Target Rich Environment 2 Page 4

  On the upside, they landed like he’d hoped. On the downside, he smashed his head against the controls hard enough to knock himself stupid. Joe came back to reality a moment later dangling sideways about thirty feet over a ruined street. The moisture on his face was from a broken fire hydrant spraying upward.

  It hurt to think. Talking was worse. “Hikaru, you still alive?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant.”

  “Good, because we’re not done yet.” His voice was ragged. He didn’t know if it was because he was breathing in clouds of dust, or if all the magic he was burning had damaged his vocal cords somehow. They were at a really awkward angle and looking out a jagged hole, but from the noise and shadows, it appeared the demon was trying to get away. If Tokugawa thought it was going to make it back to the ocean to heal, he’d light it up with the Peace Ray. “Get those Fixers to work. I want my arm and my ice magic, and I want them now.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “If you don’t, we’re going to get flash-fried.” Joe very gently tested the pedals. He’d gotten this thing stood up before, but he’d had both arms and a whole bunch of monitors to keep him informed then. This was going to take some finesse and a whole lot of screwing with gravity. “On that thought, get me a radio. This might take a minute.”

  “The Gakutensoku appears to be disabled, General. The beast is severely wounded, but it is merely fleeing back toward the bay. They have failed to stop it.” The aide presented him with a radio. “The Yamamoto awaits your orders.”

  Toru took the radio with a heavy heart. He grieved for his nation, and gave no thought to his own life. The greater Summoned had to be stopped. If not now, then it would simply heal in the depths and then return to finish the job, even stronger than before. “This is General Tokugawa granting permission to fire the Peace Ray. Authorization code one five three tw—”

  “General!” Another staff officer rushed forward. “Please wait.”

  Normally Toru was very unforgiving of rude interruptions, but since he was about to obliterate them all, he was allowed to hope for a bit of good news. “Hold on that authorization . . . What is it?” He was handed another radio.

  “It is the Super Gakutensoku!”

  “—hear me, Tokugawa, you son of a bitch! Don’t you dare touch that thing off. I can still do this.”

  Toru keyed the radio. “This is General Tokugawa.”

  The young Sullivan sounded exhausted. “We’re not out of the fight yet. We’re getting back up. I can still stop it before it gets back to the ocean.”

  One of his aides warned, “Time is of the essence, sir. It will be at Minato soon. Once it is out to sea, we will lose it.”

  “What is your status, Sullivan?”

  “Just peachy.” There was something that sounded like a groan of metal and a loud clang. “Couldn’t be better.”

  “There! The Gakutensoku rises.” A spotter was pointing at the financial district.

  Broken glass crunching underfoot, he moved over to see. In the distance the mighty mechanical man was swaying, badly charred on one side, and missing an arm . . . but standing. The men began to cheer.

  “There is no time, General!” the aide shouted.

  “Give us one more shot.”

  Toru had once trusted this man’s father and he’d not been disappointed. He keyed the radio. “Sullivan, go southeast as fast as possible. You can cut it off at the port.”

  “Got it. Sullivan out.”

  The Gakutensoku began an awkward limping jog through the city.

  “That is our only chance. Do everything we can to slow the monster down. When it reaches the ocean, we will have no choice.” He handed back the radio that offered hope and took up the one that could only dispense doom. “Yamamoto, await my signal.”

  Joe didn’t worry about the landscape now. It was better to bounce off a building to keep up speed than to move carefully if the whole place was minutes from being vaporized anyway. Since the robot was missing half of its head, wind was blowing freely through the cockpit. He’d not thought he’d need to wear goggles. On the bright side, now that they had a convertible, they all had a lot better view.

  “Demon sighted!” Hikaru shouted.

  The forest of spines was visible on the other side of some buildings to their left. It had gotten turned around and slowed down while being harassed by the Imperium military and not taken the most direct route to the bay. So they’d caught up before reaching the ocean, and judging by the numerous cargo cranes in front of them, just in the nick of time.

