TREADING ON DREAMS – ACT II

 

“Whenever you accept our views, we shall be in full agreement with you.”

                                                            – Moshe Dayan, former Prime Minister of Israel (1977)

 

            Graham Quentin had a look of supreme irritation as he spun around in his chair. "I already told you, I'd never seen this guy--" Graham stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the slope, and his irritation turned to fury. "Who are you and what are you doing backstage?!" The bodyguards had also noticed that the visitor wasn't in uniform, Civil Police or otherwise. After the upset a few minutes earlier, everyone was being ushered out. "Never mind," the guru continued, rising from his chair and walking towards Kago. "I don't care. I want you out of here," he said, pointing at the door through which Kago had just entered. The bodyguards tensed the more Graham spoke and moved to keep between Kago and Graham.
            "I--"
            "NOW!!"
            The guard to Kago's left stepped forward and gave Kago a powerful push that knocked Kago off his feet and back out the door of the small changing room in which the rest of them were, then slammed the door in the young man's face. He got back up, brushed himself off, and turned to walk away, scratching his head in confusion. Before he took two steps, however, he felt compelled to try again. He was frustrated, although he wasn't sure exactly why he wanted to talk to this guy in the first place, so his knock was quite loud. No answer. He could hear voices on the other side of the door, but couldn't quite make out what they were saying. He knocked again, more loudly. No answer. More voices. He felt a little silly, but wasn't going to lose face now. One final knocking, and the door swung open violently, two of the bodyguards eager to... greet... him.
            "My name is Adauchi Kago, and I'd like to meet with M. Quentin."
            The guard to his right looked over his shoulder to receive a nod from the man in charge, then informed Kago, "Not without a search," and proceeded to pat him down. "He's clean," he said as he backed off, letting Kago completely into the room as the second guard closed the door behind him.
            Graham was back in his chair and took a moment to look over Kago. The han seemed lost and bewildered. The anger on Graham's face subsided, and his body relaxed, assessing the young slant as harmless for the moment. After a pause, the supposed holy man spoke, motioning for Kago to have a seat. "I'm sorry if I seem rude to you. An attempt was just made on my life, so I'm a bit shy at the moment."
            Kago nodded an acceptance.
            "I'm sorry, what was your name again?"
            "Adauchi Kago."
            "...and... how may I help you?"
            Kago's mind went blank for a few moments. He hadn't really had a clear head when he woke up, and now, try as he might to answer Graham's question, nothing really came to him. "...actually, perhaps you could tell me that. I... I can't seem to remember much of anything. I just... woke up at a bus station not half an hour ago and took it here to the amphitheater. When I came inside, someone pointed me your way, so I came back here to meet you. Why am I here?"
            Quentin glanced over at Jed Stuber, the third bodyguard. A long time ago, Jed had been involved with the occultist army of the Earth Federation, but had since come to know the Lord, and had what they called "the spiritual gift of discernment." As such, Quentin leaned on him frequently. When Jed gave him a nod, his body relaxed. The situation seemed to be crying to them "recruit me," which, although tempting, was also pretty risky if this guy was being monitored. "It seems too easy," he thought to himself. "A confused han walks into my changing room, seemingly by the hand of God..." Even Graham Quentin had a hard time believing this miracle. "...if Jed says he's telling the truth..." They needed more slants if they were to succeed in their plans, but he hadn't come so far to lose it all because of a recruitment attempt.
            "Kago, I believe that you may have been brought here by the providence of God. Do you know the Lord Jesus?"
            "Uh... no."
            "Well, what do you think of going to a Bible camp for the weekend to learn about Him and His work in our day?" Graham turned his chair to grab a small data pad off of his desk and tossed it to Kago. The picture on the main page was apparently of the camp, which was gorgeous-- especially compared to Minos.
            "I... guess that sounds okay." Kago was a bit reluctant to agree, but all of the signs were pointing to yes. If nothing else, it would give him time to think about things in what looked like a beautiful country setting.
            "Excellent." The revivalist started punching away on his wristcomp. "Under normal circumstances, you would have to wait a little while to get in, but I can pull some strings for you so that you can leave tonight, if you would like..." He stopped punching and looked up at Kago, expectantly.
            "Tonight?" The amnesiac was a little concerned about leaving what must be his home to be with people he didn't know in a place he'd never been, but, after a brief pause, he agreed. "...uh... Sure. When do I leave?"

 

*****

 

            “Gan ni niang Chapman’s Folly,” Vice Admiral Shih Huang Ti moaned under his breath, looking at the holoproj of his task force as it entered the system, “what a shing jing bing place to fight a battle.” With a sigh, he lifted his wizened head up to look at his tactical officer. “Signal the Qin and the Hsia to take point; all others form line behind them. Let’s get this over as soon as possible.”

            “Sai?”   

            “Never mind; make the signal.”

            While Shih’s staff buzzed around like angry bees, the admiral wiped his face off for the third time since breaking hyperspace. All of this go sch for a missing report. With the new emperor about to be crowned, even the lack of communication is thought to be traitorous. Rebels must be hiding under every rock… at least, that’s what the chou wan ba dan Imperial Naval Command must be thinking. What a waste of shebang time…

            “Sai, unknown contact bearing 35 mark 12.”

