Steel Rain Page 4

  "You fear what I say because it is true!"

  "The Yoshida-kai," Machiko says, "has been the leading partner to our clan for nearly two decades, a valued ally since before either of us were born. They are traditionalists, yes. They have reservations about the Chairman's New Way, yes. Their leadership has sometimes objected vehemently to the Chairman's decisions. Yes. This is so. But it does not make them traitors or enemies."

  Gongoro's next words emerge like acid. "Yoshida-kai is rank with hatred for all metas."

  "You exaggerate."

  Gongoro snarls. "There are those among the Yoshida-kai who would gladly aid in the extermination of all metatypes. They would like nothing better than to begin with we who are most dependent on the Chairman's philosophy. They consider the Green Serpent Guard to be an insult directed specifically at the ancestors of their clan."

  "That is absurd."

  "It is fact!"

  "You are saying that Yoshida has harbored resentment over this affront since Kuroda-sensei emerged from the Tir and pledged himself to the Chairman's service. That is more than twenty years ago. There would be no Nagato Combine if that was so. Yoshida-kai would never have joined. He would have reviled the Honjowara-gumi as a clan of kawa-ruhito, untouchables, utterly despicable subhuman refuse. He would have begun a war with the sole purpose of eliminating every last member of the Honjowara-gumi!"

  Gongoro laughs bitterly, and briefly. "Twenty years ago, Yoshida Gennai was a tired old man desperate for allies. His son has proven to be just as weak. The people I speak of are now in the position whereby they could seize control of the Yoshida-kai with very little effort. The attacks against our members could be and probably are the first in a series of attacks by which they will seize control of their clan, perhaps the entire Nagato Combine."

  Machiko breathes. "If these people wanted control of Yoshida-kai, they would not begin by attacking the Guard. They would kill Yoshida's son and take control. You have put the porter before his luggage."

  Gongoro looks at her like she is the one gone mad. "Once they have seized control, it will be too late! We will be expecting their treachery. Now, they have succeeded in taking us unawares. In one night, they have cut down our best and brightest."

  "And so they have rendered the GSG impotent? You speak nonsense."

  "Do you deny Sukayo's ability as a leader? Do you suggest that we are not poorer for his loss? Then what of you? Sukayo's protege. How fit are you for command?"

  This is infuriating. "We are like bricks in a wall. Never mind who is killed. We have many more bricks and all are capable of leading the Guard."

  "Now you are the one who exaggerates."

  "If you truly believe that Yoshida-kai is our enemy, it is your duty to relate this to the Chairman."

  "It is not my duty. It is yours. You are the senior member."

  "And you are senior next to me. The distinction is of no significance if you believe that our clan's foremost ally is in fact an enemy plotting to destroy us."

  "No, you are senior member. The responsibility is yours." Machiko looks to the tree limbs overhead. This will be a long and trying night. Again, she wishes Sukayo-san were here. He would know how to answer Gongoro.

  How to silence him.

  7

  Several times, Machiko-san seems at pains to lower her voice. Ryokai sees little point.

  Despite the pounding in his head, it is clear to him that Machiko-san's words and Gongoro's growls carry far against the quiet of the night. The GSG standing watch by the main entrance to the Chairman's house can follow every word. And several times, though his eyes grow blurry with fatigue, he spots the faces of GSG stationed on the hillside turning to gaze uphill. It is troubling. The seniors of the Guard should work out their disagreements in private. This open display of dissension can only lead to further trouble, perhaps trouble enough to involve the entire GSG membership.

  "Do not lecture me about duty, Gongoro-san," says Machiko. "I know my duty. Do you?"

  Gongoro growls an angry reply.

  Ryokai closes his eyes and tries to conceive of a means of ending the conflict peacefully. Yet he knows it is probably hopeless. Machiko and Gongoro are like mongoose and snake. It has always been this way between the two of them, ever since their early days at the academy of the Guard. Their mutual animosity first took tangible form during barehanded combat instruction. Grappling techniques. Gongoro twisted too hard, some say accidentally, and snapped Machiko's Wrist. Some weeks after that, during sword practice, Machiko swung her boken with such force, even with her wrist still in a cast, that she shattered her wooden practice sword, smashed the helmet on Gongoro's head, and struck him stone-cold unconscious.

