-- 4 --
The warning bell rang. Jinpei pulled out his English textbooks and slammed shut the door to his locker. Behind him, Eiji Tanaka bounced impatiently. "C'mon," he said. "We're gonna be late."
School. Wow. What a concept.
There had never been any doubt in Jinpei's mind as to what he would do during peacetime. Ever since he'd been old enough to remember, he'd had all kinds of tutors--from Jun to some of the old scientists at the ISO to professional teachers--but he'd never been to a real school, with real students and real classes.
Shortly after they turned in their weapons, Jinpei spent a week looking at questionnaires and making marks on numbered cards. His education was spotty--suited more for his work than for a well-rounded background--but he was placed in the eighth grade, only a little higher than his level would have been under traditional schooling. Acting as his guardian, Doctor Nambu took him to Silver Creek Junior High in Utoland City and introduced him as Jinpei Yamashita.
For the most part, he enjoyed the classes, as they were new and different. Geography gave him all the names to all the coordinates the Team had used on missions. World History and Current Events were also interesting, as Jinpei had met some of the people mentioned in those classes, and the History class finally put a few pieces in place. On the other hand, his next class--English Grammar--was sheer hell. I'm bilingual and know three different computer languages, he thought mournfully. And I can swear really good in both Nepalese and Italian, but stuff like, "find and underline the subject and predicate of each sentence..."Forget it. And I wouldn't know a gerund if it bit me on the butt.
With Eiji in tow, Jinpei trotted down the hallway, past the Art department and into the English wing. Friends called out to him, and he yelled back, adding to the general din that echoed through the halls before the final bell. He entered the classroom and plumped down in his seat. Laura Eddington was already at her desk across the aisle, flipping through her notebook for her homework. She was wearing tight jeans and a sweater that matched her eyes. Jinpei sighed.
One thing that had taken getting used to was being surrounded by kids close to his own age. He'd discovered the ironclad social order the very first day. Each student had a niche to fill, and each niche had a prescribed code. There were the "toughs," who smoked in the dark corners of campus, tried to act cool, and picked on anyone who would take it. Jinpei had danced around enough bar fights at the Snack Jun to know how to dodge them, but it was terribly tempting to take one or two of the bullies down a few notches. Then there were the geeks, the shy, awkward kids who worshipped him because he wasn't afraid to admit that he enjoyed his subjects, and because he could stand up to the toughs. They were interesting enough to talk to, but like his brothers, Jinpei had little tolerance for weakness. Many of the geeks made no effort at all to defend themselves from the bullies or from anything else.
But worst of all were the girls--specifically, Laura Eddington. Long, curly blonde hair that framed her head like a halo; green eyes, a big dimple in her left cheek when she smiled, and the boys said she'd had to wear a bra since fifth grade. Just looking at her made his mind blank and his knees weak. To her he didn't exist.
What can I do to make Laura notice me? The girls all like the big guys on the football and soccer teams. I've got the height, and I'm in better shape then any of those guys--Jun saw to that with workouts from five in the morning, rain or shine--but I'm a gawky-looking string bean. And my voice squeaks. Sure, I could join the soccer team and kick some butt as a forward, or join the Judo club... but there's always that stupid low profile I gotta keep.
The bell rang, and the teacher came to the front of the room and asked for yesterday's essay to be handed in. When Jinpei didn't move, Eiji kicked the back of his chair.
"What?"
"What're you doing?" Eiji whispered. "Hurry and pass this stuff up." Sheepishly Jinpei grabbed the handful of papers his friend thrust at him, added his own, and passed them on.
English was the final class of the day. Eiji and Mark joined him at their lockers, stuffing homework into backpacks as they planned to evacuate the building. Both boys belonged to the niche known as "middle of the road," sitting at neither extreme of the popularity scale. Eiji was a little shorter and stockier than Jinpei. Mark was the tallest of the three boys, with dark brown hair, freckles, and a perpetual mischievous look.
"... And he was drooling over Laura the whole class," Eiji was saying to Mark. "Didn't even notice when Mrs. Winston called on him." He grinned over at Jinpei. "Nice save, though--telling her you were thinking so hard over a mistake you made on exercise seven. And she believed you. That was so smooth...."
"Hey, when you gotta think fast--"
"You oughta give Laura up, man," Mark said, shaking his head. "Unless you're a fullback, you don't have a chance. She's way above us mere mortals. I don't think you can smooth-talk her the way you do the teachers."
"I don't smooth-talk the teachers."
"Then why do they call you 'Mighty Mouth' in Physics class?"
"Oh, shut up." Jinpei took a halfhearted swing at Mark, who stepped back with a grin. The first Physics class had been a learning experience--Jinpei had discovered that ad-libbing was frowned on by the teacher. And it wasn't wise to offer answers that weren't in the textbook, even if they were correct... but not widely known yet. The students had sure howled, though.
"Hey, you wanna go to the game center?"
"Sorry, I can't," Jinpei told them. "I've gotta work."
"Aw, man...."
"How about tomorrow?"
"I've got band practice tomorrow," Mark complained. "How come you gotta work, anyway? My parents made me quit my summer job when school started."
"My sister says it's got something to do with eating," Jinpei said dryly. The other two boys looked at him with something akin to awe--they knew Jun was the only family Jinpei lived with, and it must be weird not having parents around to run your life or younger siblings to beat on. And especially to have to provide for yourself at the tender age of twelve.
"That's rough," Eiji said.
"Yeah, sometimes." Jinpei slung his bookbag over his shoulder and waved to them as he headed toward the door. "See you later."
Once outside, his expression fell as Laura edged back into his thoughts. What do I know about girls? he thought. Sure, there's Oneechan, but she's not a girl. Not really. I can't ask the guys here--I'd never hear the end of it. That leaves Ken and Ryu. Ken's clueless--he's never had to try, and I think he spends more time dodging them. Ryu's hopeless. I bet he's never had a date in his whole life!
Now if Joe was around... Jinpei kicked a rock out of his path. Joe had cultivated a long string of girlfriends, and the ones he'd liked best were the ones he'd had to work for. I bet if I could ask him, he'd get that evil grin on his face and probably come up with some plan that would get us both into a ton of trouble, and it would be fun. And it might even work.
