Mecha Samurai Empire

by Peter Tieryas

  “How would you describe it?”

  “I survived,” I reply.

  Yamaoka grins. “That’s what war is. The boldness of the NARA is worrisome. They’ve been upping their attacks, and it’s clear they are pursuing a grander agenda.”

  “They want to incite us against the Nazis so we’d take them out,” I say.

  “Which is why we have to be careful before we attack the Germans. The GWs were a passionate but limited enemy. The NARA are much more insidious. They scheme and scheme, and their perverted religion galvanizes them. But we’re limited in what we can do because of their connection with the Nazis. The USJ needs change. Are you one of the soldiers I can count on?”

  “Of course, sir,” I answer. “But I’m not a soldier.”

  “I saw the results of your high-school sim exam. You put your testing officer in a cast,” the colonel says.

  I’m surprised he’s checked up on me. “Yes, sir.”

  “You should already be at BEMA.”

  “Thank you, sir. But I failed the exam.”

  “What are you going to do next?”

  “I’m quitting RAMDET.”

  “Why?”

  I take a deep breath.

  The colonel watches me and waits for me to speak.

  I am unable to articulate my grief. I search for words, but all I can muster is, “Too many people died.”

  “I lost many who were dear to me during the San Diego Conflict,” he says with a tenderness that catches me off guard. I had no idea that he’d lost anyone during San Diego. “I was so angry, I too wanted to quit,” he continues. “But I channeled my fury into making those who caused their deaths suffer. Would you like a chance at avenging the death of your compatriots?”

  “I already got the NARA leader who killed them.”

  “I mean the forces behind the NARA.”

  I’d never thought it possible. But now that the idea’s entered my head, there’s nothing I want more. “Of course, sir,” I reply.

  “You’ll get it.”

  “How, sir?”

  “I’ve put in a formal recommendation for you,” he says. “Together with Major Mizukami’s praise and Colonel Tachibana’s request for a third review of your results, you’ll be gratified to know that you’ve been accepted as a special appointee.”

  “Special appointee, sir?”

  “Into Berkeley Military Academy. You’re joining the next class at BEMA.”

  I look at him, not sure if I’m hearing correctly.

  “I was rejected twice,” I inform him, just in case he didn’t know that I tried reapplying.

  “That had more to do with the lieutenant whose arm you broke. He opposed your acceptance on both attempts.”

  “I suspected, sir,” I admit sheepishly.

  “A formal evaluation has turned up several questionable lapses in judgment on his part. He’s been transferred to the South Pole. The latest review of your examination, in conjunction with your combat experience, has indicated he was wrong in his opposition. The rejection has been overturned.”

  “Arigatou gozaimasu,” I say to him in Japanese to signify how grateful I am.

  “It is regretful that you weren’t accepted because of a personal bias,” the colonel says. “But I’m glad the matter has been rectified.”

  As grateful as I am, I am wary as well. If he’s getting me this appointment, he’ll want something in return. We’re all pawns. I just want to have some say on the conditions and the parameters.

  “Apologies for asking, sir, but why help me?” I ask him, wanting to be clear.

  The colonel nods. “Fair question. There are troubling times coming, and we need as many good officers as we can get. Finding a good mecha pilot is difficult. It’s clear you’re skilled, and I’m facilitating what you should have gotten in the first place. But there’s also trouble brewing internally. BEMA is developing a new prototype mecha. The Germans have understandably taken a keen interest in it. I want you to be my eyes and ears there. Are you comfortable with that?”

  “I—I think so, sir.”

  “It is true that we have enemies on our borders. But the only reason they’ve been so active is because of infighting and weakness in our leadership that has exposed our vulnerabilities. Our battles in San Diego were devastating. You know that better than anyone,” he says, aware of the death of my parents in the conflict. “But so has the witch hunt carried out by the new governor against our intelligence community that has left it in tatters. How can we be prepared to fight when we blind ourselves? Our enemies have been emboldened. Especially a war hero among the Germans they call the Marshal. He is a charismatic leader who aspires to changing the Reich and is rattling the Nazi High Command, but we don’t know what he’s after. I believe he is most likely the rogue element they’re afraid of. For good reason. He’s won every battle he’s fought. But we must put our own house in order before we can rule over others.”

  “I agree, sir.”

  “Good. Then it’s settled.”

  Am I really getting into BEMA? Does that mean I’ll get to be an official mecha pilot? I can’t believe it. But I also think about Chieko and where she’s going. I know Poet is staying on as a RAM, but Chieko has always wanted to be a pilot. “Forgive me if I impose upon your generosity, but there is something I’d like to request.”

  “What is it?”

  “One of the other survivors, Chieko, is a very good pilot, and I believe she would make a good addition to the Academy as well.”

  “It’s not that easy to get an appointment.”

  “I understand, sir. But I—” Do I really want to say this? I think about the battlefield again. “I can’t accept the appointment unless she comes too. We spilled blood together out there, and I wouldn’t feel right joining BEMA without her.”

  Yamaoka stares at me for a long time. I wonder if I’ve just blown my opportunity to get into BEMA, but I’m surprised to realize that I don’t care.

