Grey Ronin (The Awakened Book 3)

by Matthew S. Cox

  The construct lost its grip on the rifle, which disintegrated to loose chunks of silver before it hit the ground. Mangled digital howls grew loud as it staggered backwards, clawing at the air. It shrank inward, about to fall to its demise. Mamoru lunged and drove his left hand through the false man’s gaping chest, grasping a rotating crystal icosahedron where the heart should be. Intense white light erupted from the eyeholes in the white samurai’s mask. Streams of letters and numbers spread out through thin air as if written on an invisible cylinder that surrounded them, stretching upward to the ceiling. Mamoru pulled it back from the brink of automatic deletion. Before the network could purge the damaged program, he modified it. Corrupted routines vanished, replaced by new code written at the speed of thought.

  The horrendous gash closed around his glove.

  Mamoru drew his hand out, turning his palm flat with the spinning crystal sphere above it. A hole large enough for the ‘heart’ to return to the body remained open. Tiny sparks connected the crest of the samurai helmet to the program core, adding function and feature. It spun faster, turning from blue to red as he upgraded the software from grade six to eight. Nothing on this network, except for their most secure data vault, would be able to stand up to it. Satisfied, Mamoru exhaled, and the crystal glided backward, enveloped by digital flesh as the cavity sealed.

  Shapes moved through the construct’s body, sliding under the black suit. The cloth changed texture from fabric to painted metal. Gaps appeared as the imitation clothing stretched and reformed as samurai armor.

  Sweat ran down Mamoru’s neck in the real world from the exertion. Destroying the thing would have been faster and less tiring, but having a virtual ally would ensure success.

  The digital samurai slammed its right fist into the palm of its left hand and bowed at the waist before taking its place at his side. Mamoru glided to the podium, using it to access the CPU core represented by the large floating crystals. Brilliant flashes of lightning sparked within the massive gems. From here, he forced his influence through the security routines and altered them to disregard his presence on the network. He did not create a false user, nor did he turn the anti-intrusion system off.

  He did not exist.

  With that done, he left the CPU room and blurred through a maze of hallways leading to the high security area of the network. What virtual reality represented as a set of glass doors with a multi-barrel rotary turret on either side was in fact a stringent authentication routine capable of burning out and damaging the deck of a would-be intruder. His modification to the security software prevented the system from noticing his approach. The virtual guns did not fire.

  The white samurai approached the entrance, standing between the idle weapon mounts. He looked the barrier up and down and leaned to the side, allowing the rewritten construct to move up. Its core was still native to the network, and by proximity, it caused the door to open. Mamoru grasped the helper program by the shoulder. Tiny threads of light seeped from his fingertips through the ebon armor as he let it pull him down a featureless hospital-white hallway.

  A partition barrier between the hallway and the node beyond appeared to be a modern electronic door. Mamoru brushed his fingers over the code panel, compelling the security routine to shut down. The door opened, revealing a chamber rendered in the image of an ancient temple built somewhere high in the mountains. Twelve-foot tall octagonal obelisks of grey stone stood in a ring around the center of a space coated in red bricks. Creeping vines and moss adorned everything. Cyberspace simulated a pleasant breeze and the smell of trees, as well as the sounds of chirping birds.

  Each pillar was three feet thick at the base and tapered to angled points. On the flat faces, glowing light emanated from kanji carved in the stone. Every symbol bore the name of a file in storage. The touch of a finger dragged the symbols down the surface, cycling one at a time to access files too high to reach.

  Mamoru smiled.

  Many deck jockeys found such anachronisms annoying. Mamoru’s mundane contemporaries at Matsushita preferred things to look logical: file cabinets, drawers full of data tiles, or modern wire-framed shelves packed with easy to search contents. This room distracted him for a moment with its serenity.

  “Go. Disable the anti-aircraft batteries. Destroy their control constructs and block any who would use them. When I am ready, open the doors. Once the Fūjin is clear, conceal yourself deep in the memory banks and await further orders.”

  The black samurai rendered a sharp bow and left.

