I have long felt However, I did not expect them to be literally invisible.
—Buckminster Fuller,
personal correspondence, 1933
Drew Town, New Jersey
The call had been urgent. The elders were contacting every single Grimnoir knight in the world. It didn’t matter where they were, who they were, if they were old or feeble, on their own or in a group, it was all hands on deck. Not all knights were fighters, but for those that weren’t, they needed to go and make sure the local authorities were alert and ready, and they were to do so by any means necessary. If that meant throwing rocks at the Kremlin, do it. Wake up the milita. Load your guns. If you didn’t have guns, it was time for torches and pitchforks.
Francis had never gotten a message from the society quite like that before.
The message had been fairly straightforward, mostly because the elders didn’t have many details to share. They suspected something very bad was about to happen, especially in places where Actives lived. Any place with a lot of magic collected in one spot was a potential target. Of what, they couldn’t particularly say. The threats were of an unknown nature. They didn’t say who had set them off, but a knight had brought them a warning that all magicals were in potential danger.
Francis had a sneaking suspicion that this was somehow related to Faye . . .
John Browning was overseeing all Grimnoir operations in the United States, and he was busily shuffling knights about to cover potential hot spots. Word had been put out discreetly to all of their friends and allies in the military and among the police. Discreet being the key word, since they really didn’t want the OCI to think that they were fomenting some sort of Active uprising. They’d already been through that once this year.
As soon as Francis had received the message, he’d known right where to go. If he was some sort of unknown threat looking to target Actives, he’d head right toward the town built for them and advertised as paradise.
Dan Garrett parked their car in the woods on the way into Drew Town. Jane opened the trunk and started removing guns. When you didn’t know what kind of trouble to expect, it was best to bring guns and friends with guns. Francis took the P17 Enfield and threw a leather bandolier of shells over his shoulder. They were dressed like they were going hunting, and he supposed, in a way, that’s exactly what they were doing.
“We play it quiet. We’re just taking a little walk through the forest, picking a spot, and watching the town.” Dan removed a backpack from the trunk. “I got the sandwiches.”
“You’re so clever to bring food,” Jane said as she took out a guitar case. “I only brought this Thompson submachine gun.”
“Heh . . . That’s my girl.”
There were headlights on the road behind them, but instead of passing by and continuing on toward the town, they slowed and pulled off behind them. “You expecting anybody else?” Francis asked.
Dan shook his head. “Everybody else is scoping out other places.”
“If it’s the cops, we’ll just say that we’re going coyote hunting.”
Dan looked down at the gigantic Browning automatic rifle he was removing from the trunk. “Apparently, they grow some tough coyotes out here . . . Don’t worry. I’ll talk our way out of this.”
A car door closed. A moment later they saw that somebody was coming through the trees, making their way quietly with no flashlight, but not trying to hide their presence. “Francis? Is that you?”
It was a woman’s voice. “Hammer? What are you doing here?”
“Following you!” she called back.
“Oh, good,” Dan said. “The one person I’m entirely incapable of charming.”
The BI agent got close enough that they could see her clearly in the moonlight. “Hoover ordered me to have you tailed. He said the Grimnoir are up to something.” She looked over the open trunk and the growing pile of weapons. “Guess he was right. Look, I know where we are, and considering the timing, I know what you’re doing, and I could order my boys to come in and arrest you right now, but I really do like you, so I’m going to try and talk you out of it instead.”
“Talk us out of what?”
“Oh, you just happen to show up in Drew Town, a place which stands for everything you’re against, right when the architect of the whole scheme is there taking a tour? I don’t like that Cog bastard either. He strikes me as a sleaze and an opportunist, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard the man utter a completely true sentence, but messing with him won’t accomplish a thing but make you more enemies.”
Francis sighed. “Hammer, tune up that lie detector and try this on for size. I don’t give a damn about Roosevelt’s buddy. We’re only here because we got a message saying that places with lots of Actives congregated might be in danger. Don’t know what, but from the message I’ve got a gut feeling it could be really bad.” As soon as he said that, he began to develop a splitting headache. “Ow, damn it. Now get out of there. See?”
“You’re telling the truth.” Hammer breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I was worried there y’all were about to do something incredibly stupid. It didn’t feel right.”
Thankfully the headache let up when her Power did. “Great. Now scram back to your boss and tell him we’re the good guys. We’re going to keep an eye out for . . . something.”