  “Radio your air force to back off for a minute.” With them all hanging in the breeze, one unlucky hit and shrapnel would kill them all. Then what good was their fancy robot? Joe had both friction sticks all the way forward and was running the foot pedals as fast as he could. He veered them to the side and tracked directly toward the demon.

  The magic draw was intense. His personal Power had long since been exhausted. He was only a conduit now, a circuit between the Power itself and the hungry spells on this machine. The other Gravity Spikers aboard had either been killed or incapacitated, because it felt like he was on his own. He knew he was probably going to die here, but that just made him want to make sure this thing didn’t get away even more.

  The demon heard them coming. It had to be severely weakened, because rather than turn to meet them, it kept on moving toward the ocean. The demon was stumbling as bombs kept going off around it, leaving a smoking trail of lost tissue. They were almost on top of it.

  “Cold magic ready.” Hikaru had to shout to be heard over the wind.

  “About damned time. I’ve got an idea. Hold on.”

  They were both in the open, smashing their way through stacks of cargo containers and trucks. He realized what was really slowing down the demon. The horn that he’d ripped off earlier had wound up impaled through one of its legs, causing it to limp. So I did stick it. Nice. Joe pulled back on the friction sticks, slowing them just a bit, allowing the demon to reach the water first.

  “What’re you doing?” Hikaru probably thought Joe had decided to throw in the towel.

  “Trust me.”

  The demon reached a moored freighter and began clambering over it. Waves crashed as the ship capsized and the beast hit the water. Joe lifted their remaining arm. The crosshairs used for aiming earlier were long gone, but he wasn’t shooting at the monster: he was shooting at the ocean around it. “Release the ice magic now!”

  He’d not realized how well insulated they’d been before. The cold that blasted through the cockpit was a shock to the system, but it was far, far worse on the receiving end. The ocean around the monster turned solid instantly. Partially submerged, the creature could no longer move its legs or tail, and fell forward. Its snout smashed into the suddenly hard surface, and it flailed about through the slush and breaking ice.

  Joe plowed ahead, only there was no longer ground ahead of him, only man-made dock facilities, and those came apart beneath their weight. It took all of his skill and concentration to keep them from falling over in the mud, but below that was bedrock, and that was solid enough to get some gravity-assisted purchase on. Waist deep, they slogged forward as water came rushing through the fresh holes in their robot.

  The demon was sliding, trying to gain purchase. The loss of smoke and ink was shrinking it. The thing was no longer so massive and imposing, and Joe drove straight into the monster, crushing it back into another ship. Once he was sure they were partially on top of it, and there was solid rock beneath, Joe cut his Power and let gravity return to normal.

  There was an unholy screech as the giant monster’s legs were crushed, but demons didn’t have bones to break, so there was still work to be done.

  Its head was far beneath them, jaws snapping, so Joe lifted their remaining arm, pushed the button to form a fist, and then let the thing have it right in the teeth. He kept hitting it, arm rising and falling like a jackhammer. Each blow caused the head to deform further, spraying burning ink in e
very direction. The second of its four eyes went out, and then a third, and Joe just kept on hitting it.

  The monster was shrieking and thrashing, A claw caught the rest of their cockpit and tore that away, but the controls were still connected, so Joe just kept on plugging away. There was so much black floating on the waves that it looked like the ship they’d rolled over had been an oil tanker, but that was just demon ink.

  There was a gleam of bronze through the churning salt water. It was the giant hammer and sickle embedded on the demon’s chest. Joe opened the palm and reached down, plunging the robot’s fingers through the thick hide until they were around the symbol. Then he hit the button to make a fist. Satisfied that the crunch meant he’d caught it, he yanked back on the controls, ripping it from the demon’s body.

  The demon opened its mouth to screech one last time, and this time Joe slammed the hammer and sickle right down its throat and through the back of its head.

  The vast Summoned body began to dissolve, but so did Joe’s consciousness. The pain was making it hard to think. He was leaning forward, and as he lost it, so did the robot.

