Mecha Samurai Empire

by Peter Tieryas

  “No, sir,” Hideki replies.

  Our teacher strikes Hideki’s face with the ruler, but Hideki refuses to stop smirking. Joshuyo-san throttles his neck and throws him to the ground.

  “I will beat you until you learn respect,” he says.

  Hideki tries to kick the teacher away, which infuriates him more. There is nothing that riles him up more than resistance. He flings his arms at Hideki. It’s pointless fighting against the teacher—what rights and protections do we have as orphans? I want to urge Hideki to let it pass, but he’s having none of it.

  “What about respect for my parents?” Hideki protests. “Our parents made the ultimate sacrifice, and this is the way you treat us! We’re the ones who have to pay because of their stupid decision to die for the Empire!”

  I can feel years of frustration flooding out of him as I too wonder about their decision. I admire Hideki’s guts for standing up for himself, even if I know what’s coming. Our homeroom teacher’s face has turned apoplectic, and his fists come down hard on Hideki. All Hideki has to do is pretend to be penitent, ask for forgiveness, and it’d be over. But he refuses and gets a flurry of kicks as his penance.

  Hideki is gasping, pain printed on his face. But he won’t give in and seems to be daring the teacher to beat him to death. I can’t stand it anymore. I get up and rush to block the teacher.

  “Joshuyo-san, please,” I plead, trying to stop him.

  “Get your hands off me!” he roars, and punches me in the shoulder. “You think you’re so tough!”

  “No, sir,” I say. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  His fury is being redirected toward me as he pushes me against the wall. He punches my belly and throws me to the ground. It will hurt, but I know that as long as I keep apologizing— His shoe comes directly at my mouth, and my teeth shake at the impact. I can smell blood coating my gums. I fight against tears. I won’t cry in front of him again as I did in past beatings.

  “I’m sorry, sir, it’s my fault, sir,” I repeat several times.

  I can only hope his anger will abate. But he’s just getting more violent. “Neither of you deserve the mercy the Empire has shown you!”

  “Joshuyo-san!” Griselda calls out.

  Our teacher looks up at her. “What is it?” He is more attentive to her as she’s an international exchange student.

  “I’m not feeling well. Permission to go to the nurse’s office.”

  “You have permission!” he orders.

  “I need help getting there, sir,” she says, and bows. “Sumimasen.”

  He’s about to order someone to help her, but we both get up and escort her.

  “Thanks for saving us,” I tell her, when we get outside the class.

  “Why’d you get here so late?” she asks. “You know how he is about that.”

  “I got nervous,” I say, and explain about the train stop.

  Hideki’s face is covered with blood, and he states, “I’ll be outside.”

  He leaves without waiting for our reply. I escort Griselda to the nurse for her “visit.” She reminds me, “It’s only a few more weeks, and you can wave bye to this school forever.”

  I leave and find Hideki in the main field. He’s smoking defiantly, a snarl forming with every puff.

  “Why didn’t you just apologize?” I ask.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It is,” he says.

  “All he cares about is our showing up on time, so he doesn’t lose face,” I explain, hoping to make it seem less personal. “Keep good general attendance, and he gets his bonus.”

  “All our pain so he can get a thousand extra yen? For what? His girlfriend? His dog?”

  When he puts it like that, it sounds so dehumanizing.

  “I have something I want to ask you,” he says. “Don’t get upset.”

  “Why would I get upset?”

  He pulls on the lower half of his cheek with his fingers, his instinctive gesture when he is getting serious. “I’m sick of this life, and I know I’m not going to do well on the exams. I’ve failed all the preliminary tests. If I fail this time, they’re going to force me to wait another year to retake the exam. I can’t take this kind of treatment anymore.”

  “We just gotta study hard for the next week, and we’re going to rock the mecha sim test next week.”

  Hideki shakes his head. “Who are you kidding?” He sighs. “I’ve always dreamt of making games. You’ve always wanted to be a mecha pilot. What if I told you there was a guaranteed way to make it happen?”

  “There are no guarantees.”

  “Be realistic. We both know there’s no way in the world you’re getting into BEMA. And that means you’re not going to pilot a mecha.”

  “Thanks for your confidence.”

  “Don’t be naive,” he says. “Even with another year, our scores will probably get worse. I’ve seen how much Sango struggles to pay her bills. She knows her score isn’t going up since she has no time to study.”

  “What do you want to do?” I ask.

  “We have a chance if we use this,” Hideki says, holding up his portical.

  I don’t see anything special about it. “What is that?”

  “It’s a program I found on the kikkai. An adaptor to feed into the test.”

  “Any adaptor you use will be tracked by the school,” I say. Schools lock down on students during exam week, taking their porticals away to prevent any form of cheating. “There’s no way you’re going to get it past the encryption, either.”

  “This guy I met has a way.”

  “What way?”

  “I can’t talk about it yet. I just want to know, do you want in?”

  “Wait, what are you saying?” I ask.

