Streets of Nippon, 11/?
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almondinflowerStreets of Nippon, chapter 11
Summary: In which Yukimura has a plan, and Atobe has no idea what it is.
Wordcount: 4900
At that moment the space around them shifted.
The transformation was nuanced. The observatory with its backdrop of planets and void faded out. Fade in: a hothouse of flowers.
Keigo felt the tropical humidity, smelled green sap and magnolia and a tangle of culinary herbs. Their avatars were transplanted to a set of black wicker chairs surrounding a glass bistro table. Above their heads hung potted orchids, hooked to the crossbeams of a latticework trellis. Tiny white butterflies danced their way around the flowers, fluttering madly.
Yukimura was there.
He appeared as Keigo had seen him last, a young man in the first flush of adulthood, lean and poised. His jeans were stonewashed. The sleeves of his white herringbone shirt had been rolled up to above the elbow.
His eyes were hard and cerulean blue, and the smile he gave Tezuka Kuniharu was thin.
“You'll have to try a lot harder than that,” Yukimura said, “if you expect to get an estimate of my VR capabilities.”
For an instant Kuniharu's face lost its benevolence. Then he recovered, and his avatar relaxed and leaned back in its chair.
“How very remiss of me,” he said genially. “Did I tell you eleven o'clock? I definitely meant five past eleven – Kunimitsu was meant to organise your security clearance at precisely that time.”
The greenhouse darkened, as if the weather outside had suddenly turned cloudy. “Try being a little subtler,” Yukimura suggested. “Or, if you're not any good at that, then be direct.”
“Well, since I do so hate embarrassing myself...” Kuniharu folded his arms across his chest. “What do you want, so-called Yukimura Seiichi? You told me last night that you had terms and conditions you wanted to offer. Offer them now.”
Yukimura restored the sunlight. His control of the VR space was delicate but absolute. Keigo was unable to manipulate a single detail of the scene they were placed in, apart from his own avatar. He began to fight it, attempted to wrest some measure of control over the subroutines governing this space, but the Rikkai president's next words stopped his attempt cold in its tracks:
“I want Rikkai's current assets to remain under Rikkai control, rather than being made a government holding or put up for public trade,” Yukimura said. “I want a military position for Sanada Genichirou, higher than the one his brother currently holds. I want the state to sponsor tertiary and postgraduate education for all the Rikkai runners I nominate. And finally--” his gaze slid towards Atobe “--I want the Silver Emperor to arrange it so that Shinnihon converts to a republic upon his demise.”
There was a stunned silence, into which Kuniharu coughed politely. “If we could perhaps work on the few demands you made that are remotely within the realms of possibility--”
“Either that,” Yukimura's gaze turned to Keigo, “or you exile the Crown Prince and remove all records that he ever existed.”
Privately Yukimura messaged Keigo: And you'd better thank Sanada for that modified clause, since he spent a most unpleasant evening yesterday convincing me that you should stay alive.
“As I said,” the InSec Director frowned, “if we could stick to the demands that lie within the realm of possibility--”
Keigo shot a message back at Yukimura, I'd thank him, if I could recall asking for his assistance in that regard. Or yours, for that fact. Publicly, he said, “I don't see a problem with that. Once the Runner's Compliance Strategy is underway, I'll want to leave the country even more than Yukimura wants me gone.”
“You put me in a difficult position,” Kuniharu said finally. “Is there no way we can compromise on this?”
He directed his words at Keigo, not Yukimura, and it was then that Keigo realised, He doesn't know who Yukimura is yet. Tezuka hasn't told his father.
The InSec Director was treating Yukimura as an unknown quantity, albeit a potentially lethal one. His working assumption seems to be that Yukimura's a runner lord with unusual ambition and a streak of political idealism. He doesn't realise how personal this is for Yukimura. How much Rikkai is willing to do to overthrow the Shinnihon monarchy.
Tezuka's avatar calmly remained seated, quiet and inscrutable. If only Tezuka didn't have just enough Immunity to make attempts at reading his mind a concentrated hassle--
“There's a way.” Yukimura held up his left hand. A lorikeet flew over from a hibiscus bush and perched on his knuckles, singing. “You can get rid of that useless loyalty to the Silver Emperor, and collaborate with us instead.”
Abrruptly Kuniharu's eyes went wide, and Keigo knew that Yukimura was exerting his Empathic gifts. “I know you, you know,” Yukimura continued conversationally, “You've never been happy with the way this country is. Your family doesn't understand like you do. Your son doesn't; he's too young to have seen the uprisings, the bloodbaths that followed revolts. Your father certainly doesn't – he's been loyal to the emperor since before this country existed. There's just you, and you've played along all your life. You sacrificed everything – your personal freedom, your son's childhood, your honour – just so you could clean up the streets of Nippon. Because you believed it was the only contribution you could make. But you're wrong. You can do more. You just have to take a chance.”
Yukimura had to be crazy if he honestly thought this would work.
But Kuniharu was – pausing, as if he was actually thinking about things, and his reply, when it came out, had the brittle feel of a forced attempt to change the subject. “Full Immune protection from Ayana today, and still you can use your gift. You're most unusual.”
“I've struggled against Immunes far stronger than your wife,” Yukimura said. “Think carefully about my words. You do not want to make the wrong choice.”
“The wrong choice, hmm? I see Kunimitsu and Yuudai-kun were mistaken.” Kuniharu stared at his son with an expression Keigo couldn't decipher. “We can't negotiate with you.”
“Really?” Yukimura said softly. “And you're prepared to fight us?”
“Are you prepared to fight us?” Kuniharu returned.
“We already have,” Yukimura said. “We'll do it again.”
A section of the greenhouse collapsed, and in an instant Tezuka's avatar disappeared from its seat and reappeared, standing, behind Tezuka Kuniharu.
“Oh come on, Tezuka, no need to pick sides,” Yukimura reproached. Then, in a lower, deliberate tone: “On the other hand, you've only ever been on one side, isn't that right? If only you weren't so good.”