  The dark ocean rushed up to meet him.

  Joe woke up in a hospital bed. General Tokugawa was sitting in a chair next to him.

  “You know, if I ran this Imperium the same way my father did, I would simply notify your president that you perished in the battle and your body was lost in the harbor. Even his best spies would not be able to discern the truth. I have thousands of witnesses who saw the ruined Super Gakutensoku sink into the bay. Then you would be experimented upon, your will broken, and your impressive Power utilized for the greater good.”

  “Lucky for me you’re not like your father,” Joe croaked.

  “And lucky for my city, you are very much like yours . . . I have named you an honorary Iron Guard and awarded you the Order of the Golden Kite. Wear the medal with pride.”

  “The Marine Corps is gonna love that.”

  “You may stay here if you wish, and I will gladly change that from honorary to official . . . From your expression I shall take that as a no? Oh well . . . My Healers have repaired your wounds. All that remains is the exhaustion. Soon, you will be returned to your country, whether to a hero’s welcome or to the shame of having aided an enemy, I do not know. Your people are fickle and unpredictable.”

  “Yep, but they’re my people.”

  “Indeed.” Tokugawa smiled. “It is good for a warrior to know where he belongs.”

  One of my favorite things about short story collections are the little extra bits the author puts in explaining how the story came to be and the process behind it.

  In this case, “Tokyo Raider” was kind of an experiment. The original Grimnoir trilogy (Hard Magic, Spellbound, and Warbound) began in 1932, in a world that diverged from ours when magical abilities started appearing among the populace in the 1850s. It was inspired by noir, pulp, and hardboiled detective stories. It often gets labeled as “diesel punk.”

  But for the second trilogy I thought it would be fun to jump ahead a bit so I could get more into the golden age of sci-fi—basically I wanted to write wizards in space—and since technology is moving faster in the Grimnoir universe than our own, that meant the 1950s. So I jumped ahead a couple of decades to take a look at the son of two of the previous trilogy’s heroes doing a favor for one of the previous trilogy’s antagonists.

  Plus, I’m a sucker for giant robots.

  One fun thing about this series that fans of old monster movies will catch, in Spellbound I had a giant monster climb a building swatting biplanes in the same year King Kong came out in real life, and “Tokyo Raider” is set the same year as the original Godzilla. That’s where the code name Gorilla Whale came from.

  That 1950s Grimnoir trilogy is currently in the works.

  THE TESTIMONY

  OF THE TRAITOR RATUL

  “The Testimony of the Traitor Ratul” first appeared on Baen.com in 2019. It is set in my epic fantasy Saga of the Forgotten Warrior universe. The first book in this series is Son of the Black Sword, which was nominated for the David Gemmell Award, and won the 2016 Dragon Award for Best Fantasy.

  I HAVE BEEN CALLED MANY THINGS, like Ratul the Swift, or Ratul Without Mercy, and much later I was known as Ratul the Mad, or Ratul the Traitor. I have held many offices, most notably the rank of Master within the Protector Order, a title reserved for only the fiercest defenders of the Law. Yet that mighty office paled in importance to my illicit calling, when the Forgotten appointed me the Keeper of Names. I gave up one of the mightiest stations in the land to become a fugitive, and did so gladly, for I truly believe the gods are real.

  Some say I am a fool, and all say that I am a criminal. Religion is illegal; preaching, as I have done, is punishable by death. My time will come. I embrace my fate, for they are the fools, not I. It is the world which has forgotten the truth. Soon they will be forced to remember, and it will be a most painful event.

  Yes, I have been called a great many things, from heroic leader and master swordsman to fanatical rebel and despicable murderer, but young Ratul Memon dar Sarnobat was a kind-hearted child, nothing at all like the jaded killer I would become.

