V 07 - The Alien Swordmaster

by Somtow Sucharitkul (UC) (epub)

  “You’ve lost me,” said Matt, who, like many adults in his age group, didn’t really understand computerese too well.

  “Okay. Now watch.” The two enemy starships that were left had slowed their fire now . . . in a couple of minutes they were only firing one bullet each . . . now they were firing none. “Time for action,” CB said. Then he wasted the two enemy ships, and the screen started to fill with more . . . and then the starships started swooping down, but . . . they didn’t fire! “See?” said CB, firing madly with his forefinger and making his ship dart back and forth frantically. “If you follow all these steps, it disables the enemy fire completely. They never fire again, and you can go on and on and never get shot at, never lose a guy unless one crashes into you, and you can like turn it over three, four times before you get too tired. I got four million points yesterday.”

  “What about your homework?” said Matt, who hated to play the heavy.

  “Homework—I did it already. But you know something? When I’m lurking in that comer, waiting out those ten minutes, I imagine what I’m going to do to them. I mean, the lizards.”

  “They’re gone now.”

  “But that’s how to win against them maybe—-just keep dodging their fire until they think we’re just too chicken to fight back anymore. Then they’ll be fooled into thinking we’re wimps, they won’t even bother to shoot us anymore, and then—”

  “We strike!”

  “Awesome!” the kid said as he penetrated the fourteenth level without losing a single ship.

  “Well, that’s fine, CB. As long as you can get some— ahem—real-life lesson from that video game.” But the kid was in a trance now, his mind on the revenge he was going to exact from the reptiles from the stars.

  At that moment, Sam called him. “Hey, your food getting cold!” Matt returned to the counter. The news was on the projection TV, and he glanced up at it—

  "This is Ace Crispin for Orange County Evening News. Godzilla movies are the subject of controversy in Tokyo, Japan, today as—”

  At the mention of Japan he started to pay attention. There were a few views of pagodas and skyscrapers, then a scene from some movie where a giant reptile was stomping all over Tokyo.

  Voice-over: “The provisional post-Visitor government passed an official ban on the showing of seven different types of monster movies. Experts on the island nation are baffled. The Japanese government’s new minister of culture, Mr. Ogawa, stated—”

  Image of an elderly Japanese man in a business suit addressing a grave assembly of formally attired men and kimono-clad women.

  “ ‘We consider it improper at this time to present any antireptile propaganda that might reflect badly on the image of our former Bijitaa rulers, who have temporarily retired into outer space. We feel that the people of Japan should not get into an erroneous frame of mind regarding reptiles during the interregnum.’ Mr. Ogawa was appointed to the Japanese cabinet during the period of Visitor domination—’ ’

  “My God!” Matt said. “Does that mean . . . does this mean it could happen again?”

  Sam nodded sagely. “Happen already, that’s what I think.”

  “But the red dust, the toxin . . . aren’t they all dead?” “Who knows?” said Sam, never pausing as he peeled a mountain of shrimp and threw them one by one into a pot. “Lizard come once, lizard can come again.”

  Matt thought of Tomoko. He’d tried so long not to think about her, but ... she was out there somewhere! And if, somehow, the nightmare was beginning ail over again in Tokyo, maybe she was in danger, maybe she was already dead. . . .

  He munched listlessly on Sam’s food. CB was still playing “Galaga,” whooping with glee whenever he turned it over. He thought of how CB had found out how to cheat at the game. How do people ever learn these things? he thought. And when one finds out, pretty soon every kid in the world seems to know it. He thought of how the kid had compared his way of playing the game with the humans’ fight for freedom. But maybe it was the aliens who were like CB’s ship—waiting, quietly waiting for the moment when the earthlings had exhausted their ammunition and they could slip back and reconquer the world. He shuddered.

  Someone walked into the restaurant. It was Anne Williams, his secretary. She was also the school’s official specialist in wu shih, the variety of kung fu where you imitate the actions of five real and mythical beasts. She was wearing a headband and black leather spiked suspenders on lavender parachute pants. (Sexy, he thought.)