“I suppose I should be grateful that he's inherited the family tendency to loyalty.” Kuniharu continued to gaze ahead, keeping eye contact with Yukimura. “Unfortunately, he's also inherited Ayana's habit of being discreet to a fault. You're hiding something from me, Kunimitsu. Perhaps several somethings. I'd like to know how long you can keep it up.” Without waiting for an answer, Kuniharu stood up and offered his hand to Yukimura. “If at any point you feel like offering more acceptable terms for negotiation, you know where to find me. As for you – Your Highness – you'll be hearing from me again. Soon.” Kuniharu glanced up at his son.
The world blinked out.
#
He found himself back in his neural-link chair, staring at the login screen. So Tezuka had booted him from the VR space. Kuniharu wasn't good enough to do that. Tezuka hadn't been good enough to do that, a year ago.
Before he had time to decide his next move, the menus in front of him swirled away, and he was thrust into a long metallic tunnel, flying forward at rapid speed - the NL chair's way of demonstrating that it was connecting with a new hub.
He emerged into a high-ceilinged art gallery filled with pre-Raphaelite and Impressionist paintings. Like the greenhouse, the simulation was astonishingly detailed. Crown moulding and fluted pilasters adorned the white walls. Spotlights sat at strategic intervals, drawing the eye to the displayed masterworks. Rossetti, Millais, Monet, Manet. Very canonical.
Keigo tweaked his avatar until its controls matched his preferred settings, then said out loud, "I do prefer being able to look at my conversation partner when we're in VR together."
A marble bench rose up from the ground in a swirl of mist that dissipated to reveal Yukimura. He had taken on the child avatar that he was known for, but with alterations - the face thinner, less cherubic, more exotically beautiful. A familiar face, albeit one that Keigo had seen only twice, both times at funerals.
"You were in the coffin," Keigo said, the memory resurfacing. "You weren't breathing. How did he--?" It was a rhetorical question, but Yukimura answered.
"By bribing expensive doctors," said Yukimura. "And by digging. It could have been worse. I had to work very hard to plant the idea in my father's mind that he wanted a burial at all costs." The Rikkai president was leaking emotions Empathically, and Keigo did not like what he felt.
He changed the topic. "The next time you want to talk to me in private, an invitation will suffice. Or don't you think you've shown off enough yet?"
A shift in the flooring, and Keigo turned to see a second marble seat rising up with a soft sigh. He took the hint and sat down.
"It was a test. I can see it now; you're much better in VR than you let on. It was a great blow to me when I found out." Yukimura hugged his knees. He was barefoot, dressed in tan cargo pants and a hooded sweatshirt. "Atobe Keigo, the consummate performer. Atobe, who looks glorious, who is glorious. As strong as he appears to be. As clever as he appears to be. And then, Atobe Keigo, a prince who was offered a nation and rejected it to go wallow in petty causes."
"Hyoutei is not a petty cause." Keigo was angry now. He felt the provoking edge of Yukimura's Empathy, recognised it, chose to succumb to it anyway. The spotlights winked out one by one. Yukimura's control of the virtual space was sure and expert, but it was not the only thing on Yukimura's mind, and therein lay Keigo's opening. He wrenched and the ceiling fell to dust. The paintings vanished.
The benches remained, and Yukimura was still sitting in the same position, arms locked around his knees. Yukimura let his head drop back. "Yes, you're too strong for both of us to remain. Stronger than I ever guessed. You'll have to leave."
"Presumably after we've made sure InSec doesn't beat Rikkai to a pulp?" He felt the heavy tug of responsiblity again, one he could not avoid feeling when it came to Yukimura. A world where you can live. I will make sure that you have it. Just as Sakaki created a world for me.
"We'll sort that before you leave. I did have a purpose in bringing you here.” Gradually, Yukimura restored the lighting. The black crossbeams of the ceiling reformed. “I need you to distract your father. Your biological father, not your adoptive one.”
Several questions occurred to Keigo all at once, but he only voiced three. “How distracted does he need to be? When, and for how long?”
“As distracted as possible, and as soon as possible. Ideally this afternoon.,” Yukimura repopulated the walls with a new set of paintings, this time an eclectic mix of twenty-second century artwork. “As for how distracted – could you get him offline, if possible?”
“He's never offline.” At the apex of Keigo's cranium, hidden by the parting of his hair, was a neural port that had been installed expressly for continuous wireless access to the Net. It was a device he rarely utilised, mostly because it reminded him so much of the old man. The Silver Emperor, who never stopped watching Nippon even in his sleep.
“As long as he's paying less attention than he usually does,” said Yukimura, “It'll be enough.”
“What are you planning on doing?”
“If we succeed, you'll find out.”
“If? I thought you had Niou Masaharu for that kind of thing.”
Yukimura stretched out his legs on the marble bench, leaned back on his hands. “I'll tell you why Niou came to me,” he said softly, gaze fixed at a point somewhere between his knees and his feet. “It's because I'm the only person whose future he's never been able to see. Even Kirihara he can see glimpses of, very rarely. But Niou has only ever had one vision of me. And that came to pass many years ago. So, you see, I don't know if I will be alive this time tomorrow. I have spent the last nine years not knowing if I would survive the next month, the next hour. Have you heard of Martin Luther?” Yukimura looked up and smiled. “Someone asked him once what he would do, if the world ended tomorrow. He said that he would plant a tree.”
Keigo said: “I'll help you. But it'll take some time. I'll need to enlist Sakaki's help.”
“He's already coming to your apartment as we speak.” Yukimura stretched out a hand, and the entire art gallery began to shimmer and fade away. “Together with my best bodyguard.”
#
When Sakaki entered the apartment he did so with the muzzle of a plasma gun pressed into the small of his back. Yagyuu Hiroshi followed right after, coolly gripping the aforementioned gun. Yagyuu's index finger rested lightly against the trigger.
Keigo took one glance at the situation and said, “If you don't put that back in its holster, I'll have Kabaji break both your thumbs.”
Yagyuu, whose eyes held a blatant intelligence, looked at Kabaji – who was standing a couple of metres away, in the dining area: a compromise between appearing non-threatening (although a runner of Kabaji's size was inevitably threatening), and being close enough to intevene if the situation required it. There was a gleam in Yagyuu's expression, as if he were contemplating whether he was capable of breaking Kabaji's thumbs before Kabaji broke his own.
