us.”
“It may be a ‘Jaap’ ship,” Lelaa said, squinting her far better eyes, “but those ‘folks’ on her are People-’Cats, like me.” She paused. “At least most are. Some are hu-maans.”
The battered ship slowed thankfully to a stop just as the ferry came alongside. From the raised letters on her old, straight-up-and-down bow, she was the Mizuki Maru, and the battle damage, rust streaks, and cracked, pustulent paint gave the lie to her name, as Shinya translated it. Her appearance wasn’t the only ty at us. that made a mockery of “Beautiful Moon,” but those on the ferry couldn’t know that yet. To their surprise, an oddly familiar face appeared at the rail, peering down at them. The face was all that was familiar about the man, however. He wore leather armor, similar to that used by the Alliance, but the style was more reminiscent of a traditional samurai.
“Commander Sato Okada!” Shinya cried incredulously.
“Yes, I am Okada, although ‘Commander’ is no longer appropriate.” The man shook his head. “That does not signify at present. I am here regarding a matter of utmost urgency, and I must speak to the highest-ranking representative of your Alliance immediately. I presume, in this place, that would still be High Chief Saan- Kakja?”
“That’s correct,” Shinya answered, “although you must be satisfied with Minister Tucker and myself before you enter the inner harbor. Forgive me, but you made it quite clear you have no allegiance to the Alliance, and your personal animosity toward me and other prominent members gives sufficient reason to question your arrival here, even under such”-Shinya gestured at the ship-“extraordinary circumstances. I must insist this party be allowed aboard before you proceed.”
Okada grimaced, but nodded. “Very well. I understand your caution, perhaps more than you will believe.” He looked away. “These are indeed dreadful times.” He stared back at Shinya. “You were right,” he said woodenly, “long ago, when you warned that my honor might yet make heavy demands upon me…” He stopped, nodding at a group of Lemurians who’d gathered to lower a cargo net. “Please do hurry aboard,” Okada snapped, “so you can quickly establish my benign intent. In addition to the urgency of my errand and information, you may have noticed this ship has a leak.”
Saan-Kakja’s Great Hall
“The world we left has gone so terribly wrong,” Sato Okada almost whispered, “I have begun to wonder whether our coming here might have been a merciful escape for us all.”
Okada was the only one standing in Saan-Kakja’s Great Hall. He refused to sit, didn’t seem able, and paced almost continuously during the interview. There was a small audience for this… momentous event, despite the furor at the dock when Mizuki Maru tied up and the boarding party marched tensely ashore with Okada, his officers-and three bedraggled, almost-emaciated human passengers. Sandra’s and Laumer’s faces had been stormy as they helped the two weakest men down the gangplank. Silva’s one eye glittered murderously as he watched from the ship. He’d stay aboard and supervise the placement of more pumps and hoses, but he wouldn’t go down in the holds again. He might claw through the steel with his fingernails and sink the hideous abomination he stood upon.
This initial gathering was only for senior personnel so they could absorb what Okada had to say and take measure of his tale before deciding if it had any bearing on current priorities. The story, or part of it, would emerge, of course; Saan-Kakja kept few secrets from her people. But sometimes a thing had to be examined before it was allowed to run loose. Her Sky Priest, Meksnaak, disapproved of this “naive” policy and sat on a cushion to her left, brooding. Saan-Kakja-s new “best friend,” Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald, heir to the Empire of the New Britain Isles, was poised on a comfortable chair to her right, her skin restored with curative lotions and her blond curls carefully coiffed. An expression of concerned distaste distorted her elfin face. Shinya and Lelaa were the silitary representatives present, although Irvin Laumer, “Tex” Sheider, Colonel Ansik-Talaa, and Colonel Busaa of the Coastal Artillery had been allowed. Okada’s officers, two Japanese “rescued” from the Grik at Sing-aa-pore, and one Lemurian, all dressed like Okada, remained silently seated. Two of the three “passengers” remained seated as well, attended by Sandra and a corpsman. They wore soft robes in place of tattered remains of what had once been uniforms. One of the men had been too weak to attend.
Saan-Kakja watched Okada now, with her mesmerizing, ebony-striated, golden eyes. Her silky, gray-black fur lay as smooth and perfect as skin. Her ears twitched with compassion for the man. “Perhaps it was an escape for you, but your arrival also saved us from the Grik,” she said in her small, satin, but determined tone.
