On My Way to Paradise (50 page)

Then a realization struck. I’d killed Arish in my own
house, on my own floor. When I’d chased him outside, I’d thrown
down my knife, unwilling to kill him. But when he’d violated my
territory I’d shown no mercy!

And Juan Carlos—I’d strangled him because he was
entering module B of the spaceship.

 "But Lucío did not violate my territory," I
said loudly. "I had no reason to kill him!"

Perfecto continued hobbling toward camp. "He violated
the territory of your friend. It is the same. We protect those that
we love as we do ourselves. He raped Abriara and removed some of
her fingers. Those are horrible violations. So you killed him. It
is the male thing to do. Still the danger was long past. You should
have been able to let him live. If you ever need my help dealing
with such matters, I am here, amigo." Perfecto continued hobbling
back to camp and I stopped.

When I’d looked at Abriara’s genetic program I’d been
impressed at how different she was from a human. I’d told myself
never to make the mistake of viewing her as a person like myself.
Perfecto’s thoughts underscored the importance of remembering the
differences. It clarified something for me: I’d been surprised by
Abriara’s overreaction to the riot, by the consuming terror that
had been aroused when she feared her own rape.

As Perfecto had said, rape is a terrible form of
violation. So the fear of rape affected her more severely than it
did humans.

I wondered if perhaps that was why her mind had
snapped after the rape, after her fingers had been cut away.

In the same flash of illumination, I finally
understood the deeper meaning of the chimera slang word
Quest.
When one goes on a Quest, it is not enough to
kill—one must also humiliate the victim by violating his deepest
territory.

When I’d attacked Lucío I’d lived up to the code of
the Quest. My subconscious mind wouldn’t allow me to simply kill
him. I’d been violating his most intimate territory—his body.

Yet Lucío had given his life willingly, to be thrown
away however I chose. If I’d continued chopping him apart piece by
piece, he’d have given each piece to me.

Finally I understood why Perfecto had howled in
grief.

I slept little that night, reliving each small moment
of what I’d done over and over. In the morning I felt numbed with
more than morning cold.

Abriara seemed to avoid my gaze when I looked at her.
Our relationship had changed; she’d lost respect for me.

Tsugio’s advisers flew into camp on a hovercraft,
excited and aggravated, and met with Garzón. Minutes later Garzón
met with his highest officers.

Abriara received a call and said we were to march to
town in full combat gear. She ordered us to set our helmet mikes to
channel A, sub-channel 0. On that setting we’d receive orders from
officers in our direct chain of command without being able to
respond or talk among ourselves. It’s a channel selection one would
only use in combat.

Abriara had been right, I concluded. Garzón had
agreed to fight the Yabajin, and this was our muster. We’d get our
supplies and vehicles and leave.

It didn’t seem to matter. Many men had brought
favorite weapons or armor from Earth—Halifax plasma rifles,
Bertonelli heavy combat lasers, YCB flechettes. They armed
themselves and we prepared to march.

Perfecto sat in our barracks with a dozen others
playing cards while the rest took formation outside. I wondered at
this. As I took a last look around the room I told him to hurry and
he just sat on the floor looking dejected.

"I’ll catch up," he said.

We marched to town in columns of four hundred men
each, down past the business district in the center of town to the
air strip by the industrial park.

Everyone was tense, silent. The day was sunny; the
ocean waves breaking against the sand a kilometer off sounded like
rushing wind.

Two large yellow zeppelins sat on the air field.
General Tsugio and a few hundred Japanese men and women were there,
surrounding three Japanese girls dressed in white, sitting seiza on
white blankets and staring off toward the sea. A holo crew had set
up cameras and was taping the proceeding.

General Tsugio pinned a microphone to his chest. His
mouth was drawn into a scowl. He gazed at the cameras, then looked
at the microphone on his lapel as if it were some newly discovered
insect. He was preparing to put on a show.

When we’d formed our columns and stood at attention
General Tsugio suddenly glanced up as if noticing us for the first
time. He straightened his back and glared with great authority like
some barbarian king.

