On My Way to Paradise (39 page)

There were only two hundred people in the room, but I
knew that within ten minutes everyone aboard ship would hear of the
AI’s forecast.

Mavro shouted, "It makes no difference! It just makes
the fight more challenging!" and I laughed to myself: I who’ve
always refused to judge people, to stick them in molds, had
predicted Mavro’s response perfectly.

Giron said to no one in particular, "We should demand
that they turn the ship around!" and another man nodded sagely at
Giron’s advice.

Everywhere, everywhere, the same arguments were being
voiced.

My team mates and I took it as a signal to head for
the door. We ran up to our room. Three times within the next twenty
minutes people came with the news, "Hey, have you heard the latest
forecast on the battle?" I was very pleased with myself. I’d
planted a seed, and all I needed was sit and see what grew.

All afternoon we stayed in our rooms. The atmosphere
became more charged, and I thought it strange: there was no static
electricity on ship to make one itch with anticipation, to make the
hair stand on one’s head. Yet I felt it. I felt thunderclouds
forming. I wondered if there was a pheromone released by anxious
people. It seemed it must be so, though I’ve never read any studies
done on the subject. It would make sense—men are herd animals, and
if they sensed one another’s anxiety, it could prove valuable for
survival.

Mavro sat in front of the monitor, jacked in on an
open line, and gambled on battles half the afternoon. Then he lay
on his bed and I listened as his breathing grew shallow. I soon
found that we all breathed in a common rhythm. I didn’t understand
what it signified. Mavro said, "Do you know what this feels
like?"

No one spoke for a long moment. Abriara said,
"Yes."

Mavro said, "It feels like a riot. The electric
excitement before a riot."

Abriara said, "Yes."

Mavro said, "I lived through one when I was in
prison, in Cartagena. This feels just like it did then. Only now
our prison floats through space." We didn’t speak or answer. "Don
Angelo, do you know what to do in a riot?"

"No," I said.

"Find a place to hide," Abriara said, "And put your
back to a wall. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t let anyone stand behind
you. Kill any fucker who comes within arm’s reach."

"Sí," Mavro said. "You’ll be surprised how many
people have fashioned weapons. You’ll see plenty of clubs and
knives. People will break into the infirmary to get as many drugs
as possible. Even if you see your best friend coming, he may be
crazy from drugs, and he’ll probably have a weapon. Don’t carry
anything of value with you, anything anyone will want to steal—no
food, no water, no drugs or alcohol. Let them see nothing but your
weapon—and even then, carry a wooden dagger—don’t let them see your
pretty crystal knife.

"Anyone who has a grievance against you will come
looking for you. And he’ll bring friends. Don’t trust anyone who
wants to get close to you, especially if he’s smiling.

"We have plenty of enemies. Some are people you don’t
know—people who felt snubbed when I passed out cigars and liquor
and gave them none."

I thought of Lucío. And there was an Alliance
assassin who’d want me dead. Mavro’s words were not comforting.

Mavro said, "When I was in the riot in Cartagena, my
friends and I knew a man we wanted to kill in another cell block.
He was a snitch, but we could not prove it. Six of us hid in a cell
for two hours, until the riot quieted. When we went into the halls
it looked as if a bomb had dropped. Men had pulled steel bars from
windows to use as clubs, and they’d beaten the bullet-proof windows
of the guard’s cages with the steel bars until the glass smashed.
There were fires everywhere.

"We found dozens of bodies of snitches who were
fucked in the mouth until they choked, bodies of guards who’d had
their hair burned off with acetylene torches, bodies of men killed
with broken bottles and screwdrivers. At dark we got hungry and
went to the kitchens. We found a whole crowd of men fucking half a
dozen prisoners and taking drugs. I knew most of them, and some of
them were friends. They killed two of us and chased the rest of us
away from the food. My friend Raul and I got separated from our
amigos—Pablo and Xavier—when we tried to escape.