            “Mine?”

            “Negative, sai. Ship. Assume heavy cruiser from size.”

            “Send Taiyuan to investigate. Order the rest to stay on course.”

 

            Captain David Weathers wanted the two squadron task force to see him. Bodovsky, his chief engineer, had made it so obvious that they were there that he might as well have put up a sign saying “Rebel Scum” on the nearest moon. After all, they had only taken the colony away from the bastards a week ago; they weren’t about to give it back. “Schultz, any reaction from them yet?”        

            “Yes, sir. We’ve got a battlecruiser on intercept.”

            “We’re going to have to do better than that. Aurelius, any hails from those slopes yet?”

            The com officer just smiled. “They’re piping the usual FOF signals. They’re eating static.”

            “Okay, helm. In two minutes, I want you to head away from that ship like our sensors are complete guano and move like our engineers don’t know their job.”

            “Slow and stupid, aye, sir.”        

            Weathers just sat back and watched the blips on the holoproj. Let the fun begin.

 

            Shih suddenly jerked out of his daydream with the sound of alarms. “What, what, WHAT?!”

            “Sai, the Taiyuan’s been destroyed.”

            “Chen ton yi guay! What do you mean destroyed?”

            “Scanning...” the tactical officer hit the active lidar, “I was afraid of that. Sai, they set up a minefield. Taiyuan walked right into it.”

            “Go sch! I guess Naval Intel was right for once. Damn rebels in our backyard. Change course, new heading. I want that cruiser turned into space dust. All ship, release active lidar. They aren’t pulling the same trick twice. They’re MINE.”

 

            “Uh, sir,” Lieutenant Schultz mumbled, “they’re pissed.”

            “Define pissed, lieutenant?”

            “Four light cruisers, two battlecruisers, and one really big dreadnought coming this way. They’re emitting so much sensor radiation you could see them two systems away.”

            “Yep, that’s pissed.” The captain smiled. “Helm, stop the slow and stupid, kick on the fast and above average.”

            “Aye.”

 

            “Sai, they’re turning towards the planet.”

            “They’re trying to use the battlestation’s armament as well as their own to trap us.” Shih shook his head. “Idiots. We could easily take on both of them, but no need for us to get bloody. Tactical, plot for an extreme range attack on both targets. We’ll pound them with so many missiles, they’ll never know what hit them.”

 

            Hours passed as the ships danced their cosmic ballet. Soon enough, they were close to the only habitable planet in the Chapman’s Folly system, and its battlestation. Weathers was ready for this. “Okay, inform Charlie down on the station that we need his help about now. We’ll try and keep them off his back, but we’re gonna stick like glue to this planet. Only decent cover we’ve got.”

            “Aye.” Helm replied, before Schultz broke in with “Sir, they’re staying at the end of missile range.”

            “Guess he’s a little graser-shy. Fair enough, our point defense should work really well at this range; plenty of time to see incoming. Prepare to receive missile barrage.”

            “Yes, sir.” Just at that moment, proximity alarms went off. “Sir, new signals, bearing 312 mark 46.”

            The entire bridge erupted in panic.“That’s almost on top of us!”

            “Bastards must have been hiding behind the planet!”

            “We’re so fu…” 

            “QUIET!” David shouted. “Helm, plot an evasion course. Comm, tell Charlie to abandon ship, hide planetside for a while…”

            “Sir, the new signals…” Schultz suddenly went quiet.

            “Report!” Weathers asked, a little more anxiously then he planned.

            “They’re… I don’t believe it. They’re firing on the slants!”

           

            Shih went from elation to fear in two seconds flat. “Where did they come from?!”

            “Unknown, sai. All ships are reporting massive damage. Sui’s venting atmosphere…”

            “Silence! Activate jump engines. Signal the fleet to retreat.”

            “Sai?” the shocked tactical officer replied.

            “DO IT! Before we lose more than two ships!”

           

            “Sir, they’re retreating.”

            Weathers tried his best to hide his relief, keeping the appearance like he had been expecting this all along. “Comm, please convey my thanks to the other fleet.” And find out who the hell these guys are, his mind screamed, but his mouth said nothing.

            Suddenly, the holoproj changed and the image of an middle-aged human male in a brown uniform faced him. He looked very familiar “Identify yourself.”

            “Captain David Weathers of the Dickerson. We appreciate the support; didn’t expect that the slopes would send two squadrons.”

            “David Weathers? I thought you were dead!”

            The captain was a little confused. “Apparently not. Who is this?”

            “You don’t recognize me, Puke Boy?”

            No one had called him Puke Boy since his term on the… “Matherson?!”

            “Yeah, Weathers. This is Matherson. Long time, no see. Thought the war had gotten you.”

            “Likewise! Holy shit, what the hell are you doing out here. Wait… let’s start with who the hell are ya?”

            “Time promotes everyone, Puke Boy, though it looks like I did a lot better. I’m an admiral, captain.”

            “In which fleet, admiral?”