Sakaki didn't look worried, but that hardly meant anything. Tezuka Kunimitsu had nothing on Sakaki when it came to wearing a poker face.
“On second thought,” Keigo said, “it looks like you'd find that prospect far too much fun. How about this, instead? You attempt to be civil, and I keep my word to Yukimura. Seems like a fair exchange to me.”
“Atobe-kun. Don't waste your time with threats you don't intend to follow through.” But Yagyuu holstered his gun. “I will cooperate with your wishes.”
“Make sure that you do.” Keigo stepped in closer to Sakaki, until their bodies were almost touching, and murmured, “I need to talk to you in private.”
Now that the immediate threat was removed, Sakaki had relaxed minutely – enough for Keigo to see the tell-tale signs of unease on his face.
Keigo honestly wished he could break Yagyuu Hiroshi's thumbs.
He drew Sakaki into one of the bedrooms, leaving Kabaji and Yagyuu out in the main living area. (He was fairly sure they could be trusted to not attack each other. Perhaps.)
“You've been busy,” said Sakaki, as soon as the door clicked shut. “When were you planning on sending the memo?”
“About Hyoutei? Now would be a good time.” They sat on the end of the single bed and Atobe outlined the proposal he'd made to his squadron leaders the evening before. “I'll leave with Haginosuke and Jirou as soon as the agreement with InSec and the Patrol is settled,” he concluded. Kabaji was a given. “I was thinking Old Earth for now – you mentioned last month that you wished you had something like Hyoutei in Europe.”
“I'll come with you.”
He owed his life to Sakaki, but – Father, you've always been too sentimental. “You've got too much work to do here, and I don't trust Hiyoshi to lead the runners without supervision. I'm old enough not to need a legal guardian this time.”
“I didn't say you needed looking after. I want to come.” Sakaki frowned at Keigo. “We'll talk about this later. Right now I'd like to know why a Rikkai committee member interrupted my lunch with a plasma gun.”
Keigo heaved a sigh and flopped back on the bed. “Where do I start?” The end was as good a place as any, he decided. “Yukimura and I have agreed that I'm to talk to the old man. If he can be persuaded to see me on short notice.”
“How short?” asked Sakaki.
“This afternoon.”
The bed shifted as Sakaki stood up. Keigo stared up at the ceiling. Sakaki said, “Are you absolutely sure you know what you're doing?”
“You're the one who suggested that I return.” Not that Keigo had any intention of doing that. “Yes, I”m sure. Help me do this.”
“If it's you he'll see you immediately.”
“Good. Help me contact him, will you?' But Sakaki was already fingering the touchpad on his infodevice. Keigo shut his eyes. When he tried not to feel impatient he felt frightened instead, which was worse. People dying. People dying because of me.
“I have someone I think you'd like to meet,” said Sakaki into his infodevice. “When can I bring him? This afternoon? Yes. No. I'm sorry. You know that I do.”
The call ended and Keigo sat up. “How did it go?” he asked. It was surprising – although it should not have been – to find that Sakaki still had a direct line to the Silver Emperor after all these years.
“Today,” said Sakaki. “Right now, if you like.”
“Does he know who you're bringing him?”
“He knows I know what he considers important,” answered Sakaki, and that was the end of the conversation.
They went out and the four of them headed to the rooftop, led by Yagyuu. Kabaji's flyer was parked in the garage and after a moment's consideration Keigo decided that Sakaki should ride with Kabaji, while he himself sat in the Rikkai runner's flyer. His decision was validated when they took to the air and he felt the expert but reckless acceleration of Yagyuu's ascent..
They were close to the palace district and very soon reached an area where air-traffic controllers began signalling them, ordering their flyers to adhere to a set of premapped routes. Elsewhere in the city traffic laws were more relaxed, and flying vehicles went anywhere they liked, as long as they followed certain speed and safety regulations, but the density of traffic in central Shin Tokyo was such that mid-air collisions would have been frequent without the intervention of AI guidance.
Following a hive-stream of flyers, they passed over the zoological gardens and the national art gallery, then museum after museum – all places Keigo had visited, a lifetime ago. But he had little time now to engage in nostalgia.
Distract the old man. Far easier said than done.. He would try, and it would have to be enough.
There were twelve official entry points into the palace complex. Attempt to fly in at an unauthorized point, over the outer walls, and the palace's security system would immediately kick in. Sixty seconds of voiced warning, then two minutes of taser beams. Then the imperial guards showed up.
They entered by the main gate, Sakaki activating the retinal scanner at the gatepost, and stashed their vehicles at the top level of the multistorey hanging gardens that served as a parking area.
“Leave your weapons in here,” Sakaki said. “We have three sets of security clearance to pass through.”
Yagyuu looked annoyed about it, but voiced no protest. He and Kabaji locked their respective flyers and then the four of them took a massive, glass-walled lift down to the ground floor. A metal detector stood between them and the exit, accompanied by a trio of security guards. The tallest of them saluted Sakaki.
“We need you to sign in, Sakaki-sama,” said the guard. “And your guests will need to register themselves on the system as well.”
“Let me sign in first.” Keigo stepped out of the elevator, emerging from behind Kabaji's back. “I'm already on the system.”
Signing in on the imperial palace's visitors system involved first a retinal scan, then a thumbprint one, the two being required to match before the turnstile barring access to the gate would unlock. Keigo pressed his face to the scanner located right next to the turnstile. A moment later he thumbed the gel pad located just below it.
There was a pause, everyone watching Keigo in silence. Then the scanner flashed green, and Keigo passed through the metal detector.
For the first time in eight years, he was in the palace.
The other three followed him through. “That tall guard looked completely confused as you walked right in.” Yagyuu commented. “I must say I'm mildly surprised that your access to the system is still functioning after all this time.”
“You don't know the old man very well, then,” Keigo said. “Let's hurry; he's waiting for us by now.”
He took them, not to the main ceremonial building, nor to the Silver Emperor's residence, but to his home, the small southern villa where he had spent his childhood. Down a long arbour of wisteria. Through a series of linked pavilions and the walkways in-between. Overdecorated building after overdecorated building, artificial pond after artificial pond. As they passed by the usual denizens of the palace they drew stares, although the majority of these were directed at Sakaki, whose visits to these grounds were rare these days. A few people, mostly palace servants, stared at Keigo and Kabaji with unusual scrutiny, but kept silent.
