The Final Wars Rage

by S A Asthana

  “No, today! This is a matter of national security. The High Council is going to want to hear what I have to say.”

  There was a brief silence. “Fine.” Mindy conceded. She held little power. A gatekeeper only in name. “I have an appointment ready for you in six hours.”

  “Excellent. Computer, chart course to Port Sydney.”

  “Charting course. Estimated time of arrival — five hours.”

  The petri dish freak was going to punch back.

  CHAPTER 25: MARIE

  The stage’s wings were chilly, but Marie wasn’t bothered. Her dress, thick and layered, kept her warm. She stood draped in a traditional red jūnihitoe, a set of formal and highly complex silk kimono garments with eight sheets weighing twenty kilograms, eagerly watching the stage. Fixing into place her tiny Rion hearing-aid, Marie leaned forward in anticipation of Yukito’s speech. He was set to address hundreds of journalists, bureaucrats and military officers packing the auditorium. A sun-bright spotlight illuminated his features and sinewy frame. He appeared almost handsome in a black suit and looked the part of emperor that he so desperately wanted. Marie smiled, for she too wore her desired role well — Empress of Nippon One. Giddiness fluttered inside her stomach as if it were a host of butterflies flapping their wings. Royal power was almost within her grasp again.

  Yukito bowed. “I truly appreciate everyone coming here at this late hour. Our circumstances demand speed.” He took a deep breath and continued, “It is true my father and elder brother are gone.”

  The hall became alive with a human buzz reminiscent of bees. Yukito held up his hands to calm the crowd. “I was there when the attack happened.” He paused to blink away tears. A true political thespian, he was surprisingly good. “And… and I saw my father and Etsuji murdered mercilessly.” He sighed for dramatic effect. Would his older brother have emoted so well? Akiyama certainly never did. But here he was — Yukito, the effective statesman.

  “An assassin stole into our home. That wicked beast. And he killed my family with no remorse.”

  “How did he get in?” a reporter interrupted, her eyes taking in his histrionics on display. “What happened to security?”

  “Ah, Miss Ota,” Yukito pulled the microphone closer to his mouth and walked to stage right, just in front of her. “A wise question.” His eyes locked onto Nippon One’s most famous correspondent. “Why wasn’t there any security, indeed. I had the exact same question as I dodged the assassin’s bullets. Security normally holds post in every corner of my father’s penthouse. And police aircraft hold their positions on the east side of the tower from where the assassin entered. So, yes, the obvious question is… where exactly was security in our family penthouse?”

  There was a pause as Yukito stared down the hall’s occupants. They waited for the answer. After stretching the silence purposely, he said, “I know why, but you’re not going to like my response.”

  Marie’s eyes widened. The plan she devised with Yukito was unfolding masterfully.

  “Security had been diverted to the penthouse’s front entrance, which is at the opposite end of the balcony from where the assassin came in. And, similarly, security detail aircraft had been diverted away from the east end. All this has been confirmed in the past several hours. So, you see, it was all a set up.” Yukito shook a fist. “And in order to answer why security would do such a thing, one must ask… who ran security, at least until a few hours ago?”

  Murmurs washed over the crowd like a tide of realization. Eyes grew wide and mouths gaped. “My brother, Reo.” Yukito made a wide flourish with his arms. “Yes, it’s true. He ordered the security lapse. This has been confirmed directly with those on duty. The real question isn’t what happened to security. It wasn’t their negligence that lead to the massacre.” There was a deep breath. He seemed to gauge his audience’s reaction. So far, they were journeying with him without protest, their hands clasped tight around his weapon of a story. “The question is why my younger brother ordered such a thing.”

  More buzz. Heads turned and necks pivoted wildly. Was that a trace of a smile on Yukito’s face? A sly snake, this one. He crossed the stage with expert command. “I have pieced together the puzzle. I have been able to get footage from disparate sources and bring it all together, and I have solved this riddle.”

  He pulled a remote from within his pants pocket, pointed it ahead to the ceiling, and pressed a button. A projector beeped and played a video on the stage’s black curtain. Yukito turned to face the footage. “I want you to watch this carefully, ladies and gentlemen.”