  “Do you want a guaranteed way of accessing all the answers for the exam?”

  I can’t believe he’s seriously suggesting this. “Are you joking?”

  “Never been more serious.”

  “What’s this guy want in return?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I laugh skeptically. Someone offers to help us cheat and doesn’t want anything back? My internal alarms were suspicious before and are blaring now.

  “Well, something, but later, down the line.”

  “What’s that something?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care.” He puts out the last part of his cigarette. “You don’t have to decide now. Just think about it and let me know later this week.”

  “What if we get caught?”

  “It won’t be any different if we fail.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve already made my decision. Think about it and tell me if you’re in or not,” he says, cutting me off. “See you later.” He bolts.

  What would I do if I failed the exam and didn’t get into any university? That I don’t have an alternative scares me.

  02

  It’s afternoon. I keep on thinking about Hideki’s offer. I watch different orbits of students who inhabit the different strata of the social spectrum. Where will they all be in a year? I’ve never fit in with any of them. The popular kids obviously don’t know I exist. The military groups think I’m an idiot for playing games all the time. The sports jocks are too busy worrying about their scholarships. Portical gamers don’t think I’m a hard-core enough gamer since I love Cat Odyssey. The zealous religious groups find me way too irreverent. The scholarly students find my academic scores far below their minimum threshold for contact. I’m not fashionable enough for people who spend all their free time outside class dressing up in elaborate costumes from different time periods.

  Despair and snot clog my nostrils as I think about what’ll happen to me if I score poorly. Hideki is right. Neither of us has a family to support us if w
e can’t continue school or find a job. I don’t want to go back to that homeroom again.

  * * *

  • • •

  The week before the exam, most of our teachers leave us to our studies, though we’re allowed to ask questions about anything that confuses us. A lot of students attend special cram schools called juku, which give them supplemental help from tutors who’ve gotten high scores in the past. Unfortunately, I can’t afford a juku.

  I head home early, too physically pained from our beating to do anything else. I pass out on my bed.

  I sleep until late in the evening. My breath reeks. I try to get up, feel soreness in my whole body. The memory of our beating comes back to me. So does Hideki’s offer. I check my portical and message Hideki, asking where he is.

  I study for a few hours until I get tired again. I fall asleep. Next day, I go to school on time. Joshuyo-san acts like nothing happened. Hideki is absent. He isn’t picking up his portical and hasn’t replied to me yet. The next two days, I study by myself. The third afternoon, I’m helping sweep the school grounds when Hideki messages me and tells me he’s at the Jourdan with Sango.

  I meet him there. It’s a restaurant/lounge that celebrates one of the best kyōtei racers in imperial history. The chairs are shaped into small boats, and ropes, or “lines,” demarcate different areas. There’s a massive aquarium that has glowing squids and jellyfish, along with radioactively colorful fish from the coasts of Monterey. Portical fish waiters, or seamen, come and ask you questions. Not about what you want to eat, but what’s important in life and what your fears are. In the middle of the café is a “lake,” where you can drive radio-controlled boats and race them for small bets.

  Hideki is smoking a cigarette, and Sango is watching a JBL (Japanese Baseball League) game, which is her favorite preoccupation. She’s also a superstitious gambler who’s hoping she can hit it big and forget her studies. She tried to game the pachinko machines of new facilities since, depending on their location, their weight, even the direction they’re facing, the ball can react slightly differently. But the owners quickly got smart to it and began changing up the values every night. She still tries to exploit them when she can, though her earnings have been nowhere near as good as when she first started.

  She has the night off but looks tired. Sango is of Dutch descent but never talks about her past. Her blond hair reaches down to her legs, and she’s colored her lips a thick mauve. Her parents work in construction and are overseas in Burma, helping to build a new imperial palace. I’ve ordered a ramen, and she chides me, “All that ramen is bad for you. I saw a special where they opened the gut of a guy who died after eating only ramen for three months. His intestines were hardened from all the noodles.”

  “What a depressing way to go,” I note.

  Hideki and Sango debate an ongoing JBL game where the overwhelming favorites, the Samurais, are being beaten by the Lightning. I get back to reading about the chronology of the liberation of the United States of Japan. It’s a monotonous blur of facts until I get to the development of the mechas in the late 1940s. Called Project Daidarobotchi, it originally started in the army before splitting off into its own division. The early mechas look more like railway guns, only with cannons from their arms. There were several scientists who spearheaded the operation, and I’m about to read more when my portical screen changes to a communication signal displaying Griselda’s face.

  “I got tickets to see Phantasy Nocturne,” she says. Phantasy Nocturne is one of the most popular bands in the Empire, a trio of sixteen-year-old pop stars who give dazzling concerts. “I’m sending you directions,” she says, not even needing to ask if I’ll come.

  “Do you have extra tickets for Hideki and Sango?”

  “Of course.” She hangs up, and the address displays on my screen.

  When I look up, Hideki is sticking his pinky finger inside his ear. When it pops back out, it’s covered with earwax.