“Not my arrival,” Okada denied bitterly. “I aided the Grik, as first officer of Amagi!”
“And ultimately, it was you who warned Baalkpan that she and the ‘invincible swarm’ of Grik were on their way,” Shinya reminded patiently, but with a strange new brittleness, “and thereby saved the city.”
“At the cost of my ship-and how many Japanese lives?” Okada retorted. It was the old argument again, the burden that had tortured Okada since his initial “capture” after that terrible battle. Shinya was concerned for a moment that he might retreat into his armored lair of self-pity and remorse, and for the first time, he almost didn’t care. But Okada suddenly straightened, and his face bore a new determination.
“As I said, the world we left has gone insane, and that madness continues to spill into this one.” He practically seared the Americans present with his stare. “It appears… the war we were taken from, that showed such promise for my people, my Empire… all of East Asia… has turned against us. The Americans managed a few surprising, costly victories, and now their industrial might has begun to tip the scales.” He paused. “In response, it seems some of my countrymen have begun to behave… dishonorably.”
One of the gaunt “passengers” struggled to rise, his pale face beginning to flush, but Sandra held him back.
Shinya saw this and stood. “Dishonorably?” he demanded, incredulous. “Please spare us the nationalistic rhetoric of another world,” he said harshly. He’d seen the ship too; he’d entered that stinking, hellish hold, and the same smells he’d endured in the lower decks of captured Grik ships almost drove him to his knees. From that moment, all his doubts and uncertainties about the path he’d chosen melted away. His people “back home” had run mad. They’d become Grik in human form, much like Captain Reddy described the Dominion. He’d caught himself praying to whatever force he’d begun to suspect existed that his people’s madness might be cured by defeat.
“Start at the beginning and tell us everything!” he demanded. His attempts to assuage Okada’s conscience were over, and he was building a towering rage. “Do not dishonor yourself with further ‘patriotic’ excuses, or I’ll counsel Her Excellency”-he nodded at Saan-Kakja-“to have you and that… diseased vessel expelled without delay!”
Somewhat chastened, but with a resentful expression, Okada began. “When I first came to Maa-ni-la prior to ‘repatriation’ to my beloved, but sparsely inhabited ‘Ja-paan,’ the city teemed with Lemurian ‘runaways’ from other Homes. With the addition of the Fil-pin Lands to the Alliance, those malcontents had few places left to go other than the Gt South Island that, so far, hadn’t joined the cause. I interviewed thousands. Some were merely cowards, but others had honor, and simply wanted to be left alone. I took the hundred or so with warrior skills-some even disillusioned veterans of the Grik war-who were attracted to the traditional, militantly isolationist Japanese lifestyle I described to them. Together, we established a bakufu-a shogunate-near what would have been Yokohama.”
“A shogunate!” Shinya interrupted Okada’s narrative. “You are ambitious! And I presume you are the Seii Taishogun?”
Okada didn’t flinch or apologize. “Someone had to be, and I rule no settlements that do not desire the protection of my Lemurian samurai! We are not an imperial government! As I said, I based the system on ancient precedence modified by hindsight, to glean the more benevolent aspects of that culture. I teach Bushido and Kendo-you will not find better swordsmen than my samurai-but I stress the obligation to serve not only myself, but their fellow beings. Also, my samurai are not nobles, but commoners with noble ideals, perhaps more like a militia, dedicated to defending their people from the terrible predators that lurk upon our land-and invaders, of course. They train for these duties diligently, but they hunt and kill the great fish for their oil and flesh. They are not the aristocratic, bureaucratic leeches they once became on our world!”
“So you say… for now,” Shinya muttered. “Tell me, do you have female samurai?”
“Yes,” Okada said simply, and Shinya blinked. “As you know, female Lemurians can be formidable warriors. With their size and agility, few males can match them in ‘the way of the sword.’ ”
“Please continue your tale, of the pertinent events,” Saan-Kakja directed.
“At first, things went well. Most of the preexisting settlements around the Okada Shogunate willingly fell under its umbrella and enjoyed a new security and prosperity. According to their wishes, many of the Japanese
