The Last Spartan 1: Different Paths

by A. E. McCullough

  Iaido nodded his understanding and let the unspoken relationship drop but asked, “And when was this communication?”

  “Two days prior to the battle of Gilese.”

  “That was over ten years ago.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why now? Why start searching now?”

  Once again Talia glanced at the Madam who shook her head slightly. Biting her lip, she cast her gaze downward and said, “I am sorry Mr. Spartan but I cannot discuss my reasons at this time.”

  Iaido stood up. “Well ladies, my thanks for your help.”

  Talia grabbed his arm briefly before remembering her manners and releasing her hold. “Will you take the case?”

  “If you mean will I search for the cause of Sgt. Major Spenton’s death? Yes. Will I hunt for your sister? No. But if I run across information about her, I will inform you.” Turning back to the door, Iaido walked out. Just before the door closed, Madam Aleksandra’s musical voice reached him.

  “Beware of shadows. They are moving against you.”

  * * * * *

  Talia stared at the door for several minutes before turning to her mentor. “Is he the one Madam?”

  Madam Aleksandra didn’t answer but gestured toward Edgar, the raven, as the huge bird hopped onto the table. Edgar looked at the two women before turning his attention to the tarot deck. Fishing through the unturned cards, he pulled out a card with his beak.

  Reaching out, Talia gently placed it next to the other upturned cards. It was the Tower Card, emblazoned with the image of a lightning blasted tower which is aflame and two figures falling from its heights; the card which symbolized sudden change, ruin, revelations and hard times ahead.

  Talia glanced up at her mentor. “Should we have told him everything?”

  “Patience my child,” Madam Aleksandra said. “Great events are unfolding even as we speak. Some we can influence some we cannot but either way, time moves ahead slowly. To rush is to ignore the details.”

  * * * * *

  Leaving the shop, Iaido scanned his surroundings before walking across the street to a pub.

  The Crooked Creek Saloon had a sign advertising the ‘coldest beer in town’ in red and white neon in the front window. Moving into the darkened room, Iaido wasn’t surprised to see synthetic sawdust on the floor, an old fashion jukebox in the corner playing country songs and even a mechanical bull sitting in the corner. Taking a seat at the bar, Iaido ordered a beer from the service bot bartender.

  Service bots are the simplest form of androids. They only run a very limited series of programs but are extremely cost effective for businesses.

  Taking a drink from his beer, Iaido turned his attention to the vid-screens behind the bar. The Galactic News was on and displayed over numerous channels.

  One channel showed a reporter stating that there was trouble brewing with the JDL over trade routes through their sector which will cause prices of all imported goods to rise. Another channel was reporting that two colonies in the Orion cluster were reporting mass riots. The Galactic Marshals had advised the local governments to declare martial law on both planets and many feared that the riots would be the foreshadowing of another war.

  Regionally, there were numerous protests about the upcoming visit of the Coalition President and the NAPD were reporting a rise in violent crimes over the last two weeks. However a police spokesman was reported as saying ‘the violence seems to be random and unrelated’ and they point to the recent capture of the notorious thief and murderer Jagger Jax as proof that they were making headway during these troubled times.

  Iaido spied movement to his right and left; without turning his head he asked, “Special Agent Johnson and Agent Smith, why am I not surprised to see you here?”

  “Mr. Spartan.” Special Agent Johnson asked, “What brings you to Old Town?”

  When Iaido didn’t immediately respond, the junior agent grabbed his arm to forestall the bounty hunter from taking another drink of his beer.

  Calmly setting down his drink, Iaido glared at the agent and held up his other hand. “Strike two junior.”

  Somewhere inside himself, Agent Smith felt that he might’ve crossed the line and slowly retracted his hand.

  With a final glare at the youngster, Iaido turned his attention back to the senior agent. “You know very well what I am doing down here and where I have been. Your surveillance teams need practice, if this had been war, they would be dead by now.”

  “What surveillance teams?” asked Agent Smith innocently.

  Iaido faced the younger agent. “Don’t insult my intelligence. You have two agents dressed as bums on the street outside of the Sylvan Embassy; one to the north sitting beside the trash can and one to the south panhandling on a street not known for its foot traffic… not wise. You also have a video crew of at least two agents on the roof of the old theatre and of course your command post in this dump.”

  Iaido turned to the older Fed and asked, “Did I miss anyone?”

  “How...how did you know all that?” Agent Smith stammered.

  “Youngster, if you have walked the paths I have you would know.”

  Special Agent Johnson turned to his young protégé and said, “Pull our team, all of them. Tell them to report to HQ for reassignment.”

  Agent Smith glared at the bounty hunter for a moment before he moved out of sight. Special Agent Johnson said, “You’re walking a dangerous path Mr. Spartan.”

  “My path was decided a long time ago, I am what I was destined to be… nothing more and nothing less.”

  Special Agent Johnson took a long drink of his own beer and watched the vid-screens for several minutes before he broke the silence. “Do they know anything?”

  Iaido shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. I don’t believe they are telling me everything. You?”

  “I agree but I also believe that neither of them had anything to do with Sgt. Major Spenton’s death other than possibly getting him involved in something that got him killed. Hell, his murder could be just what it looks like.”

