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urbanirreal2012-07-22 11:08 pm
fromastudio) wrote in urbanirreal2012-07-22 11:08 pm
Entry tags:
son12, take the 300th or so
“I think you've slept quite enough. I'd like you to wake up, please.”
Keigo came awake all at once; there was no transition between sleep and alertness. Sharp pain thrummed in his right lower chest, most severe at the extremes of inhalation. He lifted his right hand and found it connected to an intravenous drip.
To his left, blinds were drawn back. Weak light filled the room, golden and dim. It was sunset, then – – but had it been mere hours since he was sedated, or was it longer still? Keigo struggled to a sitting position, assessing the situation.
“Your injury should be all but healed by now. Your noble sire spared no expense in requesting emergent medical care.” It was Yamato Yuudai, sitting in a deck chair at the foot of Keigo's bed. “Nothing but the best for you, your Imperial Highness.”
Yamato was angry. It was an expression Keigo had never seen him wear. Perhaps this was the real Yamato Yuudai, Keigo thought, behind the inscrutable smile and unfashionable sunglasses and pathetic VR ability.
“I appreciate the medical attention, if not the source from which it came.” Keigo studied the Seigaku ex-president. “What's an honoured member of the august Yamato family doing babysitting a disinherited prince, by the way?”
“You have an interesting definition of the word disinherited. I'm an InSec operative and personal aide to Tezuka Kuniharu. You of all people should understand that being identified with one's family is not always a pleasant thing.” Yamato leaned back in his chair. “I'm not here to babysit you, Atobe Keigo. I'm here to negotiate.”
A fine time to negotiate, Keigo thought, when the other party was lying bedbound in the heart of the palace with a stab wound to his lung. “Who are you negotiating for?”
“For a family of people who are too honorable and foolish to negotiate for themselves.”
“For Tezuka Kuniharu, then.” When Yamato raised a brow, Keigo shrugged dismissively. “Oh come on, I haven't observed Seigaku for years for nothing. You're not Tezuka Kunimitsu's tool. He's yours.”
“Kunimitsu is very...traditional. More like his grandfather than his father.” Yamato gave a sigh. “In one respect, however, all three Tezukas are equally alike.”
“Absolute loyalty, am I right? By which you mean absolute loyalty to the throne.”
“My dear Keigo, if I weren't perfectly aware that your precognition stands no chance against my Immunity, I'd almost think you'd foreseen this conversation before. Truly your father's son, aren't you? He can read a mind better than any telepath, the Silver Emperor. It's been such an frustrating trait of his, for such a long time. He'd never have let me near you if he weren't so thoroughly distracted this time.”
So Yukimura had made his move, finally. What had he done, and when had he done it?
“How long have I been asleep?” Keigo asked.
“Only a few hours, in which a great deal has happened. It was remiss of me not to recognise the potential in getting you and Yukimura to join forces.”
A tingling pain ran down Keigo's limbs as he struggled to reach a sitting position, using the remote control at his side to tilt the head segment of the bed upwards. Being forced to lie horizontal made him feel helpless in front of the InSec operative. “You're the one who's been watching all this, aren't you? The one with both Precognition and Immunity talents. You're the reason InSec was able to take Hyoutei off guard the other day, with your attack on St. Rudolph. Didn't manage to surprise Rikkai, mind you.”
Yamato smiled. “Are you attempting to provoke me? I do not inflate my own importance, Your Highness. Not like you. I know my talents well, and I use them to to the best of my abilities. Reminding me of my limitations doesn't threaten me.”
It was a close contest, but Yamato Yuudai was perhaps the single most frustrating person Keigo had ever had to deal with. “Say what you have to say and get it over with.”
“About that. I may have used a rather loose definition of the word negotiate.” Yamato stood and began to pace the room slowly. “Do you know what Yukimura Seiichi has done tonight? He has shut down every major neural network and public server in Shinnihon; he has, in effect temporarily destroyed the internet. At this moment the emperor must feel that he has lost a sixth sense; to one such as him it must be like being blind, or deaf.”
On second thought, Yukimura Seiichi was definitely the most frustrating person Keigo knew. No contest at all. “So that's the reason he needed the distraction.”
Yamato frowned at Keigo, but a moment later his face cleared. “A distraction. That's why that Rikkai runner injured you. Threatening your life is certainly one of the few things that would distract the emperor. And Yukimura's actions now have provided an even more potent distraction. Tonight is the first night in my living memory that I have walked without fear of the emperor's eyes.”
Keigo attempted to reply but was interrupted by the sudden advent of pain, exquisite and burning, in his head.
His precognitive senses flashed, suddenly, and he looked at Yamato, his head feeling sluggish and uncooperative as he forced himself to raise his eyes upwards.
“What have you done to me?”
Yamato smiled. “With the Shinnihon net disrupted, this infirmary is no longer under the emperor's observation.” He held up a syringe of colourless liquid. “I won't tell you what this poison is called, Your Highness; its name is long and unpronounceable. Suffice to say it is a toxin closely related to the one my parents gave Yukimura Seiichi nine years ago, albeit somewhat more potent.”
He moved towards the intravenous pole on Keigo's right and detached the normal saline bag hanging there. “I don't want you dead, you see. Kuniharu-sama is a stronger person than you, but he cannot escape being a Tezuka. His desire is to serve, not rule. I can give him an emperor he can serve without reservations, with the freedom to do what is right for our country. But it won't do to give him an emperor who can can rule by telepathy, or by virtual reality. In short, Your Highness, I don't need any of your higher cerebral functions. Alive, but incapacitated; that is the emperor that I need. That Kuniharu-sama needs.”
Keigo tried to move his limbs to no avail. The tingling he had experienced earlier had now spread to his entire body. All his muscles were slack and unmoving, despite all attempts to force them into action.
“The drug that has been running into your veins for the last hour is a short-acting paralytic; it won't remain effective for long.” Yamato inserted the end of the syringe into a plastic opening in the bag of normal saline, and began to inject the colourless drug. “If I were you, though, I wouldn't worry too much about the paralysis. Within fifteen minutes you won't have enough neural activity in your brain to be conscious of it.”
Keigo attempted telepathic attack, lashing out with his mind, but his psionic abilities simply skidded off Yamato's Immune ability. Yamato raised a brow when he felt the attempt, but simply smiled and continued to administer the neurotoxin.
“I do apologise,” said Yamato. “It may have been kinder to do this while you remained asleep. But I wanted the opportunity to talk to you, at least once--”
He was cut off midspeech by the flash of a plasma shot. A moment later, there was a thud as Yamato's body hit the ground.
Instinctively Keigo tried to turn his head, to find the source of the attack – only to find that he was unable to move his neck. His identity of the shooter was revealed almost immediately, however, as Tezuka Kunimitsu entered the room swiftly and yanked the intravenous drip out of Keigo's arm – cannula, plastic tubing, adhesive dressing, and all – creating a spill of blood and fluid that continued to dribble out of Keigo's arm.
“Use some gloves, will you? If Yagyuu were here he'd have a fit.” Tezuka caught a pair of blue latex gloves and a pack of gauze sponges that came sailing through the air at him. A moment later Niou Masaharu came through the doorway, wearing a pair of gloves similar to the ones he'd just thrown at Tezuka.
The Rikkai runner trained his gun at the floor, on Yamato. “So you're the missing piece. You've been a thorn in my side since I first went to Yukimura, you bloody bastard. What'd you do with Yagyuu?”
Yamato sounded as if he was in pain as he replied: “Am I the person you should be questioning about this? Your partner is with the Silver Emperor, no doubt being tortured to within an inch of his life.”
“He is not. The Silver Emperor's mobilising every armed force in the city and marching on Rikkai headquarters as we speak. I saw everything the moment it started. I even saw our pretty little prince over there, being turned into a vegetable. But I didn't see Yagyuu.”
Yamato gave a gentle laugh, and pulled himself to his feet. There was a deep plasma burn beginning at his neck and extending to his lower torso, to go by his singed jacket and trousers. It was a wound suggestive of great skill on the part of the gunman, to inflict that much injury without killing instantly. Good to see Tezuka's ranged combat skills hadn't dulled one whit. “Perhaps he's not there for you to see.”