  Later, she apologized, but not before telling Ryokai, privately, of feeling Gongoro's burning resentment. Of his despising her for being female. For being forced to train with her.

  "When I lifted my boken I felt I possessed all the power of a whirlwind. I had no mind, Ryokai-san. I could not help myself."

  And often it has seemed just so, whenever she lifts a sword. Like a whirlwind arising. A force, once unleashed, beyond anyone's control. A power as sublime as nature itself.

  Gongoro snarls, "You are a witch with that sword in your hand, but your spirit is weak. You will not speak for the GSG. You will not tell the chairman what he must be told. You will kneel like a woman and, like a fool, seek consensus." Machiko-san grunts. "You are intolerable."

  "So you would say, because I am right!"

  "Because you have the manners of a barbarian!"

  Abruptly, Ryokai feels the ground beneath his feet tilting, tipping him backward, off-balance. For a fleeting instant, he expects to hear the roar of an explosion, uprooting the earth, feel the force of a shock wave, bowling him over. This does not occur. Instead, all is quiet, serene. He sees a faint stroke of white, like a blur of the crescent moon, through the dark canopy of the trees. He moves his feet to regain his balance; but strangely, his feet drag the earth. He glimpses a brief expanse of black night sky. He feels his back strike the ground. The pain in his head swells immense . . . and then, through eyes that keep drifting closed, he finds himself lying on the ground. Several people bending over him. Gazing at his face, the side of his head. A man in camo, but with medics' insignia on his chest. Two men. They are using strange words and fumbling with bandages and other items, difficult to make out.

  "Ryokai-san . . ."

  The voice is soft, almost tender, and yet so clear it might be coming from beside his ear. He tries to turn his head to look, but the pain in the side of his head now throbs down his neck into his shoulder. He feels himself wincing.

  A gentle hand brushes hair out of his eyes, and then he sees her, leaning near. Her expression seems almost furious with concern. "Why did you not seek treatment?" asks Machiko. She looks toward the side of his head. "This is no scratch. You are still bleeding."

  "Something tore the scalp," says the medic.

  It is very embarrassing. Shameful. To be lying here so foolish and weak, while she, Machiko, gazes at him so sternly. How could he have allowed this to happen? He strives to sit up, to lift his head from the ground, but suddenly Machiko's hands are at his shoulders, and other hands too, and it is like the whole weight of the earth is pressing him back. His head throbs viciously. For a moment, he can see only blackness.

  "Be still," Machiko is saying. "You must be treated. Ryokai, you are drenched in blood!"

  It is not important. He had to come here to the estate, first for the Chairman, then for her. He must do his duty for the clan and for Machiko-san. He must prove himself an ally against Gongoro's venom. He must be strong, stronger than he feels, perhaps stronger than he has ever been. Perhaps Machiko does not know it, but she needs him. Now more than ever.

  She leans so near he can smell the faint scent of sandalwood in her hair. "You are going to hospital," she says. "Do you hear me?"

  Ryokai feels his cheeks grow warm. The shame is almost too much. Perhaps this gives him
the strength to say, "Beware Gongoro."

  Machiko questions him with her eyes.

  "He wants control of the Guard. Do not let him bait you."

  Faintly, Machiko nods. "Be still."

  The words caress his ears like tender down.

  8

  The night grows very long indeed.

  Machiko searches the deep shadows of the hillsides with her eyes. She listens. This is her duty. To keep spirit settled and a broad gaze upon the night. She has known many such nights. The waiting is not difficult if one regards one's own body as already dead. Tonight, though, her thoughts constantly stray.