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do.” Iaido set down his beer and turned to face the fed. “You know I have to investigate this? I owe it to my friend.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you going to get in my way?”

  “Mr. Spartan, the last place I want to be is in your way. I value my life too much.”

  “You know who I am?”

  Finishing his beer, Special Agent Johnson set his glass on the bar. “Yes and no; officially, your records are sealed. No one below Council level clearance can access them but I have my suspicions.”

  “Which are?”

  “I know you were a member of Omega Squadron and judging from your hunting record I would say you were advanced recon. Judging from your movements, I would say you are highly trained in close combat. I know you served time in New Leavenworth after Gilese. As to why you were sentenced to there I don’t know…yet.”

  “Not bad for a Fed. You surprise me. I thought all bureaucrats were closed minded and narrow thinkers.”

  “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult,” Special Agent Johnson said. “But I’ll take that as a compliment. Would you like to fill in the gaps?”

  Iaido placed his empty mug on the counter and turned back to the Fed.

  “Let me tell you an ancient parable. Before going on a long journey a wealthy merchant took his life’s savings and entrusted it to a friend for safekeeping; only the merchant and the friend know about this transaction. However, the merchant was killed during the trip, leaving his family penniless. The friend has four choices; he can keep the money since no one knows of the transaction; covet the money for a short time until overcome by guilt before giving the money to the widow; hoard the money for a time until fear that someone knows of the transaction prompts him to give the money to the widow; or give the money to the merchant’s widow outright.” Iaido stood up and asked, “What is the moral of the story?”

  S
pecial Agent Johnson shook his head. “I have no idea. What the hell is it supposed to mean?”

  “When you discover that, then it will be time to learn more.” As he left the bar, his comlink chimed. Tapping the receive button he said, “Spartan.”

  “Hiya boss,” came Diana’s cheerful voice.

  Moving through the commuter traffic, Iaido scanned the crowd out of habit. Mostly watching hands and hips; hands for weapons, hips for concealed weapons or out of place movement.

  “What do you have for me, Diana?”

  “Two things; Sensei called to ask you to stop by.”

  “I am on my way there now.”

  “And I have that autopsy report for you, it took a bit of creative hacking but I have it. I was impressed at the level of security of the coroner. It was more elaborate than the Feds’ database.”

  Approaching the tram, Iaido flashed his bounty hunter credentials to the clerk and bypassed the security station and the line of waiting commuters.

  “Enlightening but what did you find?”

  “Well, according to the report the coroner did a full battery of tests but found no trace of any known toxins or drugs. He also did a cellular scan for any chemical or biological agents; none detected. Only two strange findings, the wife had two small puncture wounds on the base of her neck that don’t correspond to any known bite marks. And secondly, there seemed to be less blood loss than normal considering her wounds.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Just one note about Amy’s wound; it was self-inflicted and by the way, it was not a single stab wound as reported in the Feds’ files. It was actually a single slash wound to her jugular vein; she would’ve bled out in less than a minute. This was after she bound her legs together with a towel.”

  “Jigai.”

  “What was that?”

  “Jigai was a form of seppuku, an ancient form of ritual suicide from feudal Japan,” Iaido explained. “The main purpose of binding her legs was to keep her body in a dignified pose despite the convulsions of death. Seppuku was a key part of Bushido; the code of the Samurai warriors. It was used by warriors to avoid falling into enemy hands or to attenuate shame but was rarely used by women.”

  “Why would Amy commit this jigai thing?”

  “That is the question my dear Diana. To the best of my knowledge, Amy had never studied Bushido or served in the military. She was just a civilian, a nurse if memory serves. Go back through her files, tax records, employee records, anything and everything. Dig into her past, see if anything turns up.”

  “I’m on it, catch you later.”

  Stepping off the tram, Iaido moved along sidewalks already crowded by New Atlanta’s commuters as they went about their lives. Glancing at their faces, he could tell that most weren’t even aware of their surroundings. They rushed to get to their destination, oblivious to the world around them. To these people the war was only news that happened in a distant region of space, it couldn’t possibly affect their lives. Occasionally, Iaido would make eye contact with another veteran, though they were few and far between. Both would acknowledge the other with a slight nod or a slim smile before passing. These individuals always had the same haunted look and grim expression but they were acutely aware of their surroundings. A trait one learns in combat, if you aren’t aware of your surroundings you’re dead. Iaido couldn’t help but think these few veterans were wolves in a world of sheep.

  Reaching a large building in the center of town, Iaido stepped inside and into a different world.

  The serene environment of the dojo was like stepping through a doorway in time. Nothing modern seemed to belong in this sacred hall. The Sensei had designed and built this dojo as a refuge from the modern world.

  An oriental girl in her teens sat at the receptionist desk only nodded to Iaido as he entered. The lobby only had three doorways in it, the main door, the men and women’s locker rooms where all guests must change clothes; nothing modern was allowed in the dojo proper. Following the protocols of the dojo, Iaido changed into his keikogi before moving further inside. He left his weapons, clothing and body armor in his locker without fear of anyone stealing anything. A dojo is a training hall for warriors; self-discipline, respect and honor were cornerstones of that training. Thievery was not tolerated. With a year long waiting list to train in this dojo, few would jeopardize their status for minor theft.