            “You’re looking at the Western Reserve Fleet, captain, which is looking a hell of a lot better than yours.”

            “Western Reserve? What are you doing out here?”

            “We heard that someone knocked off the imperial government out here and were sent to check it out. Good thing that we did.”

            “So you guys are joining our little war?”

            “Didn’t say that... and it’s not for me to say. I just wasn’t about to let someone take this out before we got a chance to say hi.”

            “Glad you did.”

            “Why don’t you come aboard, Captain Weathers. I’m sure I owe you a drink from somewhere.”

 

*****

 

            Cho was shaking so hard the chair rattled.  She strained against the ropes, but they held tight.  One thought dominated her mind: Must get opium!

            “C’mon, guys!  Just a little dust?” Cho whined.  “Some pot?  A golram cigarette?  C’mon, just give me a smoke, for Buddha’s sake!  Ya got twenty to a pack!”

            The yakuza Cho had dubbed Spikes looked up from his hand of mah jong.  “Shutup, bitch!” he turned to the one she called Suit.  “Buddha, does she ever shutup?”

            “She’s a junkie,” Suit said.  “She golram obsessed!”

            “I could be bouncing at the Mizu Shobai,” Spikes grumbled, “But I’m babysitting this golram dusthead instead.  Buddha, that pisses me off!  I’m ready to cap that dumb bitch!”

            “It just one night,” Suit said, “Besides, it means the oyabun trusts you to keep her helpless.  Speaking of which…” he said with a sigh, fishing an expensive gold watch from the vest pocket of his sharkskin suit and checking the time, “it’s that time again…”

            “It’s your turn,” Spikes growled.

            “Fine,” suit said irritably, throwing down his cards.  “But next time it’s your turn!”  Suit prepared the hypodermic and approached Cho cautiously.

            “You got any Nirvana’s, man?”  Cho asked hopefully, “C’mon, just one smoke!”

            Suit didn’t reply.  He held still for a second, then thrust the hypodermic at Cho’s neck. 

            Cho dodged.  “Ji bai!” she screamed, and tried to snap at his hand with her teeth.

            Suit was too fast, pulling his arm back in a flash.  “Take your medicine, Cho!” he barked.  “Don’t make me give it to you in the arm – you know it’ll hurt more!”

            “Motherfuckin’ asswipe!” Cho yelled, not bothering to switch languages.  “You bring those fuckin’ Quellers near me an’ I’ll bite your hand off, shitdick!”

            “Look, Cho, you’re going to take it whether you—“

            “Motherfucking pieceashit homofag!!” Cho cursed, “You lardass retard cocksuck-“

            “Fine, have it your way!” spat Suit, his face turning red.  He seized Cho’s arm.

            “NOOO!!”  Cho screeched, thrashing violently enough to rock the chair back and forth. 

            “Shi fa ren ji nu!” Suit swore, ramming a foot in her crotch to hold the chair steady.  He seized her arm.

            Cho was beyond words now, screaming wordlessly in pure rage as Suit shoved the needle – none too carefully – into her arm.  She thrust her neck forward and snapped at his hand, but it was far out of reach.  She felt the now-familiar burn of the hated chemical spreading though her forearm.  Suit yanked the needle out and backed away. 

            “I’m gonna kill you!” Cho screamed at his back, “I’m gonna rip yer balls off an’-”

            “Sure. And I’m the Emperor.”  Suit said, shaking his head dismissively.

            “I’m gonna turn you into a fuckin’ toad!”  Cho yelled, struggling fiercely and making the chair rock dangerously.  “I’m gonna fry your brains!  I’m gonna eat your – whoa – WHOAAA!”  Suit turned around just in time to see Cho’s chair topple over sideways with a crash.  “OW!...  Ah, gosa, man, I fell over!”  Cho moaned.  “Pick me up, will ya?”  Suit and Spikes looked at each other and burst into scornful laughter.  “Aw, c’mon, guys!” Cho whined, “Yer not gonna just leave me here… are ya?”

            Suit turned back to look at her contemptuously.   “Shi fa ren, ji bai!” he said.

            “Pick me up, golrammit!” Cho yelled.

            “You knocked yourself over, pick yourself up!” Suit said, sitting down across from Spikes and picking up his cards.  “Now, where were we?  Oh yes… my turn.”

            Perfect, Cho thought.  Now all I have to do is wait.

 

            “Fourteen,” Spikes said, laying his last card out.

            “Eighteen!” Suit said, flipping his last card over.  “Sucks to be you!” he said, collecting the pile of crowns that rested on the table.  “And, I believe, it’s that time again.”

            Spike glared at him.  Reluctantly, he picked up the hypodermic.   “Lucky ji bai.”

            “At least she stopped screaming,” Suit pointed out, counting his crowns.

            “Yeah, musta fallen asleep,” Spike said darkly, filling the syringe with Quellers, “But I bet ya twenty crowns she’ll start screaming the minute she sees this…”

            Spikes approached the chair silently.  Cho’s prone form lay before him, lashed to the chair, flimsy hospital smock pooled around her. He knelt down cautiously and grabbed her wrist.