That's the palace I know and love. All that well cultivated lack of curiosity.
Finally they drew near to the small well-kept garden where Keigo had spent thousands upon thousands of hours as a child – reading, studying, always doing something productive. Either following the timetable the emperor had mandated or finding some way to circumvent it.
As anticipated, their arrival was expected. The approach to the southern palace was winding and lined by large, moulting trees; it was in the shadow of one of these that Keigo halted and pointed to the liveried retinue that they saw surrounding the stone fountain in Keigo's old home.
“At least six people,” Yagyuu noted, accurately. From their vantage point half a dozen figures could be distinguished in the gaps between the trees that intervened between where they stood and where the emperor's men waited.
“One Immune, one Telepath, one Empath, all at least level nine, one InSec representative, two members of the Silver Chrysanthemum Guard. That's the minimum he brings with him when he questions people,” said Sakaki. There was tension in his shoulders as he walked.
When they were close enough to do a proper headcount they had to double Sakaki's figure. Five psionics (four huddled to one side, a fifth standing considerably further away), six Chrysanthemum Guards, a female member of the imperial household agency whom Keigo didn't recognise. Finally, the requisite InSec representative – in today's case, Yamato Yuudai.
All these personages were arranged in a concave half-circle facing the approaching visitors. At the center of them all was a young black-haired man dressed in tailored clothes. He was staring directly at Keigo.
Keigo returned the gaze and held it, came to a stop. “Hello,” he said. He avoided saying Father. He avoided any number of insults. He very consciously avoided anything that would acknowledge any sort of relationship between himself and the man standing in front of him – parent to child, mentor to protege, ruler to vassal.
But the emperor did not look at him for long, quickly turning his attention to Sakaki. “Was it really necessary to do so much damage to his face? He no longer looks anything like the specifications.”
“He still resembles you,” Sakaki said, his voice low and vulnerable. Sakaki had such bad taste in love interests. Hanamura had been one of the better-adjusted ones, now that Keigo thought about it.
“I'm ashamed of myself,” said the Silver Emperor coolly. “I thought I knew you. That's incorrect. I know that I know you. So what did I misjudge?”
“You know me.” And Sakaki stepped forward and sank down onto his knees before the emperor. As always with Sakaki, it was a precise and graceful gesture.
“And you seem to think you know me.” The emperor maintained his careful, unreadable inflection. “You think you'll be forgiven.”
“Will I?”
“Stand up,” the emperor instructed. Sakaki rose to his feet. The emperor raised his hand, clearly intending to strike.
Keigo did not even realise that he'd sprung forward, about to intervene, until he found his path blocked by a smiling Yamato Yuudai.
“Behave,” said Yamato. “I'm the one who gets punished if I'm forced to hurt you.”
His words had little effect on Keigo. However, the state-of-the-art plasma pistol he was aiming between Keigo's eyes was somewhat more potent.
Behind Yamato's back, Sakaki stood unmoving, head bowed. The emperor lowered his arm slowly – and then backhanded Sakaki on the cheek. It was a quick sharp odd movement, and neither its purpose nor effect was clear to Keigo until the emperor withdrew his arm and Keigo saw the glittering and crimson-stained signet ring on his father's middle finger. A moment later Sakaki turned his head towards Keigo, and the irregular and bloody gouge in his right cheek was revealed.
“Don't seek medical attention. I want you to let that scar,” the emperor told Sakaki. Having said that, the emperor's attention shifted again – as if Sakaki no longer existed – back to Keigo.
On cue, Yamato moved out of the way, lowering his weapon but keeping it in his hand, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.
“Why are you here?” the emperor asked Keigo. When he received no reply he elaborated. “Evidently you want something. Being passive-aggresive isn't going to make me more likely to give it to you.”
Keigo said, “I came to kill you.”
The emperor extracted a white silk handkerchief from the pocket of his double-breasted jacket and pressed it to Sakaki's cheek. “Not a very good lie. Try again.”
Keigo felt the mental tickle that indicated someone was trying to penetrate his telepathic shields. He glared at the four psionics gathered in the corner. Two of them looked abashed, but the attempts did not subside. “I came to see if I can kill you.”
“Better. But still unsatisfactory.” The emperor kept his fingers held flat against Sakaki's right cheek, his other hand resting lightly on Sakaki's shoulder. “I agree with you though. We should find an answer to that question, sooner or later. Do you have anything better to offer me?” Keigo did not. “Then we'll talk again over dinner.” The emperor nodded at the guards. “Take them into custody.”
Keigo was not doing nearly enough to distract the emperor, and there were no guarantees of a second chance. Now, while he's still recovering from the surprise... “It wasn't a lie,” he said. “I came because a precognitive told me that you were going to die soon. That I'd lose the chance to do it myself.”
“That's impossible, Your Majesty,” said one of the psionics, a slight, red-haired man of indeterminate age. “If there was any danger to your person we would have seen it?”
“Would you?” asked Keigo. He pointed at the pretty young psionic who was standing separately from the others, a familiar face from his childhood. “With her around all the time? No doubt you're all impressively talented, but your powers only go so far with an Immune around.” Although Immunity could be consciously exerted, it differed from the other psionic gifts in that it manifested itself continuously, even without deliberate effort on the wielder's part. Simply by ensuring that Meino Nanako was in his presence at all times, the Silver Emperor could guarantee himself a baseline level of protection from psionic attack.
“And yet you claim to know someone who has seen my future,” commented the emperor.
“You're more self-deluded than I thought, if you think you have a monopoly on Nippon's Level 8 and 9 psionics,” said Keigo.
The blood flow had stopped; the emperor let go of Sakaki and let the soiled handkerchief fall to the garden path. He looked at Keigo and then behind Keigo, at Kabaji and Kagyuu. “You're buying time.”
Keigo's heart sank.
Sure of the situation now, the Chysanthemum Guards surged forward, four of them carrying handcuffs.
He tried to think of another way to stall.
The pain came before he even had a chance to notice the movement behind him – the clean entry of a sharp narrow blade into his right side.
“My apologies for the inconvenience,” said Yagyuu, pulling out the knife as Keigo fell to his knees.