“I know when Yagyuu dies.” Niou's silver eyes bore into Yamato. “It's not today, and not now, and certainly not before I do. And your Immune Gift is even more damn annoying than Kirihara's. I wouldn't have made it here in time if it weren't for Yanagi.”
Tezuka had finished applying a dressing to Keigo's arm and now turned towards the two of them. “President Yamato. I did not expect this to happen.”
Yamato continued to retain remarkable composure as he stood, despite his wounds. “So it comes to this, Kunimitsu? I have never been able to predict you, anymore than you could predict me. So psychologically consistent, for the most part. And yet.”
“It comes to this,” Tezuka answered. “I made my choice.”
Yamato bowed his head and then faced Tezuka again, expression serene. “I would rather it was you than any other. Please give my regards to your father.”
“Wait,” Niou snapped, “I haven't finished asking him about Yagyuu yet.”
“Then you should have asked more quickly,” Tezuka said, pulling out his own gun. “I would have this over and done with.”
A single shot with a bullet, silent and straight through the heart, and Yamato dropped once more to the ground.
There was no hesitation in Tezuka as he went over to the fallen body. He knelt down beside it for about half a minute – disappearing from Keigo's field of vision – before rising again.
“Do you know how to reverse the paralytic?” Tezuka asked Niou.
“That's why I wanted to know where Yagyuu was; it wasn't sentiment. Give me a moment. It should be easier to find him now that Yamato isn't here.“ Niou sat down at the end of Keigo's bed and took a deep breath. “Bloody Immunes, I hate them. That includes you, Tezuka. Go over to the other side of the room, you're disrupting my vision.” He went still for a few minutes, his eyes going distant and unreachable, before he finally said: “I can see him. You stay here to guard the prince; I'll bring Yagyuu back.”
After Niou disappeared through the doorway Tezuka reached down and gathered Yamato's body up in his arms. He went out into the corridor and came back again several moments later, no doubt having placed Yamato in one of the other infirmary rooms.
Tezuka pulled the sole chair over to sit by Keigo's bedside.
How did you get here? Keigo asked telepathically. He had to repeat his words twice, as initially he was unable to penetrate Tezuka's Immune barrier. Tezuka noticed Keigo trying to make contact, however, and redirected his Immune ability, so that the channels of psionic communication were suddenly open.
Fuji, at first. He warned me that I would regret it if I did not come here tonight. Tezuka's mind was guarded, as always; he left no stray thoughts for Keigo to read. Niou intercepted me as I was entering the palace.
Do you regret coming here tonight?
I do, and I do not. I do not regret protecting you. You, not the throne.
Taciturn and meaningful as always. Did you think it would come to this with Yamato?
I did not. But I was prepared. There is no one in Shinnihon less predictable than Yamato was.
He was completely loyal to your father.
He was. But my father did not ask him to do this.
You're sure about that?
I am certain. My father is many things, but he is first and foremost loyal.
Keigo cut the telepathic connection, brooding. It was one thing to be hounded by InSec and Rikkai and get tangled up in the imperial politics of his childhood. It was another thing to have Tezuka Kunimitsu – defending him. Killing in his name.
He wanted things to be as they were, runner president to runner president. The pure fight, the ephemeral battle.
It was not a life that would have lasted. Sakaki had warned him from the beginning that his days in Hyoutei were numbered.
“You are who you are,” Tezuka said quietly. “And I am who I am. That does not change.”
I didn't think you were an Empath.
I am scarcely anything like Yukimura. But you are as psychologically consistent as Yamato claimed me to be. I have made my choice; will you make yours?
Keigo was about to retort that he already had made his choice, when Niou returned, followed by Yagyuu.
“Found him trapped in one of the dungeon's neural-link chairs,” Niou informed them. “VR torture chamber. Meino Nanako stuck an Immune barrier on him, that's why I couldn't find him, especially with two other Immunes in the vicinity.”
There were no visible marks of injury on Yagyuu. There never were; the old man preferred psychological scars to physical ones. Yagyuu's face was opaque as he silently wound a tourniquet around Keigo's left arm, established intravenous access, and injected a white substance into a vein on the inside of Keigo's elbow.
Within minutes Keigo was moving his limbs once more. He pulled himself upwards, allowing himself a wince at the pain that persisted in his chest.
“Thank you,” he told Yagyuu. “For the medical care, not for stabbing me.”
Yagyuu bowed his head in acknowledgement. “It was necessary.”
“And enjoyable, no doubt.”
“It is always a pleasure to do my duty,” said Yagyuu. His tone was polite, but his face remained expressionless. “Niou-kun and I will be taking our leave now. The two of us have futher work to do.”
“As do we,” said Tezuka. “You will be taking us with you.”
Yagyuu raised a brow, but he did not say no. Instead he glanced at Niou, who was studying Atobe and Tezuka with a thoughtful expression.
“Yes,” he said finally, his silver eyes inscrutable. “You can both come. It's part of the future.”
“Which future?” Keigo couldn't help asking.
“One that works.”
#
The Shinnihon Stock Exchange was down. All major news sites were down, as were any social networks worth mentioning. Fifteen of the country's eighteen major banks were at a standstill, their accounts frozen. Traffic lights, telecommunications systems, television channels – everything was down.
The only major systems Yukimura had been unable to attack, according to Niou, were InSec, the military, and the palace.
The old man had acted swiftly the moment he realised what was going on. Within half an hour of Yukimura's attack, the Rikkai headquarters had been reduced to rubble.
“We knew that was going to happen, of course,” said Yagyuu. “Everything of importance was relocated days ago.”
“Including Yukimura's body?” Keigo asked. Transporting a paralysed teenager had to be a difficult task, even for a syndicate of Rikkai's size.
Yagyuu adjusted his glasses. “Including President Yukimura, yes.”
Keigo frowned at him. “Where is Yukimura now?”
“Would we tell you,” Yagyuu said, “even if we knew?”
Yagyuu's voice was a fraction more irritated than might be expected, causing Keigo to scrutinise the Rikkai runners before smirking in realisation. “You really don't know where Yukimura is, do you. I suppose that's the extent of how much he trusts the two of you.”
A hint of anger passed across Niou's face, but it was Yagyuu who responded: “Yukimura-kun did not stay alive all these years by being careless. Tonight would be a poor time to start.”
That brought the discussion to a stalemate, and although Keigo would have liked to supply another rejoinder, there were priorities of greater urgency at hand. They set about securing the upper floors of the infirmary. The place was largely abandoned, Yamato having apparently evacuated the doctors and nursing staff before he came to visit Keigo. Yagyuu bolted down the doors and windows, while Niou found the security system and armed it, disconnecting it from the main palace system.
Keigo found his belongings, including his wristcomm, infodevice, and his weapons, locked away in one of the medication cabinets. (The door clicked open when he thumbed the sensor-lock; even after all these years, his security clearance remained intact.)
Once the basic cautionary measures had been attended to, the four of them gathered to discuss strategy.
“Our flyers are parked outside the palace complex,” Niou said, referring to his own vehicle and Tezuka's.. “It wasn't too hard getting in, thanks to our scion of House Tezuka having security clearance, but the Chrysanthemum Guard will have regrouped and organised themselves by now. If we try to leave this building without a very good plan in place, we'll be arrested within minutes.”
“We need as much information as we can before coming up with a strategy.” Tezuka glanced at Niou. “Are you able to use your precognition to gauge what hostile forces will be in the area if we emerge?”
“I could, but it'll be difficult. I'm getting about three spontaneous visions a minute at the moment, which is twice the usual rate. I can still function, but directing my sight to a specific task is pretty damn difficult.”
“If I could interject,” Yagyuu nodded at Keigo. “Niou-kun is not the only person here with precognitive ability.”
There was something immensely annoying about Yagyuu Hiroshi, somehow, even discounting the fact that he'd punctured Keigo's right lung mere hours ago. “If what we want is information on the palace's armed forces, there's easier ways to get what we need. Nothing happens in this place without a real-time electronic record of it happening; every servant and guard is microchipped.”