            Suddenly her head jerked up.  Her eyes were gone. Blood-red orbs stared at him instead.

            “Untie me,” the wu jen said in a barely audible whisper.

            Obediently, Spikes silently reached out and began to work on the knots.

            Seconds ticked by in silence as Spikes freed one arm; then the other, then her ankles.

            “What’s goin’ on over there?” Suit called suspiciously across the room. 

            “Just ch-checking the ropes,” Cho whispered.

            “Just ch-checking the ropes,” Spikes said over his shoulder.

            Cho winced, but Suit was silent.  A second later, Cho was free.  She pressed a shaky palm to Spike’s forehead.  “Sleep,” she commanded.  Spikes crumpled to the floor.

            “GOSA!” Suit yelled, jumping to his feet; scrambling for the gun at his side.

            Fuck!  Cho thought, fumbling to her knees.  I knew it couldn’t be this easy!  She thrust her right arm toward Suit, palm outward, as he leveled his gun at her.  Time seemed to slow down.

            ”HAI!” Cho screamed.  The gun launched out of Suit’s hand and flew across the room into her own outstretched palm.  

            Suit crouched into a martial arts stance, arms ready.  With only one good arm, Cho fumbled for the trigger, eyes glued to her enemy.  With a shout, Suit launched himself at her in a flying kick.  As if in slow motion, Cho dropped the gun and flung herself sideways, swinging her right arm toward him, fingers curled in the mystic sign of Wind.  A wave of kinetic energy slammed against Suit; his heel missed Cho’s head by centimeters.  He landed hard, off balance, and tumbled to the floor.

            Cho lept on him and scrambled for the gun.  The trigger forgotten, she raised the gun like a club, and cracked it into his skull, then again, and again… 

            She stopped at the fourth blow.  He had stopped moving.  She paused, dripping weapon raised high, panting in her blood-spattered gown, searching his face for any sign of movement… but all she saw was dark blood slowly pooling on the floor.  Good enough. 

Instantly, Cho dropped the gun and searched frantically through his pockets for dust.  Nothing.  She leapt on Spikes and searched him.  No dust, but she found a pack of Nirvana Marijuana cigarettes.  With a frenzied, shaking hand she lit one and sucked it down in seconds.  It wasn’t opium… but it helped.  She lit a second, calmer, then glanced over at Suit…

There was a lot of blood on the floor.

            Cho blinked.  Shit.  I didn’t kill him… did I?  If I did, I’m in even more trouble – if that’s possible…  Yakuza do not kill members of their clan - the second law of zingi, the Yakuza code of honor.  Cho checked Suit’s pulse with shaking fingers.  It was weak… but there.   

            “You s-stupid ji bai!” Cho swore at the unconscious man.  “I haven’t got t-time for this!  If you weren’t k-kobun I’d let your d-dumb ass die!”   Her left arm was still numb, but buzzing with pins and needles as the blood flow returned.  After the last Queller injection, she had fallen over on her left arm, cutting off the circulation and trapping the Quellers in her limb.  But now that she was moving again… she didn’t know how long they would take to kick in, but if she were going to work any magick, she’d better do it fast.  She bit the tip of her finger until it bled.  Trembling, she smeared her blood across Suit’s temples and throat, stuttering softly in Cantonese, until his breathing became deep and regular.  Then she ripped off his shoelace and made a tourniquet.

Cho lit a third Nirvana, then ransacked the room looking for dust.   She found nothing.  She searched desperately for some kind of powder she could transform, but all she should find was an ashtray.  Her fingers, clumsy with withdrawal shakes, crushed the ash into a fine powder.  She sloppily traced the symbol for “poppy” in it, infused it with her own chi, and blew marijuana smoke over it as she willed it to change… but except for changing from gray to white, nothing happened.  Cho sent the ash flying with an angry flick of her wrist.  Even at her best, that spell was tough.  Strung out from withdraw and half-full of Quellers, it was impossible. 

I HAVE to get some dust, golrammit!  Cho thought desperately.  But where?  Cho wracked her hazy brain, pacing as she smoked.  Well, wherever it is, it’s not in this room.  I need to get out of here… without being seen… fast. I need some clothes - a disguise.  She glanced over at the two unconscious ­shatei.  Spikes’ leather biker jacket, boots and hakimas were more her style… but no one would recognize her in Suit’s professional outfit.  Hell, she couldn’t even remember the last time she had worn a tie…

“Yakuza-Tanzhi runs the d-dust on this p-planet,” Cho stammered aloud to herself as she pulled off Suit’s shoes, “but if I go to them, they’ll k-kill me.  Any other yakuza f-families on New Tokyo are allied with the T-Tanzhi, or they wouldn’t be here.  So who d-does that leave?”  She peeled off Suit’s sport coat.  Thank Buddha it’s black or the blood would show…  “Yakuza-G-Gaijin isn’t allied with the Tanzhi, but they’re t-trying to kill me too…” she stammered, talking the problem through.  “So… one of the f-freelancers, I guess… now, who d-do I know?”  She stumbled dizzily into the trousers.  “S-Someone small time.  Someone d-dumb.  Someone with too much p-pride to deal with han.”  She could only think of one person; it was a long shot, but it was all she had.  She could only hope news of her escape didn’t travel too quickly.