Ken looked up from his newspaper as the door to the Snack Jun banged open and Jinpei ambled in. He didn't give his usual greeting, which usually reverberated through the bar. In fact, the kid looked preoccupied, and didn't even notice when some of the regulars waved to him. Ken put the paper down.
"Oi, Jinpei. What's going on?"
"Huh?" He stopped just outside the door to the kitchen.
"You're not yourself today."
"I'm not?" Jinpei frowned. "No, I guess not." Quickly he scanned the bar. Jun was nowhere in sight, so the boy pulled up a stool next to Ken. "Aniki, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"You ever get the feeling you don't matter? Like, if you didn't show up the next day, nobody would really care?"
With a scowl, Ken whacked him on the back of the head with the flat of his hand. Jinpei yelped in surprise. "Ow! What was that for?"
"Think about what you just said," Ken growled. "Remember the last time you went off alone and scared us all half to death?"
As the realization hit, Jinpei's eyes widened. "No, no! I didn't mean it that way. I know you guys care, but...."
Ken's expression softened a little. "Oh, I get it. School problems?"
"Not really, but--"
"Girl problems?"
"Yeah." Jinpei tapped a finger on the counter and lowered his voice. "I mean, I know what a great guy I am, but I can't prove it to her without being a big jock on one of the sports teams. If I try anything else, I'll get too much attention. I know I shouldn't let it get to me, but... we've spent so long trying not to get noticed--"
"You haven't," Ken grinned. "I remember several times when--"
Jinpei glared at him. "Lemme finish. We've tried not to get noticed because it was dangerous. Now it doesn't matter, and I'm still not supposed to get noticed. We're supposed to be the big heroes, but now I feel like a very small guppy in a very big aquarium."
"You're still a hero."
"Not anymore. Now I'm past history that's not supposed to get noticed."
Ken frowned for a moment, and Jinpei worried that he might get angry again. But then he leaned forward thoughtfully. "When we turned in our bracelets, I had problems with that too," he said in a voice only Jinpei could hear. "We've been fighting for so long, that was all that was important. It's hard to think of being valuable to anyone for any other reason."
Jinpei nodded miserably.
"Think of it this way: you're still the Swallow, on a secret assignment, lying low and waiting for your next orders. That's how I do it."
Jinpei blinked at him. "What? Aniki, you think that'll ever happen?"
Ken turned his head and regarded the rows of bottles on the shelf above the bar. "I don't know, but I have a feeling we might. And don't tell Jun this. Think of it as a confidence between you and your leader."
"Wow... But what does this have to do with girls?"
"Well, if the girl can't see you for what you are, there's no need to get put out. As you said, you already know what you are--what you still are. Be confident. Talk to her. Let her get to know you. If she doesn't like you then, that's her problem. There are plenty of girls who will."
"Even the goddesses?"
"Goddesses like powerful guys. For example, football players are confident because they know that being good at football is power. If you show a woman confidence, she'll think you have power, even though you haven't shown her what it is."
Jinpei frowned skeptically. "Um, excuse me for saying so, but you're not exactly an expert on the ladies."
Ken sighed, then shoved a hand against the back of Jinpei's head and ruffled his already unruly hair. "No, but as a ninja I'm supposed to understand human nature."
Jinpei let out a big sigh and collapsed theatrically on the counter. "Thanks."
"Speaking of covert operations," Ken said slyly. "You think you could sneak me another beer?"
"Sorry," Jinpei said, "but I'm off duty til five thirty. Got bigger priorities--lots of homework, you know. Loads of stuff to study. Very important. Later." He let the door swing shut on Ken's protest.
Some things never change.
A hard rain spattered against the window of his hotel room as Joe emptied his backpack and went through his belongings. There were fake ID's and passports, a hefty book of traveller's cheques, toiletries and two changes of clothing, a small tool kit, and a package Doctor Rafeal had handed him just before he departed. "My assistants found these before the cleanup teams arrived at Cross Karakoram," he'd said. "These are yours, and I thought you should have them."Joe opened the package and looked each item over before laying it on the bed. There were the clothes he'd been wearing when Rafeal had found him--tattered, but clean now; the remains of his bracelet, a half dozen feather shuriken that must have been pulled from dead soldiers... and Ken's boomerang. Ken must have forgotten it. That must have made Nambu unhappy--Ken's leaving a valuable and expensive weapon behind.
"Take this boomerang. Think of this as my heart, which I leave with you.... Return it to me in person."
No doubt Ken's heart had less of a sharp edge, and was in far better condition. Ken was probably thriving under this peace they had fought so hard for. Joe envied him in that respect. Ken really should have the boomerang back, and it would be interesting to see him again, just to see how he was enjoying his new life. Maybe someday.
Joe took the boomerang apart, carefully cleaned each piece of old dirt and dried blood, then fitted it back together. The task took half the night.
The bracelet had been pieced together as if someone who had known what he was doing had tried to fix it in a hurry. Some of the bits were still loose. Joe cleaned and reassembled the bracelet as well. It could transmit, but he didn't know if the Bird Style transformation would work, and he didn't bother to try it. What he was going to do with the old equipment, he didn't know. The items were dangerous to have, but they were all he had left from his old life.
Call me a sentimental fool.
So now he was loose on the world. What next? Joe considered himself good at two things: racing and fighting. Racing was out--he didn't have enough money to support transport costs, entry fees and upkeep of the car. All that had been provided by the ISO. Even if he could find sponsors, his faster reflexes would take the challenge out of the sport, and his extra stamina and armor would all but eliminate the risk. It wouldn't be fair to the other drivers. Fighting was out, unless he could find a suitable enemy. Joe had stood for the whole world against the Syndicate, so why turn on those he'd fought to protect? He had to wait for Gallactor to crawl back out of its hole.
Joe could go anywhere in the world he wanted... almost. The next morning, without thinking, he found himself scanning the airport departure boards for the first flight to Utoland City. Then he stopped himself.
Rafeal had been straight with him, as far as Joe could tell. But there was always that suspicion, that feeling that he was not completely in control. Even Dr. Nambu, a man he had trusted and considered family, had manipulated him and the others for the sake of strategy. Though later he understood the Professor's reasons, there was still that unshakable feeling of betrayal. And Nambu was a pussycat compared to Rafeal. Joe recognized the obsession in the old physician's eyes, and knew he would sacrifice all he valued to destroy X. Joe wasn't concerned about what happened to himself, but he drew the line at his friends.