Even now he recalled fumbling with the laser scalpel as he tried to locate Kabaji's microchip, the day the two of them ran away; it'd been embedded deeper than either of them had assumed and it hadn't stopped bleeding for what was about ten minutes but felt like hours and dozens of tissues.
Tezuka said: “I doubt I could successfully infiltrate the palace neural networks.”
“I never said I expected you to be able to,” Keigo retorted. “I'm planning to sit on that chair by the window over there. I suggest that none of you interrupt me for the next five minutes.”
Keigo had been designed for this, from test-tube conception to artificial birth.
He hadn't done this in eight years. He'd never done it except under the most supervised and controlled of situations, the old man holding his hand both physically and virtually. Even he hadn't enjoyed it except as a challenge. Partition your mind, the Emperor had said. Pay attention to what you are doing online, as well as the world around you.
He'd never quite managed this feat of multitasking. Even now, he had to lay back on the couch and close his eyes, in order to activate the long-dormant implants at the back of his skull.
All of a sudden he was aware, in a non-sensory manner, of multiple wireless networks existing all around him, primed for connection.
Niou said, “Is that--”
Yagyuu answered: “Yes. Wireless human-neural network interaction. This is the first time I've seen someone besides Yukimura-kun engage in it.”
Keigo blocked Niou and Yagyuu's voices out of his mind, along with all awareness of his physical surroundings. His determination not to be like the old man had its downsides, and one of them was that he'd never, truly, master the art of interacting with neural networks. It was taking all his concentration just to connect to the palace's main Hub, bypassing level after level of security clearance--
He activated another of his rarely-used implants and immediately he was within a VR interface, all evidence of the external world gone.
He sat on a throne in a pale, glittering room of crystal. His wrists were cuffed to the armrests, his legs shackled to the floor in translucent ice chains. A dozen giant marble vases lined the sides of the room, each vase holding an oversized, metallic chrysanthemum.
It was not the scene Keigo had been expecting to see, and although he grasped the situation instantly, it was too late for a response.
“You took your time,” said the old man, just as Keigo attempted to logoff and discovered that he was, unsurprisingly, trapped.
#
In some ways, he'd been waiting for this all his life.
He gazed across at the avatar of the man who'd sired him, created him. The Silver Emperor appeared in VR much as he did in the physical world: young, perfectly proportioned, with a sculpted look about his slim figure that reinforced the sense that one was looking at something inhuman. With respect to his features, the genetic link between him and Keigo was unmistakable – it was in the eyes, the nose, the jaw. The plastic surgery Keigo had undergone eight years ago had not been radical enough to diminish the resemblance significantly.
Keigo thought for a long while, and then he spoke: “Hello, Father.”
“Hello Keigo,” said the emperor. “I see your VR capacities have improved only minimally.”
“It was not one of my goals to improve them.” Even as he spoke, Keigo tested out the programming of the space they were in – the emperor had Admin status, Keigo only had Guest, but even so Keigo had a few tricks up his sleeve remaining, particularly if the Palace network's encryption protocols were the same as they'd been when he was living here...
He stood up, and the frozen chains and throne and dais dissipated into dust around him.
“I suppose it could be worse; at least you have not grown rusty.” The emperor raised his left hand and snapped his fingers; immediately they were seated at a round silver table, facing each other. “I wish I could say the same of your political sense, but it's evident that Aya's boy has been thinking circles around you.”
Keigo gave his father a scathing look. “Who do you think I am? Sakaki? You were as surprised by Yukimura's movements as I was.”
“Speaking of Sakaki, once I was informed of your presence in this city I investigated and found old footage of the two of you travelling in the Neue Bundesrepublik five years ago. You've been calling him your father. He must enjoy that, sentimentalist that he is.”
“What have you done to him?”
His father raised a brow. “Sakaki is safe. What do you take me for?”
“A total bastard, last time I checked.”
“Hardly true in the technical sense. My life began in a laboratory, just as yours did. Unlike you, however, I had no parents.” The room around them flashed and shifted till they were standing amid a sea of chrysanthemums: long-stemmed, gigantic and colourful, their sweet scent heavy in the air.
The emperor continued: “You misjudge me greatly if you think I would harm Sakaki. Cruelty is only warranted when it can be expected to affect future outcomes. Sakaki's role in our game is over; he will not be of further help nor hindrance to you and me, whether I punish him or not.”
“It's not a game.”
“For you it isn't, I expect. At the age of seventeen everything is life and death and non-negotiable. You and the Yukimura child are perfectly the same in that respect.”
“You poisoned Yukimura. It would have been better to kill him.”
“Hindsight is perfect. The boy is made of sterner stuff than Aya is. Had I known this back then, I would simply have eliminated him. Still, by all indications he's got the same emotional instability as his mother. I have need of you yet.”
Even after years of separation they still understood each other perfectly, him and the old man. “I've made it very clear I don't want to be part of your plans for Shinnihon,” said Keigo, scowling.
“You have expressed your objections on numerous occasions and in manifold ways. To which I say: what a shame. Do you think you will escape this, Keigo?”
“Escape living a life like yours? I think I can manage to do that.”
The chrysanthemums grew taller, heavier, stronger-smelling; the flowers and stems and leaves rose up into a great forest that loomed all around their avatars.
“My life has been an interesting one,” said the emperor. “I spent its first century founding a nation. Its second century I spent seeking immortality in any form: literal, metaphorical, spiritual. These last hundred years I must say have been most unproductive. Still, I can't say I ever imagined your being able to emulate my path. Even if you wanted to, as clearly you do not.”
I know, Keigo thought. I know you are old and clever, and that if I managed to hide from you these last eight years, it is because you allowed it. I know you don't need Precognition to see everything that could happen and will happen. But that is part of the reason I ran away.
Aloud, he said, “What do you have planned for Yukimura Seiichi?"
There was a wild whining wind, a darkening of the sky. The chrysanthemums began to wilt. They fell in their tens of thousands, petals indigo and scarlet and yellow, a snowstorm of fragrance and color. Keigo stared at his father's avatar amid a landscape of destruction, unholy in its beauty.
Then sudden silence, although the flowers continued to fall. The emperor said: “His existence and mine are utterly incompatible.”
Keigo’s breath hitched. The old man’s words weren’t exactly surprising, but still -- “Leave me out of it,” he said harshly. “I’m not interested in the family games.”
“You never were part of the family games, Keigo.” The rain of petals was slowing; the ground beneath their feet was a boundless carpet of withered chrysanthemum. “Did I ever involve you in the internal politics of the palace while you lived here? I think I did my best to spare you that.”
“And yet here I am,” said Keigo. “Neck-deep in your schemes and Yukimura’s.”
His father’s voice gentled. “Keigo, I am sorry.”
The sky shining above them, silver clouds haloed by the illumination of a virtual sun. Birdsong, soft breezes, young greenery emerging from the death of the earlier forest. Keigo scented damp grass, felt the warmth of sunlight on his skin, sensed the delicate perfection of the VR landscape. Absolute control; every aspect of the virtual space fine-tuned.
“He is coming,” said the emperor.
The entire scene disappeared. Keigo was back in a world of featureless grey -- disembodied, unseeing. He reached for his neural controls and flipped through menus, subroutines, protocols. What he discovered made his head spin.
The emperor remained online, although he was no longer directly communicating with Keigo. But there was another user logged on to the Hub, someone whose identity remained hidden.
Someone who possessed Admin status on the palace’s main neural network.
Someone who, like Keigo and the Silver Emperor, was connecting wirelessly to the palace Hub.
#
The first thing he saw as he came back to the offline world was Niou’s eyes, silver and intent.
“Yukimura’s here,” said Keigo. “In the palace.” Within reach of the Palace’s wireless range.
“I know,” said Niou. Across the room, Tezuka and Yagyuu were unholstering their weapons.
#
Tezuka forced them to set their guns to non-lethal taser, making it clear that he would act to neutralise anyone who did not cooperate. Niou acquiesced with a shrug. Yagyuu perhaps seethed a little, but agreed without too much dissension. The fact of the matter was that there was no time to lose.