  The crisp imagery showed the royal penthouse’s harem wing in full color — golden samurai statues stood upright and black curtains hung low. Nothing moved for the space of a few seconds. Just as the audience leaned back, the balcony glass door slid open, and the crowd shot up to its feet.

  A dark silhouette crept into the room with a gun held out, and the auditorium shuddered with a sharp gasp. The figure crossed the space slowly but purposefully. Yukito paused the footage. Turning to the crowd, he hissed, “The assassin. Timestamp is 8:16 pm lunar.” There was a pause to let the audience soak it all in. “A security lapse was supposed to last fifteen minutes — 8:15 to 8:30. And you are watching the reason behind the lapse. This ninja being in my home at this particular time is no coincidence.”

  Miss Ota’s normally poised voice was laced with suspicion. “So, let me get this straight — it was Reo Honda, the Chief of Police, who ordered the hit on his own family?”

  Yukito nodded, pushing his glasses up the nose. “The assassin was meant to kill everyone but Reo. Except the plan backfired along the way for my younger brother. Bullets meant for me accidentally found him instead, leaving him in critical condition. I was able to call security, and those brave men rushed in to save whoever they could.”

  His head hung. Were those tears streaming down his cheek? Marie flashed a giddy smile — he’s even better than me. Who knew?

  “But why would Reo take such a risk?” Miss Ota asked with an eyebrow raised in disbelief. She didn’t seem to be buying what Yukito was selling. Marie nearly rushed out in a fit of rage to erase her. But empress in waiting stayed put, thinking instead about the pending power that would soon be hers. “Even if Reo’s plan had worked, his security detail could have outed him.”

  “Good question!” Yukito pointed to the journalist as if he was a CEO fielding questions at a business press conference. “I wondered the same thing, Miss Ota. But the rewards must have outweighed the risks in Reo’s mind. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have taken such a chance. It is obvious to me that my little brother wanted to be emperor himself, despite our traditions.”

  Miss Ota opened her mouth to object, but stopped short as if to consider Yukito’s response. He turned back to the curtains and pressed a button on his remote. The paused image zoomed in on the assassin’s face. Dark, unrecognizable features became salient — a fair face punctured by yellow eyes emerged. Marie’s jaw clenched and her blood boiled with rage. She pressed her shoulder wound. It still hurt, but luckily Bastien’s shot hadn’t been fatal. The royal family physician had taken care of her promptly.

  “This man is Bastien Lyons,” Yukito announced. “He is not just any ordinary man.” The image switched to a professional picture of Bastien’s face. It showed him with a full head of black hair and a clean-shaven jaw. “Ex-Lieutenant General of the Martian forces.” Gasps ran wild in the auditorium.

  “You’re telling us that Reo enlisted the aid of a Martian to assassinate the Nipponese royal family?” Miss Ota’s arms were crossed. Her cheeks burned red. Skepticism appeared to give way to a nationalist undercurrent in her tone.

  “Traitor!” someone yelled in the crowd.

  The plot played exactly as hoped.

  “Yes. But a larger scheme is at play.” Yukito took another deep breath. There was much to explain, and a lot for the crowd to take in. His guidance of the story was critical here if certain objectives were to be achieved. “Since Ba
stien is not currently enlisted in Port Sydney’s forces, one might wonder whether he was a rogue agent.”

  The picture faded, giving way to a second video footage. It showed a crowded street in Kabukicho. September 30, 2209, 11:32 pm lunar was the timestamp. “This is footage from a few nights back. Watch closely.” The video zoomed in on two individuals in the crowd. One was the assassin, his bald head and grimace clear. The other was a tall woman sporting a black trench coat and a blonde ponytail.

  “Facial recognition of her.” The video flickered, leaving behind a professional picture of Alice Smith, her face stoic, her torso dressed in Port Sydney’s red uniform. “She is the current Lieutenant General in the Martian armed forces.” More gasps left the crowd. The final dots had been connected.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you this.” Yukito pointed at his people. “Why is the assassin hired by my brother fraternizing with a current Martian officer?”

  “Those red gaijins want to destroy us,” a man shouted in the back.

  “Just like they destroyed New Paris,” another added.

