Shadowrun: Steel Rain Part 7

Machiko lifts one hand to cover her mouth and the wireframed mike beside it, and says softly, "Explain."

"The old man asks for you by name."

This is perplexing, confounding. Why would anyone ask for her? Before the question can finish forming in her mind, she has the answer. The old man is named Uekiya and of course he asks for her. "Stand by," she tells Gongoro.

She strides from the sitting room and down the hallway to the front lobby. The hallway and lobby are guarded both by GSG and kobun, for here in the lobby some dozens of people wait to meet with the Chairman. Young Dragons of the Youth a.s.sociation supervise the visitors, and more of Madame Fujitomo's geisha keep them entertained. Machiko moves directly to the revolving doors and through to the sidewalk outside. Here she now sees the crowd she has heard so much about on her headset. They fill the whole street. Many linger near the headquarters.

The sidewalk directly in front of the headquarters, as well as part of the street, has been roped off. Here, more of the Young Dragons distribute to pa.s.sersby free copies of the latest issue of Wavefront Honjowara, a monthly journal describing major events affecting the clan and plans for the future, as well as important news related to Nagato Corp and Nagato Combine as a whole. Here, the crowds gathered outside the velvet ropes watch several large displays now running trideos about the clan, its organization and objectives, its relations with the clans of Nagato Combine, its continuing efforts to rid its districts of crime and improve people's lives, and so on. The twenty-odd kobun posted here, and their headman, spend most of their time talking, answering questions, and making conversation, hoping to enhance the clan's image. The only true elements of security here are the four GSG flanking the revolving lobby door, and the four Nagato SDF officers in the red and black jackets of the clan who clear visitors to the headquarters through their security checkpoint.

Also at the checkpoint stands Gongoro and one other, a skinny old man with thin white hair, dressed in the plain gray linen clothes of an ordinary worker. Uekiya-san. He carries a dark canvas bag and a small box wrapped in pastel gift-paper. Even now he asks in a loud voice that wavers with age for Machiko-sama to be called. She is nearly to the checkpoint when he sees her.

He smiles and draws a handgun from the canvas bag.

"Gun!" Gongoro roars, and in that very instant he is moving, moving forward, hurling himself bodily at the old man, and the SDF officers and kobun standing nearby are reacting, too.

It is all so sudden, so completely without warning, that the scene is unfolding before her eyes before Machiko can draw a breath, open her mouth, and shout, "STOP!"

Gongoro slams into the old man like a battering ram. Two SDF officers and one of the kobun are falling against his back even as he drives the old man to the pavement.

People shout, a woman screams. The crowd nearest the checkpoint surges back and away, and more shouts and cries erupt as people are banged about, some knocked off their feet.

Gongoro, the four SDF officers, and three kobun are all piling atop the old man before Machiko can reach them, shouting, "Get off! Get back!" She uses her hands like weapons, striking blows, paralyzing arms and legs with pressure-point strikes, even kicking, in her efforts to rescue the old man.

Finally, she is face to face with Gongoro. He gazes at her as if she is insane.

Of course he does. The realization all but overwhelms her with shame and anger. Until today, their seniors-Sukayo, Mitsuharu, and Jiksumi-monitored activities inside the headquarters. Gongoro routinely monitored activity at the barricades or up on the rooftops. Machiko herself kept watch over the front entrance and the security checkpoint. So she knows Uekiya's story. So she knows that he has come to practically every Open House since the first Open House. So she is aware that he has owned the small market just Up the block for decades, that he has been robbed many times by gangers, though never on this block, and, as a result, habitually carries a gun, a compact Fichetti 500.

It is more than a gun. Uekiya has come to look upon it as more than a gun. He has never been robbed while carrying the gun, and, for him, it has become a kami, a kind of s.h.i.+nto deity who guards elderly grocers from violent gangers.

And so it was arranged, years ago, that Uekiya-san would be permitted to bring this kami, his guardian gun, to the Open House, so long as he surrendered it at the checkpoint. He was told by the Chairman himself to give the gun to Machiko, to ask for her by name if she was not present, so there would be no confusion.

She failed to communicate this to anyone now working the checkpoint. The responsibility for this incident is hers alone.