And even if he could reason his other doubts away, there were the Team's reactions to consider. After six months with no contact, they must believe he was dead, and it would be difficult to convince them otherwise. Too many spies had tried to worm their way into their little organization by claiming to be a long-lost friend or relative. And if Nambu wanted physical proof, insisted on tests and then found the augmentation, it would be all over.
Joe booked a flight for Palermo instead, then took a connecting flight to his old childhood home.
Though it was the middle of February, a steady wind off the Mediterranean gave BC Island the mild, pleasant climate that made it a popular vacation spot--especially now that the Syndicate had been removed. The poor fishing villages and slums still huddled in miserable pockets outside the high walls of the resorts, but gone were the crumbling, condemned buildings, half razed and pockmarked with bullet holes. What the Black Hole Plan's earthquakes hadn't destroyed, the developers had torn down.
Joe checked into a hotel, rented a car, and waited. It was after midnight when he went to the old church. A mild, steady breeze stirred the tall grass outside the high brick and iron walls of the cemetery. As he passed through the cemetery gates, the tang of the ocean gave way to the sweet smell of flowers. Overhead, a full moon tinged the clouds with silver and brightly illuminated the tall stones and statues and the brick paths that wound between them. Bright stars glittered overhead, standing out clearly in a sky unmarred by the reflections of city lights. Years ago, on nights like this, a certain seven-year-old boy would sneak through his bedroom window to meet his friends here in the old graveyard. They would play war games and plan ambushes, or try to scare each other with ghost stories. The ghosts here now were those of memories.
In stark contrast to before, the graveyard was well-tended. The grass and hedges inside the walls had been neatly trimmed, and the leaning stones had been set straight. There were many new headstones, another reminder of recent events.
Someone had left flowers at his parents' grave, perhaps out of courtesy. Finally people could pay their respects without fear. Joe set his own offering down, then knelt before the stone.
"It's over," he whispered, his voice loud in the silence. "Gallactor has fallen. I spat in Katse's face, and my team did the rest."
He didn't expect an answer and didn't get one. Maybe he was the only one it mattered to. But it did matter. Though the Syndicate wasn't dead until X was, he'd accomplished what he'd initially sworn he'd do, back when he was only a child.
"Problem is, this whole thing turned out to be bigger than Katse, didn't it? I wonder if you knew."
He sat for a long while, staring at the names and the flowers, feeling the ocean wind stirring his hair. Then slowly he stood up, gave the grave one last look, then went looking for Father Alan's.
He had only taken a few steps when he saw something that stopped him. Giorge Asakura's grave should have been removed once revealed to be empty, but it was still there. A large bouquet of flowers stood in a cut glass vase at the base of the marble cross. They were fresh.
"What the hell?" he whispered.
Joe heard footsteps in the grass behind him, coming from the direction of the church. He glared over his shoulder and saw the new priest, a jacket pulled over his clerical garb, striding toward him. Joe hadn't been too careful about sneaking around, so the priest must have seen him on his way out of the church.
"Nice night for a walk," the man hailed him in heavily accented English.
"A good time to deal with the ghosts, when no one else is around to watch," Joe said carefully, in Italian. "You're out late, Father."
At the familiar dialect, the young man looked surprised, then relieved. "You live on this island?" he asked.
"I lived near this village. A long time ago."
The priest held out his hand, and Joe shook it. "I'm Father DaSilva."
"Call me Joe."
"Do you need sanctuary, Joe? I have room."
Joe smiled and shook his head. "No, no. Nothing like that." The priest reminded him a lot of Ken; he was the same age, with long dark hair tied into a ponytail so it wouldn't block his collar. His gentle demeanor barely concealed an underlying steely resilience. He'd have to be tough to take up where Alan had left off, dispensing love, teaching and discipline to the orphans and children of poverty-stricken villagers--savage castaways who believed they had nothing to live for. He seemed confident that this dark stranger he'd spotted lurking around his sanctuary's graveyard in the middle of the night wouldn't harm him. Joe had to respect that.
"Was he an old friend?" DaSilva gestured toward the grave they stood beside.
Joe shook his head. "I've heard his name." He regarded the flowers. "He must've been popular."
Father DaSilva scratched his head. "That's the strange thing. The grave is empty."
"Empty?"
"Right before I came to this church, about two years ago, the mayor ordered this grave dug up, and there were only stones found in the coffin. A day later, my predecessor here was killed and the mayor killed himself. After the funerals, a large anonymous donation was made to the church. The stone was put aside and the coffin was put in church storage. Then about six months ago, we got a request to replace the stone and rebury the coffin. A woman came to the island and oversaw the burial, then ordered flowers on the graves--both the boy's, and his parents'. The flowers have been wired in ever since. According to the inscription, Giorge was only eight when he died, but could it be something related to the disappearance of his body?" He shrugged. "I wish I knew the entire story."
"This woman," Joe said. "What did she look like?"
"She was young, maybe eighteen. She had black hair and very pretty eyes, and spoke only English."
Jun. He felt as if a hard hand had wrapped around his gut and squeezed.
"You... wouldn't know more about this, would you?" The father lifted his eyebrows hopefully. There had to be some reason for the man's interest.
"I think I know the woman." Joe rubbed his chin thoughtfully and stared at the grave. "From long ago." He looked up at the priest. "I wouldn't tell her about seeing me here. We didn't... part on the best of terms."
"It's a shame to have had a fight with someone like that." It was clear the father wanted to hear more. "I can make some fresh coffee. Would you like to come inside for awhile?"
Joe started to refuse, then paused. The priest was friendly, accommodating and eager for gossip. As a major figure in the community, he would know all that was happening on the island. And if Gallactor had begun as a Mafia operation, and the Mafia didn't let go of its holdings easily.... A slight grin quirked the corner of his mouth. "If it's not too late, Father."
"Not at all." He waved for Joe to follow. "Come inside."
"Give me a moment out here, and I'll follow you," Joe said. The priest nodded, then hurried into the church.