  “That is correct.” Yukito held out his fist. “I feared this was coming and advised my father to act, but alas, he did not. The mistake cost him his life. The Martians’ plan is now as clear as our water and air that they covet.”

  “So they wanted to destroy us,” Miss Ota said in a voice brimming with anger, “and they saw an opportunity for doing so by way of your younger brother. They must have opened communication directly with him and supplied Bastien as the executor. We were to be dismantled from the inside out, it seems, and have a Martian puppet take over. Reo.”

  Yukito’s message had been accepted — his lies were resonating with the people. The crowd broke into uproar. Looks of shock twisted into angry scowls. Fury bubbled to the surface and fists punched the air.

  “Nippon One wouldn’t take such a brazen attack on its soil lying down,” a thick voice rang out. It belonged to a tall army marshal — Gensui-Rikugun-Taishō. “We won’t become another New Paris.” Yukito guided the city’s sentiment exactly where he’d wanted it — into hatred for the Martians. Both the media and the army fell under his influence.

  “In accordance with the lunar constitution, as the next in line after Etsuji, I have no choice but to accept the title of emperor,” Yukito announced with palm on his chest. “It will be an honor if there are no objections, of course.”

  The buzz died. Faces remained glued to the man.

  “No objections from the military,” the marshal boomed. “We are with you in this difficult time.”

  “Thank you, Gensui-Rikugun-Taishō.” Yukito addressed him with a bow.

  The man in his crisp and pressed brown imperial uniform responded with a deep bow of his own. Fixing his cap, he said, “I always knew your younger brother wasn’t up to the task for his post as Chief of Police, but I never imagined him a traitor. Now we will do as required to keep Nippon One safe.”

  “You will be on the right side of history, my friend.” Yukito nodded and fixed his glasses again.

  “We are on your side too, Emperor,” Miss Ota affirmed. “The media will back you as needed. We will broadcast your findings. All Nipponese citizens will stand with you.”

  Yukito bowed again. The crowd broke into the Nipponese national anthem spontaneously. As the boastful words echoed, their tone underlined with strong nationalist sentiment, Yukito stood tall with a stern face. In a matter of hours, the royal pariah had consolidated the city-state’s power. The auditorium cheered on its new emperor, all eyes transfixed on the man as if hypnotized by his cobra stare. Marie’s smile swelled to tear at the edges of her face.

  Holding out a hand, Yukito acknowledged his people and the noise died. “In the interim, until we find a qualified individual to fill the Chief of Police role, I will take ownership.” Heads nodded in unison. They were his to be molded now. His rules, his methods were above reproach. A citizen couldn’t possibly disapprove of the man who was going to save Nippon One, after all. “Reo is recovering in a prison cell. Once he’s tended to by royal physicians, he will stand trial according to the laws of the constitution. Justice will be served.”

  The crowd applauded as if they were his cheerleaders. “And, finally,” Yukito turned to face Marie, “I want to introduce you to someone special.” The moment, at last. “Ladies and gentlemen, my people, please welcome your new Empress.”

  Marie stepped out, her back straight despite the weight of her garments. People stared, some with mouths agape, others bearing hushed whispers. Would they approve? A foreigner was being appointed to the ruling elite, an event with no precedence in Japanese history. Their stares scorched her.

  She had to play her cards just right. Yukito’s plan couldn’t fail now because of her. Fortunately for him, his new bride was a star performer as well.

  Keeping her head down, she took a deep graceful bow. With a longing foreign to her uptil then, Marie stood upright, pressed into her husband some, and cast him a doe-eyed stare. He smiled and addressed the baffled silence, “I know what you’re thinking, my people. I can surely understand your sentiment. Gaijins have been and continue to be a problem for our great state, and yet I chose to bring one into our midst as an empress.”

  Arms were crossed across chests. Gone was the supportive fervor from moments back, having been replaced by judgmental stares. “But keep in mind, Empress Marie Honda is not just any gaijin. She was Queen of New Paris, a city that was unjustly destroyed by the Martians. She fought for her people as they were mercilessly gunned down by those red demons. And when all was lost, she came to us as a refugee.”