  Even though it was early, shortly after nine in the morning, a beginner’s class was already in session. It was a class of kids, guessing their ages to be from six to twelve Iaido paused to watch them for several minutes. He never tired of watching this age group train. Maybe it was his inability to have kids or the fact that he never had a childhood that this junior class always fascinated him.

  “Iaido-san,” said a small voice to his left.

  Iaido smiled when he saw Sensei’s youngest son standing next to him.

  “Sam, you are getting sneakier, only a mouse would be quieter than you.”

  “Shaji Iaido-san,” Sam smiled at the complement and bowed slightly. “Sensei is waiting for you in the shrine.”

  Returning the bow, Iaido moved further into the vast building.

  He knew that the building was an old four story ‘brownstone’ near the center of New Atlanta. It had been given to the Sensei for payment for his work on the SPARTAN project. He had converted the lowest floor into a dojo. On the second floor were dormitories for visiting students, the third and fourth floor were considered private; only special students and family were allowed access. It was these two levels which housed the Sensei’s quarters, an extensive library and the most elaborate Japanese garden since the destruction of Tokyo. And lastly, there was a Shinto shrine.

  A Shinto shrine is a simple thing, consisting of a small gong, some ancient relic of your ancestors and sticks of incense. The gong was used during ceremonies to ‘awaken the ancestors’; the relic was the object used to draw the ancestor to this realm and the incense supposedly acted as a calming influence on the spirit. The Sensei’s relics were two objects of priceless beauty; the twin katanas of Miyamato Mushasi.

  The Sensei was a direct descendant of Mushasi, who was known as Kensai or Sword Saint and was the author of Go Rin No Sho, a Book of Five Rings. He was known to have fought over sixty duels between the ages of sixteen and thirty before retiring to a life of study and meditation. He was considered ancient Japan’s most famous Samurai and even in the twenty-second century, those who walked the path of Bushido still honored his accomplishments and teachings.

  Iaido entered the shrine to find his master kneeling in prayer before the altar.

  Iaido had been indoctrinated in the Shinto faith along with many other faiths; Buddhism, Hinduism, Catholicism, Muslim just to name a few. The SPARTAN project managers reasoned that by understanding all the faiths of possible enemies of the Coalition, their warriors would be better prepared to defeat them.

  However of all the faiths Iaido had studied, Shintoism held the least influence on him. Since he didn’t have any ancestors, Iaido had a hard time following the faith’s tenets. Although he held deep respect for those that followed the path, it was not one of his choosing.

  Before Iaido could speak, the Sensei stood up slowly and leaned heavily on his staff before turning to his pupil. “Finally, you come to see your old teacher.”

  Iaido bowed low. “Much has happened since my last visit.”

  The Sensei lifted an ivory and brass scroll case from the altar before turning back toward the garden. “Let us walk awhile.”

  Iaido studied the altar. Normally, the twin swords of Mushasi sat in a place of honor on a rack on the altar but the upper rack was empty. “Sensei, where is the sword?”

  “Do not worry over its fate my son. I have sent it on to its next master.”

  “But I don’t understand. Were they not meant to stay together?”

  Sensei’s steps were slow and measured as he moved along the garden paths. “Together or apart, the blades are but metal. The
y are beautiful and deadly works of art with a history of blood, but ultimately they are only metal. If their destiny is to be rejoined, then it will be so. Only time will tell.”

  Sensing that he wouldn’t get a straight answer from his mentor, Iaido let the matter drop. “What did you want to see me about Sensei? I was surprised to get a message from you.”

  The Sensei pointed at the trees surrounding them. “It is good that you are here at this time, the blossoms of the cherry trees are unusually vivid this year.”

  Taking a deep breath, Iaido vowed to once again to get to the point of his visit but he knew that the Sensei would get to the heart of the matter at his own pace. “Master, no disrespect intended but I am pressed for time.”

  The Sensei ignored his student’s plea and continued his slow pace through the garden until they reached his favorite bench which sat beneath a wondrous cherry tree and alongside the koi pond. Sitting himself on the bench, he pointed to the ground in front of him and gazed at the cherry petals floating lazily to land in the pond.

  Taking another deep breath, Iaido sat down in the lotus position and resigned himself to wait.

  Several minutes passed before the old man spoke again.

  “Time is like the metal used to forge a blade. It unfolds slowly and at its own pace. Any attempt to rush will be blocked by the principles of the forge. You must keep the metal the right temperature, too hot and the metal becomes unusable; too cool and the metal becomes brittle. You must find your time. You know the rhythms of the blade, they are part of you but now you must strive to grasp the rhythm of the forge. The rhythm of the forge is the lesson of nature; everything has its own time and its own season.”

  Not comprehending the full meanings of his master’s words, Iaido accepted that he was trying to teach him something important and resigned himself to listen. Many of his master’s lessons were taught in this manner, in riddles, stories or puzzles; things that Iaido would have to contemplate during his daily meditation to grasp the full meaning of the lesson.