  The colonel grins when he sees the resolution in me. “I appreciate loyalty. I can’t make any guarantees, but I’ll have someone look into it.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “The new class doesn’t start until next March,” the colonel says. “Take the next few months off. As a BEMA student, you have free flights to anywhere in the Empire. You’ll also have a small stipend, which, with your military discounts, should pay for accommodations and food. Go travel the Empire.”

  He puts his mask back on. Ugaki escorts me out.

  I’m really going to get to be a BEMA cadet?

  “Can I watch the rest of the opera?” I ask Ugaki.

  “The colonel has already arranged special seating for you.”

  I’m taken to the front row, where I can see the orchestra as well as the faces of the performers up close. The elaborate costumes change multiple times during each song. When Butterfly begins to take revenge on those who wronged her, I feel immense satisfaction. I think of my fellow RAMs again and miss them.

  I swear I will avenge you all.

  BERKELEY

  1996

  SPRING

  09

  This is the first time I can remember feeling so hopeful.

  From the moment I arrive at Yamaguchi Airport in Oakland, I feel a pervasive energy in everyone around me. Uniformed soldiers from the various branches are everywhere, going about their duties. The latest mechas guard the military installations. They have modern designs, sleek and curved for stealth purposes. I’ve heard they have access to weapons most civilians have never even heard of. Several dozen jet fighters are parked alongside some of the jum-bo transports in case of emergencies, though the majority of our jets are at the Northern Air Base, about eighty kilometers from here. A week before arriving, BEMA sent my cadet uniform. I’m wearing it now, a single-breasted olive jacket with a white shirt outsid
e the tunic collar. I won’t get my shin guntō until later, though I remember Izzy’s advice about the Toyokawa blades.

  As a BEMA student, I get the special insignia of a bear. It’s the symbol of the old state of California in the days before the Empire, the last grizzly bear in captivity. The military governor who took control after our victory, Yumiko Osame, thought it an appropriate symbol since California was one of the last states to fall.

  Everywhere I go, civilians bow as a sign of respect to the uniform. Even when I grab a taxi, I get ushered to the front of the line, and the cab driver insists, “No charge.”

  The San Francisco Bay is a glorious sight, a great body of water surrounded by the city beyond. The Statue of Liberation, built to commemorate all the prisoners who were rescued by the IJA after the Great Pacific War, stands ninety-four meters tall. It’s made in the image of the empress, holding the Kusanagi sword and a lantern.

  There are a huge number of navy ships from our fleet based out of the Alameda Naval Yards. Much of San Francisco itself is testing grounds for mecha combat, and the buildings serve as props for our mecha pilots to train with. The population has been growing for the past decade, with about 350,000 in the city itself. The military presence has been expanding, but so has the weapons industry, with many of the top companies relocating here in the past decade because of the conflict in San Diego. The USJ Railway runs the underground subway system that goes below the bay and connects the south, east, and north bays with the city. From what I understand, Berkeley used to be smaller, but after the war, it absorbed its neighboring cities. The academy used to be called UC Berkeley, and the city itself was named after a British philosopher, George Berkeley.

  I’m given a room on the fourth floor of the dormitory referred to as Unit 2. It’s a spacious room with a comfortable mat. There’s heating, though no air conditioner as the weather is generally cold to begin with. I only have an aluminum suitcase, which is stuffed with junk I don’t bother to unpack. I charge my portical and look at the display screen on the wall. There’s a welcoming message and a reminder that the superintendent’s orientation speech is tomorrow morning. There’s a knock on my door. I answer and see a student with choppy green hair and matching green eyes. She bows and asks excitedly, “You’re Makoto Fujimoto?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Tabitha Uoya,” she introduces herself, giving her English nickname. “Welcome to your room! I’m the floor leader, so if you have any questions or problems, let me know.” She has three stripes on her lapel, marking her as a junior.

  “Thank you,” I reply to her.

  “Cafeteria is open until nine. Lights out at ten. We have optional exercises at five a.m., breakfast at six, and stretching at seven. Classes start at eight. We have a weekend trip with your floor mates every two weeks. We’ll be going up to Vallejo this weekend to visit the aquarium and also my favorite fried-chicken restaurant. Hope you’ll join.” She clicks her portical, and concludes with, “Call me if you have any questions about anything.”

  My neighboring dorm room is empty, and I ask her who’s moving in. She answers, “It’s reserved for a late entry who should be arriving sometime this week.”

  Behind her, I see a familiar face.

  “Noriko?” I’m so happy to see her and put out my hand to shake hers.

  She gives me a warm hug. “I knew you’d make it here,” she confidently states.

  “I have to thank your parents. They really put in a good word for me.”

  “They told me to pass on their felicitations. RAMs got you into shape.”

  I laugh. She looks mostly how I remember her, though taller, with braided hair and much bigger muscles. She has two stripes but also other honorary marks I don’t recognize, more than any other cadet I’ve seen. “It’s been a wild year.”

  “I’ve heard,” she says. “How are you liking BEMA so far?”

  “I just got here.”

  “Have you seen the campus?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Let me show you around.”