  Within the hour, the leadership of the clan begins arriving. Some could be described as shatei, like "younger brothers" to the Chairman. Others would be best considered like wakashira-hosa, members of the board of directors. Some represent the clan, the Honjowara-gumi; others represent Nagato Corporation. All are part of the Nagato Combine. They are escorted up the slope of the driveway by Major Hakatoro, greeted before the entrance by Machiko, and accorded every degree of respect their status demands. In light of the current emergency, all must be scanned for weapons before being admitted to the Chairman's home, but this is expected. Duty demands this be done and none offer objections. No weapons are found. The leaders of the Honjowara-gumi do not generally carry weapons, except on certain occasions, for this would be dishonorable, a serious breach of conduct, and wholly at odds with the Chairman's New Way.

  A hundred years ago, at the heart of Tokyo's Ginza District, the Honjowara-gumi was controlled by violent gangsters. The clan battled the Ginza Tiger and others for control of gambling, restaurants and bars, narcotics, and a multitude of illegal enterprises, till, at times, the streets ran with blood. Little changed when the clan made its move to North America. The criminal bosses remained in control till the end of the millennium.

  Then came Nagato Kurobuchi.

  He came to power as the protector of Honjowara Okido, who was then a child, and his mother, recently widowed by the very violence that had haunted the clan since its earliest beginnings. He shamed the gangsters for violating basic tenets of the clan, for doing violence to the wife and child of the oyabun, Honjowara-sama's father, and for other crimes, such as revealing secrets to enemies of the clan, and for having personal addictions to narcotics. He added to the gangsters' shame by reminding them of their ancestral ties to the feudal-era machi-yakko, who, though commoners, banded together to defend towns and villages, merchants and farmers, women and children, from maurauding bands of unemployed samurai warriors.

  He forced all to see the dishonorable way of living they had been leading, full of treachery and treason.

  "We must have a New Way," he declared, and through all the tumultuous years of the food riots, the rise of the megacorps, the VITAS plague and the Dawn of the Awakened, and finally the Great Ghost Dance, Nagato Kurobuchi pursued his New Way.

  That Way included organizing the clan to function as a corporation, and preparing to meet the Sixth World not as gangsters, but as honorable persons not unlike the former machi-yakko. Not as renegades against their heritage, but as true servants of the people.

  When Honjowara Okido assumed his role as head of the clan, he expanded this vision to include not merely people, but all peoples, including metahumans: elf, ork, dwarf, troll.

  "The samurai's word is harder than steel," he declared. "We must prove our honor and resolve to be even more durable than this. We must move with the tide of the Sixth World or be swallowed by our enemies. We must forge an alliance of clans or face destruction. We must welcome all into our house who would serve us loyally and aid in fulfilling our mission."

  Thoughts, feelings, memories—all this intrudes on Machiko's mind and spirit as she passes the clan leadership to the doors of the Chairman's home. It stirs her unworthy heart. Again and again, she looks to the doors of the entrance and yearns to go inside, to learn what the leaders know, to hear what they will tell the Chairman. For she will learn nothing of the threat facing the Nagato Combine standing out here in the dark. She will find no answers in the night. Here, there is only Gongoro's venom and her own uncertainties. Yet here she must remain. She is a warrior of the Green Serpent Guard. She is acting senior member. She must stand the watch. She must command. She must stay where her steel and armament and skill will do the most good. This is her duty.

  She resists the thought that her duty to the clan perhaps stands larger than her duty as a warrior. Her duty is to serve as she is best able to serve. As a warrior.

  Then, her commlink beeps.

  She keys the link on her left vambrace and flips open the small screen. The face of the Chairman's personal aide immediately appears. "The Chairman asks that you join him in the Autumn Garden Room as soon as you are able, Machiko-san."

  She acknowledges this and looks to Gongoro.

  "Speak of Yoshida," he growls lowly.

  9

  At the end of the corridor is a door paneled to resemble wood the color of honey. Before the door stand six GSG, familiar faces all. To the right is a wooden bench of some dark-hued wood. Beneath the bench, seven pairs of shoes.

  As Machiko approaches, she lifts her hands, showing her empty palms and the twining serpents emblazoned there. The senior member of the detail responds with a brief bow in the manner of GSG standing watch. He bows from the shoulders only enough to indicate respect and does not lower his head or his eyes. Machiko bows in the same manner.

  "The Chairman is in conference," the senior informs. Machiko nods. "I am called here."