As it turned out they did not meet with much hostile resistance as they emerged from the infirmary. All across the compound and the Palace gardens a cacophony of sirens were blaring, declaring an internal emergency of the highest level. Spilling across every footpath were panicked bevies of concubines, cooks, ministers, cleaners, valets, diplomats, IT personnel, secretaries, ladies’ maids, LAFV mechanics, courtiers -- some of them on foot, some of them taking to the air in LAFVs, all of them disorganised and haphazard and terrified. There were armed forces in plentiful supply, true -- Chrysanthemum Guards, and military, and even some uniformed InSec employees -- but they had their hands full ushering the palace civilians into some semblance of order.
Niou took the lead, proceeding cautiously at first, following hidden walkways and secluded colonnades. When no guards emerged to block their passage, they grew bolder, hastening their pace and barely pausing to scout as they turned corners and crossed open areas. Keigo presumed that Niou’s Precognition was more than adequate to foresee any nasty surprises that might have come their way.
Within minutes they were at the great courtyard that led to the main palace. There were fifteen entrances to the building; Keigo knew every last one of them intimately.
“The eastern wing’s servant quarters,” he suggested, as they gathered in the shadow of a pavilion, still a good hundred yards from the palace building itself. “We can get fairly close to the side doors there without being spotted, and it’s less likely to be heavily guarded.”
“Unnecessary,” said Niou. Unlike any other Precog Keigo knew, Niou appeared to have the capacity to absorb visions without getting distracted from whatever he was doing at the time, whether it was fighting or scouting or holding a conversation. “Yukimura’s beaten us to it.”
And with those words Niou and Yagyuu began walking across the courtyard, side-by-side. Pistols held at the ready, in Niou’s left hand, in Yagyuu’s right hand, but with an aura of calm about their movements, as if they did not expect to be using their weapons.
Keigo held his breath, watching them. But no gunshots rang out, no Chrysanthemum Guards appeared. There was no movement at all.
After the pair had travelled about fifty paces Niou turned to look back at where Keigo and Tezuka were still waiting by the pavilion. “Are you coming or not?” he called out, tone impatient.
“It appears that whatever has happened, the main palace security has been neutralised,” said Tezuka quietly. Tezuka’s facial expressions were always subtle at best, but reading between the lines Keigo could see that he was as surprised as Keigo felt. Rikkai might be the most powerful runner group in Nippon, but no syndicate was a match for the full Chrysanthemum Guard under ordinary conditions.
How many further sorceries was Yukimura Seiichi going to perform tonight?
He stood up with Tezuka and they crossed the flagstones to join the two Rikkai runners. Caution still ruled Keigo’s movements; he studied the moonlit courtyard and the palace walls, scrutinised the parapets and the balconies, but found nothing. No sentries, no snipers, not even surveillance insects.
It was not until they reached the wide stairway leading to the main doors that they caught their first glimpse of Chrysanthemum Guards.
There were a dozen of them, all fallen, some of them prone on the floor, some of them slumped against the balustrades. At first Keigo thought they were dead, but then one snored, and upon reevaluation he realised that they were all still breathing. A few of them sported plasma burns, and singed uniforms, but the majority of them bore no signs of physical injury.
Keigo knelt down to examine one of the guards. This particular woman lay supine on the tiles of the entrance portico, her breaths quick and shallow, her eyes staring glassily into space. Keigo placed his fingers to her neck and found her pulse rapid, thready, uncertain.
“This is Yukimura’s work, is it not?” Tezuka asked Yagyuu and Niou.
“The injured ones would be Kirihara-kun and Jackal-kun,” answered Yagyuu. “But yes, the rest would be Yukimura-kun.”
The entrance hallway was in the same condition, silent bodies scattered across the carpets. Inside the building high-pitched sirens were blaring, sometimes interrupted by urgent voice recordings instructing civilians to evacuate. In the upper corners of rooms, near the ceiling, security cameras rotated back and forth. But no matter where they went inside the palace it was the same, every chamber and corridor empty save for the deeply unconscious figures of guards, servants, courtiers.
“Where should we go?” Tezuka asked Niou, as they halted at an intersection of passageways, faced with a three-way choice of possibilities.
Niou’s face was hectic with excitement. “Yagyuu, I can see him,” he said, his voice betraying a boyish wonder that Keigo would never have expected from the Rikkai precognitive. “I can see him. It’s been so long--” He caught himself mid-sentence, and turned to Keigo and Tezuka. “The throne room. That’s where we need to go.”
“I know the way,” said Keigo. “I’ll take you there.”
He stepped forward, following the corridors that after all this time remained utterly familiar.
For better or worse, at long last.
#
The doors to the throne room had been torn off their hinges.
More precisely, they had been burnt off their hinges. The doorway’s lintel was charred, and across the floor lay great scorched chunks of painted hardwood. Ash and smoke drifted through the air.
Marui Bunta’s pyrokinesis, without a doubt.
Taking cover at the edge of the destroyed entranceway, they peered through at the tableau of wreckage that was the throne room.
The Rikkai runners had taken up position close to the doorway. Shielded by an invisible telekinetic barrier, they were launching attacks with their usual coordinated efficiency. There were only half a dozen of them, five of whom Keigo recognised. Sanada. Kirihara. Yanagi. Marui. Jackal.
The sixth sat in a wheelchair, a skeletal figure in a hospital gown. Hair sparse and clipped short, eyes hidden behind tinted sunglasses. His limbs were horrifyingly thin, pallid skin stretched over bone.
Yukimura Seiichi.
Fire flared; shots rang out near continuously. Sanada and Yanagi continued to aim in the direction of the throne -- Sanada fired rapid bursts of bullets, Yanagi sent out thin curving plasma arcs that shone brilliantly, then dissipated into nothing as they neared the throne. The emperor’s cohort was guarded by its own impenetrable telekinetic barrier.
Because it was impossible to get an good view of the imperial dais without risking being caught by a stray plasma shot, Keigo and the others could only catch imperfect glimpses of the men and women protecting the throne. There were about fifteen of them, defended by a combination of physical barriers and psionic shields. Some wore the silver-trimmed uniform of the imperial psionics. The rest were a mix of Chrysanthemum Guards and InSec personnel.
Behind them all sat the old man on his throne. Calm as ever. Watching the carnage unfold.
“Kirihara-kun tires,” said Yagyuu.
They looked over at Kirihara Akaya, who sat crumpled in a corner on the floor, face white, black hair matted, brow furrowed in tight fury. The left side and sleeve of his jacket were soaked through with blood.
Niou asked quietly, “How long do you think it’ll be before he
Niou asked quietly, “How long do you think it’ll be until he passes out?”
“Stamina is not his strong point.” Even as Yagyuu spoke, they saw Kirihara’s head sag in exhaustion. The young Immune screwed his green eyes shut for a moment, before opening them again, his mouth set in harsh determination “Jackal-kun can likely keep the telekinetic shields up indefinitely, but I doubt that we can rely on Kirihara-kun’s Immunity for much longer. Ten minutes, most likely.”
The fight between Rikkai and the Silver Chrysanthemum was in equilibrium at present. Sanada and Yanagi managed shot after futile shot; Marui Bunta flung wall after wall of fire across the throneroom, only to to have the flames blink out the moment they hit a certain point in the air. The attacks of the imperial operatives were similarly ineffectual. Rikkai’s only defenses might be Jackal Kuwahara’s telekinetic shields and Kirihara’s Immunity, but this was more than sufficient to keep the six runners unscathed -- as long as Kirihara and Jackal remained fit for combat.
“We need to create an opening,” said Yagyuu. “A small one would be sufficient for Yukimura-kun.”
Niou did not answer. Instead he stared across at the other Rikkai runners.
To all but the most careful observer there was no sign that the Rikkai combatants had noticed the arrival of their allies. (Allies and interested parties, rather; Keigo very much doubted Tezuka would assist Rikkai in a fight against the Chrysanthemum Throne. For a moment he wondered at all what Tezuka's aim was in coming here to begin with -- and then he realised that Tezuka's motive was to keep him safe.)
(His natural reaction was to bristle, but there was no time right now to indulge in emotions like indignation.)