For an instant, she fears the old man is dead. He lies half on his side, half on his back, unmoving. Yet, as she summons medtechs via her headset, Uekiya-san breathes and pushes slowly against the pavement, struggling to sit up.

Machiko kneels at his side. "Uekiya-san," she says, gently gripping his shoulders. "Do not exert yourself. I have summoned medtechs. Be careful. Please."

But the old man will not lie back. He sits up. He covers his face with his hands and affects a series of bows. It is as if he feels ashamed for having caused this terrible incident. "Please excuse me. Excuse me. Forgive me, please! I did not-"

It is almost too much to bear. "Uekiya-san," Machiko says, "please do not apologize." She herself bows, but the old man still holds his hands over his face. "You are blameless, Uekiya-san. The fault is mine, Uekiya-san."

Then, two medtechs are there. Machiko holds the old man's shoulders till it becomes clear she is interfering with their work. She draws back onto one knee. She notices the new wall of GSG, SDF officers, and kobun standing between her and the headquarters entrance. She hears the onlookers around her asking questions. Some speak of seeing the gun. Others recount to their neighbors how they were pushed and shoved and banged around, and Machiko realizes that this incident must be explained before rumors begin raging and the reputation of the clan is further smeared.

She stands and looks around at the crowd and says in a loud, clear voice, "A terrible error has been made. The guards at the checkpoint were not informed that this honorable gentleman, Uekiya-san, has the Chairman's permission to carry a weapon to the checkpoint. The responsibility was mine, and I will answer to the Chairman for this shameful failure, as soon as we are a.s.sured that Uekiya-san is all right."

People grow quiet. Several of the onlookers bow as if impressed or perhaps embarra.s.sed by her statement. Gongoro glares at her as if disgusted. Machiko can well imagine what his opinion must be of her now, but she does not care. Whether she is fit as the senior of the Guard is irrelevant now. If Uekiya-san is found to be all right, she will escort him to the Chairman directly, and in any event she will explain what has happened and ask to be punished. For a failure of this magnitude, here before the headquarters, during the Chairman's Open House, her punishment should be severe.

The medtechs treat Uekiya-san for several bruises, cuts, and sc.r.a.pes, but the old man is lucky. His kami guarded him well today. His bones may be old, but they are not brittle. Nothing is broken. He has suffered no serious injuries.

When he is ready, Machiko helps him to stand. He is still bowing and hiding his face and asking forgiveness. Machiko feels the pain of his bruises and shame for what has happened. She bends to pick up Uekiya-san's canvas bag and his gift-wrapped present, a gift for the Chairman. Uekiya-san accepts them still asking forgiveness, still hiding his face.

"We will go to the Chairman now," Machiko tells him.

He bows and bows, asking forgiveness.

With an arm around his back, her hands at his shoulders, Machiko guides Uekiya-san ahead once more to the checkpoint. Only one can pa.s.s at a time between the uprights of the weapons sensor, so Machiko moves ahead, taking hold of the old man's arm to lead him through.

The sensor naturally detects all her weapons and begins beeping. The alarm is immediately canceled.

She draws Uekiya-san ahead.

The sensor beeps.

Uekiya-san hesitates. And suddenly Machiko finds his free hand descending to his side, his eyes broad and round and gazing into hers with a look of awe. "Forgive me," he whispers. "Forgive me." And the hand at his side is dropping the gift box and dipping into the canvas bag slung beneath his shoulder, and the look on the old man's face is changing from awe to fear to terror, and then something beyond it, beyond all emotion, beyond existence.

The Void.

In the fleeting moment that all this occurs, Machiko feels her own emotions go from wonder to puzzlement, then to a sudden chilling certainty that something is wrong, something so far beyond mere wrong that the beeping alarm from the weapons detector is practically meaningless.

In the periphery of her vision, she sees Gongoro looking to the sky as if to beg the G.o.ds for a.s.sistance in dealing with one very trying old man. And she realizes that Gongoro does not understand. He does not see what Machiko sees. He does not perceive the threat.

No one does.

So now she is the one moving as if by instinct, clamping down on the spindly old man's arm, twisting, pressuring nerves, forcing Uekiya-san to bend. And as he bends she drives her whole body against his flank and back and thrusts him face-down toward the pavement. As the two of them fall, she glimpses Gongoro's look of astonishment. She hears exclamations of shock and surprise. Then, she sees a boiling cloud of smoke and dust spreading across the concrete earth, billowing up around her and Uekiya-san, and she feels the earth shaking, roaring with an explosion that seems to erupt inside her own head.