“Uh huh . . . Something.” Hammer went over to the trunk and pointed at a short-barreled Winchester Model 12. “You using that?” she asked Jane.
“My hands are already full.”
“Mind if I borrow that?” Hammer picked up the shotgun, checked it, and pumped a round into the chamber. Then she picked up a box of buckshot and started shoving shells into her coat pockets. “I’ve seen what you Grimnoir’s idea of something is. Your last something stomped on half of Washington.” Agent Pemberly Hammer of the Bureau of Investigation set out into the woods. “Come on. I took the tour with Director Hoover last week. I know a good spot on a rise where we can see most of the town.”
The three knights watched her go. Dan hoisted up the backpack and BAR. “I should’ve packed more sandwiches.”
Free City of Shanghai
Toru had not seen this memory before.
Okubo was sitting on the mat in his study. The doors had been slid open, providing him with a better view of the manicured garden. He had been watching flower petals float down the stream and inspired, had called for his servants to bring his writing desk. He had put quill to scroll and was attempting to capture the moment in a poem.
Hattori waited patiently for his Lord to finish writing. It was not good to interrupt the greatest wizard in the world when he was trying to write poetry. Okubo scowled and marked out a line. Sometimes even the best amongst them could be frustrated when he simply could not find the words.
“Small moments of beauty . . . They may seem a trifling thing for warriors to contemplate, especially when compared to the mighty events surrounding us, yet it is still important to take the time to appreciate such things,” Okubo explained as he went back to writing. There was no need for someone of his status to make apologies, so he was merely speaking because he felt like it. “A warrior must understand what he fights for in order to strike with a pure heart.”
“Of course, my Lord,” Hattori said, his voice sounding far too deep.
“What do you fight for?”
The question caught him off guard.
“What brings you here, my son?”
Hattori was gone. Toru was not watching a memory at all. He was sitting across from his father. He froze. His blood turned to ice. His stomach filled with pained knots. Realizing that he was not even bowing, the quickly placed his forehead to the floor. “Forgive me, Chairman!”
“Rise, Toru. Such deference is not necessary. I no longer hold the office of Chairman because I am dead. I am merely a restless ghost, unable to move on.”
Toru lifted his head. Tears filled his eyes. “I have failed you.”
“No. It was I who failed. In looking to the future, I tried to shape the world in my image. I was so focused on my great goals that I failed to see the small darkness hidden among my closest followers. I have often warned that the Enemy was not to be underestimated, yet I was guilty of this myself. I prepared to counter its fearsome strength, and did not realize it was capable of subtle trickery.”
“Is the world lost, then?”
“No. Though you are close, you are not dead yet, and as long as a warrior’s heart beats he may still strike at his foe. There is more to be done.” Okubo Tokugawa stood, walked over to Toru, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You are my son. I can no longer fight in this battle, but you will serve in my stead. I did not choose a successor before I was taken. That was an error caused by my hubris. Fate placed you in the path of these events, and you have valued truth above glory. Honor over tradition. You have proven yourself worthy to be my heir. The survival of the Imperium is your responsibility now. The future of the world will be decided by your actions. The future of our family is in your hands.”
Toru was so choked with emotion that he could barely respond. “I will not fail.”
“I am humbled by your devotion. I have many regrets from my life. One of them is that I did not realize the greatness inherent in some of my descendants. I am pleased with you, Toru . . . When you call upon me in your greatest time of need, I will grant you strength.”
“I will not fail!” Toru bellowed again.
“Awake.”
“Awake!”
A hand slapped him in the face. Toru groaned and cracked his eyes open.
He was upright, being held in place by chains wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso. It took him a moment to realize that he was still wearing the Nishimura armor, everything but the helmet. He tried to move, but it had somehow been depowered, and his limbs were sluggish and did not respond. Some form of stifling magical effect had been placed upon him.
The Iron Guard who had struck him stepped aside. Once again, he was staring into the face of Okubo Tokugawa, only this was the imposter. This was the villain. This was the pawn of the Enemy. How could the others not see? He would have spit in that face if his mouth hadn’t been so dry.
He was dressed for ceremony, wearing his military uniform, chest covered in medals and ribbons. “Well, if it isn’t the traitor,” the imposter sneered. “How pathetic. Once a fearsome Iron Guard, the finest possible example of an Imperium warrior, and now you are chained to a dungeon wall like a common criminal.”