“A distraction,” Niou said, and Keigo saw Marui Bunta’s gaze flicker over to them, then back, so momentarily that Keigo would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching.
Keigo came awake all at once; there was no transition between sleep and alertness. Sharp pain thrummed in his right lower chest, most severe at the extremes of inhalation. He lifted his right hand and found it connected to an intravenous drip.
To his left, blinds were drawn back. Weak light filled the room, golden and dim. It was sunset, then – – but had it been mere hours since he was sedated, or was it longer still? Keigo struggled to a sitting position, assessing the situation.
“Your injury should be all but healed by now. Your noble sire spared no expense in requesting emergent medical care.” It was Yamato Yuudai, sitting in a deck chair at the foot of Keigo's bed. “Nothing but the best for you, your Imperial Highness.”
Yamato was angry. It was an expression Keigo had never seen him wear. Perhaps this was the real Yamato Yuudai, Keigo thought, behind the inscrutable smile and unfashionable sunglasses and pathetic VR ability.
“I appreciate the medical attention, if not the source from which it came.” Keigo studied the Seigaku ex-president. “What's an honoured member of the august Yamato family doing babysitting a disinherited prince, by the way?”
“You have an interesting definition of the word disinherited. I'm an InSec operative and personal aide to Tezuka Kuniharu. You of all people should understand that being identified with one's family is not always a pleasant thing.” Yamato leaned back in his chair. “I'm not here to babysit you, Atobe Keigo. I'm here to negotiate.”
A fine time to negotiate, Keigo thought, when the other party was lying bedbound in the heart of the palace with a stab wound to his lung. “Who are you negotiating for?”
“For a family of people who are too honorable and foolish to negotiate for themselves.”
“For Tezuka Kuniharu, then.” When Yamato raised a brow, Keigo shrugged dismissively. “Oh come on, I haven't observed Seigaku for years for nothing. You're not Tezuka Kunimitsu's tool. He's yours.”
“Kunimitsu is very...traditional. More like his grandfather than his father.” Yamato gave a sigh. “In one respect, however, all three Tezukas are equally alike.”
“Absolute loyalty, am I right? By which you mean absolute loyalty to the throne.”
“My dear Keigo, if I weren't perfectly aware that your precognition stands no chance against my Immunity, I'd almost think you'd foreseen this conversation before. Truly your father's son, aren't you? He can read a mind better than any telepath, the Silver Emperor. It's been such an frustrating trait of his, for such a long time. He'd never have let me near you if he weren't so thoroughly distracted this time.”
So Yukimura had made his move, finally. What had he done, and when had he done it?
“How long have I been asleep?” Keigo asked.
“Only a few hours, in which a great deal has happened. It was remiss of me not to recognise the potential in getting you and Yukimura to join forces.”
A tingling pain ran down Keigo's limbs as he struggled to reach a sitting position, using the remote control at his side to tilt the head segment of the bed upwards. Being forced to lie horizontal made him feel helpless in front of the InSec operative. “You're the one who's been watching all this, aren't you? The one with both Precognition and Immunity talents. You're the reason InSec was able to take Hyoutei off guard the other day, with your attack on St. Rudolph. Didn't manage to surprise Rikkai, mind you.”
Yamato smiled. “Are you attempting to provoke me? I do not inflate my own importance, Your Highness. Not like you. I know my talents well, and I use them to to the best of my abilities. Reminding me of my limitations doesn't threaten me.”
It was a close contest, but Yamato Yuudai was perhaps the single most frustrating person Keigo had ever had to deal with. “Say what you have to say and get it over with.”
“About that. I may have used a rather loose definition of the word negotiate.” Yamato stood and began to pace the room slowly. “Do you know what Yukimura Seiichi has done tonight? He has shut down every major neural network and public server in Shinnihon; he has, in effect temporarily destroyed the internet. At this moment the emperor must feel that he has lost a sixth sense; to one such as him it must be like being blind, or deaf.”
On second thought, Yukimura Seiichi was definitely the most frustrating person Keigo knew. No contest at all. “So that's the reason he needed the distraction.”
Yamato frowned at Keigo, but a moment later his face cleared. “A distraction. That's why that Rikkai runner injured you. Threatening your life is certainly one of the few things that would distract the emperor. And Yukimura's actions now have provided an even more potent distraction. Tonight is the first night in my living memory that I have walked without fear of the emperor's eyes.”
Keigo attempted to reply but was interrupted by the sudden advent of pain, exquisite and burning, in his head.
His precognitive senses flashed, suddenly, and he looked at Yamato, his head feeling sluggish and uncooperative as he forced himself to raise his eyes upwards.
“What have you done to me?”
Yamato smiled. “With the Shinnihon net disrupted, this infirmary is no longer under the emperor's observation.” He held up a syringe of colourless liquid. “I won't tell you what this poison is called, Your Highness; its name is long and unpronounceable. Suffice to say it is a toxin closely related to the one my parents gave Yukimura Seiichi nine years ago, albeit somewhat more potent.”
He moved towards the intravenous pole on Keigo's right and detached the normal saline bag hanging there. “I don't want you dead, you see. Kuniharu-sama is a stronger person than you, but he cannot escape being a Tezuka. His desire is to serve, not rule. I can give him an emperor he can serve without reservations, with the freedom to do what is right for our country. But it won't do to give him an emperor who can can rule by telepathy, or by virtual reality. In short, Your Highness, I don't need any of your higher cerebral functions. Alive, but incapacitated; that is the emperor that I need. That Kuniharu-sama needs.”
Keigo tried to move his limbs to no avail. The tingling he had experienced earlier had now spread to his entire body. All his muscles were slack and unmoving, despite all attempts to force them into action.
“The drug that has been running into your veins for the last hour is a short-acting paralytic; it won't remain effective for long.” Yamato inserted the end of the syringe into a plastic opening in the bag of normal saline, and began to inject the colourless drug. “If I were you, though, I wouldn't worry too much about the paralysis. Within fifteen minutes you won't have enough neural activity in your brain to be conscious of it.”
Keigo attempted telepathic attack, lashing out with his mind, but his psionic abilities simply skidded off Yamato's Immune ability. Yamato raised a brow when he felt the attempt, but simply smiled and continued to administer the neurotoxin.
“I do apologise,” said Yamato. “It may have been kinder to do this while you remained asleep. But I wanted the opportunity to talk to you, at least once--”
He was cut off midspeech by the flash of a plasma shot. A moment later, there was a thud as Yamato's body hit the ground.
Instinctively Keigo tried to turn his head, to find the source of the attack – only to find that he was unable to move his neck. His identity of the shooter was revealed almost immediately, however, as Tezuka Kunimitsu entered the room swiftly and yanked the intravenous drip out of Keigo's arm – cannula, plastic tubing, adhesive dressing, and all – creating a spill of blood and fluid that continued to dribble out of Keigo's arm.
“Use some gloves, will you? If Yagyuu were here he'd have a fit.” Tezuka caught a pair of blue latex gloves and a pack of gauze sponges that came sailing through the air at him. A moment later Niou Masaharu came through the doorway, wearing a pair of gloves similar to the ones he'd just thrown at Tezuka.
The Rikkai runner trained his gun at the floor, on Yamato. “So you're the missing piece. You've been a thorn in my side since I first went to Yukimura, you bloody bastard. What'd you do with Yagyuu?”
Yamato sounded as if he was in pain as he replied: “Am I the person you should be questioning about this? Your partner is with the Silver Emperor, no doubt being tortured to within an inch of his life.”
“He is not. The Silver Emperor's mobilising every armed force in the city and marching on Rikkai headquarters as we speak. I saw everything the moment it started. I even saw our pretty little prince over there, being turned into a vegetable. But I didn't see Yagyuu.”
Yamato gave a gentle laugh, and pulled himself to his feet. There was a deep plasma burn beginning at his neck and extending to his lower torso, to go by his singed jacket and trousers. It was a wound suggestive of great skill on the part of the gunman, to inflict that much injury without killing instantly. Good to see Tezuka's ranged combat skills hadn't dulled one whit. “Perhaps he's not there for you to see.”
