Thanks to everyone who commented, great we have such a supportive community, and it's nice to see some new names.
If anyone's still playing the spot-the-Western references, McCarty (real person) and Bishop (movie character) both qualify ... unless we're just gonna let DOC_Agren sweep this?
@shadowdancer: Welcome to the thread! I usually post a chapter a day at around this time until the story is done.
All my older stuff is archived here:
https://one-way-mirror.blogspot.jp/p/blog-page.html* * *
EIGHT
Outside Kuwabatake CityThe Combine civilian guidance corpsman seated opposite watched her expressionlessly. His candy-cane striped uniform made her want to giggle. His grim face and the sonic stunner across his lap advised against it.
The local constabulary had arrived shortly after Karen had spoken with the woman, the mother of the murdered girl, probably fast enough that the crowd wouldn’t have been able to kill her or Vaughn, probably slow enough that there would have been stitches, if not crutches, in her future. She wondered if that had been deliberate; certainly, the cops had seemed almost disappointed at the lack of violence that greeted them when they’d come charging into the
izakaya.
The invitation for a ride back to the Fort had been polite, generous, and clearly impossible to refuse. So here she was, bouncing along in the windowless rear compartment of a police van that gave every impression of having zero suspension, knees inches from those of the stony-faced guard opposite, wondering if they really were going back to the Fort, or to an unmarked grave instead. Vaughn, sitting next to her, spent the whole ride staring at his feet.
The corpsman leaned forward. “I watched your fight,” he said abruptly. “
Awano no Akuma.”
Well, this could go one of two ways, she thought. “Which one?”
“All.” He smiled, revealing a mouth full of brilliant white teeth, but his eyes remained hard. “You’re good, very good, maybe the best of the Gunslingers.”
“Unity, I hope that isn’t a pick-up line.” Beside her, Vaughn covered his snort by feigning a coughing fit.
“
Kensei is better. I hope he kills you.” He gave a single, firm nod. “
Jekk Allah jrid.”
Karen tensed, unsure if the last comment had been a threat, comment, question or death sentence.
The van suddenly juddered to a halt. This was it, she thought. A bullet in the head. Damned if she’d go without a fight. The corpsman stood, but then brushed past her without a word, swung open one of the doors at the back of the van, jumped down and stood looking at her and Vaughn expectantly.
“Well?” the man asked, impatient.
Karen stood slowly, shuffled out the van and leapt lightly down onto the dusty plain outside. She turned around and saw the looming gates of Fort Hebron. She felt a surge of relief, tempered when she saw Major Wallach, arms crossed, along with a platoon of heavily-armed infantry nervously fingering auto grenade launchers and laser pulse rifles.
“I thought you were going to kill us,” she admitted to the corpsman.
He jerked his head back and looked at her askance. “Whatever for?” He tapped his temple.
“Honor. Revenge. Samurai stuff. The usual.”
“You laugh, Mechwarrior Graham, but look around you. Look at this bare rock. The Combine is poor, MechWarrior Graham, always has been, always will be. We are never, ever going to be as rich as the Hegemony or Commonwealth. We embrace the Japanese culture because it’s the culture of a people who have nothing. We have rock gardens not because of Zen Buddhism, but because nothing grows in our gardens but rocks. We eat fish raw because we can’t afford fuel for a fire. We sleep on the floor because we don’t have money for a bed. And we defend our honor because it’s all we have.” He seemed almost sad, Karen thought. “You may think you are the ones being threatened,” he said. “You are wrong. It is we who are under attack. By your treaties, your merchants, your holo-vids, your empty promises of liberty, brotherhood and equality. We are fighting back the only way we know how.”
He bowed slightly, then extended a hand. Karen shook it, once. “Die well,” he said.
“Thanks, uh, you too,” she replied unthinking. Then winced a little. Phrasing, Karen, phrasing.
The man grabbed onto the open van door, half-hauled himself back up, then paused and looked down at Karen. “You were not the only strangers in town tonight,” he said. “Others, who sounded like Luthien and smelled like soldiers. Be careful tomorrow, Devil of Awano.” He stepped into the van, and slammed the door behind him. Soon, the police van was bouncing back down the road towards Kuwabatake, leaving Karen and Vaughn coughing it its dusty residue.
“What was that all about?” Vaughn asked her. “Does he want you dead or not?”
“Search me,” Karen spat, trying to get the taste of dust from her mouth. Wiped it with the back of her hand. “Like he wants me dead, but only in a fair fight? I dunno, Captain, you think this samurai BS is all a con by the Kurita family to keep people in line, or are people genuinely looking for an identity?”
It was Vaughn’s turn to shrug. “Bit of both, I suppose.” Karen looked over at him, as he frowningly watched the rapidly-disappearing police van. His usual cement-hard hair was disheveled after the night’s adventure, his chin darkened by a day’s growth of stubble. A better look for him, she thought. He looked back at her, his eyes met hers, then slid to look at something past her shoulder. “If you want a second opinion on that, here comes Wallach. Looking mighty pleased with himself.”
Karen turned to find, for the second time that night, someone bearing down on her with determined strides. Only, instead of rage, Major Wallach seemed to be riding on a cloud of pure satisfaction. “Off-based without leave, Lieutenant?”
“Don’t worry sir, we didn’t murder anyone this time.”
That took the edge off his smile. Wallach looked sharply at Vaughn, who spectacularly failed to look innocent. Wallach tried again, “When the Colonel hears about this—”
“She will do nothing, because the order for my transfer here came straight from the 14th Army HQ on Dieron, Major, and she’s not about to commit career suicide over this.” Karen had had enough of Wallach’s needling, his shallow pride and bloodthirsty need to salve it. She ignored him and began to march toward the Fort’s gates.
She’d hoped he’d explode. Call her a loose cannon, maybe, threaten to court martial her, better yet challenge her to a duel: she'd be ready this time. Make himself look like an ass in front of the regiment. Instead, there was only silence, broken by the crunch of her boots in the sand as she walked through the security platoon, now drawn up on either side like a sullen honor guard.
She glanced back, once, just before she passed under the gates. And found Major Wallach watching her, coldly. Calculating.
