Svaha, page 22
"Enough," he said again, softly now.
Vertigo came upon him and then he was opening his eyes and the vast ceiling of the building where they took shelter was above him. Lisa lay wide-eyed and frightened beside him.
"Believe me," he said. "It's not always so."
But he had to wonder. If the People of Maniwaki Enclave were all dead, if somehow the Outlanders had found a way to breach the Enclave's barriers, then was anyone safe anymore? Would Mother Earth's last defenses fail and the People die, their flesh turned to dust, that dust cast to the wind? No more, the sacred Walks. No more, the path with heart. Only desolation to remain?
And the Dreamtime. Would it then reflect only death and dying too with no one but the Kachina-hey to walk its visions?
At this moment, with the memory of that drumming still sounding in his ears, it all seemed very possible.
He held Lisa more tightly.
EIGHTEEN
1
Shigehero Goro sat in the seiza position in the middle of his dojo, on his knees in calm repose. The great bulk of his body was clothed in padded black canvas sweatpants and a kimono-styled jacket. Today he worked with a bokken—a wooden practice sword. His right hand rested on his right knee. His left clasped the bokken just above where, if the wooden sword had been a katana, the hilt and blade would meet.
Four of his kobun approached from the rear, straw sandals silent on the hardwood that covered the dojo's floors. Three wielded the wooden practice swords. The fourth had a naginata. The halbard had a curved end for cutting and stabbing, while the butt of the weapon was used as a staff.
Goro sat with his eyes closed. Through the sharpness of his ki he knew the position of every man in the room—from his four attackers, to the lieutenant who sat on his haunches by the door, watching the practice session. This awareness was so natural for Goro—almost second nature—that he was contemplating his parting speech with Kishi Tano rather than the imminent attack.
* * *
"The security force here needs to be taught a lesson in manners," Tano had said. "I am most sorry that my influence has been of no help to you, Shigehero."
In truth, Goro knew, Tano was embarrassed. Ho Anzen has made him lose face.
"I will see that it is done," he had said.
Tano touched his arm. "I know you will. You are one of the last true yakuza, Shigehero Goro—a source of great pride to this old man."
"You honour me."
"As you honour the Yakuza Code. I will do what I can upon my return to Toronto where my influence is undiminished by such neijin, but we must move quickly. We have made a great investment in this attempt to acquire the Claver holding. If we fail, there are those who will whisper that Kishi Tano is too old a man now to rule the clans."
"Tell me their names," Goro said.
Tano smiled. "I welcome your loyalty, Shigehero, but such a course is not necessary at this time. Find that stolen chip—that must be our first priority."
Goro gave a quick nod of acceptance. "I will do so," he said. "If I fail, I will rip my belly open and die."
"That will not be necessary," Tano said, "for you will not fail, neh?"
* * *
The curved end of the naginata came whistling for Goro's head, but he was no longer there. He rose and drew his bokken in one smooth movement. The wooden sword deflected the blow of the naginata—had it been a katana, the sword's blade would have broken under the impact. With the same motion, Goro turned slightly, reversed his grip on the bokken and drove its point into the stomach of the nearest of the swordsmen. The man dropped to the floor, gagging.
The other two swordsmen came in from either side, but Goro, despite his bulk, moved like liquid. A sweeping blow downed the one on his right. He spun lightly, bokken rising to catch the downward blow of the man on his left. They strained for one moment, faces close, the wooden swords grinding against each other, then Goro's superior strength won over.
He gave a push, throwing the swordsman off balance, then brought the sword down on his assailant's shoulder. If the kobun hadn't been wearing chest armor of black lacquered bamboo and rawhide, the blow would have broken bones. A second blow knocked the man to the floor. Goro's bokken spun in his hand. He faced the last man's attack, catching the descending sweep of the naginata and deflecting the blow. Turning his back to the man, he stabbed the bokken behind him, under his arm. The end of the wooden sword caught the man in his solar plexus and he dropped to the floor.