  Those years are long distant now. I was born on the moors south of Warun, second son of a vassal house, and second sons of the first caste are commonly obligated to serve the Capitol for a period of time. It is said the houses keep their eldest close to prepare them to inherit and rule, but offer the rest of their children to the Capitol to demonstrate their total commitment to the Law. In truth, it is in the hope we can secure offices of importance within the various orders to siphon wealth and favors back to our families, but I was naÔve then, and did not yet understand the hypocrisy and rot within our system.

  Young Ratul dreamed of being obligated to the Historians Order to maintain the relics in the Capitol Museum, or perhaps the Archivists Order, to spend my days organizing the stacks of the Great Library, for young Ratul loved stories and books. I also had a great talent for music and dance, as did all in my house, but I was the most graceful child. Perhaps I would be best obligated to an artisan’s school, and go on to compose great plays? Maybe I would be an Architect, raising mighty monuments to the Law, or something odd and secretive like the Astronomer, tracking the moons and cataloging the sky? Regardless of where I was obligated, I looked forward to living in the magnificent Capitol, where it was said all the women were beautiful, the food was rich, and the waters pure and free of demons.

  As a gangly boy with thin arms, a narrow chest, and a sensitive disposition, it never even entered my mind that I might be obligated to one of the militant orders. Only upon the flag of Great House Sarnobat is the wolf, and such a cunning predator is a fitting symbol for the family which mine was vassal to. I shall not delve into the petty house politics which resulted in my obligation going to the Protector Order, but basically, my father had given some inadvertent insult to our Thakoor. Thus it amused our leader to give me to the most infamous order of all, the brutal enforcers of the Law, where it was common for their young obligations to die in their unforgiving training program.

  I recall my mother sobbing as I left our house, because she knew in her heart that her soft summer-born child would fail and die miserably.

  At fourteen years old—which, by the way, is a little old to become a Protector acolyte—I traveled, not to the glorious and wealthy Capitol, but to the austere and miserable Hall of the Protectors, near the top of the world, high in the unforgiving mountains of Devakula, in the distant frozen south. I was despondent the entire journey there. All I knew of the Protectors were that they did nothing but pursue and execute lawbreakers. . . . That, and they were one of the few orders whose members were not allowed to wed until their obligation was fulfilled, so they lived a life of stoic solitude. At that age I was a silly romantic, so the idea of being bereft of female companionship until my obligation was done filled me with dread. My service was to last for a period of no less than ten years. A
nd let us be honest, the odds of me surviving ten years of murderous village-burning butchery were slim as my waist.

  We crossed a great many narrow bridges over deep chasms on the way to the Hall in Devakula, and I contemplated hurling myself off of every single one. Those I travelled with would surely tell my family it was an accident, for slipping on ice and falling to your doom—though ignominious—was a more honorable end than suicide. Hitting the sharp rocks would’ve been a much faster end . . .

  Except it was during this journey that I found I possessed a great stubbornness, for I would not give my Thakoor the satisfaction of expiring so quickly. To the ocean with him.

  Though he was the focus of my great hate at the time, honestly, I can no longer even remember my Thakoor’s face—he is as forgotten by me as the gods are to man—but that initial spark of defiance which flickered into being on a swaying bridge high in those mountains has remained with me ever since.

  Decades later, that tiny spark would grow into a great roaring fire.

  Later that fire would help ignite a conflagration which would threaten to burn the entire world . . . but I get ahead of myself. Gather close my children. I must tell you how I believed in those days, for I still had much to learn.

  The Law required there to be three great divisions within our society: the caste that rules, the caste that wars, and the caste that works. Every man has a place. Some said that there was a fourth division, meaning those without caste, but such speech could be considered subversive, for the Law declares that the casteless are not really people at all.

  The first caste is the smallest, yet obviously the most important of all whole men. They are the judges and the arbiters of the Law, the members of the various Orders of the Capitol, and the Great House families.

  Each Great House has an army to defend its interests. These are the warrior caste. They are more numerous than the first, yet far fewer than the third. I thought of them as a bloodthirsty, boisterous lot, with their own odd customs and a peculiar code of honor, but they were kept in check by the Law and the will of their Great House.