He began yelling in Japanese and the speakers in our
helmets spat strings of Spanish. "Last night we brought you to our
homes in friendship! And what do you do? You use the opportunity to
seduce our daughters!"

The men in our company chuckled. "What arrogance!"
Tsugio shouted. "You think it humorous? You think it humorous to
pollute our blood lines? We have discussed this at the highest
levels! It has come down from Regional President Motoki himself: It
is Motoki’s position that you were hired to fight the Yabajin—not
fornicate with our women.

"These three women have dishonored their nation,
their families, and their corporation. They shall redeem their
honor!"

At that moment it was as if an invisible glass fell
in front of me, and for the rest of the day I walked as if in a
waking dream, viewing things as if they had no bearing on me.

Three of Tsugio’s aides each approached one of the
girls dressed in white and stood directly before her, facing her. A
family member of each girl took position at the edge of the blanket
to the girl’s right. Three samurai dressed in green armor each took
a place to the left of a girl, drew a long sword and placed it at
the back of a girl’s neck. The aides then handed each girl a short
sword, a wakizashi, and the girls wiped the blades clean with
tissue and pressed them to their abdomens.

The aides spoke quietly to the young women a moment,
and then nodded. Two girls disemboweled themselves quietly, and the
samurai swung their long swords and decapitated them before they
had time to embarrass themselves by crying out.

The third girl just sat with her blade pointing at
her belly. She looked at the corpse of the girl to her left, and
her stoic countenance dissolved into panic. She dropped her sword
and started to rise, and the aide in front of her grasped her hands
and forced her back to her knees.

All the Japanese were visibly angered and shaken by
her cowardice. The girl’s mother rushed forward and began speaking
to her insistently, trying to calm her. She put the sword back in
her daughter’s hand and made motions with it, raking it toward her
daughter’s belly, indicating where she should insert the blade.

The aide spoke to the girl for a moment longer and
she broke into tears. He stood at attention again, and the Japanese
watched expectantly, eagerly.

He nodded to the girl and she inserted the sword into
her belly perhaps the length of a finger, as if to test the pain.
The samurai above lopped off her head. Like good soldiers, my
compañeros and I remained at attention.

General Tsugio began babbling about the courage these
women had demonstrated. "Even our women have more courage than some
of you! See how they face the inevitable with equanimity. Their
courage should be a great example to us all. Some people begin to
wonder at your courage. Some people even laugh at you! When will
you make up your minds to fight? Must you starve?" and he went on
and on. Our men shifted on the balls of their feet, and I could
feel their unease.

Someone behind me shouted, "We are afraid of
nothing!" Others grunted their assent. The holo tapes caught it
all. The people of Motoki having failed at bribery had decided to
try to embarrass us into fighting.

When Tsugio finished his harangue, Garzón stepped
forward. He was nervous; he licked his lips and brushed back his
hair with one hand and surveyed us intently. I could tell he
intended to try to charm us into fighting.

"Muchachos, General Tsugio, and people of Motoki," he
addressed us.

Someone whispered over his helmet mike, "Get ready,"
and people fidgeted up and down the line. Garzón continued, "Our
men have worn their armor to this meeting today to show that they
are indeed ready and willing to fight! They are men of war, not
cowards to be laughed at!

"Not since the days of Cortes has an army of so many
Spaniards met on such a distant shore with so great things before
them." I found it humorous that Garzón had elevated Indians,
chimeras, and persons of every nationality to the status of
Spaniards. He looked at us worriedly and there was tension in his
voice, genuine fear. "But though we are small in numbers, I would
remind you of the great things accomplished by
Pizzaro
!" he
emphasized the name
Pizzaro
, "and his little band of 180
men!"

With a shock I suddenly understood what he planned.
He conjured the name
Pizzaro
as if it were a secret code,
and indeed it was, for the inhabitants of Motoki had never studied
the exploits of the conquistadores, had no knowledge of their
treachery. I could feel the tension in Abriara standing beside me,
and I suddenly knew why she was nervous, why some men had stayed
behind in camp. I looked toward the industrial park where the
armory was located.