  “Here, Matt. A telegram for you. Thought you might want to see it right away.” She brushed back a strand of her red hair.

  He tore it open. Was it from Tomoko? The international mail, disrupted since the alien takeover, had only recently started up again, he’d heard.

  But no. It wasn’t from her.

  It wasn’t from anyone he knew.

  It wasn’t even signed.

  It said:

  BEWARE THE ALIEN SWORDMASTER IS COMING.

  Chapter 7

  That evening, in the office, CB was finishing off his homework in one comei; Anne had gone home, and Matt was figuring out some tax deductions for the quarter.

  “What was that telegram all about?” CB asked, looking up from his seventh grade English textbook. “The alien swordmaster ... weird. Probably some prankster ”

  “It’s nothing,” Matt said distractedly. He didn’t want to admit that he had found it disturbing.

  “Any news on that tournament you and Lex Nakashima are organizing?”

  “You know, that’s strange. I haven’t heard from Lex in over a week, and he was supposed to get back to me about something. I think I’ll call.”

  Matt picked up the phone, used his MCI access code and dialed New York.

  “No, Matt,” CB said. “Three hours of jet lag, remember?”

  “Yah. He ought to be at home, not at work,” He hung up and redialed a number in Westchester. Lex was one of his oldest buddies; they’d been pitted against each other countless times in their youth, and both had achieved national ranking in several martial arts disciplines. In fact, Lex was, Matt had to admit, just a tad better than him at it . . . although Matt knew better than to feel envy.

  “Hi . . . sorry to bother you so late, but. . . .’’he began.

  He heard a woman sobbing on the other end.

  . “Crystal, is that you?” he said. “What’s the matter?” “He’s gone, he’s upped and gone!”

  “Uh oh,” CB said, seeing the expression on Matt’s face. “Trouble, huh?”

  “Shush, CB. What do you mean. Lex is gone? We got the tournament to work out, and—”

  Crystal’s voice started to sound hysterical. “He didn’t come home last night. I just went out to the grocery store and . . . bloodstains on the bedsheets, I called the police, they said there was evidence of a struggle, and ...” “Oh, no!” He motioned to CB to come closer so he could hear. “Was anything suspicious happening at the time? I mean, did he get in a fight with someone?” Lex loved to brawl.

  “Nothing. Oh, the usual, you know how he is. But ... oh, and we got a crank telegram two days ago.” “What did it say?” Matt asked, but he already knew what her reply would be.

  “It said, ‘Beware, the alien swordmaster is coming.’ I mean, just a harmless prank probably, you know how those kids are, dressing up as ninjas and terrorizing the neighborhood and such.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Crystal, don’t stay at home tonight!” “What do you think—”

  “Go to a friend’s house. Go to the police. I think ... I think something pretty fishy is going on.”

  “OK, Matt. My god, do you think he’s—”

  “I don't know!” Matt said. “Just be careful. Be careful!” He hung up. He said to CB: “I think we’d better get outa town, kiddo. I don’t think this is some prank. Maybe someone’s trying to fix the tournament.”

  “But Matt, like it’s not supposed to be a competition, really . . . just a demonstration of all you guys’ skills and

>   stuff, right? And TV cameras, maybe a documentary or something.”

  “You never know,” Matt said. “Come on, let’s go home and pack.”

  “Does this mean I don’t have to finish my homework?” CB said, brightening up.

  “Certainly not! You will take your textbooks with you, young man.”

  “Grody.”

  “OK. Help me lock up the place now, all right?”

  A half hour later they were done at the office. It was dark. They always walked home; it was only about a mile. Matt didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, and he intended to keep it that way.

  The way home: down Spruce a couple of blocks, then, cleverly dodging down an alleyway that kind of sneaked up on you, in between two fast-food joints, and you were suddenly under the freeway; then through a patch of woods and there you were in pure suburbia.

  They stopped for a hamburger before they darted into the alley.

  “So what do you think?” CB said.

  “About what?”

  “You know.”

  “I ... 1 don’t know what to think. Hey, what did you think of that news item about banning Godzilla movies in Japan?” Trying to change the subject.

