Different Paths (8 page)

Iaido spied movement to his right and left; without
turning his head he asked, “Special Agent Johnson and Agent Smith, why am I not
surprised to see you here?”

“Mr. Spartan.” Special Agent Johnson asked, “What
brings you to Old Town?”

When Iaido didn’t immediately respond, the junior
agent grabbed his arm to forestall the bounty hunter from taking another drink
of his beer.

Calmly setting down his drink, Iaido glared at the
agent and held up his other hand. “Strike two junior.”

Somewhere inside himself, Agent Smith felt that he
might’ve crossed the line and slowly retracted his hand.

With a final glare at the youngster, Iaido turned
his attention back to the senior agent. “You know very well what I am doing
down here and where I have been. Your surveillance teams need practice, if this
had been war, they would be dead by now.”

“What surveillance teams?” asked Agent Smith innocently.

Iaido faced the younger agent. “Don’t insult my
intelligence. You have two agents dressed as bums on the street outside of the
Sylvan Embassy; one to the north sitting beside the trash can and one to the
south panhandling on a street not known for its foot traffic… not wise. You also
have a video crew of at least two agents on the roof of the old theatre and of
course your command post in this dump.”

Iaido turned to the older Fed and asked, “Did I
miss anyone?”

“How...how did you know all that?” Agent Smith
stammered.

“Youngster, if you have walked the paths I have
you would know.”

Special Agent Johnson turned to his young protégé
and said, “Pull our team, all of them. Tell them to report to HQ for
reassignment.”

Agent Smith glared at the bounty hunter for a
moment before he moved out of sight. Special Agent Johnson said, “You’re
walking a dangerous path Mr. Spartan.”

“My path was decided a long time ago, I am what I
was destined to be… nothing more and nothing less.”

Special Agent Johnson took a long drink of his own
beer and watched the vid-screens for several minutes before he broke the
silence. “Do they know anything?”

Iaido shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. I
don’t believe they are telling me everything. You?”

“I agree but I also believe that neither of them
had anything to do with Sgt. Major Spenton’s death other than possibly getting
him involved in something that got him killed. Hell, his murder could be just
what it looks like.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do.” Iaido
set down his beer and turned to face the fed. “You know I have to investigate
this? I owe it to my friend.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to get in my way?”

“Mr. Spartan, the last place I want to be is in
your way. I value my life too much.”

“You know who I am?”

Finishing his beer, Special Agent Johnson set his
glass on the bar. “Yes and no; officially, your records are sealed. No one
below Council level clearance can access them but I have my suspicions.”

“Which are?”

“I know you were a member of Omega Squadron and
judging from your hunting record I would say you were advanced recon. Judging
from your movements, I would say you are highly trained in close combat. I know
you served time in New Leavenworth after Gilese. As to why you were sentenced
to there I don’t know…yet.”

“Not bad for a Fed. You surprise me. I thought all
bureaucrats were closed minded and narrow thinkers.”

“I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an
insult,” Special Agent Johnson said. “But I’ll take that as a compliment. Would
you like to fill in the gaps?”

Iaido placed his empty mug on the counter and
turned back to the Fed.

“Let me tell you an ancient parable. Before going
on a long journey a wealthy merchant took his life’s savings and entrusted it
to a friend for safekeeping; only the merchant and the friend know about this
transaction. However, the merchant was killed during the trip, leaving his
family penniless. The friend has four choices; he can keep the money since no one
knows of the transaction; covet the money for a short time until overcome by
guilt before giving the money to the widow; hoard the money for a time until
fear that someone knows of the transaction prompts him to give the money to the
widow; or give the money to the merchant’s widow outright.” Iaido stood up and asked,
“What is the moral of the story?”

Special Agent Johnson shook his head. “I have no
idea. What the hell is it supposed to mean?”

“When you discover that, then it will be time to
learn more.” As he left the bar, his comlink chimed. Tapping the receive button
he said, “Spartan.”

“Hiya boss,” came Diana’s cheerful voice.