Summary: In which Yukimura has a plan, and Atobe has no idea what it is.
Wordcount: 4900
At that moment the space around them shifted.
The transformation was nuanced. The observatory with its backdrop of planets and void faded out. Fade in: a hothouse of flowers.
Keigo felt the tropical humidity, smelled green sap and magnolia and a tangle of culinary herbs. Their avatars were transplanted to a set of black wicker chairs surrounding a glass bistro table. Above their heads hung potted orchids, hooked to the crossbeams of a latticework trellis. Tiny white butterflies danced their way around the flowers, fluttering madly.
Yukimura was there.
He appeared as Keigo had seen him last, a young man in the first flush of adulthood, lean and poised. His jeans were stonewashed. The sleeves of his white herringbone shirt had been rolled up to above the elbow.
His eyes were hard and cerulean blue, and the smile he gave Tezuka Kuniharu was thin.
“You'll have to try a lot harder than that,” Yukimura said, “if you expect to get an estimate of my VR capabilities.”
For an instant Kuniharu's face lost its benevolence. Then he recovered, and his avatar relaxed and leaned back in its chair.
“How very remiss of me,” he said genially. “Did I tell you eleven o'clock? I definitely meant five past eleven – Kunimitsu was meant to organise your security clearance at precisely that time.”
The greenhouse darkened, as if the weather outside had suddenly turned cloudy. “Try being a little subtler,” Yukimura suggested. “Or, if you're not any good at that, then be direct.”
“Well, since I do so hate embarrassing myself...” Kuniharu folded his arms across his chest. “What do you want, so-called Yukimura Seiichi? You told me last night that you had terms and conditions you wanted to offer. Offer them now.”
Yukimura restored the sunlight. His control of the VR space was delicate but absolute. Keigo was unable to manipulate a single detail of the scene they were placed in, apart from his own avatar. He began to fight it, attempted to wrest some measure of control over the subroutines governing this space, but the Rikkai president's next words stopped his attempt cold in its tracks:
“I want Rikkai's current assets to remain under Rikkai control, rather than being made a government holding or put up for public trade,” Yukimura said. “I want a military position for Sanada Genichirou, higher than the one his brother currently holds. I want the state to sponsor tertiary and postgraduate education for all the Rikkai runners I nominate. And finally--” his gaze slid towards Atobe “--I want the Silver Emperor to arrange it so that Shinnihon converts to a republic upon his demise.”
There was a stunned silence, into which Kuniharu coughed politely. “If we could perhaps work on the few demands you made that are remotely within the realms of possibility--”
“Either that,” Yukimura's gaze turned to Keigo, “or you exile the Crown Prince and remove all records that he ever existed.”
Privately Yukimura messaged Keigo: And you'd better thank Sanada for that modified clause, since he spent a most unpleasant evening yesterday convincing me that you should stay alive.
“As I said,” the InSec Director frowned, “if we could stick to the demands that lie within the realm of possibility--”
Keigo shot a message back at Yukimura, I'd thank him, if I could recall asking for his assistance in that regard. Or yours, for that fact. Publicly, he said, “I don't see a problem with that. Once the Runner's Compliance Strategy is underway, I'll want to leave the country even more than Yukimura wants me gone.”
“You put me in a difficult position,” Kuniharu said finally. “Is there no way we can compromise on this?”
He directed his words at Keigo, not Yukimura, and it was then that Keigo realised, He doesn't know who Yukimura is yet. Tezuka hasn't told his father.
The InSec Director was treating Yukimura as an unknown quantity, albeit a potentially lethal one. His working assumption seems to be that Yukimura's a runner lord with unusual ambition and a streak of political idealism. He doesn't realise how personal this is for Yukimura. How much Rikkai is willing to do to overthrow the Shinnihon monarchy.
Tezuka's avatar calmly remained seated, quiet and inscrutable. If only Tezuka didn't have just enough Immunity to make attempts at reading his mind a concentrated hassle--
“There's a way.” Yukimura held up his left hand. A lorikeet flew over from a hibiscus bush and perched on his knuckles, singing. “You can get rid of that useless loyalty to the Silver Emperor, and collaborate with us instead.”
Abrruptly Kuniharu's eyes went wide, and Keigo knew that Yukimura was exerting his Empathic gifts. “I know you, you know,” Yukimura continued conversationally, “You've never been happy with the way this country is. Your family doesn't understand like you do. Your son doesn't; he's too young to have seen the uprisings, the bloodbaths that followed revolts. Your father certainly doesn't – he's been loyal to the emperor since before this country existed. There's just you, and you've played along all your life. You sacrificed everything – your personal freedom, your son's childhood, your honour – just so you could clean up the streets of Nippon. Because you believed it was the only contribution you could make. But you're wrong. You can do more. You just have to take a chance.”
Yukimura had to be crazy if he honestly thought this would work.
But Kuniharu was – pausing, as if he was actually thinking about things, and his reply, when it came out, had the brittle feel of a forced attempt to change the subject. “Full Immune protection from Ayana today, and still you can use your gift. You're most unusual.”
“I've struggled against Immunes far stronger than your wife,” Yukimura said. “Think carefully about my words. You do not want to make the wrong choice.”
“The wrong choice, hmm? I see Kunimitsu and Yuudai-kun were mistaken.” Kuniharu stared at his son with an expression Keigo couldn't decipher. “We can't negotiate with you.”
“Really?” Yukimura said softly. “And you're prepared to fight us?”
“Are you prepared to fight us?” Kuniharu returned.
“We already have,” Yukimura said. “We'll do it again.”
A section of the greenhouse collapsed, and in an instant Tezuka's avatar disappeared from its seat and reappeared, standing, behind Tezuka Kuniharu.
“Oh come on, Tezuka, no need to pick sides,” Yukimura reproached. Then, in a lower, deliberate tone: “On the other hand, you've only ever been on one side, isn't that right? If only you weren't so good.”