  “Dumbest thing I ever heard of. I used to think giant lizards were, hey, cool, you know, like they could knock down those awesome buildings but you could see the whole time they were just dudes in lizard suits. Then I ran into lizards in human suits . . . guess I don’t think Godzilla’s that rad anymore. Hey, you think that. ...”

  “Yeah.”

  They turned into the alley.

  “What the—” Pain thudded into his cranium. He spun around and saw a human shape coiling back into the

  shadow . . . a man dressed as a ninja. “CB!” he shouted. A second ninja was climbing down the wall. CB whirled around, leaped up arid kicked him in the groin before double-somersaulting in the air and landing on his feet. A metallic cry escaped the ninja’s throat.

  “The other one!” the boy shrieked.

  Matt’s arm lashed out. The ninja ducked deftly and seemed to blend with the darkness. “No you don’t!” CB cried and rammed into him like a hitter sliding into home plate. The ninja grunted, tried to get up.

  “These aren’t real ninjas!” Matt said. “They don’t know a damn thing about it, they’re about as elegant as elephants. They’re amateurs, they’re just dressing up. Let’s give it to them, Robin!”

  “Hey, Batman!” the kid shouted, and dodged abruptly as the second one pounced at him like a tiger. He slammed irito the wall. CB rushed him, started to hit him again and again, his small tense hands knifing the ait

  “Hey, cool it ... no angei;” Matt said. “Be cool inside. Like an iceberg.”

  CB was breathing heavily; the ninja slumped to the ground. “Where’d the other guy go?”

  “I think he split.”

  “Don’t be too sure.”

  “Guess not.”

  Suddenly he sprang down from overhead, catlike— “Yaaaa!” Matt shouted, keeping his body perfectly still as he sent all his strength exploding into his arms, bursting through his fingertips with volcanic force—the ninja toppled on top of the one on the pavement, just as he’d managed to heave himself up to start crawling away.

  The one who had jumped them ran off into the night. They looked at each othet; then at the one at their feet. “Good work,” Matt said.

  “I think we ought to call the cops,” CB said. “I mean, is it safe to go home?”

  “Wait a minute! Look at him!”

  Matt knelt down. There was an odd fizzing sound, like gas escaping from a balloon. CB said, “What’s that noise? Is he dead?”

  “Dunno.”

  Matt stared to pull away the mask from the ninja’s face . . . that wheezing sound again . . . something clear, a plastic membrane or something, came loose in his hands. It smelled sweet, like amyl acetate.

  They looked at their attacker’s face. It was an Asian face, a young man. Matt yanked away at the membranous sheath; it tore with a harsh sound, like velcro, and more air seemed to gush forth from it.

  Then, as they watched, their assailant’s eyes opened wide. He cried out: “No . . . not the molecular pressure skin ... my only protection . . .” And he started to scream horribly.

  Then his face began to melt and char. Matt covered the kid’s eyes. He didn’t want to look himself. But he couldn’t help it. He saw the skin peel away, saw the glistening green scales beneath, saw the stone-cold topaz-colored eyes, saw the lizard-man writhe in anguish as his very flesh burned up. . . .

  “Let me look, Matt! I wanna see him, they killed my Mom and Dad—” the kid squealed.

  “No. No, kid.” The kid tore Matt’s hand away from his eyes and stared, just stared, his face a mask of terrible anger.

  “Come on. We gotta get back. We probably ought to get out of town.”

  “I wanna fight! I wanna kill them!”

  “Don’t . . . don’t, CB. Come on, kid.”

  He looked one last time at the sizzling, melting thing that had once been alive. The piece of clear plastic-like stuff he’d pulled off the creature’s face was drifting in the night breeze. He bent down to pick it up. It might be useful to someone . . . someone in the resistance. If the resistance was still around. If they hadn’t been lulled into packing away their ammunition, like the starships in that video game.

  Slowly they walked back to the house.

  A lot later that night. . . .

  Matt couldn’t sleep after what he’d seen. He tossed and turned.