  “That’s gross,” I say.

  He laughs, elated to disgust.

  “I’ve told him to stop, but he can’t,” Sango groans. “You’re going to get ear cancer if you don’t stop.”

  I tell them about the concert and extend Griselda’s invitation. Hideki immediately says, “Let’s go.”

  But Sango shakes her head. “Not a fan.”

  “WHAT?” both Hideki and I exclaim. “How can you not be a fan?”

  “You boys have fun. I’m going home,” she says. “Long day tomorrow.”

  We walk her out and head for the subway station. It’s late, but there are still people rushing to get to the next stop. Sango separates from us to ride the southern line. Upbeat music from an older group called Vertical Pink is playing on the speakers. Two workers are sweeping up trash. The various kiosks are closing down for the night.

  We take the eastern line out to San Gabriel. A group of soldiers gets on, and many of the civilians stand up to offer them their seats. The officer in charge waves her hand and tells everyone to sit back down, opting to stand. A stop later, they get off, and we all bow. It’s another two stops before our exit.

  * * *

  • • •

  The Yamai Concert Hall is a massive dome crammed with people, many dressed up similar to the characters in the anime based on Phantasy’s music. At the front gate, there are three enormous statues of the Phantasy singers dressed as mecha. We meet Griselda inside, where we’re ensconced among throngs of young girls who repeatedly scream, “PHANTASY NOCTURNE!!!”

  The upper-tier seats orbit around the center, moving continuously throughout the show. The Phantasy singers are tied to wires, flying in the air. The lights are dazzling with a joyous rainbow synchronized to lyrics that connect into our porticals for alternate display angles. Each track has a different main singer. “Republic of Love” is sung by Nei. “The War of Desires” is an operatic piece vocalized by Celes with multiple stages. Rina hums “Hate Guns” in her deep voice. The audience is screaming so loud, I can’t hear the music at times.

  “I have to use the bathroom,” Griselda says.

  “I gotta go too. Which way is it?” Hideki asks.

  They leave, and I continue to watch the show. Many of the songs are dramatized, and I watch a sky battle between war blimps, fireworks lighting up our surroundings. The set swaps out into a more lighthearted festival with flying dogs. Rina has artillery shaped as Shiba Inus she launches from the stage. Griselda returns, holding a bag full of wasabi peas and anpans. She knows I like the ones filled with custard rather than red bean, so I’m grateful she got my favorites.

  “Danke,” I thank her in German. “Where’s Hideki?”

  “I think he’s talking to Sango,” she replies.

  Which means he might not be back until the end of the show.

  The Phantasy Nocturne singers ask us to lift our hands. Bubbles start dropping from the ceiling. Everyone tries to grab them. The crowds swarm and cause Griselda and me to bump into each other. I want to be polite and move away. She does the same, but it keeps on happening. We both laugh. She curls her hair behind her ear, and asks, “Are you having fun?”

  “This is probably the most amazing thing I’ve seen in my life. Aside from mechas.”

  She nods. “Nothing beats the sight of a mecha. But some things come close.”

  “Very close,” I say.

  The crowd causes us to bump into each other again. But this time, we don’t push away.

  * * *

  • • •

  I get home at three. My roommates are still out, probably studying overnight at the library. I’m tired, exhilarated, and keep on thinking about the show and Griselda. There’s a knock on my door. It’s Hideki.

  “Where’d you go?” I ask.

  “Sango was mad I went to the show without her.”

  “But we invited her.”

  “She doesn’t like Germans
,” he explains.

  I’m about to reply that Phantasy isn’t German, but I realize who she’s referring to.

  Hideki grimaces. “It’s all right. I have something for you,” he says, changing the topic. “Let me see your portical.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to hear you say ‘thank you.’”

  I hand him my portical. Hideki loads up a program by connecting his device into mine. He gives it back to me. I peruse the new sphere he’s established. It’s a graphic representation of the mecha simulation from a previous imperial exam.

  “How did you get this?” I ask.

  He snickers. “It’s just a sample. Your test will be totally different.”

  “I know. But this is really helpful. Thank you.”

  He asks me to step outside the apartment. I do and close the door behind me. Someone’s dog is yapping incessantly. We hear a supersonic plane fly by. He asks in a low voice, “There’s more where this came from. Are you in?”

  I want to be a mecha pilot more than anything. I also know he’s right. On my own, my chances are almost nil. But no matter how I spin it, the idea of cheating my way in doesn’t seem right.

  “Sorry,” I say, not knowing how else to put it.

  He frowns. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re scared?”

  I can’t deny it. “I am scared,” I confirm.

  “You would rather live like this for the rest of your life?”

  “Of course not. But I don’t want to cheat my way in.”

  “You think people from rich families aren’t cheating their way in? They use money and their connections to buy their future.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He glares at me, genuinely hurt that I’m not going along with him. A few times, he’s about to say something but restrains himself. I’m appreciative that he does even if he doesn’t realize it. “Your loss,” he eventually says.