  Mamoru wandered the obelisks, reading their faces, circling five before halting at the sixth. He traced a finger over the ancient-looking writing, causing the glow within the symbols to intensify. Amid a cone of light projecting out of the kanji, an ancient paper scroll appeared and unfurled. The contents of a terminal screen rendered on it as if drawn by ink and brush. Precision details in the schematics of the Fūjin were the only break in the illusion.

  A man spoke from behind, calm, deep, and with authority. “I do not know who you are, but I cannot allow you to access that data.”

  “I must commend whoever created this node. It is peaceful. I did not sense your approach.”

  “I am Koga Daisuke of the Noro-Shimura Information Security team. All egress from our network is shut down. You cannot flee.”

  Mamoru chuckled. “You dishonor me with your lies.” He spun, facing a man in a blue and white haori jacket and baggy black hakama pants. Tall, thin, with long hair down to his knees, he carried a long bo staff. “Tell me, Koga Daisuke, are you proficient enough to know that I did not access your network from the outside?”

  The staff shifted in Daisuke’s grip. A dark crimson dragon appeared from the black, painted down one side of the weapon. “My deception was an attempt to resolve this without violence.”

  “You seek to stall so your forces may locate me outside. That, I cannot allow.” Mamoru’s thumb flicked the katana an inch out of the scabbard. “I find no honor in a contest I cannot lose. You may leave.”

  Daisuke stepped back, bringing the staff level. “I am the master of this network. This is my domain.”

  “Your domain shall not shield your life from me. I will not offer again.”

  Swirls of blue energy coalesced around Daisuke as he activated various combat softs. Before any could complete their startup sequence, Mamoru surged forward as a blurry white streak. The meeting of katana and staff rang out like thunder over the rolling mountains below the shrine. Even the stone obelisks shuddered under the weight of the noise. Daisuke sailed backward, headfirst through the air like a man-shaped noodle. The ghostly traces of his combat programs trailed after him and dispersed.

  He hit the ground on his shoulders, flipping over and sliding on his chest for several meters before coming to a halt in a cloud of dust. Mamoru leapt at him, driving the seething blade into the stone a split second after Daisuke rolled to the side. The administrator staggered away, left hand guarding his face with the staff held behind him. His eyes widened with astonishment for an instant before his fear faded. He spun the staff over and brought it down in a powerful slap against the floor. A wave of orange energy peeled from the tip, rushing at Mamoru with building light.

  Mamoru strode through it, as though it were no more tangible than smoke. “An interesting technique, Koga-san, and your first mistake.” His body stretched in a smear, a rapid sideways strike, which Daisuke deflected at the cost of being knocked ten feet away. “You cannot burn out an NIU that does not exist.”

  Daisuke’s eyes hardened. He twisted the end of his staff and withdrew a long, straight sword. Once clear of the lower portion, the edge curved to take on the shape of an odachi, larger cousin to the katana. He dropped the staff scabbard and took a two-handed grip as he moved with a cautious circling gait.

  “How is it possible that you are here without a neural interface? Surely, you do not expect me to think you are using a senshelmet?” Daisuke spun with a midair feint, plunging the now-glowing blade into the
stone floor.

  Around Mamoru, six long dragon’s heads made of blue light leapt from the ground, biting. He slashed at two, cutting his way out of the ring. One snaked in as he whirled about, sinking its virtual fangs in his left forearm. Its green eyes flared as it chewed. A torrent of meaningless data surged through the terminal, overloading the ingress buffers and grinding its CPU to a near-standstill. A miniscule slice of Mamoru’s mind still receptive to the real world detected silicon smoke.

  The flash of pain came unexpected. Mamoru’s concentration faltered for an instant, long enough for two other dog-sized heads to bite him on the calf and thigh. Mamoru cringed at the sharp pinpricks of more circuits burning out. Without the vulnerability of a metal wire connecting his brain to the device, he was safe from the most lethal attacks―but the terminal wasn’t so lucky. Effort spent on forcing changes to the incoming data left him staggering in cyberspace.