"Raul and I doubled back in the dark hall, looking
for our amigos, and found an air vent above a guard’s cage—a little
tunnel—and we crawled in to hide for the night. Raul was in front
of me. He was a weight lifter, very strong. We crawled back about
ten meters and met another man in the darkness, crawling the other
way. Raul and the other man fought in the cramped tunnel, and Raul
tried to strangle the other man, but got stabbed in the neck with a
long drill bit, and he bled to death.

"The tunnel was so cramped that Raul’s murderer could
not get past the corpse to attack me, so we kept Raul’s body
between us. I slept in the tunnel while my amigo’s body cooled, and
in the morning the guards came and pulled me out. They pulled out
Raul, and behind that they pulled out Raul’s killer—it was Pablo,
the friend we’d been looking for."

Abriara said, "Yes."

I lay on the bed, and I couldn’t help thinking: In
the spaceship a riot will be worse than in prison. Someone could
destroy the navigational instruments and throw the ship off course.
Someone could puncture the hull and we’d all breathe vacuum.
Someone could jettison the ramjets and we’d be stuck for months,
floating slowly toward Baker in 0-G. Normally in a riot a person’s
violent impulses are turned toward destroying property. But in a
spaceship, no sane person would risk damaging the vehicle, so the
violence would be turned against others. Even then, one reckless
person could destroy us all.

A few moments later, Sakura came to visit us with a
strange samurai, a tall man with a long blue-black ponytail and
receding hairline whose head and face seemed to be the only natural
parts left to his body. His artificial legs and arms and torso were
encased in a simple black plastic housing. At his throat a shiny
black vacuum hose—an economical substitute for an esophagus—ran
from his chest up to the cleft between his jaws. Unlike most
samurai on ship, who seemed to shun cybertechnology, he almost
reveled in it. He was much more like the high-tech Japanese I’d
known on Earth. Yet like his fellows, his epicanthic folds were
unnaturally accented. He seemed familiar, and I soon recognized him
by his posture, the tilt of his head. He was Lazy Neck, one of the
samurai who’d defeated us so often in the simulator.

They came in and waited, standing as if at attention.
Their custom forbade them from socializing with inferiors, and they
held to it strictly. When we met them outside of class, they
pretended we didn’t exist, even when we had to squeeze past each
other in the narrow halls. It was obvious the samurai still weren’t
inviting the inferiors to tea. Master Kaigo came in after them and
they sat seiza on the floor and invited us to do likewise.

Kaigo chose his words very carefully, often pausing
as he spoke. "I’m forced to speak to you because of a distressing
situation," he said. "There are many rumors that Motoki is
violating its contract, and some have been so bold as to suggest we
return to Earth. I’ve heard someone in this room may have initiated
this uprising." He was very tense, but his hand was not upon his
sword.

"Forgive me, Master," I said. "No one here initiated
this uprising. I only told what I’d learned about the computer’s
battle projections, and suggested we might need to return to Earth
to recruit more men."

Kaigo watched me a long time, and I met his gaze. "I
understand," he said. "I didn’t think you a coward."

"No offense is taken," I said.

Kaigo said, "You understand, of course, that it is
very difficult? It would take weeks to return to Earth. The
Japanese government has hired a spaceship and is recruiting
mercenaries for the Yabajin even as we speak. They’ll try to
overtake us on our flight to Baker.

"Even if this were not the case, we’ve already
ejected our pulse rockets. We’re running on ramjet power now. You
understand that the majority of expense for a trip such as this
comes from the fuel that is consumed? It will cost us the same to
continue to Baker as to return to Earth, and should we return to
Earth it would take several weeks for Motoki corporation to
liquidate the assets necessary to finance another expedition." I
understood this. The big pulse booster rockets propelled the ship
with small nuclear explosions. The fuel for these boosters required
a great deal of space and cost a fortune. Once the ship was
propelled to sufficient speed, the ramjet engine kicked in and
began scooping up hydrogen atoms from space to burn as fuel. In
other words, we travelled for free once the ramjets fired, since
our fuel cost nothing. But if we slow the ship, we’ll eventually
need to eject the ramjet and return to pulse engines, and Motoki
would see it as a waste if the ship used that energy to slow down
to return to Earth.

"I see the difficulties this would cause," I
said.