“I know when Yagyuu dies.” Niou's silver eyes bore into Yamato. “It's not today, and not now, and certainly not before I do. And your Immune Gift is even more damn annoying than Kirihara's. I wouldn't have made it here in time if it weren't for Yanagi.”
Tezuka had finished applying a dressing to Keigo's arm and now turned towards the two of them. “President Yamato. I did not expect this to happen.”
Yamato continued to retain remarkable composure as he stood, despite his wounds. “So it comes to this, Kunimitsu? I have never been able to predict you, anymore than you could predict me. So psychologically consistent, for the most part. And yet.”
“It comes to this,” Tezuka answered. “I made my choice.”
Yamato bowed his head and then faced Tezuka again, expression serene. “I would rather it was you than any other. Please give my regards to your father.”
“Wait,” Niou snapped, “I haven't finished asking him about Yagyuu yet.”
“Then you should have asked more quickly,” Tezuka said, pulling out his own gun. “I would have this over and done with.”
A single shot with a bullet, silent and straight through the heart, and Yamato dropped once more to the ground.
There was no hesitation in Tezuka as he went over to the fallen body. He knelt down beside it for about half a minute – disappearing from Keigo's field of vision – before rising again.
“Do you know how to reverse the paralytic?” Tezuka asked Niou.
“That's why I wanted to know where Yagyuu was; it wasn't sentiment. Give me a moment. It should be easier to find him now that Yamato isn't here.“ Niou sat down at the end of Keigo's bed and took a deep breath. “Bloody Immunes, I hate them. That includes you, Tezuka. Go over to the other side of the room, you're disrupting my vision.” He went still for a few minutes, his eyes going distant and unreachable, before he finally said: “I can see him. You stay here to guard the prince; I'll bring Yagyuu back.”
After Niou disappeared through the doorway Tezuka reached down and gathered Yamato's body up in his arms. He went out into the corridor and came back again several moments later, no doubt having placed Yamato in one of the other infirmary rooms.
Tezuka pulled the sole chair over to sit by Keigo's bedside.
How did you get here? Keigo asked telepathically. He had to repeat his words twice, as initially he was unable to penetrate Tezuka's Immune barrier. Tezuka noticed Keigo trying to make contact, however, and redirected his Immune ability, so that the channels of psionic communication were suddenly open.
Fuji, at first. He warned me that I would regret it if I did not come here tonight. Tezuka's mind was guarded, as always; he left no stray thoughts for Keigo to read. Niou intercepted me as I was entering the palace.
Do you regret coming here tonight?
I do, and I do not. I do not regret protecting you. You, not the throne.
Taciturn and meaningful as always. Did you think it would come to this with Yamato?
I did not. But I was prepared. There is no one in Shinnihon less predictable than Yamato was.
He was completely loyal to your father.
He was. But my father did not ask him to do this.
You're sure about that?
I am certain. My father is many things, but he is first and foremost loyal.
Keigo cut the telepathic connection, brooding. It was one thing to be hounded by InSec and Rikkai and get tangled up in the imperial politics of his childhood. It was another thing to have Tezuka Kunimitsu – defending him. Killing in his name.
He wanted things to be as they were, runner president to runner president. The pure fight, the ephemeral battle.
It was not a life that would have lasted. Sakaki had warned him from the beginning that his days in Hyoutei were numbered.
“You are who you are,” Tezuka said quietly. “And I am who I am. That does not change.”
I didn't think you were an Empath.
I am scarcely anything like Yukimura. But you are as psychologically consistent as Yamato claimed me to be. I have made my choice; will you make yours?
Keigo was about to retort that he already had made his choice, when Niou returned, followed by Yagyuu.
“Found him trapped in one of the dungeon's neural-link chairs,” Niou informed them. “VR torture chamber. Meino Nanako stuck an Immune barrier on him, that's why I couldn't find him, especially with two other Immunes in the vicinity.”
There were no visible marks of injury on Yagyuu. There never were; the old man preferred psychological scars to physical ones. Yagyuu's face was opaque as he silently wound a tourniquet around Keigo's left arm, established intravenous access, and injected a white substance into a vein on the inside of Keigo's elbow.
Within minutes Keigo was moving his limbs once more. He pulled himself upwards, allowing himself a wince at the pain that persisted in his chest.
“Thank you,” he told Yagyuu. “For the medical care, not for stabbing me.”
Yagyuu bowed his head in acknowledgement. “It was necessary.”
“And enjoyable, no doubt.”
“It is always a pleasure to do my duty,” said Yagyuu. His tone was polite, but his face remained expressionless. “Niou-kun and I will be taking our leave now. The two of us have futher work to do.”
“As do we,” said Tezuka. “You will be taking us with you.”
Yagyuu raised a brow, but he did not say no. Instead he glanced at Niou, who was studying Atobe and Tezuka with a thoughtful expression.
“Yes,” he said finally, his silver eyes inscrutable. “You can both come. It's part of the future.”
“Which future?” Keigo couldn't help asking.
“One that works.”
The Shinnihon Stock Exchange was down. All major news sites were down, as were any social networks worth mentioning. Fifteen of the country's eighteen major banks were at a standstill, their accounts frozen. Traffic lights, telecommunications systems, television channels – everything was down.
The only major systems Yukimura had been unable to attack, according to Niou, were InSec, the military, and the palace.
The old man had acted swiftly the moment he realised what was going on. Within half an hour of Yukimura's attack, the Rikkai headquarters had been reduced to rubble.
“We knew that was going to happen, of course,” said Yagyuu. “Everything of importance was relocated days ago.”
“Including Yukimura's body?” Keigo asked. Transporting a paralysed teenager had to be a difficult task, even for a syndicate of Rikkai's size.
Yagyuu adjusted his glasses. “Including President Yukimura, yes.”
Keigo frowned at him. “Where is Yukimura now?”
“Would we tell you,” Yagyuu said, “even if we knew?”
Yagyuu's voice was a fraction more irritated than might be expected, causing Keigo to scrutinise the Rikkai runners before smirking in realisation. “You really don't know where Yukimura is, do you. I suppose that's the extent of how much he trusts the two of you.”
A hint of anger passed across Niou's face, but it was Yagyuu who responded: “Yukimura-kun did not stay alive all these years by being careless. Tonight would be a poor time to start.”
That brought the discussion to a stalemate, and although Keigo would have liked to supply another rejoinder, there were priorities of greater urgency at hand. They set about securing the upper floors of the infirmary. The place was largely abandoned, Yamato having apparently evacuated the doctors and nursing staff before he came to visit Keigo. Yagyuu bolted down the doors and windows, while Niou found the security system and armed it, disconnecting it from the main palace system.
Keigo found his belongings, including his wristcomm, infodevice, and his weapons, locked away in one of the medication cabinets. (The door clicked open when he thumbed the sensor-lock; even after all these years, his security clearance remained intact.)
Once the basic cautionary measures had been attended to, the four of them gathered to discuss strategy.
“Our flyers are parked outside the palace complex,” Niou said, referring to his own vehicle and Tezuka's.. “It wasn't too hard getting in, thanks to our scion of House Tezuka having security clearance, but the Chrysanthemum Guard will have regrouped and organised themselves by now. If we try to leave this building without a very good plan in place, we'll be arrested within minutes.”
“We need as much information as we can before coming up with a strategy.” Tezuka glanced at Niou. “Are you able to use your precognition to gauge what hostile forces will be in the area if we emerge?”
“I could, but it'll be difficult. I'm getting about three spontaneous visions a minute at the moment, which is twice the usual rate. I can still function, but directing my sight to a specific task is pretty damn difficult.”
“If I could interject,” Yagyuu nodded at Keigo. “Niou-kun is not the only person here with precognitive ability.”
There was something immensely annoying about Yagyuu Hiroshi, somehow, even discounting the fact that he'd punctured Keigo's right lung mere hours ago. “If what we want is information on the palace's armed forces, there's easier ways to get what we need. Nothing happens in this place without a real-time electronic record of it happening; every servant and guard is microchipped.”
