From the strength of the fire, Ben surmised they were packed with explosives.
“They’re heading for the Wall.”
“You think they’re trying to penetrate the barrier?”
“Maybe,” Ben said. His eyes widened. “Or this could be a diversion, a strategy from the simulation.”
“What for?”
He recognized it all too well. It was a scenario he’d thought up with Claire, sending as many cars as possible to collide with the Wall and penetrate from a thousand different points. He’d been inspired by the old Battle of Chibi where General Huang Guai took a fleet of ships packed with incendiaries and rammed the opposing fleet to set it on fire. “To distract from wherever the real attack is, which might be here or somewhere else. Depending on our luck, we might temporarily be safe from the Americans.”
“Why do you sound so disappointed?”
“I’m not.”
“There are easier ways of killing yourself if you’re so eager to die.”
“I don’t want to force things before they’re ready.”
“Death isn’t a date.”
“Isn’t it? You play for a while, and then,” snapping his fingers, “it’s the end of the night and you aren’t sure if she wants a kiss or you to drop her off and go away.”
Ahead of them, all nine automobiles had imploded, destroying several tanks. On the portical, more Americans showed up as blips targeting the barrier. They themselves were too small to be noticed by the USJ forces, but he knew the defenses would eventually scan their car and track two living bodies.
“As soon as they detect us, they’re going to shoot us,” Ben said.
“We could wait and hope they send out soldiers.”
Ben shook his head. “They’ll pick us up on their scanners and if we just stay inside, they’ll get suspicious and blow us up.”
“We could run.”
“And go where? Those steroids are wearing out and we don’t have any weapons.” He looked at her seat, which was stained red. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I’ll live.”
“Not for long. You stay put and I’ll go try to get some help.”
“Where?”
He thought of Claire, Wakana, the older Kujira, and all of his compatriots who’d already died. He was the only one still alive. “The gate. Hopefully they’ll do a bioscan and ID me. If they don’t, they’ll kill me, but there’s a tank up there,” he said, looking at the burning one the Americans had partially destroyed. “If I can connect my portical directly into the communication system, I might be able to contact USJ officers on the Wall.”
“Will that work?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said. “But there’s no better option.” He looked over several different scan reports on the portical, having a general idea of what they meant based on the simulation he’d created with Claire years ago. The Americans seemed to be implementing it perfectly. “It looks like the Empire’s taking a drubbing. If you tell them everything you did was to capture Mutsuraga and spin it so they can make this seem like a victory, they’ll give you a medal for capturing the man who made the USA game. Ask them if I can finally get a promotion.”
Akiko frowned. “I know it wasn’t Mutsuraga who made USA.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard you talking to the general.”
Ben nearly dropped his portical. “If you knew, why did you save me?”
“I don’t know,” Akiko answered. “Why did you help make it?”
“I wanted to create a world where San Diego was still as beautiful as I remember it.”
“I never saw San Diego before it was destroyed.”
“I’m sorry that you didn’t,” Ben said. “There wasn’t any place like it.”
“My brother used to tell me the same thing. He loved the idea of America.”
“Did he?”
She nodded. “He sent the Americans in Colorado our military secrets. He betrayed us because he admired them so much.”
Ben was stunned. “When did you find out?”
“He didn’t hide his trail well, so it didn’t take me long to figure it out. But even after I knew, I couldn’t bring him to justice. He defected, and it would have been over for me and my parents if I didn’t stop him. But I still let him go.”
“Why?”
“Because he was my brother.”
“I thought you said the Americans killed him?”
“They did. On the border. They mistakenly burned him there. Or maybe they didn’t trust him to begin with. When my parents found out he was dead, they pretended it didn’t happen. I’d go home for the holidays and they’d set up a space at the table, talk about him like he was just away on a mission.”
“What about you?”
“I was furious that I let him get to that point. There were so many times I should have stepped in and prevented him from going astray.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because… Because I couldn’t deny some of the things he’d discovered about the true nature of the Empire and the things our soldiers had done,” Akiko confessed. “Every time I tortured one of our prisoners to death, I was terrified my supervisors were going to figure out I had doubts too. I hated every minute I was with them.”
“I-I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
There was a loud shriek behind them as another car raced for the wall.
Ben looked at Akiko and asked, “Remember what you said about justice? About making things better?”
“Of course.”
“Do you still mean it?”
“I’ve never wavered.”
“Make my sacrifice count.”
“But Ishim–”
Ben saluted her, turned around, and walked forward.