“I am not common.” Toru gritted his teeth and concentrated. He couldn’t even curl his fingers into a fist. It was like he’d been paralyzed from the neck down. “You are a traitor, Dosan Saito, and I will kill you.”
The guard did not need to be prompted. He backhanded Toru in the mouth.
The imposter smiled. “Save your energy, Toru. This man is of my personal guard. They have already been . . . augmented.”
Toru’s eyes grated in their sockets as he studied the Iron Guard. He looked completely human, only with dead, unfeeling eyes. This warrior had been a man once, but now he was a puppet made of flesh. Toru was disgusted.
“You have been trying to plant seeds of doubt into their heads, like Hattori did to you. I know that was what you were attempting with your brazen entrance into Shanghai. You hoped to scare me away. You wanted to make the warriors doubt their Chairman with your wild rumors. Sadly, some of the seeds which you have been spreading have taken root among the men. I cannot allow that. I must crush all doubt. That is the only reason you are still alive.”
Toru wanted to choke the life from this man, but he was helpless, and that was infuriating. “Why do you serve the Pathfinder? You were a friend of Okubo Tokugawa!”
“I was his friend, his confidant, and his advisor. I knew him far better than you ever did. You are a foolish boy who thinks he is serving the will of his father, while I am the one who will realize his dream. I serve the Imperium. I do not serve the Pathfinder. The Pathfinder serves me.”
“Then you are an imbecile.”
WHACK. The Iron Guard hit him even harder. This one had to have been a Massive to have knuckles that dense.
The imposter looked to the Iron Guard. It was as if they communicated without speaking, and the soldier stepped away, leaving Toru hanging there, blood running out of his nose and down his lips.
“Okubo hated the Enemy. He was correct to do so. It came here as a mighty predator. His mistake, however, was in thinking it could not be tamed. Like any beast, like magic even, it can be broken and made to serve. For many years I kept a fragment of the defeated Pathfinder secret. I studied it, learned its ways, as was Okubo’s command to me, and I took its strength for myself. It is simply another form of being, not so different than the Power.”
They had thought it was merely bad luck which had brought the Pathfinder to Asia twice in a row, but in truth, it had never actually left. “You are being deceived.”
“You are incorrect. Like all living things, the Enemy merely wishes to continue its existence. Once I spoke with it, I came to understand its needs. It came to consume all of the Power, as it had done before on other worlds, but only because the intelligences there which the Power had been bonded to were not rational. The Enemy merely asks for enough sustenance to support itself, and in exchange, it is prepared to give us so much in return . . . Access to abilities far beyond anything the Power has ever granted.”
“What did my father say when you suggested this to him?”
Saito chuckled. “I am not a fool. I never spoke to Okubo about this. He truly believed that the Pathfinder had been completely destroyed. I did not wish to upset his view, so I waited.”
“It had you wait. It made you hold your tongue.”
“Not at all. Did Okubo himself not once teach that it was the inevitable duty of the strong to control the weak? I am merely following his philosophy. The Predator is strong. The Power is the weaker of the two, and thus must be controlled. The Power is nothing more than a very useful farm animal. It is livestock, to be managed. There is no reason that both cannot exist simultaneously in this world.”
“Magic is not chickens, and we are not peasants collecting eggs to present to our lords! It has clouded your thoughts, Saito. It is using you.”
“You have not seen what I have seen. You will never understand. When the evil Grimnoir took Okubo from us, I saw my opportunity. Over the years I had been secretly collecting other forms of magic. I oversaw Unit 731, and when the discreet opportunity would present itself, I would have the Power wrung out of another Active and I would take it as my own. Oh, the look on your face . . . Surprised? You think Okubo was the only one who could do such a thing? No, Toru. The Pathfinder offers that to all of its allies. It enabled me to conceal this development from Okubo, and once the unthinkable happened, I stepped in to take his place.”
“How do you—”
“Mimic him so perfectly? The Pathfinder is an artist whose medium is flesh. It did not simply give me a new face. Using nothing but a lock of Okubo’s hair, it grew me a new body. It has been observing his every word and action for decades, and it recorded them all with perfect clarity for my use. I am not an actor pretending to be Okubo, I am Okubo.”