Father Alan had been buried in a place of honor near the center of the cemetery. Joe knelt before the headstone and read the inscription, the dates glaring at him in accusation. Alan had been twenty one--barely old enough to have begun his vocation--when Joe had killed him.
You tried to teach me the futility of revenge. It didn't work. My only regret is what I did to you, to your fiancee.
There weren't any flowers on this grave, so Joe went back and gathered some. Giorge Asakura wouldn't miss them at all.
"Horahorahora! Keep that up, asshole, and I'll break your other arm!"
The man Ryu held pinned to the floor stopped struggling. He was in his late twenties, with rough, thuggish features and a powerful build. His nose was bleeding from when Ryu had slammed his face into the floor, and his right arm lay at an awkward angle, already starting to swell in three places. His eyes went to the crowd standing around the showroom, watching, and then to the assault rifle lying beyond his reach. He hissed a stream of obscenities through his teeth.
Behind him, the owner and manager of Bill Hardeson's Used Cars emerged from his office. "Police'll be here in just a few moments. If you can sit tight."
"No problem," Ryu said easily. He looked relaxed, but beneath the sleeves of his jacket, the muscles stood out on his thick arms. The captive struggled again, but found he couldn't break the big man's grip.
"You should've minded your own business, fat boy," he snarled.
"I was minding my own business," Ryu answered. "I was trying to buy a truck. That's really hard to do when somebody's holding up the dealer. Makes it hard to get a fair price. How come you didn't try to rob a convenience store like everybody else?" Some of the onlookers chuckled.
"You're a really funny guy, you know that? When this is all over, I'll come looking for you. We'll see how funny you are then."
"That's a really bad idea," Ryu answered blandly. Whether the mildness of his expression was unsatisfying or more threatening than an angry reply, something caused the thug to shut his mouth and lie still.
The sound of sirens announced the approach of two patrol cars. When the police arrived, Ryu gave his charge over to two officers while the manager talked to two others. "He just walked in here, pulled out that gun and fired a few rounds. Everybody dropped to the floor. He told Bob here--" He indicated one of the dealers. "--that he wanted a fast car. Then that guy over there--" He indicated Ryu. "--tackled him. It happened really fast. I kicked the gun out of the way and called you."
"That's how he got roughed up?" The officer asked, eyeing the man's bruised and bloody face. "Just so his lawyer doesn't try to pin us for brutality."
Ryu scratched the back of his head. "Guess I got carried away."
Another officer picked the gun up and looked it over. "Probably a good thing you did. This thing has a full clip."
Ryu walked up and looked over the cop's shoulder. He recognized the gun--standard Gallactor make. The insignia had been peeled off, leaving a pale circle on the side of the stock. He frowned. The officer took his expression for a belated reaction, and grinned.
"Mr. Hardeson, we'll need you to come to the station and make a statement for the records. You too, Mr...?"
"Nakanishi. Yeah. I'll come with you if I can get a ride."
Bill stepped up beside him. "We'll take my car," he said. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for this. This is the second time we've been held up, and I was starting to think we were cursed or something."
Ryu grinned. "Well, I think somebody cursed me and said I'd have an interesting life." And it looked like it would stay interesting. Ryu wanted to know more about that guy. Ex-Gallactor, or something else?
The police cuffed the gunman, taking care with his broken arm, before hustling him to one of the cars. Ryu and Bill followed them. "You wouldn't be thinking about knocking another twenty percent off the price of that truck?"
"How about ten?"
They were still haggling as they followed the police procession to the station.
"You mean Jun's place is going respectable?"The tenor voice cut through the sounds of clattering dishes and conversation, leaving a momentary pause before the noise resumed again. Jun winced as two of her "regulars" stalked across the room and plumped themselves on the bar stools with a great deal of drama. "Kama-chan," as everyone called him, was lead singer and guitarist of Slam Me Jam, a band that had played regularly at Jun's place in the past. He stood out in a crowd, with his leather clothes, black lipstick and the fuzzy hair that reached his tailbone and was tinted the color of the week. (This week's was red.) Julia, a stunning blonde with Celtic design tattoos covering all the skin she could expose legally, was his manager. She elbowed him. "Keep it down to a low shriek, will you?"
"But I don't believe this!" His sweeping gesture covered the afternoon customers sipping coffee over sandwiches and pastries contracted from the bakery down the street. The dark, smoky walls had been cleaned and painted bright sunset colors, the new furniture gleamed and potted plants hung from the ceiling. The place now looked more like a diner than a nightclub. "Everyone's rebuilding, making things new and better, and this place becomes a fern bar. What's next?" His lip curled. "A karaoke machine?"
Jun smiled. "No, Jinpei talked me out of that." Something about endless nights pouring beer for groping, drunken salarymen, engaged in banal conversation between off-key renditions of "My Way" had finally struck a nerve. "Give me a little time to set a solid schedule, and I'll see what I can do about bringing back the live bands. The usual for you two?" They nodded, and Jun fished two bottles of dark beer from a cooler beneath the counter.
The Snack Jun had been a bit of a dive, known as a gathering place for wild youth and all the trouble it represented. The bar's opening schedule had been erratic due to Jun's other obligations, so she'd had to find another way to draw the customers in: late night jam sessions by alternative rock groups, advertised by handouts drawn up and distributed by Jinpei, who had a shrewd sense of promotion. The concerts had drawn a wide range of people, from hippies and bikers to artists, ad executives and college kids; and produced an atmosphere best described as Mardi Gras confined to one room. The inevitable brawls had been averted by her three "bouncers," who, for a few free drinks, had been happy to enforce the peace... most of the time, anyway. Though sometimes a raging success and sometimes a raging disaster, the events had never been dull and the income had covered lost revenues due to broken furniture and sound equipment.
"Where is the little munchkin, by the way?" Julia asked.
Munchkin--Jinpei would love that. "Would you believe, upstairs doing homework?"
"God, you really are going respectable! What's the next step?" Kama leaned forward across the bar. "Our Jun marries the shaggy-haired pilot with the muscles? A house with a picket fence and two point five children?"
"Kama!"
Julia's wide-eyed stare went from Kama-chan to Jun. "Are you serious? Mr. 'Top Gun'?" She had a nickname for everyone.
"Of course. Haven't you seen the two of them making eyes at each other across the bar? Lucky girl." Jun rolled her eyes and scanned the bar for customers who needed waiting on. None did, unfortunately.