Her trembling fingers struggled with the tie; then she relieved the two shatei of their money, weapons, and ID cards.  With Spikes’ butterfly knife, she sawed off the single thin braid of her mullet.  She picked up the oversized sunglasses she wore in here and donned them, hoping to hide her face.  I wonder whose they are… they’re not mine…  She put on Suit’s flashy fedora and shoved her hands deep in her pockets.  Heavily tattooed with kanji and other mystical symbols, they were a dead giveaway.  Trembling, she cracked the door open and peeked outside – no guards.  Good.  She took a deep breath to stop the shakes, then walked out the door.  Head down, taking deserted back hallways, Cho walked out of the headquarters of Yakuza-Tanzhi.

 

“You want what, amiga?”  the latino said. 

“I n-need some dust, man,” Cho repeated, flanked by two of his strongmen.

”That’s all?” he rubbed his sleepy face. “Just some golram dust?  You woke me up for that?”  Cho nodded. At five in the morning, the pusher wasn’t at his most gracious. “Gosa, amiga!” he swore annoyed.  “You think ‘cause I’m tired, I’m fuckin’ stupid?  You’re fuckin’ yakuza, man!  You gotta be!  Come to spy on me!  You know I don’t deal with han…” 

“You want I should…” one of his cronies said, motioning toward his gun.

            “No, No…” the latino said, waving him off.  “Let the bitch speak.”

            “L-look at me, man!” Cho said, shaking with withdrawal.  “I’m not a f-fuckin’ spy, I’m a fuckin’ j-junkie!  It’s obvious…isn’t it?”

 “What the sch, man?” he swore irritably.  “You got yakuza… tongs… triad… “

“I… I c-can’t go to yakuza…” Cho stammered weakly.  “I… I p-pissed them off.” 

“So you got yakuza-gaijin!” the pusher said, “The honkeys, the niggers, the dots…”

“ I pissed them all off,” Cho said, desperation in her voice.

“What… you didn’t pay? “ the pusher said suspiciously, looking up suddenly. 

“No, no, I can p-pay,” Cho stuttered, pulling out the fancy monogrammed wallet of the man she had mugged…he wouldn’t need it anymore…

A moment passed in silence as the brown gaijin sized her up, eyeing the crowns greedily.  “How much ya want?” he asked finally.

 “I dunno…” she shuffled groggily through the bills.  “An eighth… and a pipe?”

“Mmm..” the latino mused, shaking his head, “That’s gonna cost a lot, amiga…”

“A lot…?” Cho asked, worried.  “I got eighty crowns here…”

“If you really need dust as bad as you say you do….” he said, leaning back in the shadowy nightclub booth, “then you’ll pay extra…” his hands slid down his stomach…

“h-how much?” Cho asked, a chill spreading up her spine.

“All you got, plus extra,” he said.  Cho could hear the clinking of his belt.  “You look like a biker chick.  You know how ta do a lube job, right?”

Anger surged in her.  She should fry him.  Her hand curled; she summoned fire…

But it didn’t come.  Damn quellers…

“I don’t deal with han,´ the brown devil said.  “But I make exceptions.  If you’re as hard up as you say you are… if I really am your only source… then you’ll suck it.  You don’t want me to think you’re a spy, now… do you?” he nodded to his compandres.  Cho heard the ruffle of jackets and the whir of plasma revolvers...

Everything in her screamed at her not to do it….

But she needed the dust… and he was the only dealer…

            “Allende, amiga, allende.”

            Against all better judgment, Cho sank to her knees under the nightclub table.

 

            “Ah yes, amiga… yeah...”

            Her ancestors would have wept with shame.  I swore I’d never do this again…        

“Blown by a han, man!” one of his compadres cheered. “Amigo, you rock!”

She wanted to bite it off and spit it in his face.  No one treated wu jen Cho like this.  No one. Yes, she would bite-

            But I want dust… he’s my only source… 

She didn’t bite; her head bobbed; her fist squeezed.

“All that superior bullshit..” he sneered,  “who’s sucking who now, eh, bitch?”

Someday I’ll kill him,  Cho swore.. I’ll roast his balls in ginger and make him eat them…

            “Yeah, bitch, yeah… make papa feel good…”

 

          She left with an eighth of dust and a pipe. She spat, trying to rid her mouth of the foul salty taste.  What I wouldn’t give for a beer…

She hated herself.  She had sworn to her sensei that she would never deal with gaijin.  It was the price of the ancient magick he had passed down to her. And she had broken that vow.

          She staggered down the alley.  Despite the humiliation she had just endured, she   couldn’t resist the exhilaration the thought of fresh dust in a pipe brought her.

          Gotta hide… yakuza’ll find me if I don’t…

          The dumpster reeked... but it hid her from view.

          Surrounded by rotting fish and cat shit, she packed her pipe by streetlight with the precise mechanical motion years of addiction had taught her.  She paused as she brought the glass pipe to her lips, staring at it… and for the first time in her life, she hated it.