Toru did not know if the dream he’d been having earlier had been real or not, but he chose to believe. Father, grant me the strength to break these chains so that I may snap this bastard’s neck. Nothing happened. “Damn you, Saito.”
“I am Okubo Tokugawa, and you are standing in the way of my great vision of unification. Now you may be wondering why I did not simply have you killed when they pulled your nearly lifeless body from the rubble. It is the same reason you still wear this magnificent armor. Your death must be most impressive. I mentioned your seeds of doubt taking root, and I simply cannot allow that to happen. For the good of the Imperium, there can be no doubt in my divinity.”
Divinity? The Chairman had never claimed to be a god! “What manner of blasphemous madness do you speak of?”
Saito waved his hand dismissively. “I tire of the Emperor. The time has come to remove all pretenses, but first, you have insulted my rule, and for that I must publically destroy you. I must defeat you in a manner which leaves no doubt that I am Okubo Tokugawa.”
It was as Dr. Wells had predicted. The imposter was insecure. Toru’s eyes narrowed. “A trial of combat?”
“We will conduct our ceremony, traditions will be kept, and then afterwards, I will face the infamous traitor, Toru, an exceedingly powerful Brute, in personal combat, and not only will I duel such a fearsome opponent, I will even allow him to wear one of the most powerful magical weapons in our entire arsenal. I will make it sporting. Surely, only Okubo Tokugawa would be capable of such a feat.”
It did not matter how many forms of magic Saito had absorbed, or how much extra magic the Pathfinder was granting him, Toru would find a way to kill him. “I accept your challenge.”
Saito laughed. “Of course you do. You were always a fine example of the Iron Guard’s fighting spirit. I am certain that you would do your best to defeat me. In fact, you might even be able to somehow achieve this goal, or at least put up a good enough showing that you could perhaps injure me, and it would simply not do to let the people see their god bleed.”
The other Iron Guard returned, holding something in his hand. Toru’s eyes widened when he saw what it was. The tiny metal cup was filled with a thick, black liquid. He recognized it from Hattori’s memories of Dark Ocean. It was the corrupted blood which spilled from the skinless abominations created by the Pathfinder’s dark magic. It was moving, hissing, and smoking. It was alive. It was this foul substance which the Pathfinder had used to spread its malicious corruption through the villagers to build its army.
“Wretched coward!” Toru bellowed.
“This is for the best. When next we meet, you will do what is expected of you, no more, no less. I look forward to our duel. I am sure you will put on an excellent show.”
The Iron Guard smashed the metal cup against Toru’s mouth. He clamped his lips shut, but the corruption crawled up and out, pressing against his lips. It followed the trail of dripping blood and forced its way into his nose. It pulsed and rolled up his face and into his ear. He closed his eyes as hard as he could, but it began crawling through his lids.
It would enter his brain and corrupt his soul and Toru would be no more.
And for one of the only times in his entire life, Toru knew fear.
UBF Traveler
The airship’s crew had been pared down to an absolute minimum. The corridors of the once-crowded dirigible seemed empty. The engine room was busy, the command deck was busy, and the cargo bay was bustling with activity, but that was it. Fuller, Schirmer, and a couple of brave UBF volunteers were still working on the big, confusing, slap-dash invention which was taking up the majority of the hold. It looked like a mess, but they swore up and down that it would work. More than likely.
Sullivan had come down from Akane’s room and gone right to work. Southunder had arrived a little later to check on his preparations. “Zhao and a few of my Marauders are on the way back to the city. It seems a few of my boarding-party regulars did not wish to sit this one out. Heinrich will be awaiting our signal.”
“You made the right call sending away the rest of the crew, Captain.”
Southunder chuckled. “Well, Mr. Sullivan. We’ll find out if that’s the case should we crash due to lack of sufficient damage-control teams.”
“Still . . . Good call.” Sullivan unlatched the big metal buckles from the box containing the Gravity-Spiker armor John Browning had designed for him. “Francis’ UBF boys did their part. No need to make any more widows.”
“Is that what you think?” Southunder grinned. “I’ll have you know I sent them on so we’d have a bigger supply of extra oxygen tanks. I didn’t want all of those eggheads sucking up my precious breathable air.”
“Smart.” They would be going pretty damn high, after all. The remaining crew were already donning the same heavy winter clothing the knights had used near the North Pole. It was only going to get colder, and the air was only going to get thinner. Within an hour or so they’d be in the death zone, where, unassisted, a body would just run out of oxygen and croak, and that wasn’t even close to what Fuller needed. “How high do you intend to go?”