We’d have to take that first, and I knew by instinct
that it had already been attacked. Indeed, a man in full battle
armor was standing on the roof of one low building waving a green
signal flag.

"And like Pizzaro," Garzón continued, "we find
ourselves in a beautiful new world. And like Cortes, our ships are
burned behind us! We have no choice but to go forward and fight!
The choices thrust upon us are hard. No one wants to make hard
choices. None of us wants to send our untrained compañeros against
the Yabajin and watch them die! But what else can we do?"

Garzón paused just to make sure everyone figured out
what else we could do. "In accordance with the laws of the Alliance
of Earth Nations, I hereby publicly announce our intent to revolt
from Motoki Corporation and form a new sovereign state."

A man in the crowd shouted, "Garzón for
president!"

And as one five thousand men shouted, "¡Viva Garzón!"
and drew their weapons.

There was no skirmish. The Japanese dropped their
mouths in surprise and looked around frantically. A half-dozen
Bertonelli lasers blew into General Tsugio and his aides.

Captain Esteves shouted, "Follow me!" and began
running toward the small hill where the corporate offices were
located.

The rest of our columns split, most heading for the
industrial park where the inhabitants of Motoki worked. Yet our men
were running in confusion. Only a few of our leaders seemed to know
what to do. We left a stunned crowd of Japanese standing on the
tarmac behind us. Abriara shouted over her helmet mike, "Muchachos,
exercise restraint! Kill only when necessary!"

Running up that hill I felt strong and quick and
powerful. I was used to heavier gravity and the short run failed to
wind me. We ran past a row of houses and several chimeras simply
leapt, grabbing the eaves and pulling themselves onto the roofs in
a single graceful move; then they charged over the rooftops and
thus gained surprise as they shot at the feet of civilians who’d
come out to learn why guns were sounding.

Battle armor lends it own brand of anonymity. I ran
as part of a crowd, cut off from the rest of the world. I couldn’t
smell the singed blood and hair of our victims as we shot anyone
who showed signs of resistance.

Even the booming of the flechettes or
zwoosh
zwoosh
of the plasma rifles came to my ears distantly. Only
the surprise and fear and rage on the faces of our victims came
through to me, as if I were simply watching holographs of the
Japanese we passed.

In some spots, real scuffles broke out. In spite of
the confusion, our men fought magnificently. I pulled my little
chemical laser from its compartment, but didn’t shoot anyone. We
waved our weapons and frightened most people into inactivity.

Fear seemed enough. Motoki only had 100 armed samurai
on duty, and I caught glimpses of some of them up on the hills,
shooting at our armored men with their weak lasers. A couple of men
came out of houses and tried to wrestle weapons from some of us.
They got tossed aside like bean bags, and then we fired into
them.

I realized Garzón must have planned this overthrow—at
least his officers seemed to have known about it. Though our attack
was confused, our leaders were not surprised at the idea of
attacking. Though he’d never gained control of the ship to force it
back to Earth, Garzón had outwitted the samurai.

I admired Garzón’s audacity.

 We shot out the glass panes to the corporate
headquarters and ran into the building, I was happy to hear the
distant horrified shrieks and watch the expressions of terror on
the faces of the secretaries just inside the door.

 I ran up the elegant marble stairs behind a
crowd of men who either shot or sliced open any corporate executive
who tried to slow us. At times the corridors were choked with
bodies.

Other combat teams split off at lower levels, but
Abriara, Mavro, Zavala and I continued to the top, to the
communications rooms where Motoki’s only radio and holo station
were located. A radio announcer was standing over a chair, yelling
excitedly into his microphone. Mavro swung him by the arm and
tossed him against a wall.

I ran into the holo studios and found four cameramen
leaning out a window to shoot scenes in the streets below. Their
faces were contorted in such masks of horror I couldn’t help but
look at a monitor on the floor that carried a 3-D image of their
broadcast.