  Daisuke took the opportunity to leap in with an overhead swing. Mamoru ignored the teeth in his virtual flesh and brought his katana around in a crescent arc. The clang of metal echoed from the distant mountain. The odachi’s long reach prevented Mamoru’s instinctual counterattack from scoring. The administrator launched attack softs from multiple remote terminals, which kept Mamoru from attacking his deck in retaliation. His attempt to step into the swipe tugged teeth deeper in his left thigh as the tip of his blade missed Daisuke’s throat by a finger’s width. A low rumble started in his chest and became a bellowing cry half made of rage, the rest satisfaction at encountering something near a challenge. His armor flared with peeling energy vapor tinged red as it wafted in thin wisps.

  Daisuke backpedaled as Mamoru slashed through the dragons with one fluid spiral. He stalked after the administrator who paled at the dozen tiny holes in white armor sealing. With a desperate shout, he raised his blade and lunged. Mamoru swatted the incoming sword to the left, spinning through the defense and countering with a horizontal slash. Daisuke flung himself over backwards, feet on the ground, legs bent at the knee. The katana sailed over his chest, missing by inches. He floated up, driving a kick into Mamoru’s chest that launched him against one of the obelisks.

  Fire burned through his skull, the desk terminal overheated, filling his senses with the smoldering reek of melting plastic and the crackling agony of burnt chips. The workstation did not have the same hardware protections as a deck, and would cook itself under the weight of Daisuke’s onslaught. Mamoru’s consciousness receded from the net into the machine. A plane of onyx ground stretched to infinity, consumed in the distance by a rolling avalanche of white squares, the roar of the consumption deafening. His living body shuddered in place as he focused on neutering the incoming viral code. The wall of onrushing chaos slowed as he disassembled the enemy program. Enormous razor-sharp slabs broke apart as snowflakes that scattered, harmless, on the smooth ground.

  He returned to cyberspace, on his side at the base of a pillar. Despite the tremendous crash and cloud of dust, neither stone nor samurai seemed injured.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Daisuke asked of no one in particular. “That should have destroyed you.”

  The white samurai armor unraveled to a wireframe model drawn in lime green. It crumpled into a sphere and stretched vertical. Mamoru reformed in three dimensions on his feet, blade low and to the right. He raised his sword, a slight nod conveyed his respect, and he charged. Katana and odachi clashed in a series of strikes, virtual steel ringing out against the soft cry of the wind. Daisuke attacked his opponent’s connection; each swing of his blade symbolized a burst of data. Every defense reflected the software’s failure to disconnect the samurai from the network or fry a deck. Mamoru laughed to himself, this man did not even understand he was inside the building on a hardline terminal.

  With each meeting of steel, Mamoru’s sense of his opponent’s technology grew clearer. Their duel paused after thirteen stalemates, each man orbiting his opponent at a cautious distance. Were Mamoru’s avatar capable of doing so, it would have smiled.

  “Impressive, Koga Daisuke. Nishihama Warlord decks are quite rare and expensive.”

  Daisuke shuddered as his eyes widened. “H-how could you―”

  Mamoru’s body stretched to a smear, anchored between two copies of himself. One where he stood and a second, which appeared nose to nose with the administrator. Daisuke’s attention had not left the more solid looking Mamoru that remained a few paces away. Realization of his error paled his face. He shuddered and glanced down at the katana through his chest. Patches of cyan light ran up and down below his skin, over his face. The odachi fell from his grasp with a clank.

  “My connection is local, Koga-san. Your obfuscation was focused outward, not against your own terminals.”

  “T-terminal?” Daisuke gasped, his voice modulated as if coughing up nonexistent blood. “Y-you are using a terminal?”

  The duplicate Mamoru wrenched the blade out and withdrew along the connecting light ribbon, merging with the original. Daisuke cradled the hole through his body, from which random fragments of glowing matter crawled. He fell to his knees, trying to look angry despite his helplessness. Crackles echoed in Mamoru’s mind. The distant pinpricks of burned chips in the administrator’s deck brought him satisfaction. He snapped his blade into its scabbard with a sharp click and returned to the obelisk to gather the data he had come for.

  “Finish it.” Daisuke gasped and collapsed to his knees. “You have bested me”―he coughed―“in my own network, n-not even using a d-deck. I am unable to stop you from looting our most valuable project. Spare me the dishonor of seppuku for my failure.”

  Mamoru pulled at the glowing kanji. An ancient scroll extruded from the obelisk through the carved symbol, which faded as soon as it came loose. One by one, he extracted the data related to the Fūjin, and stacked scrolls in the crook of his left arm. “Koga Daisuke, you should feel no dishonor in this defeat. You could no more have stopped me than you could stop rain from touching the ground.”

  “Shizuka-sama will not see the situation in those terms. If you have Black ICE, I request that you spare me the disgrace of failure.”

  He set the last scroll at the top of the stack, finally spinning to look at Daisuke. “You did not fail. Failure implies the outcome was at any point in doubt.”

  Mamoru lifted his gaze to the carved wooden roof, reaching out across the GlobeNet with his mind. The room blurred, becoming an impressionist painting. Color ran liquid to the floor, leaving the walls black and glassy. Forms shifted, and the area took on textures and designs―the network representation of the Matsushita Corporation research data center. Tables, desks, and chairs sprouted from the ground, changing from onyx to wood or steel. White tiles drew in across the floor, rising and becoming three-dimensional. One by one, employee avatars appeared, images mimicking their real-world appearance. Mamoru manifested as an egg-shaped mass of blinding light, causing four women and three men to shield their faces until it dimmed.

  Out of respect for Minamoto’s decree, he discarded his samurai form for his true self. Without the influence of the Noro-Shimura node, his armload of scrolls took on the form of standard silver data tiles. At last realizing what happened, the lead researcher approached and offered a polite bow. Mamoru felt a sense of power from the fear in her eyes as he handed over the tiles. His sudden appearance had worried them all. The Sages went to great lengths to block ‘teleportation.’ If the monitoring authority noticed, they could cause problems. Even a company as powerful as Matsushita viewed the Global Internetworking Group as a threat.

  Mamoru faded away, his voice lingering after he was gone. “Be at ease, Fujiwara-san. I am but a ghost amid the wires.”

  The sense of immobility gave way to the touch of smoky air in Mamoru’s lungs and a nagging pain in his arm. Burned electronics soured his throat, making him cough despite his best effort to resist. He lifted his hands from the smoking ruin of the desk terminal, fingers frozen in their claw-like posture for several seconds be
fore they yielded to his desire to move. He grasped at his arm where the dragon had bitten him, rubbing tooth-shaped bruises under his clothing―the downside to his talents. Becoming the machine let him share in its pain.

  He looked up as the office door opened. One of the cleaning staff, a Class 2 doll made in the image of a teen girl, froze in shock. Thin lines ran from the corners of her eyes to her jawline, molded plates formed an innocent face. Blue glowing irises reflected on cheeks of porcelain white. Dark grey metal peeked through gaps on the insides of fingers and around the wrists.

  Mamoru vaulted the desk on chi-boosted muscles, seizing the doll by the wrist. The fake girl offered a meek stare. The self-preserving nature of its basic AI attempted to capitalize on a cute appearance. He pulled it into the office and put his other hand on its cheek while forcing it back against the desk. From the moment he touched it, he shared in the debate raging in the doll’s CPU. It had found him in an office as though he belonged there, but he was unrecognized. The imitation girl was afraid he would harm it, and offered no resistance as his mental command triggered a shutdown sequence. The doll slumped in a heap.

  After easing the inert body over the desk, he retrieved his blade and sprinted down the corridor to the hangar bay. Workers ran screaming in random directions as he leapt hose bundles and dodged carts. One man ran at him with a large tool, attempting to wield it like a club. Mamoru evaded the clumsy attack with ease, cracking his opponent across the bridge of the nose with his sheathed katana. The man hit the ground dazed, with blood gushing through his fingers. Mamoru ducked the wings of the Fūjin and leapt onto the left forward canard by the cockpit. He crouched and put a hand on the aircraft’s skin, reveling in the sense of advanced technology. Armed guards scrambled toward the door of an elevated booth. Fire suppression systems went off without warning, flooding the upper catwalk area with great clouds of rolling fog. The reprogrammed construct was with him.