So what did she have planned for the future? Jun couldn't see herself running a bar for the rest of her life. It was just a first step, a way to get her feet under her until they all were sure the Syndicate wouldn't stir up trouble again. And until she decided what she really wanted to do. She could be a dancer, an actress, a model, a photographer... or she could start her own business, become a computer consultant or get a job in the ISO as an electronics specialist. There were so many possibilities, and she was only seventeen.
"Talking about me again?" said a familiar voice. Kama-chan let out a shriek as two hands dropped heavily onto his shoulders. After a moment Ken released him and moved to sit on the stool beside Julia.
"You're here early," Jun said.
"Had a good tailwind all the way through the route. These two keeping you from your other customers?" Kama-chan raised both eyebrows and tried to look affronted. "Oh, don't give me that. You've probably been in the way for the past hour." His grin defused the barb.
Ken was courting her formally now, bringing flowers and gifts and taking her out to dinner and dancing, or long motorcycle rides. When he could borrow a two-seater plane, they occasionally went on long flights together. At last they were finding out all the things they hadn't known about each other's pasts. Jun had dated plenty of other men, but just the thought of Ken's shy smile made her feel like she had fallen in love for the first time in her life.
Jun gave him a coffee, and did the rounds to check on her customers. Ken snagged the daily paper from the end of the counter. When Jun came back, she surreptitiously trailed a hand along Ken's shoulder on her way back to the bar. Ken smiled at that. "You seem cheerful today," she said, leaning close over the counter.
"Got a test assignment tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it." While the mail route and the occasional skywriting job fulfilled Ken's addiction to flying, but what he truly lived for was the excitement of strapping himself into a potential bomb with a joystick attached to it. It had never really bothered her before, and she knew she should be happy for him, but all Jun felt at the news was a surge of apprehension. Ken didn't notice the change in her expression.
A customer came to the register to pay her bill, and Ken went back to his paper as Jun rang up the sale. The juke box wound down, and Kama strutted over to the machine, then stood, clucking over the selection. After a moment, he produced a coin and glanced slyly over at Ken and Julia. Julia lifted an eyebrow. Kama put the coin in the slot, pressed a button, then reached around to the back of the machine. The entire bar jumped at the blast of sound and the onslaught of screaming guitars.
"I see you didn't get rid of all the classics."
"Aggh," Jun said. "Kama, at least turn the volume back down." She had to raise her voice to be heard.
"Not until I get my money's worth," he yelled back.
"Huh. This is odd."
"What's that?" Jun leaned closer so she could hear him.
Still engrossed in his paper, Ken answered, "These gang wars. This is the fifth incident I've read about in two weeks."
"Are you sure they're not covering the same incident?" Jun asked.
"Five different locations. All of a sudden we've got small Mafia bands going crazy. And the funny thing is that no one can determine the cause."
"Heard on the news that the small gangs are trying to take up where Gallactor left off," Julia said. "They're fighting for territory with beat-up old mechs they bought from what's left of the syndicate, and they're getting their butts kicked. 'S funny, really. They'd been having better luck with drive-by shootings."
Ken and Jun exchanged looks, and Ken answered their unspoken question. "I'll ask when I see him tomorrow," he said in a low voice, audible only to Jun beneath the din.
Jun nodded, and glanced up at the phone, half expecting it to ring. There was a pit in her stomach, something she hadn't felt in nearly a year.
-- 5--
The sounds of footsteps echoed through the warehouse as a knot of heavily armed men raced for the exits. Outside there were gunshots, screams and curses in both Chinese and Japanese as the battle raged between Lin's men and Sekiguchi's Yakuza invaders. An angry Sekiguchi had sent an overwhelming number of men; something to do with some information someone had dropped on his desk about Lin stockpiling heavy weaponry: automatic rifles with 7mm cartridges, grenades, portable LAW missiles, and crab-shaped tanks. That was too much of a threat to ignore. None of Lin's men noticed the dark figure that lurked in the shadows between the rows of crates.The sounds of fighting came closer. Before long it might occur to someone that he could make use of the stock. The intruder moved quickly and silently, planting wads of plastique and detonators throughout the warehouse. This method was simple, and very cheap, but would do the job as well as anything higher-tech. When he finished, he climbed over a tank to reach a high window at the back of the building, away from the worst of the combat. At the window he paused a second, then dove through the reinforced glass.
One of Sekiguchi's high officers heard the crash and caught sight of a man in black landing lightly on the ground amidst a shower of glass. After goggling for a moment--the windows were at least four stories up--he raised his gun and squinted down the sight. Before he could fire, the gun was knocked out of his hands and the intruder had him by the front of his jacket. The Yakuza struggled, but couldn't break the other's grip.
Bright blue eyes blazed over a black scarf tied over the lower half of the intruder's face. "Tell your men to clear the area," he growled in Japanese. "You have ninety seconds before the warehouse blows." The man released him and leaped catlike over the high outer wall, cleared the rolls of razor wire, and vanished down an alley. Shaken, the officer reached for the radio at his belt and called a retreat.
There was a flash, and a tremendous boom. The ground shook. The prowler stopped and turned to watch a bright ball of flames roll toward the sky. He wasn't concerned about bystanders this time--the pier warehouse had been covered by heavy security in what was well known as a gang-run area. If Lin's people had had any sense, they would have seen the Sekiguchi-gumi's retreat and put two and two together. It was the equipment he was after, not the gangs.
He hadn't even had to kill anybody to deal with Lin--Yamaguchi had done all the dirty work and provided the distraction he needed to get at the arsenal. Convenient. Especially when there were two thousand of them and only one of him.
Joe allowed himself a smile. One was enough.
Surprisingly, his rental car sat undisturbed in its dark corner of a vacant lot--unusual in this part of town. Quickly Joe pulled a change of clothes from the back seat and traded his black prowling suit for jeans, sweater and brown leather jacket. He did a quick inventory; the prowling suit had been shredded by the broken glass, but he hadn't picked up a scratch.
