Tyche's Grace Read online

  “It’s time?” said Grace. “For what? And ‘Happy Birthday?’ You’ve given me a bomb!”

  “A hint,” said Mickey. “Not an answer. That’d be too easy.”

  Grace let her eyes wander to the outside, shoji open to allow the sounds and smells of spring inside. She looked at the walls of the grounds in the distance, beyond the parking facility.

  Surely he couldn’t mean that? Grace studied the small device on the floor between them. She lifted it as if it was a snake with fangs and intent. Carefully, as if the pressure of her keypresses could make the answer right or wrong, she typed on the console. ESCAPE.

  The device chimed. SECRET ACCEPTED. The screen flickered, a shot of Megumi, Iwao, and Mickey all in the frame. They were smiling. “Happy Birthday!” they shouted, then the recording ended.

  Grace looked up at Mickey. “What does this mean?”

  “Means Happy Birthday, kid,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

  “It means more than that,” said Grace.

  “Maybe,” said Mickey. “The question is one of trust.” He rolled his shoulders, sauntering to the open door. “Right?” And with that, he left her to her thoughts.

  • • •

  The sun welcomed her outside, Megumi leaning against a tree not far away. Grace waved, jogging over to her bodyguard. “Hey.”

  “How was Mickey?”

  “He was Mickey,” said Grace. “But he was … weird. Also, he’ll ask you. Again.”

  Megumi sighed. “Sometimes people do the unexpected to achieve the impossible.” She tossed Grace a small device. “Are you ready?”

  Grace grinned. “Yes. I’m ready.”

  “Good,” said Megumi. “More lessons on security. We’ll teach you how to hack the house computers.”

  Grace’s grin broadened. “About time,” she said.

  • • •

  The device Megumi had given her was a tiny probe, designed to be inserted into a console. Grace found one in the housekeeper’s quarters, slipping in silently in the heat of midday. Megumi’s voice came through the comm attached to Grace’s ear. “Do you see it?”

  “I see the console,” said Grace. “There isn’t anyone here.”

  “Be sure,” said Megumi. “Be safe.” This was what she always said before their lessons. Familiarity didn’t make the words any less valuable.

  Grace closed her eyes, feeling about with her mind. Nothing came to her, no boredom/duty or frustration/tired, just … nothing. “The house is empty.”

  “Then get in. Your prize is your father’s itinerary,” said Megumi.

  “And what lesson is my father driving with this test?” asked Grace.

  The comm was silent for a moment. “You know, I have no idea,” admitted Megumi. “Oh. Mickey’s coming. Going dark for a while.” The comm clicked off.

  The housekeeper’s console was standard, if a little poorer in quality than the one in the main building. It had a holo stage with a console. Grace looked around one more time, then ducked under the console. She inserted a tiny lever into the console’s plastic housing. It popped open with a snap, and Grace slid the probe into the console’s electronics. She stood, pushing back her hair, then went to work on the keyboard.

  It was full of what she believed was usual housekeeper noise, messages regarding catering, supply levels, rosters. Her father allowed few robots in the grounds, the automated vehicles being a notable exception. When Grace had asked why not, he’d said he wanted nothing near him that could be controlled by someone else. So, consoles and cars it was.

  Grace typed more, trying to pry the secrets from the console. The device she’d inserted was a mask of sorts, obfuscating her tracks, but not giving her particular advantages. Megumi had said it was important for two reasons, and when Grace had said so they don’t know where we attacked from, she’d answered yes, and also because if they suspect someone who is innocent, that innocent would still die. The earlier lesson was sobering; in her father’s house, there were always consequences.

  So, this hack would be without tracks. Someone might work out the system had been breached, but the specifics would be hard to determine. Grace kept digging at the console, and after a few moments the UI shed its outer protection like a lizard escaping from old skin. Laid bare were minor secrets, including her father’s itinerary.

  He was scheduled to leave the grounds this evening at ten o’clock. He was leaving with Keiji and Mickey. It suggested he knew of the party and would be there, but after that, the grounds would be free of his presence, his oppression, until the following evening.

  Grace let her fingers trace through the holo’s light, touching an unfamiliar word. Intelligencer. There was a linked file which she opened. It was sparse on details, her father’s habit of recording few things to electronics paying itself forward, but she learned that the place he was going was for Intelligencers. There was a marker on the itinerary suggesting that the Emperor’s Black would escort him.

  The Emperor’s Black went with the Emperor. Grace put a hand to her mouth. Was her father working for the Emperor? It would explain much of his power and influence. She wondered if the Emperor would come here. A man that mighty might see her plight and extend aid.