“I suppose I should be grateful that he's inherited the family tendency to loyalty.” Kuniharu continued to gaze ahead, keeping eye contact with Yukimura. “Unfortunately, he's also inherited Ayana's habit of being discreet to a fault. You're hiding something from me, Kunimitsu. Perhaps several somethings. I'd like to know how long you can keep it up.” Without waiting for an answer, Kuniharu stood up and offered his hand to Yukimura. “If at any point you feel like offering more acceptable terms for negotiation, you know where to find me. As for you – Your Highness – you'll be hearing from me again. Soon.” Kuniharu glanced up at his son.
The world blinked out.
He found himself back in his neural-link chair, staring at the login screen. So Tezuka had booted him from the VR space. Kuniharu wasn't good enough to do that. Tezuka hadn't been good enough to do that, a year ago.
Before he had time to decide his next move, the menus in front of him swirled away, and he was thrust into a long metallic tunnel, flying forward at rapid speed - the NL chair's way of demonstrating that it was connecting with a new hub.
He emerged into a high-ceilinged art gallery filled with pre-Raphaelite and Impressionist paintings. Like the greenhouse, the simulation was astonishingly detailed. Crown moulding and fluted pilasters adorned the white walls. Spotlights sat at strategic intervals, drawing the eye to the displayed masterworks. Rossetti, Millais, Monet, Manet. Very canonical.
Keigo tweaked his avatar until its controls matched his preferred settings, then said out loud, "I do prefer being able to look at my conversation partner when we're in VR together."
A marble bench rose up from the ground in a swirl of mist that dissipated to reveal Yukimura. He had taken on the child avatar that he was known for, but with alterations - the face thinner, less cherubic, more exotically beautiful. A familiar face, albeit one that Keigo had seen only twice, both times at funerals.
"You were in the coffin," Keigo said, the memory resurfacing. "You weren't breathing. How did he--?" It was a rhetorical question, but Yukimura answered.
"By bribing expensive doctors," said Yukimura. "And by digging. It could have been worse. I had to work very hard to plant the idea in my father's mind that he wanted a burial at all costs." The Rikkai president was leaking emotions Empathically, and Keigo did not like what he felt.
He changed the topic. "The next time you want to talk to me in private, an invitation will suffice. Or don't you think you've shown off enough yet?"
A shift in the flooring, and Keigo turned to see a second marble seat rising up with a soft sigh. He took the hint and sat down.
"It was a test. I can see it now; you're much better in VR than you let on. It was a great blow to me when I found out." Yukimura hugged his knees. He was barefoot, dressed in tan cargo pants and a hooded sweatshirt. "Atobe Keigo, the consummate performer. Atobe, who looks glorious, who is glorious. As strong as he appears to be. As clever as he appears to be. And then, Atobe Keigo, a prince who was offered a nation and rejected it to go wallow in petty causes."
"Hyoutei is not a petty cause." Keigo was angry now. He felt the provoking edge of Yukimura's Empathy, recognised it, chose to succumb to it anyway. The spotlights winked out one by one. Yukimura's control of the virtual space was sure and expert, but it was not the only thing on Yukimura's mind, and therein lay Keigo's opening. He wrenched and the ceiling fell to dust. The paintings vanished.
The benches remained, and Yukimura was still sitting in the same position, arms locked around his knees. Yukimura let his head drop back. "Yes, you're too strong for both of us to remain. Stronger than I ever guessed. You'll have to leave."
"Presumably after we've made sure InSec doesn't beat Rikkai to a pulp?" He felt the heavy tug of responsiblity again, one he could not avoid feeling when it came to Yukimura. A world where you can live. I will make sure that you have it. Just as Sakaki created a world for me.
"We'll sort that before you leave. I did have a purpose in bringing you here.” Gradually, Yukimura restored the lighting. The black crossbeams of the ceiling reformed. “I need you to distract your father. Your biological father, not your adoptive one.”
Several questions occurred to Keigo all at once, but he only voiced three. “How distracted does he need to be? When, and for how long?”
“As distracted as possible, and as soon as possible. Ideally this afternoon.,” Yukimura repopulated the walls with a new set of paintings, this time an eclectic mix of twenty-second century artwork. “As for how distracted – could you get him offline, if possible?”
“He's never offline.” At the apex of Keigo's cranium, hidden by the parting of his hair, was a neural port that had been installed expressly for continuous wireless access to the Net. It was a device he rarely utilised, mostly because it reminded him so much of the old man. The Silver Emperor, who never stopped watching Nippon even in his sleep.
“As long as he's paying less attention than he usually does,” said Yukimura, “It'll be enough.”
“What are you planning on doing?”
“If we succeed, you'll find out.”
“If? I thought you had Niou Masaharu for that kind of thing.”
Yukimura stretched out his legs on the marble bench, leaned back on his hands. “I'll tell you why Niou came to me,” he said softly, gaze fixed at a point somewhere between his knees and his feet. “It's because I'm the only person whose future he's never been able to see. Even Kirihara he can see glimpses of, very rarely. But Niou has only ever had one vision of me. And that came to pass many years ago. So, you see, I don't know if I will be alive this time tomorrow. I have spent the last nine years not knowing if I would survive the next month, the next hour. Have you heard of Martin Luther?” Yukimura looked up and smiled. “Someone asked him once what he would do, if the world ended tomorrow. He said that he would plant a tree.”
Keigo said: “I'll help you. But it'll take some time. I'll need to enlist Sakaki's help.”
“He's already coming to your apartment as we speak.” Yukimura stretched out a hand, and the entire art gallery began to shimmer and fade away. “Together with my best bodyguard.”
When Sakaki entered the apartment he did so with the muzzle of a plasma gun pressed into the small of his back. Yagyuu Hiroshi followed right after, coolly gripping the aforementioned gun. Yagyuu's index finger rested lightly against the trigger.
Keigo took one glance at the situation and said, “If you don't put that back in its holster, I'll have Kabaji break both your thumbs.”
Yagyuu, whose eyes held a blatant intelligence, looked at Kabaji – who was standing a couple of metres away, in the dining area: a compromise between appearing non-threatening (although a runner of Kabaji's size was inevitably threatening), and being close enough to intevene if the situation required it. There was a gleam in Yagyuu's expression, as if he were contemplating whether he was capable of breaking Kabaji's thumbs before Kabaji broke his own.
Sakaki didn't look worried, but that hardly meant anything. Tezuka Kunimitsu had nothing on Sakaki when it came to wearing a poker face.