“According to UBF, this is the most advanced airship ever made. Theoretically, thanks to the Cog-designed hydrogen-compression systems in the bags, to borrow a phrase, the sky is the limit. The main deck will be pressurized, better than a submarine Francis claims, though you should never trust a salesman. Still, we should be safe . . . Theoretically . . . The volunteers remaining in the hold and engine room will be wearing the special pressure suits and breathing apparatus, and—”
“I can pressurize myself.”
“Yes, lucky, that. Mr. Schirmer said the higher, the better for their—to use Mr. Fuller’s term—magicanical oddity. Altitude achievable is entirely dependent upon the expansion of our lifting gases, dynamic volume, and pressure.”
“Finally, some science around here I can actually understand.”
“And this wondrous vessel was designed to break records, so . . .” The captain went to the side, picked up a phone, and cranked the charge handle a few times. “Bridge . . . Yes, Mr. Barns. What’s the current world altitude record? Yes . . . Seventy-two thousand feet? A Soviet airship? Well, then, Mr. Barns. Maintain heading and take us to seventy-five.” Southunder put the phone back in the cradle. “I simply cannot abide a record being set by a Communist . . . Will that do for your plans, Mr. Sullivan?”
“For what we’re trying to do? Hell if I know. It’ll work, or it won’t, but either way, it should end up memorable. I don’t know if that’ll bug Faye too much, but she should be able to get us both down in one piece . . . I was happy to hear she’s alive and kicking. That girl is full of surprises.”
“Last I saw, she was in the ready room. She sent word to our American compatriots, and now she is folding little paper animals. Apparently Lady Origami has influenced her.” Southunder smirked. “And I’ve been led to believe that is not the only new friend Ori has made recently.”
Sullivan just grunted and kept lacing up the big ties on the side of the steel boots. “Come out and say it, Captain.”
“You know what I mean, Mr. Sullivan. My crew is my family, so I think of her as a daughter.”
“This the part where you bring out a shotgun and a preacher?”
“I shouldn’t need to. Besides, buckshot might threaten the integrity of my nice new airship, and a man of the cloth would only suck up precious oxygen. You’ll treat her with the respect she’s due.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Excellent, because if you don’t, she’d just burn you to a crisp.” Southunder patted him on the back. “So come back in one piece then and make that poor girl happy. I really don’t want her moping around my ship again. Got it, son?”
They both knew him coming back wasn’t likely. “Yes, Captain.”
“Very well. You’re a good man, Sullivan. I’d be honored to have you on my crew anytime. Good luck down there.”
“Good luck up here.” Sullivan held out his hand, and they shook on it. Southunder’s hand nearly disappeared in Sullivan’s big mitt. “The whole world’s gonna be watching.”
“They’d better. Well, I’ve got a ship to run. I’ll tell Faye you are awake.” The Captain left without any further ceremony.
Sullivan went back to putting on the suit. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as Toru’s nifty gear. If he’d had more time, he would’ve loved to study that thing in depth. The Spiker Armor was conceptually based on the Heavy Suits they’d worn back in the First Volunteer. Heat-treated, interlocking steel plates covered most of the body to protect from bullets and shrapnel, and beneath that was thick, fire-resistant canvas to protect the skin from Torches’ flames or Iceboxes’ cold. The whole thing had been spray painted olive drab and tan, not for any particular reason, but it did fit with the traditional colors of the First. The suit weighed a ton, but it was a whole lot nicer than the rusty heap he’d worn while running across no man’s land back during the war. Not to mention that this thing was enchanted to hell and back with every spell that John Browning could fit onto it.
Sullivan pulled the helmet out of the box. “What the . . .” He turned it over in his hands. Somebody had sprayed the nearly featureless face mask a stark white, and then painted square black lines for teeth. The eyes were black holes anyway, so now the whole thing looked like a skull. “That’s ominous.” Who’d been screwing with his gear? He flipped it over. The artist had used a paint brush to put a small signature and a note on the base.
Now it has got class. A Lance Talon original, 1933.
“That joker.”
Faye popped into existence a second later. “Mr. Sullivan!” She rushed over and threw her arms around his neck.
