Yours is democracy, moderated by corruption. Ours is totalitarianism, moderated by assassination.
Chapter I:-
"Damnant Quod Non Intellegunt"
"It is murder."
Yes, it has been murder. Justified, natural,
necessary; perhaps. But murder? Oh by Tsunami, yes.
Every
one was murder.
Such a horrible word; murder. It
makes my life seem worthless. A poor thing to what I've taken from so many, but
trust me when I tell you I believed... no... knew what I was doing was
right.
It still is right.
My name is... unimportant. I have no name.
After this is done, one way or another, I will have no name. I will be a
non-entity. Never have existed. Never shall be.
I've seen
it happen.
So let me relate to you a tale, because you aren't listening and I have little to fear. This life will be dead by tomorrow.
Thank Tsunami for small mercies.
The Royal Guardsman clicked his heels together
smartly, saluted, turned around and, with a flourish, pushed the great oak doors
open. Hirofumi waited until the guardsmen had made sure that the inhabitant of
the room was prepared before he made entry.
The call had come at short
notice, which in itself was not unusual, and so Hirofumi had come dressed in his
politic robe; a long turquoise kimono that rested just above his strapped
sandals and socks' ankle. He had left his sword and scabbard in his office, as a
sign of respect for the guards. It did nothing for their morale to see the Prime
Minister of Jurai wandering the corridors of the palace blatantly displaying his
belief that the guards weren't good enough (although it was true that he thought
them not up to the necessary standards).
The alpine wind was blowing through the corridor behind him. It wasn't empty, but was certainly nearing it. Apart from the guards, there were a dozen or so courtiers talking and passing through from one area of the west wing to the next. Hirofumi had never understood why the entire wing wasn't closed off when the King was in presence, but before he could linger on that thought there was a cough from the room. Quickly he made his way inside.
His Royal Highness, King Azusa of Jurai was sitting on a cushion in the centre of the room. Another cushion was set out before him. The Prime Minister's eyes took in the rest of the room by force of habit. To his right was a huge four-poster bed, draped in silk, a small writing desk and chair sitting beside it. The top of the desk was strewn with papers and writing instruments, as though someone had been writing but had become tired or angry and had dropped everything in irritation. The left of the room had a large, ornate table with six chairs set out for more 'politically subtle' meetings that were held from time to time. Encompassing the far wall, behind the seated Royal, was a huge circular window which looked out across the Jurai's capital city. From this height the vehicles looked like ants and the bustling pedestrians like specks of dust, and all of that was caught in the dull gloom of the setting sun.
Without a pause he strode in and knowing how punctuality was so important to the King disdained from bowing, just quietly kneeled on the cushion. Now closer, he noted that there was a small tea tray with a pot and two china cups set between the two cushions.
The King opened his eyes and looked over
Hirofumi's shoulder. The two guardsmen by the door bowed and stepped into the
corridor. The door closed behind them.
An ominous sign at
best.
"You called, sir?" asked Hirofumi, shifting uneasily, but unnoticeably, on his cushion.
Azusa nodded. He looked at the floor for a second, "Tea, Hirofumi?"
The Prime Minister nodded in turn and stood up. Anything to break the tension. "Of course, sir," he said, "I'll get you some immediately."
"I wasn't asking," said the King quietly, "I was offering."
Hirofumi stood there for a second and then sat
back down at his place. This wasn't something he had been expecting. Carefully,
he picked up the pot of tea and poured two cups. He handed one to his liege, who
took it without question.
The King's usually
hard-set eyes seemed watery and his hands shook slightly. The tea sloshed in its
container for a second, and Hirofumi let the other man swallow a mouthful of the
green liquid before he started his own questioning.
"Trouble, sir?" He picked up his cup and held it carefully at waist height, but didn't drink from it.
The King kept his eyes on his own teacup. "Hirofumi," he said, "We have always been friends. Haven't we?"
The Prime Minister swallowed dryly. This was going to be bad. His mind raced. His palms felt uncontrollably sweaty, and it was shear force of will and training that kept him from throwing the cup away and running screaming for the door. "Of course, sir," he replied calmly.
"And whatever I have done... has always been for the best. Hasn't it?"
Hirofumi nodded and put the teacup back down on the tray. "Yes, sir," he said, "They have always been for the best."