Even now he recalled fumbling with the laser scalpel as he tried to locate Kabaji's microchip, the day the two of them ran away; it'd been embedded deeper than either of them had assumed and it hadn't stopped bleeding for what was about ten minutes but felt like hours and dozens of tissues.
Tezuka said: “I doubt I could successfully infiltrate the palace neural networks.”
“I never said I expected you to be able to,” Keigo retorted. “I'm planning to sit on that chair by the window over there. I suggest that none of you interrupt me for the next five minutes.”
Keigo had been designed for this, from test-tube conception to artificial birth.
He hadn't done this in eight years. He'd never done it except under the most supervised and controlled of situations, the old man holding his hand both physically and virtually. Even he hadn't enjoyed it except as a challenge. Partition your mind, the Emperor had said. Pay attention to what you are doing online, as well as the world around you.
He'd never quite managed this feat of multitasking. Even now, he had to lay back on the couch and close his eyes, in order to activate the long-dormant implants at the back of his skull.
All of a sudden he was aware, in a non-sensory manner, of multiple wireless networks existing all around him, primed for connection.
Niou said, “Is that--”
Yagyuu answered: “Yes. Wireless human-neural network interaction. This is the first time I've seen someone besides Yukimura-kun engage in it.”
Keigo blocked Niou and Yagyuu's voices out of his mind, along with all awareness of his physical surroundings. His determination not to be like the old man had its downsides, and one of them was that he'd never, truly, master the art of interacting with neural networks. It was taking all his concentration just to connect to the palace's main Hub, bypassing level after level of security clearance--
He activated another of his rarely-used implants and immediately he was within a VR interface, all evidence of the external world gone.
He sat on a throne in a pale, glittering room of crystal. His wrists were cuffed to the armrests, his legs shackled to the floor in translucent ice chains. A dozen giant marble vases lined the sides of the room, each vase holding an oversized, metallic chrysanthemum.
It was not the scene Keigo had been expecting to see, and although he grasped the situation instantly, it was too late for a response.
“You took your time,” said the old man, just as Keigo attempted to logoff and discovered that he was, unsurprisingly, trapped.
In some ways, he'd been waiting for this all his life.
He gazed across at the avatar of the man who'd sired him, created him. The Silver Emperor appeared in VR much as he did in the physical world: young, perfectly proportioned, with a sculpted look about his slim figure that reinforced the sense that one was looking at something inhuman. With respect to his features, the genetic link between him and Keigo was unmistakable – it was in the eyes, the nose, the jaw. The plastic surgery Keigo had undergone eight years ago had not been radical enough to diminish the resemblance significantly.
Keigo thought for a long while, and then he spoke: “Hello, Father.”
“Hello Keigo,” said the emperor. “I see your VR capacities have improved only minimally.”
“It was not one of my goals to improve them.” Even as he spoke, Keigo tested out the programming of the space they were in – the emperor had Admin status, Keigo only had Guest, but even so Keigo had a few tricks up his sleeve remaining, particularly if the Palace network's encryption protocols were the same as they'd been when he was living here...
He stood up, and the frozen chains and throne and dais dissipated into dust around him.
“I suppose it could be worse; at least you have not grown rusty.” The emperor raised his left hand and snapped his fingers; immediately they were seated at a round silver table, facing each other. “I wish I could say the same of your political sense, but it's evident that Aya's boy has been thinking circles around you.”
Keigo gave his father a scathing look. “Who do you think I am? Sakaki? You were as surprised by Yukimura's movements as I was.”
“Speaking of Sakaki, once I was informed of your presence in this city I investigated and found old footage of the two of you travelling in the Neue Bundesrepublik five years ago. You've been calling him your father. He must enjoy that, sentimentalist that he is.”
“What have you done to him?”
His father raised a brow. “Sakaki is safe. What do you take me for?”
“A total bastard, last time I checked.”
“Hardly true in the technical sense. My life began in a laboratory, just as yours did. Unlike you, however, I had no parents.” The room around them flashed and shifted till they were standing amid a sea of chrysanthemums: long-stemmed, gigantic and colourful, their sweet scent heavy in the air.
The emperor continued: “You misjudge me greatly if you think I would harm Sakaki. Cruelty is only warranted when it can be expected to affect future outcomes. Sakaki's role in our game is over; he will not be of further help nor hindrance to you and me, whether I punish him or not.”
“It's not a game.”
“For you it isn't, I expect. At the age of seventeen everything is life and death and non-negotiable. You and the Yukimura child are perfectly the same in that respect.”
“You poisoned Yukimura. It would have been better to kill him.”
“Hindsight is perfect. The boy is made of sterner stuff than Aya is. Had I known this back then, I would simply have eliminated him. Still, by all indications he's got the same emotional instability as his mother. I have need of you yet.”
Even after years of separation they still understood each other perfectly, him and the old man. “I've made it very clear I don't want to be part of your plans for Shinnihon,” said Keigo, scowling.
“You have expressed your objections on numerous occasions and in manifold ways. To which I say: what a shame. Do you think you will escape this, Keigo?”
“Escape living a life like yours? I think I can manage to do that.”
The chrysanthemums grew taller, heavier, stronger-smelling; the flowers and stems and leaves rose up into a great forest that loomed all around their avatars.
“My life has been an interesting one,” said the emperor. “I spent its first century founding a nation. Its second century I spent seeking immortality in any form: literal, metaphorical, spiritual. These last hundred years I must say have been most unproductive. Still, I can't say I ever imagined your being able to emulate my path. Even if you wanted to, as clearly you do not.”
I know, Keigo thought. I know you are old and clever, and that if I managed to hide from you these last eight years, it is because you allowed it. I know you don't need Precognition to see everything that could happen and will happen. But that is part of the reason I ran away.
Aloud, he said, “What do you have planned for Yukimura Seiichi?"
There was a wild whining wind, a darkening of the sky. The chrysanthemums began to wilt. They fell in their tens of thousands, petals indigo and scarlet and yellow, a snowstorm of fragrance and color. Keigo stared at his father's avatar amid a landscape of destruction, unholy in its beauty.
Then sudden silence, although the flowers continued to fall. The emperor said: “His existence and mine are utterly incompatible.”
Keigo’s breath hitched. The old man’s words weren’t exactly surprising, but still -- “Leave me out of it,” he said harshly. “I’m not interested in the family games.”
“You never were part of the family games, Keigo.” The rain of petals was slowing; the ground beneath their feet was a boundless carpet of withered chrysanthemum. “Did I ever involve you in the internal politics of the palace while you lived here? I think I did my best to spare you that.”
“And yet here I am,” said Keigo. “Neck-deep in your schemes and Yukimura’s.”
His father’s voice gentled. “Keigo, I am sorry.”
The sky shining above them, silver clouds haloed by the illumination of a virtual sun. Birdsong, soft breezes, young greenery emerging from the death of the earlier forest. Keigo scented damp grass, felt the warmth of sunlight on his skin, sensed the delicate perfection of the VR landscape. Absolute control; every aspect of the virtual space fine-tuned.
“He is coming,” said the emperor.
The entire scene disappeared. Keigo was back in a world of featureless grey -- disembodied, unseeing. He reached for his neural controls and flipped through menus, subroutines, protocols. What he discovered made his head spin.
The emperor remained online, although he was no longer directly communicating with Keigo. But there was another user logged on to the Hub, someone whose identity remained hidden.
Someone who possessed Admin status on the palace’s main neural network.
Someone who, like Keigo and the Silver Emperor, was connecting wirelessly to the palace Hub.
The first thing he saw as he came back to the offline world was Niou’s eyes, silver and intent.
“Yukimura’s here,” said Keigo. “In the palace.” Within reach of the Palace’s wireless range.
“I know,” said Niou. Across the room, Tezuka and Yagyuu were unholstering their weapons.
Tezuka forced them to set their guns to non-lethal taser, making it clear that he would act to neutralise anyone who did not cooperate. Niou acquiesced with a shrug. Yagyuu perhaps seethed a little, but agreed without too much dissension. The fact of the matter was that there was no time to lose.