This was his seventh successful hit, and by far the biggest. He had started in Sicily after researching some of Father DaSilva's hints--the priest knew just enough, and he trusted his instincts enough to believe Joe was on the right side. The raids had not been easy. During the first fiasco he'd started--by wounding a mob VIP in an embarrassing spot and leaving the rival's tag--he hadn't realized that his target gang was tied into the police force in a little town just outside of Minan. Twenty civilians were killed in the resulting drive-by attack, which not only destroyed the jail and police station, but the city hall--the angry gang had used grenade launchers. After the shock of that first failure, Joe learned to act more deliberately, carefully researching each target. Research was not Joe's fortŽ--usually, Dr. Nambu had done the digging, then pointed the Kagaku Ninjatai at the results and pulled the trigger--but he learned quickly. While recuperating from his injuries after the incident that resulted in Alan's death, Joe had spent some time digging for information on his family and the structure of the organization Giuseppe Asakura had run. That had given him some insight on who to consult, where to go, how to act. Joe established confidences with some key Family members, had them thinking he was one of them. He also spent a lot of time listening in on conversations behind closed doors, aided by the new sharpness Rafeal had given his sense of hearing. ISO Intelligence had a lot of supplementary information as well, and Joe used a few tricks Jun had taught him to sneak on line and find what he wanted. He also kept a careful eye on the news to see what the media thought of the little incidents. No one had twigged to the cause so far, or at least they were keeping quiet about it.
Joe started the car and headed downtown, to a tiny Chinese restaurant that he liked. It was dingy and run-down, with nicotine-stained walls and battered metal chairs. The patrons consisted of construction workers and young bikers, and the place was considered too risky for tourists. However, the food was top-rate, and it was amusing to watch the two cooks bickering in the kitchen--they were always arguing about something. The banter reminded him of conversations he often heard in Jun's little bar. Joe ordered a few plates of gyoza and a beer, pulled out the evening paper and settled down at a corner table.
The intercom buzzed, and Professor Nambu pressed a button. "Yes?""Sir," came the voice of his receptionist. "Ken Washio on line one."
"Put him through, please." There was a brief click, then Ken's voice. "Professor?" There was a muffled rumbling in the background, the rising shriek of jet engines warming up.
"Well hello, Ken. I thought you'd be in the air by now."
"Last minute preflight check," Ken answered. "I'm at the airfield now. I wanted to talk to you in person before takeoff, but it looks like my schedule's tighter than I thought."
The doctor frowned. "Has something come up?" At his words, the agent standing beside his desk turned to leave. Nambu waved the woman back.
"It's nothing serious, I hope. I was just wondering if you've been watching the news--the gang wars?"
"Yes, it has come to my attention."
"Do you think there's any importance to it?"
"Not at the moment. I've looked into it. Too many variables. Good luck on your flight today."
Ken recognized the dismissal for what it was. "They're calling me now. I'll see you later." He frowned as he hung up the phone. The professor had discounted those suspicions far too quickly. After the job was over, he would check on him again, in person.
Someone shouted his name. Around the plane the ground crew was waving him over. Ken cleared his mind and left the phone booth, swinging his helmet in his hand as he strode toward the plane.
Back in his office, Nambu frowned at the map display and the dates. "This violence seems almost too random. The timing's off. See...." He pointed. "A week between the drug bust here, and the warehouse explosion. Then a month before the next confrontation, with a completely different set of adversaries. If this had been a real gang war, the events should have steamrolled between the same two groups, or at least related branches."
"They did here, sir," the agent said, tracing a finger over two points on the map. "The war in Ameris, between Patrickson and Mendoza spread to Carti and Calisto, who'd been their drug brokers."
"But look at the time between that and the other events. And look at the distance. And here's something else that's odd."
"What's that, sir?"
"All of these incidents have happened to organizations with Gallactor connections, but none of the crime families in Utoland have been affected. There are at least two with Syndicate connections."
"That's because Utoland's the peace capitol of the world," the woman said with a smile. It faded when the Doctor showed no reaction to the joke. "Sorry, sir. So, assuming these wars have been planned for, who might be responsible, and why?" she mused. "Someone--or a group of someones--who wants to finish stomping Gallactor into the ground? Someone who has either a lot of money, power, connections, or all three? It is someone who's avoiding Utoland for some reason. And someone who's accessed ISO files."
"What's that?"
"There were three accesses logged for the ISO central database, with the password, DEFF1. That password hadn't been used in over a year."
"That's a Class 1 access code. Why wasn't I informed?"
The woman's shoulders sagged slightly. "It was only discovered yesterday, sir. It was pretty well buried. None of the telltales were working."
"What data was accessed?"
"We're still working on that, sir."
Nambu scowled in concentration. "How far back do these raids go?"
"Three months, sir."
That was well after his vacation with his wards. Could it have been one of them? They fit all the criteria. If so, why had Ken called? A smokescreen? He didn't think so--he should be able to trust Ken more than that.
"You say Jun and the others have been sticking close to home?"
"Yes sir. They're very busy putting things back together. They seem happy enough."
There was only one who Nambu could suspect would try for a personal battle with the Syndicate... but they'd buried him months ago. In theory, Nambu corrected himself. No body was ever found. Again Jun's words came to him: "But he couldn't move when we left him, and there's no way he could have walked away."
Maybe someone who'd known Joe and decided to carry on the fight? A friend? Lover? Admirer? It would have to be more than one person to cause such an uproar. Not even Joe could have pulled this off alone.
"It's possible that a vigilante or vigilante group is responsible for this," the doctor said. "Leave the network security alone, but I want to know immediately the next time you see that signature. I want to know everything--time, origin and data searched. Tell your people to check their own connections, see if we can catch the next incident before it happens. I want to know more about whoever it is behind this."
Maybe we can use them.
"Yes sir." Julia bowed and left the room.
When she had gone, Nambu hit the intercom and picked up his phone. "Send for Chief Engineer Kamo, please," he said.
Kamo must have been in the immediate area, for two minutes later, he stepped in the doctor's office, huffing from the exertion of running, unlit pipe in hand. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"
"How is the construction of the undersea research facility proceeding?"
"Right on schedule. It should be operational in two weeks."
"Good to hear. As soon as you can arrange the necessary personnel, I'd like you to reinitiate the Conservatory Operation."
There was a soft thud as Kamo's pipe dropped from limp fingers onto the carpet, spilling fresh tobacco on the pile. "Excuse me." With a slight grunt, the large man bent over to pick up the pipe and clean up the mess, and to cover his embarrassment at his surprise.