"Then, Hirofumi, my trouble is that if I do nothing it will be for the worst, and if I do something, anything, it will be for the best, but will tear Jurai apart. Tear me apart. Which, in your opinion, would be best?"
The Prime Minister pretended to ponder for a second and then answered, "Anything that is for the best is always the right choice."
Then he wondered if he had said something wrong because the King stood up suddenly, turning, his cloak billowing out and brushing Hirofumi's nose, then strode purposefully toward the window.
Hirofumi wondered whether he should leap forward and stop the Emperor from his attempted suicide, but before he had time to react the King had stopped and was standing at the glass, staring at the cityscape below.
"You know of the Report, don't you Hirofumi?"
Hirofumi frowned. He'd had so many reports pass through his hands, hundreds over the last few days. "I'm sure I do... perhaps you could jog my memor-"
There was a tap as the King's forehead moved forward and rested against the cool glass. "The Galaxy Police Report."
"Ah. Yes, sir. I know exactly of it." And so Hirofumi did. It was he who had read the report first. It was he who had analysed it with his top men, and it was he who had held it aloft at the High Council Meeting to be met with cries of disgust and indignation. It wasn't a report the Council had wanted to see.
"Do you know what it's like to have seen... that boy, Hirofumi? That boy... who will become King." There was something strange about the King's voice. Then it dawned on the Prime Minister that the other man was crying. The King of Jurai was crying. At least that explained his turning around and staring out of the window.
"What he'll become. No one should allow that, Hirofumi. My son's mistake shouldn't be allowed to wield that sort of power." The King knelt and placed the teacup next to his feet, before rising again and returning his head to the window pane. "Hirofumi, look on my writing desk please."
The Prime Minister stood up numbly and walked over to the desk by the bed. "There is a letter," called the King, "take it."
It was sitting atop a stack of papers and Hirofumi had no trouble in finding it as it had the large, purple wax seal that denoted Royal Order stamped next to the signature. He read the writing carefully, not allowing himself to miss a single letter. When he was done he took an envelope from another part of the desk and sealed the paper inside it. Then he closed the back with another wax press.
"Are these the exact parameters?" he asked, walking back to his cushion and sitting down, envelope in hand. "Are you sure you want to sanction your-" His voice was perfectly calm, his hands had stopped shaking. In his element.
"The target, Hirofumi. It's what we've always called it. It's a target, not 'my' anything." The King choked slightly and rubbed his eyes. From behind it looked like he could just have been tired, but all evidence proved to the contrary.
Hirofumi nodded. He held the envelope in both hands, again just above his lap, "Once this letter leaves the room there is no turning back, sir."
"My name is Azusa."
Prime Minister Hirofumi nodded again. "Azusa," he sighed, "Your son will not take the mantle. Your daughters too inexperienced. Who do you think will take your place?"
Azusa looked at him, over his shoulder. The tears were rolling down his cheeks and wetting his gown's lapels. "Do I look like I'm worried about that?"
"No, sir," affirmed Hirofumi. He stood up, dusted his knees down and bowed deeply. He continued, "The target's death will be painless. The assassin shall be the best our Empire can offer. There will be no failure, sire." He moved decisively for the oak doors he had entered by.
"Prime Minister!"
Hirofumi stopped and looked back.
Azusa had returned to his window, and his voice was getting even weaker, "Give this Hero of the Empire whatever he wants."
"Sire?"
"Anything he dreams of owning, Hirofumi."
The Prime Minister opened his mouth to say something, but the King cut him off, "Even my lands."
Hirofumi breathed deeply, more for effect than anything else, and then continued on to the door.
When they had closed behind him and the guards
had returned to their stations and the alpine freshness was assailing his
nostrils, then, and only then, did Hirofumi even allow himself to resume
breathing. By Tsunami, he was in trouble! In fact this was more than trouble,
this was downright suicide. He wondered whether he should throw himself from one
of the corridor's pleasant and open windows, but then thought better of
it.
If there was one thing the External Intelligence
Department had taught him, it was develop a contingency plan.
The only problem with that was that contingency plans were generally drawn up in advance, and this one of those things that he had never thought he'd need a contingency plan for.
