in turn, doesn’t have to be reminded of their disappointment.
Her uncle has never been disappointed. He speaks up for Chiyoko, who cannot speak for herself. As a child, when she cried herself to sleep after a hard day of training, only to wake up screaming silently from a nightmare, her uncle was always there, waiting. He knew. He told her of his time as a Player; he told her it was an honor, and that she would do her people proud.
She still has nightmares.
Sometimes, in the dreams, she can speak. She never remembers the sound of her voice when she wakes up. But sometimes she can almost hear the echo of her scream. Always, when she wakes up afraid, he is there to calm her, as he is tonight. He brushes her hair from her forehead and sets a soft kiss on her brow. “Whatever happens is meant to happen,” he whispers. “That has always been the way.”
This is the philosophy that allowed the Mu to recover from near extermination. This is what has enabled them to serve the murderers so faithfully over the millennia, to ensure that the other peoples of Earth would serve them too. Whatever happens is meant to happen —alone, it is the motto of a defeated people. But the Mu are not defeated, only disciplined. And so there is a second part to their philosophy, just as essential as the first.
Do whatever must be done to prevent it from happening again .
Whatever must be done. That has been the core of Chiyoko’s training, and she knows it to be the core of her uncle’s being.
Whatever must be done, no matter who it may hurt, no matter what might be sacrificed.
Her uncle isn’t the only one who knows how to read silence. Over theyears, she has gotten very good at reading the lines of his face, the worry in his eyes, and she knows what he is thinking now.
He’s thinking that Satoshi might be right. That Akina might win. That he has just agreed to sacrifice his beloved niece to a larger cause, and that it is hard, but it is right.
He’s sending her into an ambush, but that’s not what hurts.
What hurts is that he’s worried she won’t come back.
Know your enemy.
This is the first rule of battle, a necessity of victory.
And so, in the few days she has left, Chiyoko sets out to know Akina Nori. She will not make contact with the girl, not until absolutely necessary. She will lurk in the shadows, watching, waiting for Akina to reveal her secret self, the indulgences and weaknesses that will seal her fate.
Her uncle’s basement houses a workshop filled with gears and circuitry, GPS chips and microscopic lenses and microphones. Chiyoko has logged many hours down there, designing surveillance equipment to suit her needs. Recording devices disguised as pens, hair clips, lucky rabbit’s feet; infrared cameras the size of a pinhead; nearly invisible trackers that can be shot into a target’s neck, with a small sting easily mistaken for a mosquito bite. In the lush gardens of her father’s estate, Akina slaps at her skin and suspects nothing, feels nothing, certainly not the tiny ridge of a GPS signal emitter.
It’s easy enough that it feels almost like cheating, but Chiyoko has been trained for a game that has no rules except one: win at any cost. This is what she intends to do.
Akina isn’t careful. She lives her life on the surface, almost as if she wants Chiyoko to see.
Chiyoko sees Akina train in a lavish gym on her father’s grounds, sees her practice aikido, muay thai, sanshou, capoeira, and jujitsu, sees her skills with the wooden dagger, the battle-ax, the curved kujang, the shuriken, and several semiautomatic machine guns. Akina isgood—Chiyoko is better. Where Akina fights expensive instructors in well-equipped facilities, Chiyoko has battled real enemies on urban battlefields across Japan. Akina, Chiyoko can tell, has never truly had to fight for her life. Paid instructors will always hold back, always pull a punch if it threatens to wound. Chiyoko has stabbed thugs on an empty subway platform in
Her uncle has never been disappointed. He speaks up for Chiyoko, who cannot speak for herself. As a child, when she cried herself to sleep after a hard day of training, only to wake up screaming silently from a nightmare, her uncle was always there, waiting. He knew. He told her of his time as a Player; he told her it was an honor, and that she would do her people proud.
She still has nightmares.
Sometimes, in the dreams, she can speak. She never remembers the sound of her voice when she wakes up. But sometimes she can almost hear the echo of her scream. Always, when she wakes up afraid, he is there to calm her, as he is tonight. He brushes her hair from her forehead and sets a soft kiss on her brow. “Whatever happens is meant to happen,” he whispers. “That has always been the way.”
This is the philosophy that allowed the Mu to recover from near extermination. This is what has enabled them to serve the murderers so faithfully over the millennia, to ensure that the other peoples of Earth would serve them too. Whatever happens is meant to happen —alone, it is the motto of a defeated people. But the Mu are not defeated, only disciplined. And so there is a second part to their philosophy, just as essential as the first.
Do whatever must be done to prevent it from happening again .
Whatever must be done. That has been the core of Chiyoko’s training, and she knows it to be the core of her uncle’s being.
Whatever must be done, no matter who it may hurt, no matter what might be sacrificed.
Her uncle isn’t the only one who knows how to read silence. Over theyears, she has gotten very good at reading the lines of his face, the worry in his eyes, and she knows what he is thinking now.
He’s thinking that Satoshi might be right. That Akina might win. That he has just agreed to sacrifice his beloved niece to a larger cause, and that it is hard, but it is right.
He’s sending her into an ambush, but that’s not what hurts.
What hurts is that he’s worried she won’t come back.
Know your enemy.
This is the first rule of battle, a necessity of victory.
And so, in the few days she has left, Chiyoko sets out to know Akina Nori. She will not make contact with the girl, not until absolutely necessary. She will lurk in the shadows, watching, waiting for Akina to reveal her secret self, the indulgences and weaknesses that will seal her fate.
Her uncle’s basement houses a workshop filled with gears and circuitry, GPS chips and microscopic lenses and microphones. Chiyoko has logged many hours down there, designing surveillance equipment to suit her needs. Recording devices disguised as pens, hair clips, lucky rabbit’s feet; infrared cameras the size of a pinhead; nearly invisible trackers that can be shot into a target’s neck, with a small sting easily mistaken for a mosquito bite. In the lush gardens of her father’s estate, Akina slaps at her skin and suspects nothing, feels nothing, certainly not the tiny ridge of a GPS signal emitter.
It’s easy enough that it feels almost like cheating, but Chiyoko has been trained for a game that has no rules except one: win at any cost. This is what she intends to do.
Akina isn’t careful. She lives her life on the surface, almost as if she wants Chiyoko to see.
Chiyoko sees Akina train in a lavish gym on her father’s grounds, sees her practice aikido, muay thai, sanshou, capoeira, and jujitsu, sees her skills with the wooden dagger, the battle-ax, the curved kujang, the shuriken, and several semiautomatic machine guns. Akina isgood—Chiyoko is better. Where Akina fights expensive instructors in well-equipped facilities, Chiyoko has battled real enemies on urban battlefields across Japan. Akina, Chiyoko can tell, has never truly had to fight for her life. Paid instructors will always hold back, always pull a punch if it threatens to wound. Chiyoko has stabbed thugs on an empty subway platform in
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