Moving through the commuter traffic, Iaido scanned
the crowd out of habit. Mostly watching hands and hips; hands for weapons, hips
for concealed weapons or out of place movement.

“What do you have for me, Diana?”

“Two things; Sensei called to ask you to stop by.”

“I am on my way there now.”

“And I have that autopsy report for you, it took a
bit of creative hacking but I have it. I was impressed at the level of security
of the coroner. It was more elaborate than the Feds’ database.”

Approaching the tram, Iaido flashed his bounty
hunter credentials to the clerk and bypassed the security station and the line
of waiting commuters.

“Enlightening but what did you find?”

“Well, according to the report the coroner did a
full battery of tests but found no trace of any known toxins or drugs. He also
did a cellular scan for any chemical or biological agents; none detected. Only two
strange findings, the wife had two small puncture wounds on the base of her neck
that don’t correspond to any known bite marks. And secondly, there seemed to be
less blood loss than normal considering her wounds.”

“Anything else?”

“Just one note about Amy’s wound; it was
self-inflicted and by the way, it was not a single stab wound as reported in
the Feds’ files. It was actually a single slash wound to her jugular vein; she
would’ve bled out in less than a minute. This was after she bound her legs
together with a towel.”

“Jigai.”

“What was that?”

“Jigai was a form of seppuku, an ancient form of
ritual suicide from feudal Japan,” Iaido explained. “The main purpose of
binding her legs was to keep her body in a dignified pose despite the
convulsions of death. Seppuku was a key part of Bushido; the code of the
Samurai warriors. It was used by warriors to avoid falling into enemy hands or
to attenuate shame but was rarely used by women.”

“Why would Amy commit this jigai thing?”

“That is the question my dear Diana. To the best
of my knowledge, Amy had never studied Bushido or served in the military. She
was just a civilian, a nurse if memory serves. Go back through her files, tax
records, employee records, anything and everything. Dig into her past, see if
anything turns up.”

“I’m on it, catch you later.”

Stepping off the tram, Iaido moved along sidewalks
already crowded by New Atlanta’s commuters as they went about their lives.
Glancing at their faces, he could tell that most weren’t even aware of their
surroundings. They rushed to get to their destination, oblivious to the world
around them. To these people the war was only news that happened in a distant
region of space, it couldn’t possibly affect their lives. Occasionally, Iaido
would make eye contact with another veteran, though they were few and far
between. Both would acknowledge the other with a slight nod or a slim smile
before passing. These individuals always had the same haunted look and grim
expression but they were acutely aware of their surroundings. A trait one
learns in combat, if you aren’t aware of your surroundings you’re dead. Iaido
couldn’t help but think these few veterans were wolves in a world of sheep.

Reaching a large building in the center of town,
Iaido stepped inside and into a different world.

The serene environment of the dojo was like
stepping through a doorway in time. Nothing modern seemed to belong in this
sacred hall. The Sensei had designed and built this dojo as a refuge from the
modern world.

An oriental girl in her teens sat at the
receptionist desk only nodded to Iaido as he entered. The lobby only had three
doorways in it, the main door, the men and women’s locker rooms where all
guests must change clothes; nothing modern was allowed in the dojo proper.
Following the protocols of the dojo, Iaido changed into his keikogi before
moving further inside. He left his weapons, clothing and body armor in his
locker without fear of anyone stealing anything. A dojo is a training hall for
warriors; self-discipline, respect and honor were cornerstones of that
training. Thievery was not tolerated. With a year long waiting list to train in
this dojo, few would jeopardize their status for minor theft. 

Even though it was early, shortly after nine in
the morning, a beginner’s class was already in session.  It was a class of
kids, guessing their ages to be from six to twelve Iaido paused to watch them
for several minutes. He never tired of watching this age group train. Maybe it
was his inability to have kids or the fact that he never had a childhood that
this junior class always fascinated him.

“Iaido-san,” said a small voice to his left.