  "Should I announce you?"

  "Did you announce the others?"

  "The door remained open till the others were inside."

  "Then announce me."

  The senior turns and kneels, one knee to the floor, and slides the door open only enough for him to peer into the room. It is strange for Machiko, watching this. She has rarely been formally announced. As a senior member of the Guard, in performing her duty, she has walked in and out of rooms where the Chairman was holding conferences more times than she could hope to recall, without anyone appearing to notice. She could walk in and out at will. Now she stands and waits while another GSG looks into the room and waits to say her name. It makes her feel odd, unsettled, as though she pretends to be someone or something she is not.

  In a firm, clear voice, the senior says, "Machiko-san of the Green Serpent Guard."

  And, abruptly it seems, the door is slid fully open and the Autumn Garden room comes into view. A familiar room. A quiet room, suitable for contemplation, for reflection. The style is traditional. Furnishings are minimal. The ceiling is low and gives the space a private, comfortable feel. The floor is wood of a brown like caramel, covered in clear waxy varnish. The walls wrapping around to the left simulate rice paper panels. The long wall on the right, opaque in the night, like rice paper, may be turned transparent during the day to provide a view of one of many gardens, the Autumn Garden, lying just outside.

  Opposite the door, on a low dais of varnished wood, sits Chairman Honjowara. In place of his usual suit, he wears a robe bearing the Nagato mon and the lotus and reed pattern of the clan. The pale pastel colors of the robe only seem to emphasize, to exaggerate, the stem gravity of his expression.

  Machiko bows, and briefly moves her eyes over the GSG body detail. The main group waits, one knee to the floor, three to the Chairman's left, three to his right. The remaining two wait just inside the room, facing Machiko from just beyond the doorway. None give any sign of recognition or acknowledgment. The task of the body detail is to evaluate threats, to hold themselves ready, to act. Polite greetings would distract from their duty. Anything not essential to the performance of this duty is absolutely prohibited.

  The leaders of the clan sit before the Chairman. Six males, one female, one ork, one elf. These are the leaders' most obvious distinctions. Their commonalities are far more imposing. They share the Chairman's grim expression. They are all dressed in dark, conservative suits that
tonight seem like the uniforms of generals, each lapel adorned with a pin bearing the mon of Nagato Combine. They are arranged in two precisely ordered files, four on the left, three on the right. They sit on round cushions that appear to provide only a modest comfort, laid directly on the floor.

  Before each of them lies a small black lacquered tray with matching tea service.

  "Machiko," says Honjowara-sama. He extends a hand to the one remaining unoccupied cushion. This is located at the end of one file of leaders, on the right.

  Machiko bows and moves to her appointed place. Here, she puts one knee to the floor; in this case, the cushion. Members of the Guard do not sit while on duty. Neither do they eat or drink. She is therefore served no tea.

  "Arinori," says Honjowara-sama.

  A panel along the wall to the left slides open and the

  Chairman's personal aide steps into the room, bows, then kneels.

  "What is Sukayo-san's condition?"

  The aide makes brief use of a portable telecom. "Sukayo-san is still in surgery, Chairman-sama."

  Honjowara-sama nods; then, with his eye still fixed on the aide, he extends a hand toward the room. To Machiko, it seems as though the Chairman gestures directly at her.

  The aide says, "The Chief of Surgery at Mather University Hospital informs that Sukayo-san is suffering from multiple trauma injuries, such as would be consistent with the effects of an explosion. Sukayo-san is in a most critical condition. It is not yet known whether he will survive. It is expected that the surgery will continue for several more hours."

  Since this news seems directed at her, Machiko bows to express her gratitude. The news is hardly reassuring, but she reminds herself of one inescapable truth. Sukayo is not yet dead. And this leads her to a second greater truth. Her "older brother" has immense force of will and a relentless fighting spirit. If fate but allows it, Sukayo will survive, no matter the degree of his injuries.

  Again, Honjowara-sama nods. The aide withdraws. Honjowara-sama then looks to Bessho Chikayo, chief of the Nagato Corp Directorate of Security.