In the final moment, she wonders if she is dying.

When she wakes, she is lying on a couch in a small quiet room. Her eyes seem full of grit. Her ears are ringing and her head feels as if it has been split open. She lifts a hand to her brow, her nose, her mouth. Some parts are so tender and full of anguish she cannot bear to touch them. Gently, she brushes at her eyes with just a fingertip. Her eyes are bleary and sore and difficult to focus, but momentarily she finds a Nagato medtech, a female elf, seated beside her, seated on a stool, now checking her vitals with some piece of equipment.

"Don't try to get up," the medtech says. "You appear to have suffered a minor concussion."

Machiko spends some moments trying to speak. Her throat seems full of phlegm and dirt. "Where . . . Where is . . . ?" She coughs harshly, till her head seems ready to split. "The Chairman."

"The Chairman is fine," the medtech says. "He has ordered that you remain here with me. You are to lie quietly and rest."

"Uekiya-san . The old man."

"I'm sorry," the medtech says. "I don't know who you mean. Several people were injured in the explosion. That's all I know."

Machiko searches for her headset, but that seems to be missing. She tries to work the commlink on her left vambrace, but it refuses to function. She feels barely conscious, a thousand years old, and very, very tired.

Someone, the female medtech, squeezes her shoulder. "Try to stay awake."

Machiko finds she lacks the energy to ask why.

It is enough to merely try to obey.

14.

Exactly how many hours go by she is unsure, but when she wakes Machiko finds it is after 11 p.m. She manages to slide her legs over the front of the sofa and sit up without feeling like she may die. Then she begins coughing.

The medtech brings her a bowl into which she may spit, and then a gla.s.s of water so she may rinse out more of the grit that seems to coat the inside of her mouth.

"Thank you very much."

The medtech bows, then steps into an adjoining lavatory to rinse out the bowl.

Machiko spends a moment looking around. Immediately before her is the varnished wood stool the medtech used for a seat. Beside her left ankle is the large orange box of the medtech's emergency medical supply kit. Machiko takes a plain white linen cloth from the kit and lays it open over the wooden seat of the stool. Fine linen would be preferable, but this will do. She lays her left hand on the cloth, presses it firmly against the stool, her fingers tucked under, crab-like, all but the little finger, which is fully extended. From the sheath at her waist, she draws her tanto and moves the razor-keen blade to the third knuckle of her little finger.

Here, she will perhaps save Chairman Honjowara the trouble of punis.h.i.+ng her. It is the traditional means within the clans of atoning for failure. It is called yubitsume, finger-cutting. Certain remarks Honjowara-sama has made suggest that he does not consider this practice to be entirely in agreement with the precepts of his New Way, but Machiko is sure he will accept her offering. He is a man of great vision, seeking always to move the clan ahead, but his roots were formed in a different age, before the advent of the Awakened. He understands the cla.s.sical forms.

As she settles her spirit, preparing with one determined cut to do what she must, she becomes aware of another, the medtech, lunging at her, seizing her hand, and shrieking.

GSG appear as if out of nowhere, six or seven of them, Ryokai among them. The knife is wrenched from her grip. She is forcibly pinned against the cus.h.i.+ons of the sofa.

Have they all lost their minds?

Then the Chairman's counselor Zoge-san is there, commanding her to rise, to go with him . . .

Understanding comes slowly. She is not to be permitted to atone for her failure by means of yubitsume. The only alternative is plain. She finds her sword on a black lacquered stand at one end of the sofa and gets to her feet.

She needs a moment. Her balance is uncertain. She feels a bit light-headed. Ryokai slips an arm behind her and steadies her shoulders, but his favor is not necessary.

Zoge-san turns and leads her out. The others draw back and bow, honoring the Chairman's counselor. Machiko steps into the hallway and abruptly realizes she is on the headquarters' third floor. Just down the hallway is one of the western-style offices Honjowara-sama often uses while visiting this part of the plex. Flanking the door and standing opposite it are as many as twenty members of the Guard. Quite understandable, given all that has occurred. The senior of the detail bows to Zoge-san.