           Golram dust… you made me… made me suck…she couldn’t finish the sentence.  She couldn’t even finish the thought.  She lowered the pipe.  She spat.  The pride of her ancestors swelled within her.

          Fuck you, she thought, staring at the glass and powder.  I don’t need you. 

          But her body craved it.  The pipe shook in her hand.  Addiction struggled with pride… and the addiction won.  NO! she thought, Not.. not if this is the price… but she brought it to her lips.  Her face crumpled; she would have cried if she knew how, but she had long since forgotten.  She snapped her fingers and a tongue of flame burst from her thumb.

          Fuck it, she thought as she lit the pipe, I’ll smoke it all.  Death by ecstasy.  I don’t care.

          As the waves of ecstasy overtook her, she felt an arm circle around her shoulders.  She didn’t even look up.  Yakuza, police, who cares?  It would be over soon.

          You are stronger than this.  You are Cho Yamazaki bini Yakuza-Tanzhi.

          “Fuck that,” she muttered miserably.  “I’m… I’m a f-fuckin’ crack whore!”

          Only if you choose to be. 

          “But I’m a fuckin’ j-junkie!” she yelled at the voices, “A crack whore!  An… an addict! 

          You are wu jen; and you are Yakuza-Tanzhi.

          “Tell Toku that!” she sneered, and inhaled again.  “I… I don’t want to l-live like this…”

           Then don’t live like this.  Break free of the dust.  Be stronger.  Be Tanzhi.

           “I’m… I’m n-not worthy…” Cho mumbled, staring at the pipe… she hated that pipe…

          You can be.  You are Yakuza-Tanzhi, no matter what Toku says.  You can be.

          “Maybe…” Cho said doubtfull.  She brought the pip to her lips and stared at it.  “Just a l-little longer…” She said to the pipe as she inhaled.  “When I have more t-time… when I’m s-safe… then… m-maybe…”

          You will.  You are Tanzhi.  You are one of us.  You are family.

          Cho smoked and smoked that night.  She smoked to disappear.  She smoked to not be the pathetic junkie who had humiliated her family.  She smoked to not be the crack whore who had just blown a hung mao for a mere eighth of opium. She smoked to bury the pain of twenty-eight years of running from the law, of protecting a clueless sister from the horrors of life at the bottom, of doing whatever she had to for one more meal – she smoked and she despaired and she longed to end it all for good – one more overdosed addict in a dumpster. 

The voices talked her into putting the pipe down before she smoked too much… but it wasn’t enough.  Even drug-induced bliss couldn’t dull the pain of utter, complete, total shame.

Yet through it all, invisible arms held her tight and whispered soothing words to her. 

You are Yakuza-Tanzhi; you are stronger than this.  You are one of us.  You are family.

 

            If not for her adopted ancestors, she would never have made it through that night.

 

*****

 

            As Icarus Hicks lay bleeding from internal injuries on the floor of Resistance HQ, Arthur Clarke and the mystery man faced each other. Hatred radiated from Clarke’s body like sweat was pouring off of the doctor. Even though Icarus was in unbelievable pain, his mind was asking the same question that everyone else in that room was: Who is this guy?

            “Sergeant, you could at least be civil and take a seat.”

            “I’ll be civil when I’m eating your insides for breakfast, lieutenant. Now, SPEAK!”

            The not-Tiller just shrugged and then smiled. “I’ve been… away for a while.”

            “Should have stayed on that prison where I left you.”

            “And for ten years, I was perfectly willing to. Then I began to realize a higher calling than myself.”

            “Bullshit! The only reason you got off that rock was that bunch of psychopaths you hitched a ride with. And I would have got you once you stepped off that shuttle, too, if…”

            “If I had let you.” The smile disappeared from the mystery man’s face. “However, let’s be fair, that calling wasn’t clear to me. So I wandered for a while.”

            “Were you going to get to a point?”

            The mystery man waved his fingers in a backslap; the next second, Clarke was knocked to the floor. The second after that, the whine of a hundred plasma revolvers echoed in the small place. “NO!” Arthur cried, “This bastard is mine!”

            “You always were an asshole, Clarke,” the not-Tiller replied, “but you were never dumb. Even pumped full of those chemicals weretigers call blood, you were never stupid. Now, do you really think I came all the way to get shot at?” His voice seemed to take on an echo, like the voice of doom, “Do you really think they’d be able to shoot me?”

            “Even you can’t be everywhere at once.”

            “That’s where you’re wrong.” Suddenly, a gun appeared in his hand. The surprised shock of a guard at losing his weapon was instantly understood among the whole gun-toting group. The mystery man breathed on the plasma revolved and then crushed it into dust with his hand. “I’ve had over seventy years to build up my talent. So have you. I’d really hate to wreck the décor here with innocent blood. Hmmm?” He smiled again. “What do you think?”

            “Speak, God damn you.”

            “Well, as I was saying, I wandered around until I realized what that calling was. I was looking for an honest man.”     

            “You’re not Diogenes.”