The blue-cloaked courtiers where still out in force, in groups and alone, rushing or wandering. Spaced at regular intervals were a dozen Juraian guardsmen, and along the outside walls, the windows gave an airy view across the buttress and trees. Along the interior walls of the corridor were long benches that were used by the courtiers and Palace assistants to lounge while waiting for an appointment with the King, or simply just to get back one's breath after walking the miles of Palace corridor. On one bench sat a courtier, his head resting against the wall separating the corridor from the King's chambers. He was a handsome looking youth, clean shaven and, surprisingly, he appeared to be asleep. The Prime Minister walked towards him and sat down next to him.
The courtier's eyes fluttered open and raised his head so he was looking quite clearly at Hirofumi. Then he smiled suddenly, his eyes twinkling.
"Prime Minister. It's been so long."; a soft, quiet voice. The man sat bolt upright and looked around as if the corridor was new to him. "Is there something the matter?"
Hirofumi looked at him squarely, "How long have you been here?"
The courtier shrugged. "As long as was needed." He stretched and yawned. "Too long."
Sighing, Hirofumi pulled the letter from the confines of his kimono. "We have a job to do-"
"Yes," cut in the courtier suddenly, "An assassination of the highest order. Someone who is only to be known as the target. Royalty. Someone who our Liege can worry about." He bowed his head and closed his eyes.
"How did you...?"
The courtier, his head still bowed and eyes still shut, raised his arm and tapped the wall behind him gently. There was a soft, hollow knock.
"These walls are far too thin," he said matter-of-factly, "I doubt they'll stand up to a real operative's ears."
Hirofumi shook his head sadly, "It's really quite embarrassing to have you put down your skills in front of other people." He stood up and motioned for the other man to follow, "Let's walk and talk."
The pair glided the corridor, Hirofumi in his purple kimono and the courtier, standing tall in his blue. As they walked, the Prime Minister continued to talk.
"And what is today's name?" he asked.
"Seiji," replied the courtier, "3rd accountant to the Duke of Leiiana."
"I didn't know the Duke of Leiiana had accountants."
"He doesn't," replied the courtier with a wry smile, "Seeing as the good Duke passed away twenty years ago."
"And nobody's noticed that yet?"
A wider smile now. "You didn't."
There was a long pause, and then Hirofumi, in a bid to break the tension tentatively asked, "You know who the target is then?"
The courtier motioned abstractly, "As I said, a real operative's ears would defeat that wall. But unfortunately... myself..." He left it hanging.
They stopped at one of the arched, glassless windows, six or seven yards from the nearest guardsman, and there Hirofumi handed the other man the envelope.
Seiji held it in his hand for a moment, looking at the envelope's unblemished front, and then flipped it over to reveal the wax sealant. He ran his index finger over the trio of swords emblem that was carved into it. "And how many External Intelligence forgers did it take for this?"
"None," answered Hirofumi. "It is written and signed by the King himself. It has the orders on it. The target is..." he paused, "inside."
"How do they fit a man inside such a small envelope?"
The Prime Minister scowled slightly and shook his head again. "I despair of you. If it weren't for your skills and your servitude, I'd say you were making fun of me. And the crown."
The courtier's lips tightened, and he turned toward the window. Looking across the palace's gables he could see the famed Juraian fields, basking under the purple sky. The shadows cast by the sun made it seem colder than it actually was. Suddenly, the courtier was standing on tip-toes and leaning half out of the window. From his vantage point he could see the courtyard below. A troop of soldiers in ceremonial dress were standing in line formation. "I would gladly lay down my life for the crown and those who wear it."
Hirofumi wondered whether the fool was going to lay down his life there and then, 'EVERYONE'S A MADMAN!' his mind wailed, and was just about to grab the courtier's gown and drag him inside when there was a sudden, near screeched, retort from the far end of the corridor.
"Hirofumi! Prime Minister!"
'Seiji' spun around like a shot and dropped the few inches to the corridor's floor. Storming down the corridor toward the two men, scattering courtiers behind her, was the Lady Misaki. She was waving a wad of papers above her head and behind her, trying to catch up, was one of her clerics. He was flustered and trying to both run and write, but was having little luck in either. Swiftly, the courtier slid the envelope into his gown's cuff.
Hirofumi rolled his eyes and muttered, "And
here's a wearer of the crown I'd gladly lay down the life of. If you'll excuse
me..."
