System Seven (34 page)

Tom nodded. “Sorry.”
The door slid towards them, the walls stretching pyramid-style to keep up.
“Better?”

“Much, yes. Thanks.”

The wooden door
appeared heavy with metal bands of reinforcement and symbols etched into its
frame. A worn brass thumb-lever handle dully reflected the room.

He stared at it.
Premonitions poured from the handle, possibility and intention from dozens of
minds striving for a chance at control. This was nothing like they’d practiced.
He glanced back at Tom.

Tom grimaced. “Don’t
make this all for nothing, man. You can do it.” The wall behind him had slid forward as well, half again nearer
than before. Frantic shadows formed against its pale gray surface. The druid
was losing it.

He reached for the
handle and stopped. “How will I know I’ve got control? What if they grab it
first and let me think I have it?”

Tom shook his head
slowly. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, man. You have to
know
what’s going on. One thing: don’t
doubt yourself. That’ll jack you up, invite them in for the keys to the
castle. Just do it, man. You’re the
master.” Despite the encouragement, fear etched Tom’s eyes. A failed transfer
could mean their capture or worse.

He faced the door. It
breathed
others
. Anki’s question rose
like a prognostication.
What if they team up on you? Is that
possible?

He faltered. Tom’s
distress passed through the dream in a wave.

A voice from deep
within sounded, an almost sacred import.
See the outcome beforehand, son,
then live it that way. Take that which is yours to take, that which is right.
Emboldened, he grasped the brass handle, its
bitter cold unexpected.

He shook his head.
“The last surprise.” He thumbed the handle down and threw all his weight into
the door.

A bright light split
from the widening gap, consuming everything.

When the white light
flared, taking him, time and every damn thing else with it, a single thought
appeared as a guide:
you get what you
give
.

What he put out, came
back to him. What the others put out, was coming back to them. With a universe
that returned what it was given, there was little room for doubt.
He with the least doubt wins out
.

In the burst of
insight, he snatched the crime lord from the vanilla void of possibility and
snapped to a non-space, a barren zone in the extreme of Saoghal. In the
distant, unused space, he wrapped a million mile-thick shell around them; no
gaps, no cracks, no weaknesses. Perfect density for perfect isolation.

In a hollow dot at the
center of the impossibly large construct, in a glowing spherical chamber,
utterly and completely alone, they sat on a platform. Long sought tranquility
descended.

“How the hell did you
do that?” Sakuma asked, suddenly alert.

“Awake now, yeah?
Good, because I have a few questions.”

“Don’t hold your
breath, mercenary. I’ve given my word.”

He raised an eyebrow
in response. “You’ve been lucid the entire time, haven’t you? Clever. And your
word, huh? A little bird is telling me it’s not about your word. No, something
else has your tongue.”

“Your kind wouldn’t
understand the value of a man’s word. Now tell me how you did this!”

“Control, tomodachi.
That’s how. Something they don’t let you have. I understand they have a job for
your Dejitaru but you refused. Why?”

Sakuma said nothing.

“They’re going to do
something awful, right? And you’re out now, almost. Thing is, you don’t care
about your life, but you do care about someone else’s. That’s it, isn’t it?
Yes, I can feel it. Even now, on the edge of death, you care more about one
person than what, a few hundred thousand Americans? A few million Europeans?
Hm? Who is it? Your wife? Your son? No, not him, he’s an ungrateful shit.”

Conflict moved across
his face, the flickering of resolve.

“Show me. Go on, show
me who it is! What one person alive today is more important than the deaths of
all those
people?
”

In the silence that
followed, the chamber grew pink then red, darkening to crimson. Johan shook his
head. “Sad. I suspect your soul is nearly decayed, Sakuma. I say nearly because
you realized what they ask of your Dejitaru is wrong. You stood up to them and
now you’re in over your head, life in the balance. But you’re thinking of your
duty to
one person
. If you meet that
duty, you reap your personal reward, which is what? Preserving your honor?
That’s called selfishness, not honor. In the end, you are a disgrace to the
principle of Japanese honor. Since you stumble so heavily with the concept of
honor, I won’t try to explain why you also fail as a man or as a father–”

“Silence!” Sakuma
shouted. “You know
nothing
of honor!
Nothing of the kind of man I am! You disrespectful
child.
” He spat. “That you have such power in this dream world is
surely a mistake. I will not listen to you insult me for things you are
ignorant of!”

The wedge took,
emotions shifted free. He pressed to expose more. “Ah,
honorable
Mr. Sakuma! You are right, I am mistaken. You peddle
drugs, sex, and weapons. You blackmail people, you poison governments with
bribery, you steal and sell people, destroy lives, and so much more. Oh yes,
you are so
honorable
. Look, friend,
you may be Musashi incarnate but in
this
life you have lost your mind. Your honor is twisted, your–”

“They have my
grandson!” he blurted.

Sakuma buried his head
in his hands. Frustration and guilt exploded in waves. Images spilled onto the
curved walls. Johan recoiled in surprise. A young boy no more than five years
old, smiling in plush gardens, laughing atop a Ferris wheel, sleeping
peacefully under blankets. A little voice filled the chamber, its sound torture
for the crime lord, “
Sofu! Sofu!
”

Grandfather.

He looked up, face
streaked with tears. “I cannot explain my
life
or the culture into which I rose to power. I cannot
sit
here, talking uselessly to you, while Ryota is captive and
scared! Do you see? My arrogance brought this upon me! In arrogance I believed
I could bargain with them, that my
power
would protect me. Then the dark men took Ryota and what did I do? My
pride!
”

His face scrunched in
grief, rolling tears saying what his voice could not. He struggled to continue.
“I refused. Refused to be outdone, to be... overpowered by weakness. My own
grandson! He has done
nothing!”