  We take the elevator down to the Channing Street exit. In the lobby, I see Chieko carrying four boxes. “Chieko!” I call.

  “Cream!” she yells back. She’s also bulked up, is sporting a new tan, and has grown her hair longer since I saw her a few months back.

  “It’s Mac here, if that’s okay,” I correct her abashedly.

  “Sorry! Uh, habit.”

  “Cream?” Noriko asks.

  “My nickname in RAMDET,” I confess, and explain.

  “Don’t let anyone else know or you’ll never be able to live that down,” Noriko cautions me.

  “Sorry!” Chieko exclaims.

  “Please do not accidentally call me that in front of the other cadets,” I plead, which makes them laugh.

  “I’m Noriko,” she introduces herself. “Friends call me Nori.”

  “Chieko,” and they shake hands.

  “We went to high school together,” I explain to Chieko. And in reverse, “Chieko was a RAM with me.”

  “Excellent. We need more experienced mecha cadets. I was about to give Mac a tour. Want to join us?” she asks Chieko.

  “Sure,” she replies. “Let me just drop these off.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Noriko guides us to Telegraph Avenue, which is the main street for the academy. It’s filled with shops tailored toward cadets and local researchers. There are stores for everything, from military accessories to portical games and even spare parts for electric pets. There are shops that sell fruit tea, ginseng tea, and even specially grown tea from the Regno d’Italia in their part of the drained Mediterranean. There’s an unusual assortment of cafés and restaurants, including four I spot with different kaiseki-style courses at bargain prices and the newly popular Neo Kobe pizzas that have even become widespread in the German Americas. Noriko points out a conclave of ethnic restaurants, and says, “That place has cheap, tasty food that’ll give your stomach runs for a week.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “I’ve heard we should try the unagi kimchee fried rice with bacon curry poutine,” Chieko says.

  “It’s a rite of passage among the mecha cadets to be able to finish the whole set and go the entire day without using the bathroom,” Noriko replies.

  “That doesn’t sound fun.”

  “It isn’t,” she says, with a prescience that makes Chieko and me laugh hard.

  “You’ve been traveling the past couple of months?” Noriko asks us.

  I nod. “Went all over the place. The free flights cadets get are amazing.”

  “Totally agree. Where all did you go?” she asks.

  “Anywhere and everywhere. Loved Venice. The canals are all lit up, and they have those hovering lanterns everywhere. After the sun sets, it was like we were floating through an island of lights.”

  “Venice was nice, but I was blown away by the aerial coliseum in Rome,” Chieko says. “Those gladiatorial matches ware amazing and the genetic modifications the fighters got were unbelievable. It’s like they were dancing, not actually trying to beat each other.”

  Noriko points at a crowded restaurant we’re passing. “That place’s mimiga is the best. It’s not as good as the pickled pig ear I’ve had in Okinawa, but it’s as close as I’ve gotten to an authentic meibetsu. I go there all the time.”

  “I’m not a big fan of pickled pig ear,” Chieko states.

  “This place will make you a believer. Did you both visit the main island?”

  “Of course,” I reply.

  Chieko nods as well. “It felt like I was in the future. Tokyo has that shopping district where there’s the underground area, the ground level, and the upper tier with bridges connecting thirty skyscrapers. The portical games they had there were amazing.”

  There’s a bunch of tachi-kui restau
rants that smell delicious though the terrible scent from a stand serving up fermented nattō makes my nose scrunch up.

  Chieko sees my expression, and says, “I love a good nattō.”

  “I don’t know you well, but I have a feeling we’re going to get along,” Noriko says. She lifts up a fist, and they fist-bump each other.

  We cross Bancroft Way and enter the campus by passing under the massive Shimonoseki Gate. It’s an arcade of fifty-six crimson toriis with the names of famous generals printed on them. Families of students are visiting, taking photos, some indicating to their younger children that attending here is what they should aspire to.

  “The biggest decision you need to make is which ‘circle’ to rush for,” Noriko says, as soon as we pass the gates. There are tables full of cadets, recruiting people to different circles divided by interest. These include regional groups, film lovers, sports clubs, portical-games hobbyists, and a popular book club called GACCOH, which is based out of Kyoto but has spread throughout the Empire. “It shouldn’t be too hard for you to choose, since as mecha cadets, you’re automatically given entry into the most prestigious circle at BEMA.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Tadakatsu Circle,” she says, and I assume it’s named after the famous samurai under Ieyasu. Nori points to her badge of twelve long spears crossing one another. “One of the first things you’ll both have to do is take a sim competition. That’ll determine which group you fall in and whether you get to fight in the official tournaments or not.”

  “I thought the sim competition was only for sophomores?” Chieko asks.

  “They changed it last year, so it starts with freshmen,” Noriko explains. “If you get through the first couple of rounds at Emeryville Stadium, you’ll duel it out on actual mechas.”

  “I saw you fighting on my portical last year,” I recall.

  “They broadcast the final rounds of the competition,” she confirms.

  “You won, right?”

  Noriko nods. “It was tough, though. Lots of amazing competitors. A couple mistimed swings and it could have gone the other way.”