All in all, the attack and Goro's defense took less than thirty seconds. Goro stood alone in the center of the dojo, his kobun lying scattered about him. They breathed heavily, but shielded their pain behind expressionless masks as they rose slowly to their feet to bow to their oyabun. Goro was breathing normally and had yet to break a sweat. He replaced the bokken in his belt, handling it as though it were a katana, and accepted their bows with a quick nod. Then his ki sensed someone at the door.
"Shirato," he said to the lieutenant by the door.
The lieutenant rose quickly and opened the door. Yamamoto Ishimine entered the dojo.
"Yip has left the Ho Anzen complex," he reported. "He has made no attempt to help us."
Goro frowned. The drones had given him an ultimatum: Produce Foo's assassins by tomorrow morning, or face arrest himself. Yip was supposed to defuse that ultimatum.
"The men are standing by," Ishimine added.
"Send two to kill him," Goro said. "But make sure they are accompanied by one of the Ho Anzen officers in our employ. And be certain that there is no question but that it was a yakuza assassination."
"Hai."
If Ho Anzen wanted war, Goro thought, as Ishimine left to implement his orders, then war the Goro Clan would give them.
2
Miko lay languorously on her bed, breasts taut, hands and feet reaching for headboard and endboard in a delicious stretch. Satisfaction lay warm inside her, spreading from a heat in her belly to tingle every nerve end. There was no comparison between Phillip and her previous lovers. They had come to her looking for conquest, especially when they saw the Dragon tattoo upon her back; Phillip thought first of her.
She turned on her side and nibbled his shoulder. "So what is this mysterious plan of yours that we couldn't speak of earlier?"
"Regrets?" Yip asked, stroking the long length of her body, fingertips trailing from shoulder to the side of her knee.
"Baka," she whispered—fool—and bit his shoulder.
He continued to stroke her, the gentle hand moving up between her thighs. She caught it with her own, entwined their fingers.
"Oh, no," she said. "This time I won't let you off so easily. Tell me."
Yip smiled. "I have an appointment with the head of Denshin Systems—Desmond Jones—who also owns controlling stock in the Jones Co-Op and lives in the squats where he calls himself the Ragman."
Miko sat up, leaning her weight on one elbow. "Why?"
"Because he's our only hope against Goro. Think for a moment, my Dragon Lady lawyer. Not even IBN or Ho Anzen have waged so successful a war against the yaks. If we ally ourselves with him, we might survive."
"And live in the squats?"
"We could move to another Plex."
Miko leaned forward and kissed him. "So long as it would be with you."
Yip returned the kiss with ardour, but Miko stayed his hands again.
"Why should he trust us?" she asked. "You belong to Ho Anzen and I belong to Goro."
Yip shook his head. "We belong to ourselves. That is the trouble with the Plex. Corporate heads, yaks, Ho Anzen officers—these are the people who appear on Fax Vid. Their intrigues and schemes are what run the Plex, but what of those we never hear of? All the citizens who wish merely to live their lives, who become fodder in these wars? They are the ones I want to protect and help. The people like you and I, kawaii."
"Darling yourself," she said with a smile, but she was listening intently.
"We are not Goro, or Okado, or Takahata," Yip went on. "What does it matter to us who runs the Plex, so long as we may lead peaceful and fulfilling lives?"
"I agree," Miko said, "but that is only a pipe dream. There will always be the Goros and Okados to run the world, simply because men such as you have no interest in power. Do you understand? To reach for power one already has a flaw in one's character. There has never been an altruistic politician or corporate head, and there never will be one because the men who could become such have no desire for power. Their lives are fulfilled without it. And those who seek it are already corrupt."
"You think it impossible?" Yip asked.
Miko sighed. She pushed a pillow to the headboard and sat up, leaning against it.
"What you seek is a benevolent dictator." she said. "One who cares more for his people than himself. Nothing else could succeed. But 'benevolent dictator' is a contradiction of terms. Political systems don't work, Phillip."