  “But your father had told the Sydneysiders she was dead.” Miss Ota cast Marie a suspicious glare.

  “Only to placate rising tensions with them,” Yukito scoffed. “A whole lot of good it did. One cannot reason with demons, that is the lesson here. Empress Marie Honda is one of us now. She does not want us to succumb to the same fate as her people.”

  Marie stood with drooped shoulders, a sad face switched on — a picture of demureness and fragility. A French poodle needing a home.

  “Do not shun my choice,” Yukito begged his people. “Accept her if not for me, then for her sake and the sake of all that our culture promises. She’s been through so much. We can give Marie a home.”

  Whispers spread from the front of the auditorium to its back. Scowls began to soften. Sharp stares blunted. Tentative smiles spread across faces. A page was being turned.

  “She is one of us,” Miss Ota affirmed, her eyes forgiving.

  Marie was seconds away from unsheathing her tentacles and decapitating detractors in a fit of rage. Despite her instincts, she kept cool and played the part. In the Nipponese’s eyes, Yukito was the major, her the minor. No problem. Public perception didn’t have to mirror reality.

  As the auditorium broke into cheers for the royal couple, Yukito reached out to hold Marie’s hands. They gazed into each other’s eyes. Moving away the microphone, he leaned into her ear and whispered, “Thank you, for everything.” The crowd’s veneration was apparent. Oh, how she’d missed wielding power.

  "Please don't betray me." She pressed her cheek into his.

  As the hall quieted, Gensui-Rikugun-Taishō spoke, “What does the Emperor wish to do next?”

  Yukito took a deep breath as if to compose himself. Finally, he responded, “We must send a strong response.” Heads nodded in agreement. “We must show the red demons we aren’t ones who take such attacks lying down.”

  Cheers burst across the crowd. Eyes remained large, their pupils bright with the lust for the revenge of war.

  “Gensui-Rikugun-Taishō,” Yukito commanded, “please prepare a task force to deliver a swift response to Port Sydney. An eye for an eye. They took my father and brother, after destroying my wife’s people. Now we will take something from them. Their freedom. We will make vassals of those warmongers. They will never underestimate us again.”

  The marshal bowed deep, his shoulders
broad with responsibility.

  “They are asking for war.” Yukito thrust a fist into the air. “We will give them one — our rage will be boundless.”

  The audience raised its fists as well. The free market patrons of Nippon One had evolved into something else within the span of a few hours. Commerce and productivity weren’t their concerns anymore. The state was at risk, after all. It demanded full attention.

  CHAPTER 26: CRONE

  Frank sat in his apartment with his eyes unfocused. The living room, minimalist and somber in white tones, provided little solace. Recessed lights kept shadows at bay, albeit poorly — they’d been permanently dimmed by the High Council along with most other residential lighting to conserve energy. Just one of the many changes put into motion to eliminate elements deemed wasteful. Port Sydney’s temperature had been lowered by 20 degrees in the past month to 45 degrees Fahrenheit ensuring further energy conservation. Frank exhaled slow and his breath danced in front of him.

  The Martians were sliding ever further into ruin.

  It was hard to pinpoint when exactly his lodging, with its one thousand square feet and twelve-foot high ceilings, had stopped providing him comfort. Perhaps when he’d killed all those citizens in the second purge. Or maybe even earlier when he’d performed the first one. It could even have happened the moment he’d decided to keep things from the High Council. Maybe it was the day humans had handed over the reins to the machines. Difficult to gauge.

  There was a time when his quarters had been a thing of pride — something to celebrate. The apartment was the largest in all of Port Sydney. Tucked away in its own wing on the residential floor, it had been his cocoon of warmth, a place to separate from the pressures of the job. Frank could disconnect and forget about his people’s past mistakes and those of his parents. Now the past haunted him more than ever.

  He imagined them standing at the opposite end of the apartment with grey hair and wrinkled skin, their features semitransparent. The two smiled with endearing folds on their cheeks. Their outfits were dated, belonging to a time when Port Sydney thought about only terraforming — father wore a sky-blue shirt with green pants, and mother had on a long, flowing dress imprinted with a topography reminiscent of an Earthly continent.