Straw-colored hair hit him in the eyes. “Hey, Faye.” Careful not to squish her, he returned the hug. Then he pushed her away and held her carefully at arm’s length. “How in the hell are you alive? And where have you been?”
“Just now? Figuring out how all of magic really works so I can be stronger than the Chairman ever was. It’s all about folding the world into little chunks to make designs that do what you want. Before that, I had to kill somebody called the Black Monk, he acted all high and mighty like I’d know him as something something Rasputin, but he was evil so I killed him and got all his magic. But before that I was in Dead City talking to a zombie Fortune Teller who showed me how I’m probably gonna end the world, and before that I was hanging out with one of the elders so I could learn how to be the Spellbound without ending the world. I pretended to get blown up when I blew up the God of Demons so I could do that and not get murdered by the elders for being all cursed and whatnot. How about you? How’ve you been?”
“Not as good as you, apparently.” As usual, when talking to Faye, you sometimes had to take a minute to let all of the information sort of settle into a groove. “If I’m still alive later, you’ll have to explain all that to me nice and clear, like you have to with the real slow-witted folks.”
“Oh, Mr. Sullivan. Your brain ain’t slow. You just like taking your time before you open your mouth.”
“You heard about Lance?” Faye nodded. The skin around her grey eyes was puffy from crying. Even saying his name made those eyes get a little shiny before Faye blinked it away. “Well, I’m sure he did us all proud. You been told the plan?”
She nodded again. “I think it’s a bad plan, but I see why you’re doing it. They already say we’re the bad guys anyways. Might as well make it true.”
“That’s the idea. Dr. Wells called it preconceived notions. Can you Travel me down there? I’ll need a few minutes to do what I’ve got to do before you start killing anybody.”
“I promise. I don’t like leaving Iron Guards alive on principle, but I know what you want to happen.” Faye turned her head quizzically to the side. “Your magic is different now. Not like mine, but different. Bigger.”
Sullivan studied her back. He’d never been able to see it before, but he could sort of, now, if he squinted just right. Faye had so much extra Power hanging around her it was like a fuzzy halo of raw magic. She’d always been strong, but this was downright scary. They had both changed a lot since that fateful day they’d met and she’d put some bullets in his back. “Girl, I don’t think anybody is close to you anymore.”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about before we do this.” Faye pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him.
Sullivan studied it. It was a horrible picture, full of death and carnage, and Faye was some sort of monster ripping out people’s souls. “What’s this nonsense?”
“A possible future. You know about the Spellbound curse?”
“Not much. I learned more about it from Bradford Carr’s testimony than anything. The elders were mighty tight-lipped on that subject.”
“That’s because they like it secret, hoping nobody else was dumb enough to mess with it.” Faye spent the next few minutes explaining what she’d learned. When she outlined Sivaram’s genius schemes, Sullivan felt his jaw drop open. It was crazy, but it made a sick sort of sense, and as Faye spoke, Sullivan thought of Fuller and his stolen shoelaces. The Spellbound was one step removed from the Enemy, if not in overall strength, in potential for chaos.
Poor Faye.
“I can beat the Pathfinder, but it might change me. I need you to live, Mr. Sullivan. Please, do everything you can to live through this, because if this goes wrong, and I’m not strong enough, and I get corrupted and turn evil, you’re the only one who may be tough enough or smart enough to kill me. Promise me, if I start to change, if I’m not in control, you’ll put me out of my misery.”
Sullivan swallowed hard. Faye was deadly earnest. “Faye . . . That’s . . .”
“Please, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Don’t you worry. I swear that I’ll do whatever I have to. But this?” Sullivan reached into his shirt and fumbled around until he found a book of matches. He took it out and struck one. He lit the picture on fire. Faye tried to snatch the drawing back from him, but Sullivan gently blocked her hand. “No, Faye. This is bullshit. This is not you. This isn’t set in stone. This isn’t real. You decide your future. No person, no magic, not Power or Enemy, God or the Devil, they just offer you paths. Only you choose which one you take. Got it?”
Faye folded her arms, like she was hugging herself, but she did manage to nod in the affirmative, and then she started crying again.
“Fire is serious a safety violation in this area!” Buckminster Fuller shouted from the other side of the cargo bay.
Sullivan put the burning paper on the floor and smashed it flat with a steel boot. “Come here.” And he hugged Faye again and gave her a minute to sob. The poor girl had been through far too much in her short life, and now they were going to go fight the toughest army in the world. If he could talk to the Power, he’d tell it just what he thought of it picking such a gentle soul to put through this kind of hell. “You okay?”
She sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “Yeah.”
“Good. Now go over to that locker and pick yourself out something nice. John filled it with guns for us.”
Faye was still rubbing her eyes when she opened the locker. Her face split into a wide, malicious grin. Maybe gentle soul was the wrong choice of words after all. “Can I take the bazooka?”
“Knock yourself out, kid.”
Free City of Shanghai
First Shadow Guard Hayate could not resist the temptation to see his brother one last time. It had been decreed by the Chairman’s personal guard that no one should speak to the traitor before the duel. They were calling it a duel, but that was a misnomer. Challenging the Chairman was an execution.
It was a violation of an order, but Hayate was Shadow Guard. He had learned long ago that orders were often given by those who lacked imagination. Certainly, a chained Brute was no physical threat, and Toru’s poisonous words would be meaningless to a man of honor and conviction such as himself. Hayate justified his disobedience by telling himself that there were still Grimnoir out there. They had cost him two full teams’ worth of young Shadow Guard. Perhaps Toru would tell him their locations as a form of death-bed repentance.
But in truth, Hayate was simply curious. How could a son of Okubo Tokugawa fall so very far?
Reaching Toru without being seen was a simple enough matter. Hayate was, after all, the greatest living assassin in the Imperium. The torture chamber beneath the palace was warded with all manner of clever spells, but nothing that he could not easily circumvent. There were many guards, but Hayate was nearly invisible when he wished to be, and these guards seemed oddly content and still.
His brother was chained to a wall. A temporary kanji of paralysis had been scrawled on his forehead with blood and ash. Toru’s head was lowered. His chin resting against the armored neckpiece of the Nishimura, yet he did not sleep. Hayate drew closer. Toru’s eyes were closed, but he was not sleeping. He could see the rapid eye movement beneath the closed lids. Toru was panting, occasionally grimacing in pain.
Something was off. It was enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck. A Shadow Guard learned to trust his instincts, and Hayate’s instincts demanded that he flee, but he had come too far to be timid now. “Toru?” Hayate whispered.
His brother’s eyes snapped open. They were crazed. Wild. The eyes of a lunatic.
“It is in my head,” Toru growled. “Kill me before it wins.”
“What manner of torture is this?” Hayate asked, genuinely curious. Unit 731 was always coming up with vile new methods.
“The Pathfinder lives! The imposter has exposed me to it. It seeks to possess my body and claim my soul. You must kill me before he can use me.”
Hayate stroked his chin thoughtfully. Toru truly had gone insane. His mother must have been of particularly weak stock, as he was aware of no other of the thousand sons having such a frail mind. “I would like nothing better than to take your life, but that is not my place. Our father has claimed this right for himself.”
“I can hear their plans. The schools . . .” Toru’s face contorted as he ground his teeth together. “This corruption is in the schools. Concentrated . . . So the Actives there can be harvested. You must find and eliminate the infiltrators quickly. Or else when they receive the signal, they will feed, and the Enemy will come.”
Hayate was saddened by the piteous display. Brutes were so strong, but Toru’s madness was overcoming his own body. It was as if he was at war within himself. Veins stood out on his forehead. Sweat rolled down his face in fat beads. Toru was fighting something. He screamed in agony, and then his head flopped forward, limp and unconscious. Blood came trickling from his ear.
That was not blood.
The First Shadow Guard leaned in closer. Close enough to feel Toru’s breath. The substance coming out of Toru’s ear looked more like demon’s ink than blood. Curious.
And then the substance defied gravity and crawled back up to disappear inside his brother’s ear.
Hayate swore like a burakumin dung shoveler and leapt back across the prison cell. What new Unit 731 butchery was this?
Curiosity satisfied, and completely unnerved, Hayate decided he had seen enough, so he Traveled from the dungeons.
Like most Imperium military affairs, the ceremony had begun with a great deal of flourish. It was a rare treat for the local officials to be visited by any members of the high command, let alone the greatest luminary in all of the Imperium short of the Emperor.