“On second thought,” Keigo said, “it looks like you'd find that prospect far too much fun. How about this, instead? You attempt to be civil, and I keep my word to Yukimura. Seems like a fair exchange to me.”
“Atobe-kun. Don't waste your time with threats you don't intend to follow through.” But Yagyuu holstered his gun. “I will cooperate with your wishes.”
“Make sure that you do.” Keigo stepped in closer to Sakaki, until their bodies were almost touching, and murmured, “I need to talk to you in private.”
Now that the immediate threat was removed, Sakaki had relaxed minutely – enough for Keigo to see the tell-tale signs of unease on his face.
Keigo honestly wished he could break Yagyuu Hiroshi's thumbs.
He drew Sakaki into one of the bedrooms, leaving Kabaji and Yagyuu out in the main living area. (He was fairly sure they could be trusted to not attack each other. Perhaps.)
“You've been busy,” said Sakaki, as soon as the door clicked shut. “When were you planning on sending the memo?”
“About Hyoutei? Now would be a good time.” They sat on the end of the single bed and Atobe outlined the proposal he'd made to his squadron leaders the evening before. “I'll leave with Haginosuke and Jirou as soon as the agreement with InSec and the Patrol is settled,” he concluded. Kabaji was a given. “I was thinking Old Earth for now – you mentioned last month that you wished you had something like Hyoutei in Europe.”
“I'll come with you.”
He owed his life to Sakaki, but – Father, you've always been too sentimental. “You've got too much work to do here, and I don't trust Hiyoshi to lead the runners without supervision. I'm old enough not to need a legal guardian this time.”
“I didn't say you needed looking after. I want to come.” Sakaki frowned at Keigo. “We'll talk about this later. Right now I'd like to know why a Rikkai committee member interrupted my lunch with a plasma gun.”
Keigo heaved a sigh and flopped back on the bed. “Where do I start?” The end was as good a place as any, he decided. “Yukimura and I have agreed that I'm to talk to the old man. If he can be persuaded to see me on short notice.”
“How short?” asked Sakaki.
“This afternoon.”
The bed shifted as Sakaki stood up. Keigo stared up at the ceiling. Sakaki said, “Are you absolutely sure you know what you're doing?”
“You're the one who suggested that I return.” Not that Keigo had any intention of doing that. “Yes, I”m sure. Help me do this.”
“If it's you he'll see you immediately.”
“Good. Help me contact him, will you?' But Sakaki was already fingering the touchpad on his infodevice. Keigo shut his eyes. When he tried not to feel impatient he felt frightened instead, which was worse. People dying. People dying because of me.
“I have someone I think you'd like to meet,” said Sakaki into his infodevice. “When can I bring him? This afternoon? Yes. No. I'm sorry. You know that I do.”
The call ended and Keigo sat up. “How did it go?” he asked. It was surprising – although it should not have been – to find that Sakaki still had a direct line to the Silver Emperor after all these years.
“Today,” said Sakaki. “Right now, if you like.”
“Does he know who you're bringing him?”
“He knows I know what he considers important,” answered Sakaki, and that was the end of the conversation.
They went out and the four of them headed to the rooftop, led by Yagyuu. Kabaji's flyer was parked in the garage and after a moment's consideration Keigo decided that Sakaki should ride with Kabaji, while he himself sat in the Rikkai runner's flyer. His decision was validated when they took to the air and he felt the expert but reckless acceleration of Yagyuu's ascent..
They were close to the palace district and very soon reached an area where air-traffic controllers began signalling them, ordering their flyers to adhere to a set of premapped routes. Elsewhere in the city traffic laws were more relaxed, and flying vehicles went anywhere they liked, as long as they followed certain speed and safety regulations, but the density of traffic in central Shin Tokyo was such that mid-air collisions would have been frequent without the intervention of AI guidance.
Following a hive-stream of flyers, they passed over the zoological gardens and the national art gallery, then museum after museum – all places Keigo had visited, a lifetime ago. But he had little time now to engage in nostalgia.
Distract the old man. Far easier said than done.. He would try, and it would have to be enough.
There were twelve official entry points into the palace complex. Attempt to fly in at an unauthorized point, over the outer walls, and the palace's security system would immediately kick in. Sixty seconds of voiced warning, then two minutes of taser beams. Then the imperial guards showed up.
They entered by the main gate, Sakaki activating the retinal scanner at the gatepost, and stashed their vehicles at the top level of the multistorey hanging gardens that served as a parking area.
“Leave your weapons in here,” Sakaki said. “We have three sets of security clearance to pass through.”
Yagyuu looked annoyed about it, but voiced no protest. He and Kabaji locked their respective flyers and then the four of them took a massive, glass-walled lift down to the ground floor. A metal detector stood between them and the exit, accompanied by a trio of security guards. The tallest of them saluted Sakaki.
“We need you to sign in, Sakaki-sama,” said the guard. “And your guests will need to register themselves on the system as well.”
“Let me sign in first.” Keigo stepped out of the elevator, emerging from behind Kabaji's back. “I'm already on the system.”
Signing in on the imperial palace's visitors system involved first a retinal scan, then a thumbprint one, the two being required to match before the turnstile barring access to the gate would unlock. Keigo pressed his face to the scanner located right next to the turnstile. A moment later he thumbed the gel pad located just below it.
There was a pause, everyone watching Keigo in silence. Then the scanner flashed green, and Keigo passed through the metal detector.
For the first time in eight years, he was in the palace.
The other three followed him through. “That tall guard looked completely confused as you walked right in.” Yagyuu commented. “I must say I'm mildly surprised that your access to the system is still functioning after all this time.”
“You don't know the old man very well, then,” Keigo said. “Let's hurry; he's waiting for us by now.”
He took them, not to the main ceremonial building, nor to the Silver Emperor's residence, but to his home, the small southern villa where he had spent his childhood. Down a long arbour of wisteria. Through a series of linked pavilions and the walkways in-between. Overdecorated building after overdecorated building, artificial pond after artificial pond. As they passed by the usual denizens of the palace they drew stares, although the majority of these were directed at Sakaki, whose visits to these grounds were rare these days. A few people, mostly palace servants, stared at Keigo and Kabaji with unusual scrutiny, but kept silent.