He walked forward, arms outstretched, "Lady Misaki. I wasn't expecting
the pleasure today." Or the hassle, he thought.
"Prime Minister," she beamed, "I've been wanting to speak to you about the budget for the Guard..." The cleric behind her sat on his haunches and scribbled down the minutes for the conversation as if it were a meeting.
"Of course, My Lady. The security and well-being of the Juraian family is my prime concern." He wondered whether she could smell the bitter taste that those words left in mouth. "And it is in my nature to be cautious of such things. Force of habit, as it were."
She laughed, "Could any less be expected of an ex-Intelligence Bureau officer?"
Prime Minister Hirofumi smiled tightly and returned the laugh, albeit a little stonily. If she shouted that out any louder- He had got the sudden urge to kill her, and by the Goddess he could well have. He could have snapped her neck like a twig there and then. CRACK! And she'd have just stood there, looking as inane and happy as ever, with no need to, because she was dead. But he laughed instead, because that gave slightly less chance of being hung for regicide.
"And who is this?" She waved her hand toward the courtier.
Seiji curtsied, as was the way for lower Juraians to. "Lady Misaki," he crooned, "I am Seiji Aryonsaki, 3rd accountant to the Duke of Leiiana. It is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance." His voice lilted sickeningly, "If there's anything I can do..."
She looked at him and blinked sharply. "Would you mind leaving the Prime Minister and me alone to speak?" All the sweetness from her speech had gone.
The courtier curtsied again and glided over to the window.
After a time, Hirofumi had tired of the woman and finished his talking. The Lady Misaki bid him good-day and, with a cursory look at her guardsmen, strode purposefully to where she was needed, the cleric in tow.
"You really make me look stupid," he said as he stopped by the courtier's side. "Lady Misaki now believes I spend my time with pathetics and fawns."
"Are you saying you don't?"
Hirofumi composed himself and then spoke again. "I expect you have read the Report?"
"Yes. It's quite shocking," acknowledged the other man. "It was the pseudo-third person viewpoint that really clinched it for me. I think an omniscient viewpoint would've cleared it all up. And the less said about the grammar the better." He leant forward and hoisted himself half-over the window's parapet yet again. A few of the more faint of heart courtiers in the corridor watched in shock as the blue gowned man suddenly raised his legs and sat on the window sill. Then he spun around, letting his feet and legs dangle over the hundred and twenty foot drop to the courtyard below.
"You only make things harder don't you," sighed the Prime Minister. "The Report was officially announced to the Plutocracy of Lords eighteen weeks ago. There have been three visits to Earth in that time. All of which have failed to jar the Crown Princess from her... infatuation with Yosho's grandson." The courtier took the letter from his sleeve and looked at it as Hirofumi continued, "It is becoming more blatant. All we need is a leak, a dropped letter, deliberate sabotage... and people will know. What if the public found out?"
The courtier stared down at him. "About Yosho?"
"About Tenchi. About Sasami. About Ryoko. How about Washu and Tsunami? Do you think the public's going to be very forgiving for the fact we've kept Yosho and Ryoko hidden for the last 700 years?"
"I don't know. Is it a rhetorical question?"
"And it's impossible, the coincidences that took place to let this happen. What if the rest is true? Jurai will be brought to its knees."
The courtier nodded and then held the envelope up to the sky, as if to see through it, "So the target's in this envelope?"
"Yes. But before you start I have a certain... request from the King; what's your heart's desire?"
"Not something you can give me..." replied the courtier as he tore the wax seal off with his fingernails and removed the letter.
He read it through twice, carefully. When he was done he placed the letter back in its envelope and returned it to his cuff. "You can't be serious," he said finally.
"I knew it would be hard for you with your... background. But yes, I am deathly serious."
The courtier looked down, over his knees, at the nearly empty courtyard with its cobbled pavements and the guards at parade. "You really can't be serious. You expect me to sanction a target of such... magnitude. I'm not sure whether to be sickened or grateful"
"Are you sure I can't give you your heart's desire?" asked Hirofumi gently.
"No," the courtier said after a pause, "I don't need an incentive to do this, if it is the King's wish."
"True patriots are a rarity these days, but yes, it is the King's wish."