Nambu grinned. "I thought you'd be happy to see your pet project activated again."
"Not if it means what I think it does." Kamo returned the grin, ruefully. "Do you expect the attack soon?"
"Not at all. I would just rather be ready in any instance. G-Town we can always use for high-security research as we planned. Consider the Conservatory Operation just another research project, for now."
--6--
The ESA-5 was built for speed and power--little more than two big engines with wings tacked on as an afterthought. That accounted for precious little agility, which meant that if Ken wanted to try anything fancy, he was out of luck. No aerobatics today, which he was sure saved the staff some grey hair as he put the little plane through its paces. Speed, altitude, sudden power shifts... he had the checklist memorized.There was nothing new or revolutionary about the design of the plane; it was the engine structure he was testing. The fuselage of the plane was borrowed from an old reconnaissance craft, and Ken had been outfitted in a full space suit for the job.
"Nice work, Washio. You're cleared to land. Bring it on home."
The sun was setting over the sea as Ken turned the craft back toward the airstrip, settling the plane at standard altitude. It had been a long day, and he was achy and tired; looking forward to dinner and a chance to relax. And that talk with the professor....
The plane jerked.
"What the--"
While he had let his mind wander for a moment, the engines had definitely faltered. Odd because Ken was flying at nowhere near full power. The plane jerked again as the engines bucked. An alarm went off and red lights flashed across the board. The radio crackled: "Ken, we've registered a problem. What's wrong?"
"Engines just quit," Ken said tersely. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end; his instincts were screaming at him to bail out. Reaching down, he found the eject lever and pulled. There was a brief explosion, and the canopy and pilot's seat shot high into the air. Then there was another, bigger explosion. A gust of superheated air picked him up and threw him sideways, spinning the seat. The last thing Ken felt was a terrible pain ripping into his right leg before the lights went out.
...Cold, white light... the white walls and white ceiling of a hospital room. Four familiar faces loomed over him, wearing identical worried expressions. We've done this before, Ken thought. Did we win this time?
"Ken."
Jun's voice. She bent closer, and her eyes were red. She'd been crying. All of the sudden Ken felt guilty. Why?
"How do you feel?" That was Dr. Nambu.
"Hurt," Ken croaked. There was something bleeding beneath the thick gauze pad taped to his face, and there wasn't a spot on his body that didn't ache. The g-forces had pummeled him as badly as any beating he'd ever taken in his career. It was a familiar sensation that meant he had been in a crash. Ken moved cautiously, testing his arms and legs. The muscles were stiff, and there were bruises. Then he moved his left leg, and a shock of pain rippled up his spine and smacked into his brain, sending him reeling. He squeezed his eyes shut and bared his teeth in a grimace. "How bad is it?"
"Not bad at all, considering how close you were when the craft exploded. You've some burns and bruises. The worst is your leg--you took some shrapnel in the calf that tore the muscle. That patched up fine, but needs some time to mend."
His leg was throbbing still. "Why is it that the little stuff always hurts the most?" he complained.
Nambu grinned, mostly in relief, then turned to the small tray he'd set up near the bed. He prepared a needle and administered the injection with the speed of frequent practice. In a few minutes, the ache in Ken's leg dulled enough for him to ignore it.
"So when can I get out of here?" Ken asked. "Is this an overnighter, or am I stuck here longer?"
That brought smiles from everyone. "No, just overnight for observation," Nambu said. "Standard procedure." Then his smile faded. "Though I wouldn't be looking forward to the paperwork that's waiting for you. Engineering wants a full account as soon as possible."
"Feeling's mutual," Ken grumbled.
Jinpei looked up at the Doctor, his eyes wide. "Hakase, you don't think someone--"
Nambu shook his head and patted the boy's shoulder. "No, no. Not at all." This hospital room wasn't secure enough to discuss things like this. "Accidents happen. That's why we need test pilots--to find potentially weak spots and avoid things like this from happening later in the development stage."
A shadow crossed Jun's expression. Ken spotted it, and didn't like what he saw.
"In any case, it's late, and Ken needs to get some rest. We should leave now." Assured that he was all right, the others let the professor herd them out. Jinpei waved to him before the door shut behind them.
Ken found the remote switch and dimmed the lights, then turned on the television. He wasn't in the mood to sleep yet. He was just in time for the ten o' clock news.
"In international news, no explanation has surfaced regarding last Sunday's gunfight in a San Frangeles nightclub. Both factions considered to be the source of the dispute have refused to comment, and their legal counsel has issued a gag order on the case...."
In all the fuss about the accident, Ken had forgotten to ask the Doctor about the gang incidents. He had been hoping the Doctor would consider letting him investigate as an independent agent, but his injuries ruled out the possibility now.
In the one year interim between their last battle with the Syndicate and now, Ken had learned something about himself. For the past four years he had fought for peace, and longed for the day when he would see the quiet beauty of a place like Hontwal and not worry whether or not it was crawling with spies and terrorists. At first he had felt fulfilled and proud, but as the months went by and Ken grew accustomed to the quiet, he discovered that peace was boring. He missed the thrill of being on the edge, daring fate to do its worst. He ought to be ashamed of himself.
Joe would've understood.
The news ended, followed by a game show. Ken shut off the television and lay back on the pillows to sleep.
Jun came to pick him up the very next morning, and she wore the same ominous expression as she had the previous night. She waited silently as Ken went through the discharge process and the doctor wheeled him to the car. Nothing was said until Ken noticed that they were passing the road they would normally take to his airfield. "Where are we going?"
"To the 'J," she answered. "I know for a fact that you don't have any food at your place, or a working TV. Since you usually hang out at the snack, we set up some space for you."
"Oh. Good point." He grinned, hoping she'd catch the humor and return it, but she kept her solemn expression.
"Hakase told me you're not to drive til the stitches come out."
"That should only take a couple of weeks."
"He says you're grounded until further notice."
"What? Why the hell--" Then it hit him and Ken bristled. "One minor accident, and that makes me incapable of taking care of myself? Isn't somebody overreacting here? I know it isn't me."