"You understand that
it is very difficult?"
Kaigo asked.

"It is difficult" was a phrase I’d heard much lately.
It was Kaigo’s non-confrontational way of telling us there wasn’t a
chance in hell that he’d let us go home.

We all nodded.

Kaigo sighed and turned so that he was no longer
facing us and said, "Now I must speak of something that causes me
much distress: You told me three days ago that you feel you do not
owe on to Motoki corporation. You do not feel you owe a debt of
honor. I cannot understand this wrong-thinking. We samurai came to
teach you how to become warriors. But there is more to being a
warrior than to master battle skills. The way of the warrior is the
way of death, but it is also a way of ordering one’s life.

"We’ve been teaching you self-control and
courage—these things a samurai must know, and they are in line with
the pure teachings of bushido—but I never thought I’d need to teach
you about honor.

"At moments like this, language tends to hide one’s
thoughts. I ...” Kaigo sat back and pondered as he struggled to
express a concept so integral to his way of life that he may never
before have needed to voice it. "When a man accepts a gift from
another, he incurs a debt of
on
, an obligation to repay that
gift. His worth as a person depends upon repayment of the gift, ne?
He must repay his debt at all costs, even at the cost of his own
life, for life is a small thing and is easily taken, but a man’s
virtue cannot be taken. Therefore, to lose life is less than to
lose honor." He watched our eyes to make sure we understood.

"If a man does not want to incur a debt to another,
he should refuse any gift another might offer. Therefore one must
beware of those who lightly give gifts, lest one incur a debt one
does not wish to repay. But even when one has incurred a debt one
does not wish to repay, one must repay the debt. Do you
understand?"

We all nodded. Kaigo didn’t turn to see our actions,
sparing us the embarrassment of having to see his face as he talked
about these things.

"This is part of the code of the samurai," Kaigo
said. "The samurai have always been the most honorable of people.
We repay our debts willingly. And you’ve begun the training to
become samurai. Motoki has given you a great gift—the opportunity
to become samurai, to be lifted above your natural station in life,
even though you are only foreigners—"

Sakura broke in quickly, perhaps because he knew how
offensive Kaigo’s bigotry would be. "What Master Kaigo means to say
is that he considers you to be samurai now, or at least pupils. He
expects you to accept the obligations of samurai. You must accept
the inevitable duties along with the prestige!"

"And what exactly do you mean by ‘duties’?" Abriara
asked.

Kaigo said, "Long ago a certain warlord journeyed
through a forest inhabited by robbers. He had only a few samurai
guards in his retinue, and as he walked he came upon a ronin, a
masterless samurai. He asked the ronin if he would like to be
employed, and the ronin was very hungry, so he heartily agreed. The
Lord was not taking a long journey, and did not have much food, but
he ordered his men to prepare a meal so the ronin would not have to
walk on an empty stomach. Since the lord was only on a short
journey, he could give the ronin only a small bowl of oats, and he
apologized that he did not have rice. The ronin accepted the small
gift and was glad to eat.

"Later, the Lord and his men were ambushed by a
multitude of robbers. A tremendous battle ensued, and each samurai
fought against terrible odds. During a lull in the battle, the Lord
idly wondered if the ronin would remain faithful or if he’d run
into the hills. When the battle ended, only the Lord and two
samurai remained alive, wounded with many wounds. They found the
newly-hired ronin among the slain. At his feet lay fourteen dead
robbers—twice the number any other samurai had slain. Though he’d
received for his wages only a bowl of oats, he proved the most
faithful servant."

Kaigo stopped and let the message sink in.

"You are ronin," Kaigo said. "You have been paid well
by Motoki Corporation. You have received food, clothing, water, air
to breathe, and training. The odds in your battle may appear
staggering, but you cannot lose heart. You should not fear death,
but take joy in the fight to come. You must repay your debt of on.
I will fight with you. I will die with you. It shames me as your
master that I should be forced to explain these obligations to
you."

Kaigo abruptly heaved his huge body off the floor,
turned and left the room, his midnight-blue kimono fluttering
behind him. Sakura and Lazy Neck silently followed.