The courtier thought about this, head raised toward the slowly moving clouds. "Prime Minister Hirofumi, what do you think was my life's dream?"
Hirofumi needed no time to think however, "To serve your Emperor with distinction."
"Which I have. Repeatedly," he sighed wistfully. "And I have the memories, and the blood on my hands, to prove it." He half-turned and looked down, into the other man's eyes. "I want to leave."
"Impossible," said Hirofumi blandly.
"Burn my records, erase my files, flush me from living memory. It's not as if it'll take long." He cocked his head, "Sometimes I forget my own name it's been such a time."
"I can't let it happen." Hirofumi said.
"What have I got that's so important? A handful of medals for long service, a citation for some forgotten deed and a dusty little apartment in the city. I don't even have a uniform, and who am I going to talk to, eh? I've spent over a thousand years at this little game, five hundred years more than you did, and as you said; I'm a rare patriot." He stopped as if he'd said too much, but then continued a little more slowly, "And after this I will be dead anyway. A marked man."
"Are you trying to emotionally blackmail me?"
"You asked for my heart's desire, sir, and I've given you it. I want to live out my life somewhere quiet. A farmer perhaps."
Hirofumi shrugged absently. "Very well. Complete your task or fail it, either way you shall no longer be a member of the Intelligence Bureau, or the Juraian Empire. Officially dead."
"Thank you sir. I shall see you before I leave-"
"I am afraid that will be unnecessary and impractical. I am holding meetings all morning." The Prime Minister's face became sad, and strangely old, "You will leave in six hours on a specially prepared flight. I will have a detailed operation plan drawn up in two. That leaves you with three hours to make good your equipment and a final hour to prepare."
"Very good sir."
The Prime Minister half expected the man to suddenly lunge out of the window and engage in some aerial feat, but rather disappointingly he simply spun around and dropped to the corridor. The man held out a smooth hand, "If that's so, I bid you a good life." Hirofumi shook it warmly but the pain on his face said more than the handshake ever would. "Agent, before you go; What are your views on the Bodyguards here?"
"Oh. Still up to your usual anti-Guardsman tricks?" Seiji smiled, "Surprisingly good actually. Except for that one with the scar on his face." He gave a surreptitious hand movement, pointing to a soldier at the farthest end of the corridor, "He didn't check my pass properly."
"I shall have words." Hirofumi said darkly.
The courtier didn't wait for anything else, but set off briskly for the corridor's end.
When Seiji had disappeared from view, Hirofumi sauntered over to the Guardsman who had been pointed out. A rough looking trooper with a scar running from ear to chin, nicking the edge of his lips. The Prime Minister stood in front of the man and looked him up and down disdainfully. The Guardsman stood still, until finally he spoke. "Can I help you, Prime Minister sir?"
"Yes Agent. I think it would be better if you made it less obvious you were letting him through." The Prime Minister reached out and straightened the man's collar.
"He realised, sir?"
"No. But he has become a liability. Have an anonymous transmission sent to GP HQ explaining that there'll be an attempt on the life of a member of the Juraian Royal Family within the next few weeks. Outside of their jurisdiction, but within their tentative abilities to handle, of course."
The Bodyguard gave a near invisible nod. "Will there be?"
"Not in the slightest. But give out the fact that the assassin will be using a cargo freighter. Transport Code 00-789-51-C." Hirofumi took a step back and made sure the man's collar was finally straight.
"That should sort him out, sir."
"Traitors are a dangerous breed, Agent. Along with anarchists, communists and anti-monarchists. Remember that and you'll never do wrong. Now, get to it."
Snapping off a salute and with a brisk "Yes, sir!" the Guardsmen double-marched from the corridor, in the opposite direction to which the courtier had left. Hirofumi smoothed out his robe absent-mindedly, his brain already ticking over a contingency plan for the storm that was, quite literally, ahead.
- - - - - - - -
Chapter 2:- Dramatis Personae
We are all executioners of something, but only in the mind. However, for some that execution is a more profound experience. What does the advent of 'Seiji' hold for the Masaki household? Who is 'Seiji'?
- - - - - - - -
Disclaimer:- This is an act of fiction. All characters are owned by their respective companies (namely Pioneer and its affiliates). All characters, equipment and situations not owned by a company is the intellectual property of the author (Ministry Agent).