“Ishimura! Ishimura!” Akiko yelled.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Ben assured her and marched forward, even though he knew he wouldn’t be. Under normal circumstances, the guards might scan first. But in battle, they were certain to be trigger happy.
The Americans must have hit them hard as the USJ guards had not spotted him yet. He sprinted towards the tank with broken treads. The turret was on fire, but the outer hull remained intact due to cooling systems that had doused the
armoring. He jumped on top, found a panel on the gun, nearly slipped on his feet before getting hold of the canon. He tried to loosen the hatch, but it was burning hot and seared his hands. He blew on his fingers, used his shirt to pull the hatch open. He pulled the wire out of his portical and plugged it directly into the tank’s system. His portical displayed an encrypted set of algorithms that he recognized and set off a numerical breaker. He turned to the barrier, hoping someone could hear his call. Most of the entry points were plugged by burning American cars. There was one intact gate with a warning sign prohibiting non-authorized personnel that was otherwise nondescript. He wondered what was inside. The tank was getting too hot so he got off the hull, the wire of his portical extending until it reached its limit.
That’s when a mecha focused its aim on him. Spotlights shone his way. Ben triggered an emergency SOS in the portical and yelled into the portical’s microphone, “I’m a captain in the USJ! My name is Beniko Ishimura and we have General Mutsuraga’s head. We have vital information about the Americans. My partner, Agent Akiko Tsukino, is wounded and we need emergency assis–” He felt a burst of heat perforating his chest, a bright light coming from the mecha. Memories popped up like fireflies and he thought of nights cavorting in San Diego, the tawny sunsets along La Jolla. He recalled all the times he’d talked with Claire about portical games like the ones he’d played as a child and the one he’d always hoped to make, creating a USA that still represented its old values. He was happy to know people were playing it, especially what remained of the Americans. His chest had split open, his legs were crumbling, and his neck felt as if it was boiling. He recalled the day his father and mother called him in to tell–
–his corpse crumbled to the ground. A minute later, kamikaze American cars drove over where he’d died, covering his remains. There were four dozen in all, the American dream shooting straight for the impregnable Imperial walls, ready to sacrifice everything for the possibility of change. The automobiles exploded in a conflagration that destroyed the previously untouched gate. Neither the Americans nor Beniko Ishimura found out what was inside. But it was only a matter of time and lives before others would.
NORTH OF SAN DIEGO
July 5, 1988
5:23am
* * *
A song she didn’t recognize called to Akiko. She was dreaming of the end of the world. Memories haemorrhaged out in one hungry swoop and the nerves swerved erratically in her subconscious consciousness. Time was a type of gangrene, rotting away her convictions. “It’s fortunate one of our operators noticed the communication from your partner. We weren’t able to save him, but you’re going to be OK, major,” someone said.
She saw a world molded from molten wax. Everyone ate insects and dyed poison for breakfast. An American flag was waving. There were sixteen strangers claiming to be president. A migrant carpet of pollution was blocking her view. All the poets were kleptomaniacs. Convictions were a revolving Petri dish. The planet was getting warmer even though everyone denied the hurricanes their potency. Historians and bored amateurs erased history, said her Empire was forced into a war they did not want to fight, that all its victories were exaggerated propaganda and that millions were not killed in their march to glory. She wanted to weep, seeing the Empire she loved unable to control its own fate, the lethality of its own past defanged in misdirected shame.
“The GWs infiltrated Los Angeles and set off bombs at five of our installations along with three civilian targets,” she heard. “The casualties are in the thousands and we still have no idea how many more bombs there are. There’s an enforced news blackout. The prince has already flown back to Tokyo along with our visitors from Tokyo Command. They’re very displeased. Governor Ogasawara wants immediate results.”
Akiko’s vision was getting blurry. She longed for miniverses created from hydrogenated molecules and defunct chemical compounds. Insecticide warped all their minds into electrified modules and shaped their lives into honeycombs of ignorance. Hexagonal bliss had its advantages and peace had plenty of disadvantages, drowning itself in interminable entertainment. The important stakes were forgotten. Nations warred over anthills and pride. There was no mountains of the dead. Only billions of voices, each fanatically demanding to be heard even if it resulted in sensory indifference.
“Can she hear me?”
“She’s under heavy anesthetics, but she should be able to.”
“Major Tsukino. Major Tsukino!”
Akiko looked up and saw several high ranking officers watching her. They were all ten feet tall and wearing samurai armor. Was this her universe again?