            “Oh, the puppy’s actually read a book? I’m so proud.” Clarke spit at him; the spit reversed course and went back in the werewolf’s face. “No, I’m not Diogenes, but I realized around the 3^rd Civil War that what the Federation really needed was someone who could unite humanity and restore balance to the galaxy.”

            “You?”
            “No, not me – and not you either, as we could all tell what a worthless job you did. No, unfortunately my candidate decided to ram his ship into the moon and wreck Earth for good. Many of your newfound friends lost their families when that happened.”       

            “Sounds like your average is pretty shitty, Lwan.”

            Lwan – that name struck a chord throughout the entire room. It was bad enough for many of them to be in the presence of a legend like Clarke; but to have TWO of them? Many of the guards put down their guns; take on Lwan Eddington? A vet of the Bug Wars, oracle mage, and a  fucking marshal? “I make mistakes, too, Arthur. Just like you. I mean, the Five Acts? What were you thinking?”

            “I was thinking I had to save the fucking Federation from a civil war. What the hell were you doing about it?”

            “I was trying to find the right man for the job. Pity it took me another twenty years to find him.”

            “Who?”

            “Not yet, Clarke. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice, so before I reveal him to the universe, I’m going to make damn sure I get it right.”

            “So what do you want from me?”

            “Your word.”

            “For what?”

            “That when you overthrow this kingdom and restore the Federation, that you won’t the one who runs it.”

            “And you want this man that you picked to be the new Chairman, is that it?”

            Lwan shrugged. “More or less, yeah.”

            Clarke thought about it for a moment, then looked back at Eddington. “You know, Lwan, I didn’t trust you seventy years ago… and I sure as hell about to start now. Let’s finish this!”

            Suddenly claws came out of his hands and he leapt forward… just in time to hit a force wall, which he bounced off. Clarke was in rage. “Fry this fucker NOW!”

            At that moment, several plasma revolvers erupted, creating a cat’s cradle of fire in the room. But Lwan wasn’t there anymore; unfortunately, Dr. Hicks was. In an instant, the poor doctor was shredded by several plasma bolts heating the interior of his body to several thousand degrees, killing his body, and taking his precious knowledge with him.

 

*****

 

            “Sir, I think we should consider an alternate route for this hop.”

            James turned away from the sensors screen.

            “Why’s that, Pri?”

            Pritesh Patel was the Resolve’s Chief Astrogator; he sat overwatch on the pilots and was in charge of getting the ship safely through hyperspace.  He didn’t ordinarily comment on his captain’s itinerary; but when he did, James listened.

            “Sir, we’re just too conspicuous.  We sent New Madrid authorities into a panic not five days ago, the Imps know this ship profile, and civilian ships carrying around military-style landing craft are few and far between.  We’re lucky they haven’t already marked us.”

            “How do you know they haven’t?”

            “We haven’t been boarded by the Imperial Marines.”

            “Good point, Chief, go on.”

            “Anyway, sir, I think it’s best we lay low for a while; hyperspace out to Avalon then take the back way into New Paris.”

            “That’s two days off our time at the very least.”

            “Yes sir, but think the risks of trying to make the Wilke’s-Paris D-Gate outweigh that.”

            James rolled that around in his head for a few moments, ordinarily he would have asked his first mate for his opinion, but with Joe gone, the burden of command weighed even more heavily on Welthammer’s shoulders.

            “All right, Pri, you win.  I want you ready for hyperspace as soon as our wayward soldier returns.”

            “Aye sir.”  The Astrogator walked aft to the lift. 

James had picked up Pritesh during one of his short stays in jail, a particularly nasty one on Minos, where the man had been going by the alias Pavin Arnold.  During his night in that cell, James had discovered that his neighbor was actually the eldest son of the late, great Admiral Nirav Patel of Earth Fleet.  When his father had given up his command to the Middle Kingdom, only to be executed, Pritesh and the rest of his family had gone into hiding.  Unfortunately, he’d also given himself up to alcoholism; and when the Imps picked him up for public drunkenness, they quickly discovered his true identity, and threw him in the overcrowded prison.

Pritesh, like his father, was an astrogator by trade, had been waiting for a Fleet assignment when the VS War broke out and put a premature halt to the career of Earth Fleet, and anyone connected to it.  James had only recently acquired his ship, and was quickly realizing he needed more help running it than he’d counted on.  So after his inevitable release, he used his money and pull to spring Patel, and get him a better set of forged IDs.  They’d been working together ever since.

James stepped over to the pilot’s station.

“Tanya, darling, change of plans.”

“You don’t pay me to flirt with you, Captain.”

“Your salary’s certainly high enough that one might think so.”

“Talk to Ed, I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige you.”  Edward Ramsey was the Resolve’s other pilot; every bit as competent as Tanya, but without her personality, or her gender.

James sighed, “Anyway, when we head out, make for the Avalon Gate.”

“Taking the scenic route, are we?”

“That’s hyperspace, never a dull moment.”  This drew a few chuckles from the bridge crew, but Nikola Tschelling cut them short with an announcement.

“Pinnace has left the ground, expect docking in half an hour.”