He buried his face
again, the images fading. “Now I am
in this hell, or dream or wherever, twice a prisoner with no power at all. And
Ryota... Ryota will surely meet death unless I keep my word.”

Johan sighed. The man
was a walking contradiction, opposing values all siloed and valid despite their
operation in one mind. Capable of every crime, yet with the marrow of a loving
grandfather.

“Sakuma. I cannot help
Ryota, not at this moment, but I am willing to try, if you help us. Your son
will soon ascend to your position and proceed without you, dishonoring you
further, no? Your Dejitaru are poised to conduct operations that will bring
harm to many. Ask yourself, why would the dark men bother to keep their promise
to a man they chose to kill? If Ryota is still alive, they will use him against
your son. Do you trust your son to protect Ryota?”

Sakuma looked up.
Cognitive functions returned though draped in emotion. “No. Ukita has no heart.
Another of my failings. Ryota would suffer. It is unthinkable. But... what the
dark men promised is far worse. Madness. Should I reveal their plan, Ryota will
die in the–” Fierce lines creased his face as he winced, holding it in. “He
will die, too.”

In the hesitation,
Johan saw fire.

The oyabun
straightened. “I am selfish, yes. I want Ryota to live. And so Ryota will live.
I will die. Others will, too, but it is necessary for his life. It is the last
gift I can offer him.”

“You really are
dreaming, aren’t you? As intelligent as you appear, you’ll turn away the chance
to save millions of lives? If there is honor in having put Ryota’s life at
risk, or even sacrificing it – which is what you’ve likely already done – it is
in the act of stopping those plans, of stopping Ryota’s father. Tell me,
sensei, tell me that you don’t know the truth of this?”

Indecision wrought
Sakuma’s soul, palpable in the space between them. His face dropped into his
hands again and he groaned softly.

“Ryota...”

• • •

The Lear jet banked
tightly as the pilot prepared for final approach. Tokyo’s evening splendor
filled the windows. Anki held her breath, both for the lurch and the wondrous
display of light. It was as if the Japanese love for technology had worked its
way into the city’s design, visible from above. Still, old anxiety spiked at
the thought of being lowered into the mass of humanity.

Stop.
One person required her attention. Only one. She glanced at Austin.
Edward insisted she could help him develop the mastery he needed. That faith
rested on her empathic talent but also on the fact that Clare lurked beneath,
perhaps influencing. How much of it was Clare and how much of it her own gift
was unclear, but the ‘flower’ that would return to help the Change wasn’t going
to be her.

She shuddered
slightly. Clare’s emergence still loomed as a frightening, life threatening
event despite Edward’s reassurances. The only real indication of her truly
belonging to the events unfolding seemed to be Pons’ sketches. She wanted to
believe they suggested her survival. Singing to the world at the end. Though
her mother being the seed from a star didn’t make sense, unless her ‘reincarnation’
was just a story to cover something else. A child of the stars? Or was all of
humanity star-spawn?

The plane hung low
over the city and passed by an electric blue Ferris wheel. Answers would come,
eventually, in whatever the future held.

Austin stirred and
looked at his watch. “Eight hours. Wonder what they got under the hood. Hey,
you okay?”

“I don’t fly well,” she lied, turning to the
window. “I’ll be good back on the
ground.”

The jet lowered
towards the runway. The reflection of Tokyo’s lights on the bay was replaced by
the view of industrial buildings. Landing on solid ground felt like a welcome
embrace. She touched her face again, grateful the biocats responded like flesh
and not like skittering bugs. Alive, but only in the most technical of terms,
they were more like synthetic robots. That bit of logic helped with the process
of letting them crawl in through her mouth. Still, the urge to gouge her face
had been intense.

The cabin door slid
open and the co-pilot emerged. “We’ll be pulling up at the VIP terminal. A
courtesy shuttle is waiting for you.” He offered a friendly wave before
retreating again. “Konbanwa.”

Their shuttle van
turned onto a narrow two-lane street just outside the airport. The air
conditioner blew cool against the scented air of a tightly-packed neighborhood.
Incense, cooking, the muddy river, and the smell of ocean permeated the cabin.
Their driver, an older Japanese woman named Yonezu, drove confidently past
stacks of apartments. First floor shops sold everything from grocery to
cosmetic to electronic goods. Bicyclists appeared from side alleys and veered
sharply to avoid the van. Only minutes from the airport, Austin was lost. The
horizon was all power lines and two and three story buildings.

Yonezu turned into an
alley and pulled up alongside a two-story residence lit by a streetlamp. A red
door waited.

“Knock one time, then
three time quick. You answer, ‘yoyaku’ to the question.
Ha ji may ma shitay
. Nice to meet you.”

Austin pulled the door
closed and the van rolled off into the humid summer evening. They stood holding
their briefcases, listening to muted chatter from families in surrounding
buildings.

“Hope she got the
directions right.” He went to the door and knocked as instructed.

A metal mail slot next
to the door opened slightly. A female voice asked, “
Onamae wa?
”

“Yoyaku.”

The door swung open
and a striking Asian woman stood in a pale jade dress, motioning. “Come in,
please.”

They stepped up and
inside into cool air and a room with brick walls. He realized the outside of
the building had been built as a shell around an older industrial building to
create the appearance of a modern residence. Surely cheaper than razing the old
building and starting over. Each interior window had a matching window on the
façade outside. In the living room, European furniture contrasted with Japanese
art and electronics. A tight spiral staircase led upward and a downstairs
hallway extended to what looked like a dining room.

“I am Constance. You
are both hungry and tired. There is food prepared and your room is upstairs.
But first,” she opened a folder taken from the coffee table, “a moment, please.
You are?”