"That wasn't a minor accident," she said, not looking at him. "You were lucky--"
"I knew what I was doing. Look, accidents happen. Things break. Better they happen to me, where I've got the experience and the reflexes to deal with them, than someone else who can't handle them. That's why the word 'test' appears in front of 'pilot' in the job description."
"Ken, you could have been killed!"
"Jun, pull over. Stop the car."
She pulled the convertible onto the shoulder, and cut the engine. When she looked at him, her face was pale and her eyes were angry. "Jun, we could get killed any day--any hour--of our lives. We were taught this from the beginning. It could be an enemy's bullet that does it, or a car accident, or a plane crash, or a house fire... Even if I led a life as sheltered as you and Doctor Nambu seem to want to make it now, I could always fall down the stairs and break my neck. You try to tie me down anyway, and I'm as good as dead." Her brows drew together and she opened her mouth to reply, but Ken cut her off. "I know Doctor Nambu's doing it because he feels guilty about my father, but I thought you cared more than that."
That did it. The angry expression retreated, then tears came, overflowing from the bottoms of her eyes and spilling past her long lashes to trickle silently down her cheeks. Jun was one of those women who still looked pretty when she cried. And when she looked at him this way, it tore him to shreds. Ken opened his mouth to apologize, then kicked himself at the lapse--he was supposed to be winning an argument here.
"We have been so lucky, you know that?" she said in a small voice. "We've gotten out of situations where I believed there was no escape. Some of it was skill, but a lot of it was just luck. I wasn't afraid before, but when Red Impulse died, then Joe... I got so scared. I keep thinking our luck has run out." She gazed into his face, and the pain in her deep green eyes was awful to look at. "I just don't want to lose you, too."
For a long moment, Ken stared at her, not knowing what to say. Then he reached across the seats, took Jun by the shoulder and gently pulled her to him. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sniffed. Her tears fell free of her face and made dark splotches on the fabric of his jacket.
"Well, I don't want to be lost," Ken said gently. "Do you think, after all we've done, that I'm going to let something kill me now? Not when I've got so much to live for. Now stop that." Putting his arms around her, Ken kissed the top of her head and held her until the tears subsided. Other cars passed them; commuters on their way to work slowing down to rubberneck at the young couple.
Finally Jun pulled away to look at him for a moment before she silently scooted back behind the wheel and started the car. That look had been an appraising one, and Ken wondered what she was thinking.
They didn't say anything more until they reached the bar. Jun let Ken out first, then put the convertible into the garage and shut the door. The bar was dark and silent--it wouldn't open until it was time for the noon crowd. Ken hobbled on his crutches to the back door and the stairs that led to the private rooms, and Jun followed. But when Ken reached the kitchen, she stopped him. Her face wore that same appraising look. Her eyes were clear, and there was no trace of the tears that had happened earlier.
Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
Ken heard the crutches clatter to the floor, and found himself leaning on her and balancing on his good leg. She had one arm behind his back and the other behind his head, and threatened to pull him over on top of her as the kiss deepened, but Ken couldn't pull away... didn't want to pull away....
Finally Jun broke free and took his arm. Ken hopped awkwardly behind her down the hall. Then Ken realized where they were going: her room. A thrill went through him before it was replaced by apprehension. Wait a minute. Should we be doing this? I mean, Jun is...
...A woman you are very much in love with, answered a voice inside his head. Now stop being stupid and show her how you feel.
She pulled him onto the bed, and kissed him again. This time Ken returned the kisses, rolling over on top of her, tangling his fingers in her long, thick hair. Ken was amazed at how warm she was, how soft, and how close. His hands moved like they could think for themselves, down her neck and shoulders, then forward over her breasts... places that Ken had long considered to be forbidden. Jun moaned, a low, throaty sound, then broke away.
"Wha--?"
"Ssh," she whispered, and a smile curved the corner of her mouth. She stepped back from the bed and slowly began to undress, moving smoothly, sinuously; drawing it out as he watched. The tight jeans came off first; she wriggled free like a snake shedding its skin, then stepped gracefully out of the puddle of denim at her feet. Her sweater came off next, revealing a sheer white blouse beneath, and Ken saw she wasn't wearing a bra. She paused then, and approached the bed for another kiss. Her breasts grazed him, nipples brushing his chest through the thin fabric like stiff fingers, leaving his skin tingling where they touched. Then she stood back and slowly unbuttoned the blouse. Ken's eyes were wide, and his body ached with a sensation that had nothing to do with his injuries.
For all these years he had been close to Jun. He knew the feel of her hands in his, the feel of her body against him. He knew how she smelled--of warm, musky woman, of dish soap from the bar, or of sweat and cordite during a mission. But always, he had kept her at arm's length. Business only, he'd decreed. She's not a woman, she's my teammate. Now he couldn't deny the woman he saw before him. Not anymore.
He reached down to pull off his own clothes, but Jun was there, bending over him, tenderly pulling off his shirt and jeans, running hands over his bare skin and tracing bruises that no longer hurt at all because his whole body felt like it was on fire.
And then Ken couldn't stand it anymore. He grabbed her and pulled her down to him.
Satellite and observatory reports confirmed the presence of a meteor that entered the atmosphere above the Pacific Ocean in the southern hemisphere. The invader was small and would probably burn away once within the Earth's atmosphere, and so was not considered a threat. Later surveillance reports would reveal that the object had changed course; a very strange pattern for a meteor.At 9:23 PM, the object appeared above the cruise ship, Queen Margaret, which was sailing in the Atlantic 200 miles from the Spanish coast. Under clear skies and a quiet sea, no one aboard the ship noticed the bright light that approached until the glow it gave off brightened the sky and turned night into day. When they did, they only had time to brace themselves for the impact. No alarm ever sounded.
The light pierced the ship and blew a hole through its hull. Even as the Queen Margaret began to sink, bits of metal debris swirled deeper into the ocean, writhing like living things; coming together to form strange, twisted shapes.
The attack had happened so fast, less than a third of the passengers had made it to the lifeboats. The bodies of dead or drowning passengers soon began to sink with the wreckage. Among them was a tiny, four-year-old girl who shrieked and thrashed, calling for her mother. Her lungs filled with water, choking her. Just as she lost consciousness, a podlike craft approached, sucked her body inside, and spiraled into the depths of the ocean.
To Be Continued
Part 3