That's the palace I know and love. All that well cultivated lack of curiosity.
Finally they drew near to the small well-kept garden where Keigo had spent thousands upon thousands of hours as a child – reading, studying, always doing something productive. Either following the timetable the emperor had mandated or finding some way to circumvent it.
As anticipated, their arrival was expected. The approach to the southern palace was winding and lined by large, moulting trees; it was in the shadow of one of these that Keigo halted and pointed to the liveried retinue that they saw surrounding the stone fountain in Keigo's old home.
“At least six people,” Yagyuu noted, accurately. From their vantage point half a dozen figures could be distinguished in the gaps between the trees that intervened between where they stood and where the emperor's men waited.
“One Immune, one Telepath, one Empath, all at least level nine, one InSec representative, two members of the Silver Chrysanthemum Guard. That's the minimum he brings with him when he questions people,” said Sakaki. There was tension in his shoulders as he walked.
When they were close enough to do a proper headcount they had to double Sakaki's figure. Five psionics (four huddled to one side, a fifth standing considerably further away), six Chrysanthemum Guards, a female member of the imperial household agency whom Keigo didn't recognise. Finally, the requisite InSec representative – in today's case, Yamato Yuudai.
All these personages were arranged in a concave half-circle facing the approaching visitors. At the center of them all was a young black-haired man dressed in tailored clothes. He was staring directly at Keigo.
Keigo returned the gaze and held it, came to a stop. “Hello,” he said. He avoided saying Father. He avoided any number of insults. He very consciously avoided anything that would acknowledge any sort of relationship between himself and the man standing in front of him – parent to child, mentor to protege, ruler to vassal.
But the emperor did not look at him for long, quickly turning his attention to Sakaki. “Was it really necessary to do so much damage to his face? He no longer looks anything like the specifications.”
“He still resembles you,” Sakaki said, his voice low and vulnerable. Sakaki had such bad taste in love interests. Hanamura had been one of the better-adjusted ones, now that Keigo thought about it.
“I'm ashamed of myself,” said the Silver Emperor coolly. “I thought I knew you. That's incorrect. I know that I know you. So what did I misjudge?”
“You know me.” And Sakaki stepped forward and sank down onto his knees before the emperor. As always with Sakaki, it was a precise and graceful gesture.
“And you seem to think you know me.” The emperor maintained his careful, unreadable inflection. “You think you'll be forgiven.”
“Will I?”
“Stand up,” the emperor instructed. Sakaki rose to his feet. The emperor raised his hand, clearly intending to strike.
Keigo did not even realise that he'd sprung forward, about to intervene, until he found his path blocked by a smiling Yamato Yuudai.
“Behave,” said Yamato. “I'm the one who gets punished if I'm forced to hurt you.”
His words had little effect on Keigo. However, the state-of-the-art plasma pistol he was aiming between Keigo's eyes was somewhat more potent.
Behind Yamato's back, Sakaki stood unmoving, head bowed. The emperor lowered his arm slowly – and then backhanded Sakaki on the cheek. It was a quick sharp odd movement, and neither its purpose nor effect was clear to Keigo until the emperor withdrew his arm and Keigo saw the glittering and crimson-stained signet ring on his father's middle finger. A moment later Sakaki turned his head towards Keigo, and the irregular and bloody gouge in his right cheek was revealed.
“Don't seek medical attention. I want you to let that scar,” the emperor told Sakaki. Having said that, the emperor's attention shifted again – as if Sakaki no longer existed – back to Keigo.
On cue, Yamato moved out of the way, lowering his weapon but keeping it in his hand, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.
“Why are you here?” the emperor asked Keigo. When he received no reply he elaborated. “Evidently you want something. Being passive-aggresive isn't going to make me more likely to give it to you.”
Keigo said, “I came to kill you.”
The emperor extracted a white silk handkerchief from the pocket of his double-breasted jacket and pressed it to Sakaki's cheek. “Not a very good lie. Try again.”
Keigo felt the mental tickle that indicated someone was trying to penetrate his telepathic shields. He glared at the four psionics gathered in the corner. Two of them looked abashed, but the attempts did not subside. “I came to see if I can kill you.”
“Better. But still unsatisfactory.” The emperor kept his fingers held flat against Sakaki's right cheek, his other hand resting lightly on Sakaki's shoulder. “I agree with you though. We should find an answer to that question, sooner or later. Do you have anything better to offer me?” Keigo did not. “Then we'll talk again over dinner.” The emperor nodded at the guards. “Take them into custody.”
Keigo was not doing nearly enough to distract the emperor, and there were no guarantees of a second chance. Now, while he's still recovering from the surprise... “It wasn't a lie,” he said. “I came because a precognitive told me that you were going to die soon. That I'd lose the chance to do it myself.”
“That's impossible, Your Majesty,” said one of the psionics, a slight, red-haired man of indeterminate age. “If there was any danger to your person we would have seen it?”
“Would you?” asked Keigo. He pointed at the pretty young psionic who was standing separately from the others, a familiar face from his childhood. “With her around all the time? No doubt you're all impressively talented, but your powers only go so far with an Immune around.” Although Immunity could be consciously exerted, it differed from the other psionic gifts in that it manifested itself continuously, even without deliberate effort on the wielder's part. Simply by ensuring that Meino Nanako was in his presence at all times, the Silver Emperor could guarantee himself a baseline level of protection from psionic attack.
“And yet you claim to know someone who has seen my future,” commented the emperor.
“You're more self-deluded than I thought, if you think you have a monopoly on Nippon's Level 8 and 9 psionics,” said Keigo.
The blood flow had stopped; the emperor let go of Sakaki and let the soiled handkerchief fall to the garden path. He looked at Keigo and then behind Keigo, at Kabaji and Kagyuu. “You're buying time.”
Keigo's heart sank.
Sure of the situation now, the Chysanthemum Guards surged forward, four of them carrying handcuffs.
He tried to think of another way to stall.
The pain came before he even had a chance to notice the movement behind him – the clean entry of a sharp narrow blade into his right side.
“My apologies for the inconvenience,” said Yagyuu, pulling out the knife as Keigo fell to his knees.