The door opens and she and Zoge-san enter. The office is small and private and quiet. The carpeting is green, the paneling like a burled wood of a neutral brown. Honjowara-sama sits behind a desk of polished oak. He gazes at a telecom screen, tapping briefly at the auxiliary keyboard. Machiko advances three steps, then kneels and bows. She puts both knees down and bows till her brow brushes the carpet. The sudden rush of blood to her head threatens her balance, and for an instant the carpet seems tinted in swirls of red, but she recovers. She bows a second time and then extends her arms, lifting her sword, making an offering of it. Drawing against grip and scabbard to expose a small portion of the blade.

And then she waits, bent forward, sword offered, blade exposed. It is difficult to maintain the posture correctly. Her arms subtly waver. Her mind seems vague and p.r.o.ne to wander.

She realizes Honjowara-sama is approaching when she catches sight of his feet. After a few moments, the sword is s.n.a.t.c.hed from her hands. She breathes and bows, then turns aside, bends forward and pulls her hair from her shoulders to make a clean target of her neck. She holds this posture for what seems like a very long time. Then she hears the sharp click, like that of a sword being thrust firmly into its scabbard.

This so surprises her that she glances toward her side. Honjowara-sama, standing over her, and looking very resolved, thrusts the katana toward her as if to return it to her hands.

Machiko hesitates, confused.

Again, Honjowara-sama thrusts the sword at her.

"I am not worthy," she says softly.

Yet again, Honjowara-sama thrusts the sword at her.

This baffles her completely, but only for a moment. She nearly lets slip a moan when understanding finally comes. In this, her moment of unbearable shame, Honjowara-sama acknowledges the years of service she has rendered. He honors her not for what she has done, or failed to do, but for what she is. That is why he returns her sword. She bows deeply. She turns toward her Chairman and bows again. She accepts the sword and lays it on the floor before her. She removes her overvest, folds it, lays it over the sword's scabbard, then draws the scabbard clear and lays it at her side. She rolls the blade of the sword in the fabric of the overvest, then pauses to prepare, to settle her spirit, to breathe. The Warrior's Way has rarely seemed so clear to her. Already she can feel the tip of the sword slicing into her stomach, cutting upward, cutting three times, resolving everything. She does not fear it. She welcomes it.

One last time, she bows to her Chairman.

"Machiko," he says, after a moment. "You will not kill yourself. I forbid it."

Machiko puzzles. How can this be? First, she is denied yubitsume. Now this. Can her Chairman despise her so greatly? Surely, he understands how deeply she is ashamed. She nearly led an a.s.sa.s.sin directly to her Chairman. She allowed an explosive device to be detonated at the front of the headquarters building. Her original error involving Uekiya, failing to warn the checkpoint about him, seems of no significance compared to these two immense instances of failure.

"Sheathe your sword, Machiko-san. You do not understand." In a powerful voice, a voice of command, he adds, "You are injured and not thinking clearly. Do you hear me?" She hears. And she recognizes that what Honjowara-sama says is so. She does not feel quite herself. Doubtless, she is still suffering the effects of the blast. Yet, she does not feel as though she is suffering unduly. Her confusion is not the result of mere mental trauma. Her shame is not an illusion.

"Sheath your sword, Machiko," Honjowara-sama says quietly. "We will explain."

Naturally, she obeys. Her life is not her own. It is neither her privilege nor her responsibility to decide when her life will end. She will end it when her Chairman wills, once he has explained. She draws her katana free of the folded overvest and slips it into its scabbard. She lays the sheathed sword over the folded overvest and settles herself, preparing to listen.

"Zoge," says Honjowara-sama.

Zoge-san coughs and clears his throat. "Machiko-san," he says, "do not be in such a hurry to die. Perhaps you believe that you have failed in your oath to the Chairman. You are wrong. You should feel no shame. I tell you that you have performed well. Very well indeed.

"This afternoon, shortly after you were called to the checkpoint, there was a brief disturbance in the lobby. A man shouted as in alarm. This was one of the medtechs you summoned for the old grocer Uekiya-san. The Chairman heard this shout and inquired and learned of the initial incident with Uekiya-san and his gun. The Chairman became very concerned, as Uekiya-san has been coming to the Open House for many years. The Chairman decided to investigate the situation personally. He was pa.s.sing through the lobby on his way to the checkpoint when the explosion occurred.