"If the people ruled…"
"There would be chaos—until a strong enough man arose and took the power to rule them. And he would be, or become corrupt. I'm sorry, Phillip. In my heart I believe as you do, but one has only to view the history vids to see that such a state has never succeeded. To think otherwise is naive. It is the people themselves who must change, not the system. And it must be all the people or it has no hope of success."
"You paint a bleak picture."
"We are a bleak people, the human race. We have the potential for greatness within us. We are capable of great beauty and good. Yet we are also capable of the most despicable evils, neh?"
She was quiet for a long moment, then added, "Perhaps the Clavers have found what you seek. Who knows what goes on behind their barriers? At least history shows that after great hardship—poverty, alcoholism, and suicides—they united to create their common goal. But history also shows that before the coming of the Europeans, many of their tribes were a cruel people. They had strengths within their tribes, but little compassion for any who did not belong.
"So now they have one great tribe made up of all their smaller ones, but they still have no compassion for strangers, or why would they remain hidden in their Enclaves and leave the world to suffer on as it does?"
"Perhaps they do not wish to repeat their earlier defeat."
"A people of great heart would take the chance," Miko said.
"Would you?" Yip asked.
Her eyes grew troubled. "Gomen," she said. "I don't know."
"I would try," he said. He drew her back down on the futon beside him.
"That is why I love you."
Again Yip's hands began to move upon her body, but this time the entrance buzzer of her apato building interrupted them.
"Shall we ignore it?" she asked.
Yip sighed and shook his head. "It might be our expected guest." He glanced at the time. "If so, he is early."
Too lazy to leave the bed, Miko thumbed on the speaker system beside her. It had no vid screen.
"Hai?" she said.
"Gomenasai, Hirose-san," came an unfamiliar voice. "Please forgive me. I am looking for Phillip Yip."
"Who is speaking?"
"I am Kudo Goseki, a security officer for Ho Anzen. I have an information chip from Takahata-san for Section Head Yip."
Miko left the switch on receive while she turned to Yip. "Do you know him?"
Yip shook his head. "Have him leave it—we'll go down for it later."
"You may leave it in my box," she said into the speaker. "The slot is to the right of the door."
"Gomenasai, Hirose-san, but Takahata-san expressly ordered me to deliver it to Section Head Yip in person. I require his thumbprint as confirmation of the delivery."
Miko turned to Yip, eyebrows raised. Yip swung his feet to the floor and put on a kimono.
"The joys of being a section head," he said. "I think Takahata spies on us to find the most inconvenient times to make such deliveries. Send him up, Miko. It will take but a moment."
Miko pushed the buzzer to let the officer in. Tying the belt of his kimono, Yip went into the outer room to wait. Miko pursed her lips, then put on a kimono herself. An unexplainable tension had stolen her warmth, knotting her stomach. She went to the doorway where she could see the front door, but not be readily seen herself.
When the buzzer for the apato door sounded, Yip undid the bolt and slid the door open. Miko thought her tension would ease when she saw the familiar dark green uniform, but instead it grew sharper.
"Gomenasai, Yip-san," the officer said. His gaze drifted to where Miko stood. "I'm sorry to have disturbed your evening."
He stepped into the apato. From his pocket he took a small box with a sensor on its lid that, due to its programming, would only open through contact with Yip's thumbprint.
It was as Yip was placing his thumb against the sensor that Miko suddenly realized what had sharpened her tension. The officer. She had seen him before. Working out with Goro's kobun in the dojo.
"Yip!" she cried.
Too late. A pair of yaks suddenly filled the doorway. Yip backpedaled into the apato to give himself room to maneuver. The yaks drew katanas from under their overcoats.
"This does not concern you!" one of them warned Miko.
His companion's katana rose up for the first cutting blow. Yip had dropped into a defensive position, but unarmed he could be no match for two sword-wielding yaks with their augmented reflexes.
Miko grabbed the closest thing she could find. In the hands of a trained fighter such as herself, anything could be a weapon. In this case, what her fingers found was a fan that had been lying on the table beside the bedroom door. She snapped it open. The edges of the lacquered rice paper were as sharp as a knife's blade.