“You’ve performed a great service for the Empire, bringing back General Mutsuraga’s head. Our medics say you’ll be OK and they’ll have you on your feet in a few days. You should be proud. You’re a hero to the United States of–”
She closed her eyes and focused on the music. An unknown violinist was playing an American song she’d once heard before, full of the virulent gleam of hope. It was beautiful. Akiko wept.
TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO
LOS ANGELES
July 6, 1960
4:12pm
* * *
Ezekiel Ishimura was fuming. He worked as a technician, converting old sonar panels into war game consoles. He’d been assigned a tank incursion from the Battle of Imphal in India, but he couldn’t get the commands to work properly. A hundred other technicians sat in the same big hall, desks arrayed in ten straight rows of ten workers. The high ceilings and concrete floor made the temperature inside either too hot or too cold. The summer sun made it feel like an oven. His hands felt clunky and the sweat on his fingers made precise motions difficult. He wished his son, Ben, was here to help him figure out the bugs. Even at his young age, he had an intuitive knack for figuring out coding logic. A noisy commotion disturbed his train of thought. Four soldiers in uniform were marching towards him. Ezekiel’s hands froze and he wondered what he’d done wrong. They stopped in front of him, turned right, and grabbed his neighbor, a man named Tenzo. Tenzo began to protest, yelling, “I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything wrong!”
They put a bag around his head, handcuffed him, and punched him in the stomach, warning him, “If you don’t keep quiet, it’ll be worse for your family.”
They dragged him out. Everyone went back to their tasks as though nothing had happened. Twenty minutes later, another technician was brought in to take Tenzo’s old station. Ezekiel’s hands were quivering, unable to connect the wires properly. His arm hurt from the increased typing he’d been doing of late, which had forced him to type only with his index fingers. But that increased the number of errors he made and irritated his supervisor, Mogi-san. Mogi-san summoned him for a meeting before the end of the day.
His supervisor was a scurrilous man who found fault with everyone. Considering he was more afraid for his job than anyone else, Ezekiel almost couldn’t blame him. “This is the fourth late tank report you’ve sent,” Mogi-san coolly noted.
Ezekiel bowed and apologized. “Forgive me.”
“The first three times, I was willing to overlook it. But the fourth time? My superiors would think me negligent. I’ve given you a fair shake considering your mixed ethnicity and your family connections with known traitors.”
“I’m extremely grateful,” Ezekiel said, hating the reminder about his uncle, who had been executed for insurrection almost a decade ago.
“Are you? I’ve heard reports from some of your colleagues that you’re discontented, that you’ve complained you miss American rule and the way things used to be.”
“Never, never,” Ezekiel emphatically declared. “I don’t miss their rule at all. I was imprisoned by them. I am eternally grateful to the Emperor for saving us.”
“That’s why I disregarded the rumors. But there may be others who aren’t so trusting.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your outward incompetence in conjunction with these rumors and questionable past has brought you to the a
ttention of the Tokko. They came by earlier to ask questions. Do you know what that means?”
“No. Wh-what does that mean?”
“Go home and take care of business.”
Ezekiel’s eyes widened. “Are you… Are you telling me…”
Mogi-san nodded, either in apathy or restrained sympathy. “It will most likely be tomorrow morning.”
“B-but I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You can explain it to them tomorrow, or take care of matters tonight.”
“My family too?”
“You know how it is. Make your last minutes count.”
Ezekiel rushed out of the building, grabbed a bus, and spent the whole trip thinking about Ruth and little Beniko. The roads were congested and many of the streets were blocked because of the new subway construction. One of the alternate routes they were forced to take went beside a square where a family was publicly executed for treason. The transition from the dollar to the yen had been harsh, and most of the old Americans still had a hard time adjusting to their new economic devaluation, meaning dissidence had been increasing. The USJ was doing its best to quell discontent with these public punishments.
By the time he arrived home at their one-bedroom apartment, Ruth was cooking rice porridge using the cheap millet they’d stocked up on. They had no meat since they could only afford it once a week (and there was usually more fat than meat on the pork). She had been able to use the scraps from the tomato they’d cooked the previous night to add a touch of flavor. She looked skinnier than a month ago and there were dark hollows on her face from being unable to sleep. Just outside were train tracks and one was going by, causing the whole building to shake as it blared its horn.
He clinched her tightly. “We’re in trouble.”
“What happened?” Ruth asked.
“They’re coming for us.”
“Who?”
“The Tokko,” Ezekiel replied.
“What for?”
“I don’t know. It could be a hundred things. Or it could be none of them.”
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