"Our experts believe that the old man carried a shaped charged in his bag. By knocking him down, you directed the blast against the ground, the street pavement. Perhaps the only direction that would not have resulted in many deaths. The grocer's body absorbed much of the back-biast. You yourself were partially s.h.i.+elded by his body."

Machiko looks to Honjowara-sama and finds him gazing at her steadily, sternly. Not the least sign of doubt appears on his features. A brief nod of the head answers all questions. It confirms what Zoge-san says. Machiko realizes that, despite the enormity of her failures, she apparently has had the inadvertent effect of preventing the Chairman from being harmed by the blast.

For this she is very grateful.

She reaches to her sword, exposes part of the blade, and bows deeply and waits. It is a good moment in which to die. How bitter death would seem if she came to it knowing that she had not only failed, but had failed to protect the Chairman as well.

"Machiko-san," Zoge-san says. "Do you not understand? You saved the Chairman's life. You made no error."

Machiko bows. She understands perfectly. If Zoge-san were a warrior, he would also understand. "Please forgive my rudeness," she says, quietly. "But certain facts must be mentioned. I did not warn the checkpoint about Uekiya-san's gun. I allowed an explosive device to be detonated at the entrance to the headquarters during the Chairman's Open House. If not for the weapons detector, I would have led an a.s.sa.s.sin directly to my Chairman. These are the reasons I am shamed, so greatly I cannot bear it."

For some brief while, the room is silent. Machiko waits, gazing at the exposed portion of her sword. She recalls a poem in which an ancient samurai warrior, in contemplating the end, regarded death as a lover, his sword as death's sweet kiss.

"You speak of warning the checkpoint," says Honjowara-sama. "This is not relevant. You are not the director of a corporate unit, or a headman of kobun. You are the acting senior of the Green Serpent Guard. The personnel of the Guard were chosen and educated by the masters of the Guard. It is a.s.sumed that they who come to us in the uniform of the Guard know how to wield the sword they bear. It is not your obligation to delineate to every member every small event that might possibly occur. It should not have been necessary to warn anyone concerning Uekiya and his gun. Have you forgotten why there are no ranks within the Guard? Every member of the Guard is individually responsible for fulfilling the duty of the Guard. We speak of members being senior or junior to other members, but this is merely an indication of relative experience. As the acting senior, you are responsible for organization, for monitoring discipline and training. You are to see that posts are properly manned. That responsibility is shared by the other senior members, but that is where your responsibility for others ends.

"We have interviewed every witness to what occurred. We have reviewed the record of security cams. The facts are clear. The gun was not drawn in a threatening manner. Gongoro overreacted. The personnel at the checkpoint overreacted. That is not your error. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Honjowara-sama," Machiko says, though she does not understand, not really. The error is hers. She knows this. If the Chairman wishes to declare otherwise, that is his right, and she will agree that he is right. Given the time, she will make herself accept what he says, believe what he says. But now, in this moment, it is very hard.

"Nagato security was responsible for keeping weapons away from the headquarters. Doubtless, the explosive device was brought to Uekiya's store before the perimeter was established. You could not prevent this. You went to the grocer's aid as duty demanded. You were not responsible for detecting the explosive, yet you did detect it. You could not prevent the explosive from being detonated, yet you prevented grave loss of life. You hurled yourself at death, Machiko-san. There is no shame in this."

Machiko struggles with her growing confusion, her pain. She gazes at the exposed length of her sword. Yearns to feel the lasting comfort of its kiss.

"The warrior's course is one of fanaticism and desperation. This I know. But you must learn to heed your own advice, Machiko-san. You gaze at the world very narrowly. Your vision is a keenly edged sword. But when the fire and thunder has pa.s.sed, you must step back, broaden your gaze. In this way, you will see correctly what has occurred."

Tears rise into her eyes. She fights them. "Chairman-sama," she says through a throat grown tight. "You wish me to live? To continue to serve?"

"I command it."

The issue is therefore settled. Her heart and mind still rage with a tumult of conflicting feelings and thoughts, but this she will survive. It is her duty, neh?