The Imperium Section of Shanghai had been scrubbed and polished until the whole neighborhood gleamed. This was the richest, most prosperous, most advanced part of the city anyway. An example to the other cultures gathered in the city of the inherent superiority of the Imperium way of life. It was normally beautiful, but it had been taken to a new level for the Chairman’s visit. Every tree, bush, and flower had been carefully tended. Servants had cut the lawns with scissors. There wasn’t so much as an errant leaf or cigarette butt cluttering the ground within six blocks.
Flags and banners were strung between the buildings and hung from every light pole. The buildings surrounding the Imperium compound were all new, between twenty and forty stories each, and every sparkling window on them had been cleaned until there wasn’t so much as a fingerprint. If a pigeon shit on a ledge, Hayate was certain that there would be a servant out there scrubbing it with a toothbrush a moment later or somebody was getting beheaded. The center of the Imperium Section was the ambassador’s palace. It was only a few years old, but it had been built to look like a castle. Hayate found it a bit ostentatious, but that just meant it fit Shanghai. The parade would end on the palace grounds.
The Chairman’s parade was impressive, five hundred soldiers, all marching in perfect unison. The only reason there weren’t any tanks was because their tracks might damage the pavement and make things ugly, and it was felt that the loud engines might disrupt the natural tranquility of the area. Instead, a pair of Gakutensuko marched, awing the crowd with their gleaming metal bodies and Cog superscience. After that came one hundred fearsome Iron Guard, and in the middle of all those perfectly pressed uniforms was the Chairman himself, riding on a magnificent white stallion.
Every Imperium citizen in Shanghai had turned out for the event, and they packed the sidewalks. Most of the lesser people and non-people had been banished from the Section for the day. The only foreign eyes that would be allowed to behold the Chairman’s magnificence were the very highest ranking of the Chinese, French, British, Russian, and American diplomats in the city. Thousands bowed and stayed bowed as the Chairman rode past.
Hayate watched all of this finery from the windows of the military command center on the fourth floor of the palace. He was still distracted, troubled by his brother’s words . . . No . . . Not his words, because to say that would be to imply doubt.
Several Iron Guards and Imperium military officers were also watching, taking reports from functionaries, and giving orders. The lieutenant governor of the Imperium Section was in charge of the events. “First the Chairman will present the medals. He wishes to give a speech. As soon as he is done, then the traitor and the Grimnoir prisoners will be brought into the courtyard for all of the crowd to witness. Are the executioners ready? Excellent. I don’t care if their blades are dull. The more squealing and begging the better . . . Good, good. Then the Chairman will duel the traitor, and once he is dispatched, behead the prisoners, and then we will serve dinner. Have all the mats been changed? Splendid.”
Hayate, who had no patience for courtly matters, went back to scanning the crowd. His men were among them, mingling, ready to strike down enemies should the need arise. Nobody paid much attention to the Shadow Guard. They were not flashy like their Iron Guard brethren. He went back to being a unremarkable part of the command center, like a particularly dangerous chair.
And while he stood there, being unremarkable, he could not help but wonder about what he had seen in Toru’s ear . . .
A soldier rushed into the room and saluted the leader of the Iron Guard. “Forgive my interruption, Master Goto, we have an aerial contact along the coast.”
“What is it?”
“Unidentified dirigible. Multihulled and extremely fast, climbing to a high altitude. Thirty miles to the south and heading this way. The Navy has moved to intercept.”
The Iron Guard grunted. “They’ll handle it. Keep me apprised.”
A few minutes later, another obviously flustered functionary came into the command room. This one went right to the head of the secret police and gave a whispered report. The fact that it was whispered probably meant that it was something embarrassing enough to cause the Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu to lose face. Hayate had magically augmented hearing, so eavesdropping was no struggle.
“I am sorry, sir. A riot has broken out.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where?”
“It began in the old Chinese district, but has already spread across three other sections. We are not sure of the cause of the disturbance, but they are attacking our officers, and the Chinese police have fared no better. Some of the looters have been shot, but that only seemed to awake more anger.”
“Ah. Damn it.” The police chief pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dispatch every military unit that is on ready status. I want this quashed. This will not cloud the Chairman’s visit.”
“Should I order the naval vessels to shell the affected neighborhoods?”
“Do you wish to mar the Chairman’s journey with the rumble of artillery? Do you wish to wrinkle his nostrils with the smell of smoke?” The police chief hissed. “Get out of here, fool.”
Hayate suppressed a smile. Ah, the Grimnoir. They were such clever foes. He was curious to see what manner of mischief they had planned this time.