Iaido smiled when he saw Sensei’s youngest son
standing next to him.

“Sam, you are getting sneakier, only a mouse would
be quieter than you.”

“Shaji Iaido-san,” Sam smiled at the complement
and bowed slightly. “Sensei is waiting for you in the shrine.”

Returning the bow, Iaido moved further into the
vast building.

He knew that the building was an old four story
‘brownstone’ near the center of New Atlanta. It had been given to the Sensei
for payment for his work on the SPARTAN project. He had converted the lowest
floor into a dojo. On the second floor were dormitories for visiting students,
the third and fourth floor were considered private; only special students and
family were allowed access. It was these two levels which housed the Sensei’s
quarters, an extensive library and the most elaborate Japanese garden since the
destruction of Tokyo. And lastly, there was a Shinto shrine.

A Shinto shrine is a simple thing, consisting of a
small gong, some ancient relic of your ancestors and sticks of incense. The
gong was used during ceremonies to ‘awaken the ancestors’; the relic was the
object used to draw the ancestor to this realm and the incense supposedly acted
as a calming influence on the spirit. The Sensei’s relics were two objects of priceless
beauty; the twin katanas of Miyamato Mushasi.

The Sensei was a direct descendant of Mushasi, who
was known as Kensai or Sword Saint and was the author of Go Rin No Sho, a Book
of Five Rings. He was known to have fought over sixty duels between the ages of
sixteen and thirty before retiring to a life of study and meditation. He was considered
ancient Japan’s most famous Samurai and even in the twenty-second century,
those who walked the path of Bushido still honored his accomplishments and
teachings.  

Iaido entered the shrine to find his master
kneeling in prayer before the altar.

Iaido had been indoctrinated in the Shinto faith
along with many other faiths; Buddhism, Hinduism, Catholicism, Muslim just to
name a few. The SPARTAN project managers reasoned that by understanding all the
faiths of possible enemies of the Coalition, their warriors would be better
prepared to defeat them.

However of all the faiths Iaido had studied,
Shintoism held the least influence on him. Since he didn’t have any ancestors,
Iaido had a hard time following the faith’s tenets. Although he held deep
respect for those that followed the path, it was not one of his choosing.

Before Iaido could speak, the Sensei stood up
slowly and leaned heavily on his staff before turning to his pupil. “Finally,
you come to see your old teacher.”

Iaido bowed low. “Much has happened since my last
visit.”

The Sensei lifted an ivory and brass scroll case
from the altar before turning back toward the garden. “Let us walk awhile.”

Iaido studied the altar. Normally, the twin swords
of Mushasi sat in a place of honor on a rack on the altar but the upper rack
was empty. “Sensei, where is the sword?”

“Do not worry over its fate my son. I have sent it
on to its next master.”

“But I don’t understand. Were they not meant to
stay together?”

Sensei’s steps were slow and measured as he moved
along the garden paths. “Together or apart, the blades are but metal. They are
beautiful and deadly works of art with a history of blood, but ultimately they
are only metal. If their destiny is to be rejoined, then it will be so. Only
time will tell.”

Sensing that he wouldn’t get a straight answer
from his mentor, Iaido let the matter drop. “What did you want to see me about
Sensei? I was surprised to get a message from you.”

The Sensei pointed at the trees surrounding them.
“It is good that you are here at this time, the blossoms of the cherry trees
are unusually vivid this year.”

Taking a deep breath, Iaido vowed to once again to
get to the point of his visit but he knew that the Sensei would get to the
heart of the matter at his own pace. “Master, no disrespect intended but I am
pressed for time.”

The Sensei ignored his student’s plea and
continued his slow pace through the garden until they reached his favorite bench
which sat beneath a wondrous cherry tree and alongside the koi pond. Sitting
himself on the bench, he pointed to the ground in front of him and gazed at the
cherry petals floating lazily to land in the pond.

Taking another deep breath, Iaido sat down in the
lotus position and resigned himself to wait.

Several minutes passed before the old man spoke
again.