“Thanks, Nik.  You take the conn; I’ll be in the mess.”  The Signals Chief nodded his head, and James went to see what he could snatch from Cookie during the wait.

 

 

There was a slight jar to the ship from the lower decks; James shoved the last remnants of the pastry into his mouth as Tiller came up the lift.

“Waa hoosh ooh foh ung?”

Tiller just stared, unblinking.

James swallowed, “What took you so long?  We’re ready to jump.”

“Clarke’s headquarters are quite secure.”

“Uh huh…”

The soldier kept staring.

“Right…well I guess you’ll want to get some sleep; I think the rest of your buddies are in the bunks too.”

Tiller nodded, but didn’t move.  James shifted uncomfortably.

“Er…well, I need to go check on the engines since we’re jumping; you go do whatever then.”  James walked to the lift, and though he didn’t look back, he felt that Tiller was still standing there.  That man gave him the creeps.  James stepped into the lift and descended to the lower deck.

The main controls for the engines were actually in the engineering station up on the main deck.  But Welthammer’s Chief Engineer, Stephen Faraday, preferred the secondary control station on the lower deck, which was closer to the actual components he managed.  Chief Faraday cited the equipment placement as one of the few design flaws of the Pelican-class freighter.

James stepped out of the lift, and was nearly knocked on his back as Tom Parker clipped his shoulder.

“Sorry, Cap’n,” Parker steadied his tottering boss.

“Where are you heading off to in such a hurry?”

“Chief wants some of the sheet metal stock.”

“For what?”

“Ah, the usual; Chief says some line’s cracking.  I’ll be damned if I know how he can see ‘em, but the ship hasn’t fallen apart yet, so I guess he can.”

“Right, he back in the center?”

“Uh, no,” Parker pointed, “he’s over in portside maintenance.”

“Gotcha, you’d better get that stuff.”

The techie ran off.  James made for the oblong hatchway that led to the maintenance area which lined the ship’s sides.  Opening the door, James found that his Chief Engineer was actually up on the middle-deck catwalk; he hadn’t needed to descend in the lift at all.

James climbed the metal ladder to Stephen Faraday’s position.

“So whatcha got?”

“Oh, hello captain.”  Chief Faraday was easily the most articulate member of the Resolve’s crew.  “A communications control line to the life support computer is starting to fail.  Tom’s fetching some sheet metal for me.”

“Yeah, he nearly ran me down on the way.”

On cue, Parker opened the hatch on the lower level, “Hey, Chief, I got your aluminum right here!”

Faraday leaned over the rail to catch the half-meter square sheet of metal that Parker threw up; it sailed right into the engineer’s hand.

“Thank, you, Thomas.”  Reaching out with his left hand, a welding torch lifted itself out of a tool pack, and it too quickly came to rest in Faraday’s grasp.

“You should stand back Captain.”  James took the advice, backing up a few steps.

Faraday turned the gas dial to the lowest setting, and lifted his right index finger to the nozzle.  A couple flying sparks later, and a bright plasma jet was shooting from the torch.  It took the engineer only a couple of seconds to cut a sliver from the sheet metal.  And then the interesting bit started.

Dialing the torch back to its lowest setting, Faraday held the sliver over the flame.  The metal quickly melted, but the Chief’s fingers remained unburned.  With a tiny ball of molten aluminum suspended a few millimeters above Faraday’s right hand, he turned off the torch and set it down.  Focusing now on the many cables and pipes running the lengths of ship’s hull, a small section of a small pipe—how Faraday picked it out, James could never figure—began to glow yellow with heat, and James could just barely begin to see a tiny fault in the lining.  Faraday turned his wrist, and dropped the aluminum glob onto the pipe, the fault vanished.  Seconds later, the pipe had cooled, and James couldn’t see any evidence of the surgery.

Chief Faraday stood up and brushed his hands together, “So, what can I do for you, Captain?”

“I just came down to check on the engines.”

“Oh, well we’re running at one-oh-five percent capacity now.”

“That low?”

“Captain, there’s not much I can do when you trade out our shuttle for one twice the mass; maybe with a more powerful mage…”

“I just watched you hold molten metal and point a goddamn welding torch at your hands, Chief, I have trouble imagining more powerful.”

Faraday laughed, “I don’t know, captain.  I got that one soldier to come down here once, and he did some things that I still don’t understand.”

“Tiller?  Well why don’t you ask him to help you out with the engines.”

“Nope, forces-magick doesn’t seem to be his field, and I don’t even know where to begin counteracting inertia.”

“What do you call the floating gadgets?”

“Magnetic fields.”

“I didn’t think aluminum was magnetic.”

“Everything can be affected by a powerful enough magnetic field.  I could suck the neurons out of your head if I wanted to badly enough, but I couldn’t make them mass less.”

James sighed, “Well, a hundred-and-five will have to do then.  Thank you, Chief; notify me if anything of interest comes up.”

“Aye sir.”

James found a hatch to the living deck, and climbed out.  Looking around, the crew seemed to be handling the ship just fine without his immediate supervision; and so, with the checkups made and orders distributed, James headed to his quarters for some much-needed sleep.

 

 

END OF ACT II