The Ho Anzen officer was drawing his Steeljack, pointing it in her direction; the two yaks converging on Yip. Her ki was sharp, aware of everything in the room. She cried out, a wordless shout, and moved so quickly across the room that the fan cut through the officer's throat before he had finished drawing his weapon. Blood sprayed in her face, on the walls, but she was already turning to face the yaks.
She was just in time to see the katanas cut Yip down. Then her gaze went red and she attacked the yaks.
3
Lisa sat on a slab of stone, legs dangling, her swagger girl gear on the rock beside her, and watched Gahzee prepare to leave. He had stripped down to a black loincloth. Pulling a jar of white clay from his pack, he smeared his face and limbs with it, then painted his hair part white as well. He drew white leggings from the pack and put them on. Next he put on his ghost shirt to cover his chest; it too was beaded and quilled in a black and white pattern. His medicine belt hung on the right side of his belt, a three-and-a-half-decimeter blade hung on the left.
Lisa looked at the knife. "How come you never brought any high tech gear outta the Clave when you left?"
"For the same reason I have to recover the chip and see that the flyer is destroyed," he replied. "We can't let any of our tech fall into Outlanders' hands where they could duplicate it and use it against us."
He crouched beside the fire and, taking ashes, added black streaks over his nose and eyes.
"You look like a ghost."
"Tonight I must be a ghost," he said. "The ghost shirt will protect me from harm in battle. It will call to the spirits of my ancestors, that they may find me more readily."
"It's all kinda spooky," Lisa said.
Neither of them mentioned the Dreamtime they had shared, but it lay there between them all the same.
"White and black are wolf colours," Gahzee explained. "White for the north and winter, when the wolves rule the forest; black for the west and Stalking Death."
"I thought you said your totem was the turtle."
"It is. But Makinak is a Medicine totem of messages, of communication. Tonight we go to hunt, so I must call upon his brother Myeengun, to help me stalk as a wolf would."
"I thought Stalking Death was an enemy."
When he turned his face to her, Lisa shivered. In the fading light, he looked too much like a creature from a monster vid. No longer quite human.
"Tonight I am Stalking Death," he said.
Lisa swallowed drily. "Maybe Makinak's my totem too," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "You know, 'cause I'm a messenger? Or can I have a totem? I mean, I'm not like one of the People or anything…"
"I have come to believe since I left the Enclave," Gahzee said, "that there is but one People and we are all a part of that tribe."
Lisa kept twisting her fingers where they lay on her lap. He'd been so solemn, so stern, ever since they'd come back from the Dreamtime. She'd thought she was getting to know him, but right now he was more of a stranger than he'd ever been. He was so distant. Whenever he spoke, it sounded more like he was reading some prepared text from an instructional disc.
"I know what we're doing is…important to you, and to the People," she said. "I just wonder what…I mean…what about you and me?"
The ghost face seemed to soften for a moment. "Quaheystamaha," he said.
"Really?"
"Never doubt it."
"I'm not trying to be pushy or anything," Lisa said. "It's just…well, if we don't make it back…"
Gahzee crossed the room to where she sat and crouched in front of her, head just above the level of her knees. He had to tilt his head to look her in the face.
"I'm sorry, Lisa. Usually when the People prepare for battle, there is a ceremony to see them off. War Dances. Sacred smoke. Hands speaking to the animiki through the voices of our drums. It helps us to concentrate on the difficult task at hand—to focus all of our attention upon it, that we may do our best and prevail." He paused and gave her a questioning look. "I'm not familiar with your customs. Are they different?"
"Well, yeah. Sorta. Rats don't really go to war. If there's a fight, it just happens all of a sudden, you know?"
"I see. I didn't mean to make you feel ignored today…"
"It wasn't that," Lisa said quickly. "I knew you were getting ready—stepping onto some kinda Wheel. I just…I dunno. I just wanted to know how you felt in case…well, something happens to us tonight and we don't…you know, come back."