  CB dreamed about the night the Visitors had come to the house in the Valley. He woke up. Every time he closed his eyes again he’d see them. He’d see their eyes. He’d see the blood dripping from their fanged mouths. He’d see his mother lying headless on their living room carpet. He’d wake up. Screaming.

  A slim figure stood in the door of Matt’s bedroom.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “I can’t help it, Matt! When you covered my eyes, I just had to look anyway, I had to! You understand?”

  “I understand.” He beckoned the boy into the room. CB sat down on the side of the bed. “Lizard ninjas! Is nothing sacred?” he said, trying to coax a laugh out of the kid. But CB just sat there solemnly.

  At last he said, “Look, I know it’s not exactly cool, I mean, like I am twelve years old, but .

  Matt waited.

  “I just don’t think I can be alone right now. I mean, OK, don’t get mad already, but—”

  Matt laughed. “We’ll lick ’em. You and me.”

  “Thanks. Thanks . . . thanks, Dad.”

  “You’ve never called me Dad before,” Matt said, strangely moved. He laid his hand on the boy’s sweat-drenched forehead.

  CB stirred, sighed, breathed deeply, and fell asleep.

  But Matt couldn’t sleep. He stayed up until dawn, his mind playing and replaying everything that had happened that day, trying to make some sense out of it. At last, as the sun rose, he fell into an uneasy sleep for an hour or two. When he woke up again he saw that CB hadn’t moved from where he’d fallen asleep at the edge of the bed.

  Maybe I dreamed the whole thing, he thought.

  Then his gaze wandered to the corner of the room, and he saw the tattered piece of that membrane he’d pulled off the corpse of the lizard-man, flapping against the vents of the air conditioner and he knew it was all true, all too true.

  “School,” Matt whispered, from habit more than anything.

  But the kid didn’t stir, and Matt realized that there’d be no school that day. He wondered if life was ever going to be normal for the two of them again.

  Chapter 8

  Anne looked up from her desk. “Where’ve you been all day? I had to send in a substitute for the morning advanced-—”

  She looked out the window and saw Matt’s Corvette. “You drove to work? You haven’t don
e that in years! And,” she said as CB came in behind Matt, “why isn’t the kid in school? Don’t tell me—it’s a holiday or something. You guys look pretty disheveled, you go to bed with your clothes on? Have you been corrupting the kid again, Matthew Jones?”

  Matt didn’t say a word, but went right through into his own office; CB followed him, looking like a ghost.

  Matt heard Anne go on, “Well, if you’re not going to tell me . . . what’s a secretary for? You got about six million calls. Mrs. Mayhew wants to know if her sons Joe and Bill will be back each afternoon in time for the rehearsal of their school play, they’re doing The Boys from Syracuse down at Haatjya High, and Mary Lou wants to know why you stood her up last week, and—”

  “Close up the school,” Matt shouted back.

  “What? Oh, a joke. Well, there’s about six calls from the principal of St. Rita’s School. They want to know what you’ve been teaching these kids who’ve been beating up on the nuns.”

  “What the hell—” Matt couldn’t help laughing in spite of

  the terrible things that happened the previous evening. “Beating up nuns?”

  “Oh, apparently Sister Rose has been shooting her mouth off again.”

  “Jesus,” Matt said, coming back into the front office and throwing his hands up in the aii; “the things I have to contend with when there’s about to be another invasion or something!”

  “Invasion?” Anne said. “Don’t tell me they’re going to do another drug bust in the kids’ lockers again.”

  “No, no, invasion, as in Visitors!”

  A stunned silence. Matt saw CB walk silently over to the sofa in the private office and sit down. The boy seemed remarkably calm—too calm. It was hard for Matt to admit his fear to himself, but. . . .

  In the pause, the phone started to ring again. Instinctively, Anne pushed the button and said, “Matt Jones Institute, may I help you?” She waited, drumming her fingers on the side of the desk. “Oh, hi, Rod. Matt, it’s Rod Casilli.”

  Matt said, “I guess I’d better take it. But listen. I want you to close up the Institute, all right? I don’t know what you’re going to tell them—”