As it turned out they did not meet with much hostile resistance as they emerged from the infirmary. All across the compound and the Palace gardens a cacophony of sirens were blaring, declaring an internal emergency of the highest level. Spilling across every footpath were panicked bevies of concubines, cooks, ministers, cleaners, valets, diplomats, IT personnel, secretaries, ladies’ maids, LAFV mechanics, courtiers -- some of them on foot, some of them taking to the air in LAFVs, all of them disorganised and haphazard and terrified. There were armed forces in plentiful supply, true -- Chrysanthemum Guards, and military, and even some uniformed InSec employees -- but they had their hands full ushering the palace civilians into some semblance of order.
Niou took the lead, proceeding cautiously at first, following hidden walkways and secluded colonnades. When no guards emerged to block their passage, they grew bolder, hastening their pace and barely pausing to scout as they turned corners and crossed open areas. Keigo presumed that Niou’s Precognition was more than adequate to foresee any nasty surprises that might have come their way.
Within minutes they were at the great courtyard that led to the main palace. There were fifteen entrances to the building; Keigo knew every last one of them intimately.
“The eastern wing’s servant quarters,” he suggested, as they gathered in the shadow of a pavilion, still a good hundred yards from the palace building itself. “We can get fairly close to the side doors there without being spotted, and it’s less likely to be heavily guarded.”
“Unnecessary,” said Niou. Unlike any other Precog Keigo knew, Niou appeared to have the capacity to absorb visions without getting distracted from whatever he was doing at the time, whether it was fighting or scouting or holding a conversation. “Yukimura’s beaten us to it.”
And with those words Niou and Yagyuu began walking across the courtyard, side-by-side. Pistols held at the ready, in Niou’s left hand, in Yagyuu’s right hand, but with an aura of calm about their movements, as if they did not expect to be using their weapons.
Keigo held his breath, watching them. But no gunshots rang out, no Chrysanthemum Guards appeared. There was no movement at all.
After the pair had travelled about fifty paces Niou turned to look back at where Keigo and Tezuka were still waiting by the pavilion. “Are you coming or not?” he called out, tone impatient.
“It appears that whatever has happened, the main palace security has been neutralised,” said Tezuka quietly. Tezuka’s facial expressions were always subtle at best, but reading between the lines Keigo could see that he was as surprised as Keigo felt. Rikkai might be the most powerful runner group in Nippon, but no syndicate was a match for the full Chrysanthemum Guard under ordinary conditions.
How many further sorceries was Yukimura Seiichi going to perform tonight?
He stood up with Tezuka and they crossed the flagstones to join the two Rikkai runners. Caution still ruled Keigo’s movements; he studied the moonlit courtyard and the palace walls, scrutinised the parapets and the balconies, but found nothing. No sentries, no snipers, not even surveillance insects.
It was not until they reached the wide stairway leading to the main doors that they caught their first glimpse of Chrysanthemum Guards.
There were a dozen of them, all fallen, some of them prone on the floor, some of them slumped against the balustrades. At first Keigo thought they were dead, but then one snored, and upon reevaluation he realised that they were all still breathing. A few of them sported plasma burns, and singed uniforms, but the majority of them bore no signs of physical injury.
Keigo knelt down to examine one of the guards. This particular woman lay supine on the tiles of the entrance portico, her breaths quick and shallow, her eyes staring glassily into space. Keigo placed his fingers to her neck and found her pulse rapid, thready, uncertain.
“This is Yukimura’s work, is it not?” Tezuka asked Yagyuu and Niou.
“The injured ones would be Kirihara-kun and Jackal-kun,” answered Yagyuu. “But yes, the rest would be Yukimura-kun.”
The entrance hallway was in the same condition, silent bodies scattered across the carpets. Inside the building high-pitched sirens were blaring, sometimes interrupted by urgent voice recordings instructing civilians to evacuate. In the upper corners of rooms, near the ceiling, security cameras rotated back and forth. But no matter where they went inside the palace it was the same, every chamber and corridor empty save for the deeply unconscious figures of guards, servants, courtiers.
“Where should we go?” Tezuka asked Niou, as they halted at an intersection of passageways, faced with a three-way choice of possibilities.
Niou’s face was hectic with excitement. “Yagyuu, I can see him,” he said, his voice betraying a boyish wonder that Keigo would never have expected from the Rikkai precognitive. “I can see him. It’s been so long--” He caught himself mid-sentence, and turned to Keigo and Tezuka. “The throne room. That’s where we need to go.”
“I know the way,” said Keigo. “I’ll take you there.”
He stepped forward, following the corridors that after all this time remained utterly familiar.
For better or worse, at long last.
The doors to the throne room had been torn off their hinges.
More precisely, they had been burnt off their hinges. The doorway’s lintel was charred, and across the floor lay great scorched chunks of painted hardwood. Ash and smoke drifted through the air.
Marui Bunta’s pyrokinesis, without a doubt.
Taking cover at the edge of the destroyed entranceway, they peered through at the tableau of wreckage that was the throne room.
The Rikkai runners had taken up position close to the doorway. Shielded by an invisible telekinetic barrier, they were launching attacks with their usual coordinated efficiency. There were only half a dozen of them, five of whom Keigo recognised. Sanada. Kirihara. Yanagi. Marui. Jackal.
The sixth sat in a wheelchair, a skeletal figure in a hospital gown. Hair sparse and clipped short, eyes hidden behind tinted sunglasses. His limbs were horrifyingly thin, pallid skin stretched over bone.
Yukimura Seiichi.
Fire flared; shots rang out near continuously. Sanada and Yanagi continued to aim in the direction of the throne -- Sanada fired rapid bursts of bullets, Yanagi sent out thin curving plasma arcs that shone brilliantly, then dissipated into nothing as they neared the throne. The emperor’s cohort was guarded by its own impenetrable telekinetic barrier.
Because it was impossible to get an good view of the imperial dais without risking being caught by a stray plasma shot, Keigo and the others could only catch imperfect glimpses of the men and women protecting the throne. There were about fifteen of them, defended by a combination of physical barriers and psionic shields. Some wore the silver-trimmed uniform of the imperial psionics. The rest were a mix of Chrysanthemum Guards and InSec personnel.
Behind them all sat the old man on his throne. Calm as ever. Watching the carnage unfold.
“Kirihara-kun tires,” said Yagyuu.
They looked over at Kirihara Akaya, who sat crumpled in a corner on the floor, face white, black hair matted, brow furrowed in tight fury. The left side and sleeve of his jacket were soaked through with blood.
Niou asked quietly, “How long do you think it’ll be before he
Niou asked quietly, “How long do you think it’ll be until he passes out?”
“Stamina is not his strong point.” Even as Yagyuu spoke, they saw Kirihara’s head sag in exhaustion. The young Immune screwed his green eyes shut for a moment, before opening them again, his mouth set in harsh determination “Jackal-kun can likely keep the telekinetic shields up indefinitely, but I doubt that we can rely on Kirihara-kun’s Immunity for much longer. Ten minutes, most likely.”
The fight between Rikkai and the Silver Chrysanthemum was in equilibrium at present. Sanada and Yanagi managed shot after futile shot; Marui Bunta flung wall after wall of fire across the throneroom, only to to have the flames blink out the moment they hit a certain point in the air. The attacks of the imperial operatives were similarly ineffectual. Rikkai’s only defenses might be Jackal Kuwahara’s telekinetic shields and Kirihara’s Immunity, but this was more than sufficient to keep the six runners unscathed -- as long as Kirihara and Jackal remained fit for combat.
“We need to create an opening,” said Yagyuu. “A small one would be sufficient for Yukimura-kun.”
Niou did not answer. Instead he stared across at the other Rikkai runners.
To all but the most careful observer there was no sign that the Rikkai combatants had noticed the arrival of their allies. (Allies and interested parties, rather; Keigo very much doubted Tezuka would assist Rikkai in a fight against the Chrysanthemum Throne. For a moment he wondered at all what Tezuka's aim was in coming here to begin with -- and then he realised that Tezuka's motive was to keep him safe.)
(His natural reaction was to bristle, but there was no time right now to indulge in emotions like indignation.)
“A distraction,” Niou said, and Keigo saw Marui Bunta’s gaze flicker over to them, then back, so momentarily that Keigo would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching.