by S A Asthana
“Well?” she asked, curling her bare legs up at the knees. “Is it done yet? Are my tentacles activated?”
“Patience, my dear… err, what does he call you again?” Yukito’s face was lit ghost-white by the laptop’s screen.
“Desert rose.”
He snickered. “Desert rose. Right.”
“Something funny?” she asked with brow crunched.
“Well, yes and no. You see, a desert rose survives at the mercy of the wind and the moisture it carries. No wind means no moisture which means… no rose.”
“I don’t follow, Yukito.” He could be extremely frustrating in conversation.
“My father calling you a desert rose is no coincidence. He views you as a dependent. He the wind with his moisture, you see. You the sole rose out in the middle of a parched desert, desperately seeking his water.” He keyed away on the laptop, his poisonous stare darting from the screen to her and back.
There was a point to his circuitous blabbering, after all, and it pinched, for a dependent she indeed had been thus far. She survived only because of Akiyama’s whims. It was no secret her reign would have ended years ago at the hands of a revolution had it not been Akiyama’s influx of cash and weapons. Those investments had bolstered her standing in New Paris to untouchable heights.
“But I don’t think you’re a desert rose,” Yukito continued. “No. I think you are something more. A desert storm, one capable of bringing enemies to their knees.” He locked eyes with her. “You follow?”
Something brimmed inside her as if a yearning. Sandstorm — how fitting.
“And what about you, Yukito? What do you see yourself as?” She coiled her hair playfully.
“Me?” he grinned. “Oh, I’m a thorn riding the storm, blown by its gusts at great speed and ready to pierce the heart of my enemy.”
Poetic. But, predictable. She had him right where she wanted. “Together we are a force to reckon with.” Marie reached for him.
He caressed her fingers and nodded. “I know what you want, Marie — power. But you won’t ever have it by clinging to my father. He doesn’t need a queen. Nor will you ever get the title with my older brother.”
The cable vibrated as new commands invoked further transfer of data. It sent a tickle up Marie’s spine. “Etsuji is quite handsome, no?” There was a childlike bounciness in her banter.
Yukito didn’t reciprocate the tone. His left eye twitched, and he said, “My older brother may be handsome, but I promise you won’t get anywhere with him.”
“Are you getting jealous, Yuki?” Marie winked.
“He wants you dead, Marie.”
The revelation was a punch to the gut, one Marie hadn’t seen coming. Lifting her head, she asked, “Dead? I don’t understand.”
“He considers you a liability as long as you’re alive.” Yukito leaned forward. “Him and my little idiot brother plot to kill you.”
“How do you know all this?”
Yukito snickered again and slumped in the chair. “I know things, my dear. It’s how I keep myself from getting banished or worse… shot by a firing squad.”
“You have spies?” Marie’s eyes widened. His wickedness was admirable. Such a perfect weapon to be wielded, this spindly man.
He nodded, his eyes focused back on the screen. “I have this entire penthouse wired in ways my family can’t even fathom. It gives me eyes and ears everywhere.”
Yukito, the technical guru. The sage of bits and bytes. A slithering snake of information.
“They fear the High Council will find out you’re still alive,” he continued, “and that could spark a war because they’d demand your return. Obviously my father wouldn’t comply, thus fighting the treaty.”
The sticking point became salient — the Trilateral Treaty. Akiyama had promised to keep her a secret so as not to attract conflict with the Martians. Clearly his sons didn’t agree. To them, she was a threat as long as she was alive.
“Screw the treaty,” she spat. “And fuck the High Council. They are the reason I lost everything.”
“I agree. They overstep their boundaries.”
“You wanted to send a strong message in return for them destroying my city.”
“I did. You know how the conversation went with my family. They didn’t agree. Those peasants don’t have the bones of warriors.” Yukito sneered. “Why, if I was king, I’d have sent a fleet to Port Sydney and wiped out their army and taken them over. They’d understand true Nipponese strength then. I believe that offense is the—”
“Best defense. I agree with you, Yuki. I agree.”
Silence settled between the two. They locked stares as if trying to read one another’s souls line by line. Several breaths later, Marie finally spoke, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Yukito’s stare fell away in contemplation. “I should be Emperor.”
“Yes! You should rule this city.” The poking, prodding and widening of the crack in the wall was in full-force. “You aren’t meek like them. No. You are the strength this city needs at this time.” Just because he didn’t look the part didn’t mean he couldn’t shoulder its burdens. “I believe in you, Yuki.”
Yukito cracked his knuckles, his gaze now searching the floor as if for answers. “I am the best bet out of my family to carry forward the torch. That’s been apparent for some time now.”
“Akiyama is old,” Marie continued. “Reo is a tiny child. And Etsuji—”
“Is unfit to rule,” Yukito finished, pushing his thick glasses higher up his nose.
“Exactly,” Marie said, effortlessly playing the part of the devil on one shoulder. She waited for him to say what she’d been hoping to hear this entire time.
“I can rule Nippon One,” he said, “with you as my empress. Two outcasts brought together.”
Parfait. The opportunity was at hand. The snake was entangled within my white tigress grip. Power will be mine again.
The mighty goddess took a step to stand atop her mighty pedestal. “You think it a wise decision, my high one?” she asked with a purr, feigning concern. “The High Council might not like that.” Akiyama’s good graces were a distant memory. A shinier royal object, one that could be wielded much more easily, was now in her grasp.
He scoffed. “Remember what you said… fuck the High Council.” The two giggled like schoolyard children with secrets. He continued, “I have sent them some trouble.”
When she flashed an expectant grin, he said, “I have gifted some pirates with the 1.V10 that crashed outside New Paris.”
“You were able to revive that beast?”
He nodded. It was now obvious he wasn’t one to be underestimated. “They will make the Sydneysiders’ life difficult.” He had connections to the pirate fleets that roamed space between the colonies — exactly how was unclear to Marie at moment. No matter, for it was his resourcefulness that was her prime focus.
“That thing was fried,” she said. “How were you-?”
“Because, my desert storm, I am quite a capable human being.” He tapped a key hard and the laptop whirred loudly.
“It is done.” He grinned. “Your limbs are reactivated.”
Your limbs are reactivated — the words Marie had longed for. She pulled the cable from her tail bone and sat upright. Not much happened for several breaths. Crossing her arms across her bare breasts, Marie shut her eyes. She massaged her shoulders with slender fingers. There was a prickly sensation running up and down her back. It was familiar.
“Well?” Yukito asked.
Marie uncurled a smile and hunched, flexing her shoulder blades all the while. Six metal tentacles shot out the holes in her back and suspended themselves in arcs over her like cobras ready to strike. She blinked open her eyes.
Yukito was awestruck. “They’re… beautiful.”
Marie nodded. A tentacle wound around her neck, its tip close to her mouth. She poked at it with a finger and drew blood. A maniacal grin cut her face. “Now, how do we make you king, Yu
ki?”
He snorted with delight. “I have some plans in motion already. Reo is about to be the first casualty. Poor little samurai.”
“That man-boy has caused me much pain. No tentacles. No euphoria,” Marie said. “With him out of the way, security will be compromised.”
“Exactly, my dear. Then we go after the bigger fish. And you will help me now that I’ve given you your extra limbs. You will help me, won’t you?”
Marie wrapped her tentacles around her torso, letting their metal cool her naked skin. “I will do as you wish, my king.” A vehicle was required to the seat of power — Yukito was hers to drive. He was her only choice.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek, sealing the venomous union.
CHAPTER 14: REO
Reo sighed at the sight through the cockpit’s window. His Toyota multi-passenger police aircraft provided a bird’s eye view of Kabukicho. The normally colorful neighborhood now resembled a drab concrete graveyard set aflame. Screams and howls for violence, all punctured by explosions, pierced his ears. It was a war zone. Buildings burned as gang members from different crime syndicates clashed on the streets. Bullets whizzed past street lights and shattered windows. Parked cars substituted for barricades against enemy plasma fire. Sprays of blood burst from chests as projectiles found their marks, and clouds of smoke ballooned through the streets up to rooftops. Kabukicho’s destruction and the loss of its human life was spurred by the invasion of New Paris thousands of miles away — how quickly things could change for the worse. Peace was a thinly veiled illusion.
Reo’s vehicle’s spotlight shot from one thug to the next, highlighting nasty features as calls for peace from nearby police aircraft blared through their blowhorns. The fighting continued undeterred below.
“What’s our next move, Keishi-sōkan?” the craft’s pilot asked his commanding officer.
“We stick to the plan,” Reo answered. “Head to the euphoria plant.”
Following directives from the Emperor, the goal was to seize and nationalize the two euphoria manufacturing plants in this neighborhood. Everything else was a distraction. The task would only be easy if the police didn’t have to go head to head against a criminal organization like the Yakuza. Given the inter-criminal war, chances for such a scenario playing out seemed low.
“Do we let the fighting continue then?” the pilot asked.
“Yes, keep focus on mission.”
The pilot led the fleet of ten aircraft toward a two-story building at the edge of the neighborhood. The urban conflict hadn’t spilled into this section of Kabukicho, as far as Reo could tell. The block was eerily quiet. He commanded into his mouthpiece, “We land at the entrance.”
The police vehicles changed trajectory, their ion propulsion engines roaring loud, and commenced smooth landings on concrete. The manufacturing plant appeared downtrodden, with only a few windows breaking the monotony of its red brick walls. It was a low-key structure meant to attract minimal attention. Most would mistake it for an ordinary warehouse, for many such buildings littered this ward. But the police force had always known its true intent. They’d let it slide till today. Bribes were fruitful, after all.
Reo exited the craft along with his pilot, squinting under the block’s sole street light. His subordinates followed suit. As distant gunfire echoed behind dark buildings, Reo pressed a portion of his crisp collar between his thumb and forefinger. In response, his ironed, navy blue uniform inflated some, and parts of its ceramic composite fabric hardened into plates of armor. A sleek, polycarbonate glass visor, normally pressed into his cap, swiveled down to shield Reo’s eyes and nose. Similar armor was deployed by the rest of the force accompanying him. All brandished their state issued Howa 1050 semi-automatic pistols.
Turning to his men, Reo said, “I need half of this unit to enter via the back — break down doors if needed. The rest come with me through the front. Keep a lookout for—”
A hail of bullets interrupted, sending the officers dashing for cover. Shots ricocheted off Reo’s back armor plates as he sprinted to the plant. Ambush.
The sniper fire appeared to be coming from one of the surrounding buildings. It found two marks, dropping the officers flat onto the road with their unprotected jaws bursting open. The remaining men found cover either back inside their police crafts or just within the manufacturing plant’s entrance — fortunately for them, the front door had been left unlocked. A lucky break or a trap?
“Find the attackers,” Reo commanded into his mouthpiece.
“Yes, Keishi-sōkan!” an officer outside shouted. Those policemen hiding within the crafts returned fire in every direction hoping to find their mark. The block became engulfed in a bullet storm.
“Someone knew we were coming,” Reo said. Turning to the ten men who’d managed to accompany him into the plant, he said, “There might be others who’ve already secured this site. We need to be on guard.”
The men nodded and directed their attention to the dimly lit hallway ahead. Reo recapped the orders. “The objective is to secure this site. Its owner is most likely not present, or already dead, having been taken out by one of the syndicates. I’m assuming the Yakuzas, at this point.”
As the gun battle roared outside, Reo switched communication lines. “Military backup required in Shinjuku ward, section Kabukicho, address 101 Hiroshima drive. Advise options.”
A thick voice blared in his ears a few seconds later, “It would serve you well to alert us before an active mission, Keishi-sōkan.”
Reo furrowed his brow. “I apologize, Gensui-Rikugun-Taishō, but I didn’t realize the situation would escalate to such an extent.”
“I am surprised the Emperor has put someone of such little experience in such a position,” the Marshal spat back. “No matter. I will send a platoon to aid the city police. As always, the military saves the day.” Reo’s earpiece crackled with static and went blank. He cursed under his breath. Relations between the Nipponese police and the military were on edge. Both saw the lunar city as theirs to defend and maintain, although following Emperor Akiyama’s position, it was the police, and by extension his son, who was in charge of day to day security operations in Nippon One. The imperial army was tasked with defense and attack operations for the rest of the moon and space. As a result, Reo had faced allegations of being privileged and awarded the responsibility because of blood. Nothing made him angrier. Despite the conflict, it was obvious the military needed to intervene at the moment — to hell with ego.
He led his unit down the hallway. Flickering light bulbs punctured a quiet darkness and offered a partial view to a door at the end. It remained ajar just enough to let through a sliver of bright light. With guns pointed forward, the officers continued in lockstep with one another as if they were a single muscle. They moved like shadows. The ambush outside was already a distant memory.
Reo nudged the door open. A well-lit hall revealed itself, its rectangular space littered with large glass vats standing tall. Red liquid bubbled within each — the plant was producing euphoria. An acrid stench of burnt iron stung Reo’s nostrils. With his nose crinkled he ordered, “Secure this room.”
The unit dispersed, each officer moving with his gun aimed ahead. Soon, every corner was manned. Reo glanced left to right. The hall was tall enough to allow for a second-floor balcony which lined its walls all the way around. A flimsy, metal ladder led up to it, providing passage to a narrow door in the far-right corner. A main office most likely. Perhaps, the owner was hiding in there?
Reo signaled his men to stay put, and then he rushed up the ladder, his boots clanging against metal rungs. Upon ascending the balcony, he eyed his men. They stood at alert, ready to fire if required. All was in control. But a nagging sense clawed the back of his brain, cutting through the folds one by one. Securing the plant had been easy — too easy.
A mechanical buzzing pierced, swelling his anxiety all the more. Narrow slits revealed themselves along the walls by way of hidden flaps sliding away, just un
der the ceiling. There must have been at least twenty. A moving darkness hid within each, and Reo’s heart skipped a beat.
Slender gun barrels poked out and fired a barrage of bullets, their aim pointed floor-level and exact. Each police officer took multiple hits in the span of seconds. Their armor did its best to deflect the assault, but the hail of bullets found weaknesses soon enough. The men fell to the floor in a spray of red and loose flesh, their faces twisted. Screams echoed along with bursts of ammunition and filled the hall with death. The stench of burnt skin and clouds of smoke swelled to the balcony. And then, as if a nightmare ending abruptly, the attack stopped.
Ten corpses littered the floor, their limbs astray all about intact glass vats. Reo blinked in disbelief. Unbelievable. How could I not see the situation for what it was? A trap. But how? Who gave me away?
A lone bullet escaped from one of the many mounted barrels and struck his hand, sending the Howa flying away. Clutching bloodied fingers, he kneeled in defeat. Reo shouted, “Come out, you cowards. Let me see you.” Sweat salted his eyes and spittle lined his lips. If hearts could talk, Reo’s would scream.
A maniacal laughter echoed through a speaker in the corner. It faded within moments, leaving behind a thick, male voice. “You are a fool.”
“Come out and face me!” Reo’s eyes were wide, like a deer in headlights.
The main office door opened, revealing a short, stout man. A fine black suit covered him as did an aura of self-confidence foreign to Reo. It was Isao, the Yakuza’s oyabun. He stepped onto the balcony with head held high and noted, “If it isn’t Akiyama’s little samurai.” He laughed as did the man who trailed him — Hayato. The right hand’s look, the long ponytail along with the blade tied within a knot at its end, was instantly recognizable. “Pretending to be a dragon is not good for your health.” Isao laughed again all the while toying with a butterfly knife. “You see, if a dragon’s wings aren’t full grown, it falls flat to the ground.” He peeked over the balcony at the bodies strewn below and commented, “Sometimes the dragon takes innocent lives as a result.” He sputtered a guttural laughter, the folds in his face wrinkling further. The man filled the large hall despite his stature.