  He might also laugh. It was possible her entire existence was because the Emperor willed it. She turned off the console, ducking underneath once more to retrieve her device and snap the plastic housing back in place.

  Her comm chirped. “Grace?”

  “I’m here, Megumi,” said Grace. She left the housekeeper’s quarters undisturbed, undiscovered. “I found his itinerary, as you asked.”

  “Good,” said Megumi. After a pause, she said, “Happy Birthday,” and closed the comm.

  • • •

  Puzzled, Grace found Iwao inside, configuring a collection of complicated devices spread on a low table in front of him. The sweet-sour of old booze was still around him, but his eyes were sharp, the smile from his lips reaching them as he saw Grace. “Come in. You’re just in time.”

  “For what?” said Grace.

  “It’s time for a race,” said Iwao. “Mickey was assuring me ‘that girl’ was,” and here, he switched to English, “‘too damn clumsy by far to unlock those in less than two minutes.’” He gestured to the devices in front of him, four in total. One was a small device that locked around a vial of liquid. He placed this inside a contraption she recognized as a spike trap. The last two were variations of containers, like tiny vaults.

  In their previous lessons, she’d opened one or two inside two minutes, so she felt this would pose no real problem. “I think Mickey isn’t very smart,” said Grace.

  “You misunderstand,” said Iwao. He winked. “I have put credits on this.”

  “All the more reason for him to lose,” said Grace, sitting cross-legged across from Iwao.

  “You still misunderstand,” said Iwao. “You must unlock all of these in two minutes.”

  All. Grace looked at the safe in front of her, another three devices inside. “Four?”

  “Four.”

  She laughed. “You are crazy, Iwao.”

  “Maybe,” said Iwao. He placed a small device on the table. It hissed, an acrid scent filling the air. “Your time starts now.”

  “Or?”

  “Or we die,” said Iwao. “Mickey pays me credits or you and I die.”

  Grace grabbed the small safe, getting to work. Next to the safe was a microphone cup connected to an earbud. She attached this, spinning the safe. She listened for the telltale click that was louder than the rest, wishing the birds outside could be quieter for just one second. Grace was sure she missed the click, starting again, rotating the dial once more. The safe door opened, easy as that. “One,” she said.

  “And thirty seconds gone,” said Iwao.

  Grace pulled the second safe out, placing it beside the first. This had a key mechanism, tiny but no doubt purpose built. Her head was feeling fuzzy from whatever gas the device was releasing, but still g
ood enough for safecracking. She picked up a small drill from the table, putting it against the keyhole itself. Grace squeezed the trigger, the bit burring over the surface of the safe.

  “Careful,” said Iwao. “It’s only our lives at stake.” He was looking sleepy with the gas. Grace had a moment to wonder for the thousandth time what it would take for a person to place their life in the hands of their prisoner before she bent over her task again. This time, she got the drill to bite, the diamond tip coring the lock in moments. The little door hinged open. Grace was about to reach inside when she remembered what the third device was. A spike trap.

  She looked at Iwao. “How long?”

  “You have thirty seconds before we are surely dead,” he said.

  Grace gritted her teeth in frustration. Think! No time for subtlety, so she inverted the small safe, banging it against the table. The spike trap inside fell against the surface with a bang-thuda-thud as the spikes fired. Grace lifted the safe, the spike trap looking like a fugu. She grabbed a wrench, smashing it. It cracked, two halves separating around the container with the vial.

  With a growl of frustration she fumbled for a tiny lever on the tools tray. Her fingers felt numb, the lever falling away at first. She kept a grip on the second try, forcing it into a hole near the locking mechanism around the vial. It clinked open, releasing the vial. The glass rattled around on the table amidst the remains of the spike trap and containers.

  She looked at Iwao. The man was swaying, so she grabbed the vial, moving to his side. She unstoppered it, hands shaking as the toxin worked on her.

  Iwao made to push her hand away. “You first.”

  She put the vial to his lips anyway, pouring half the fluid into his mouth. Grace let him go to flop against the tatami, tossing the rest of the fluid into her own mouth. It was bitter and difficult to swallow. She slumped next to Iwao on the ground, her heart beating, then slowing, then beating, then slowing, as the toxin and antitoxin warred within her.

  It seemed a lifetime later when she could sit upright, Iwao following a short time later. “Ah,” was all he said.

  “That sucked,” said Grace, in English.

  “What was the lesson?” said Iwao.

  She looked at the table and the remains of the mechanical locks and trap. “The direct path meets the indirect. Precision and force are equal tools.”

  “No, Grace,” he said with a smile, emphasis on her name, not using Mongrel. “The lesson is this. You now know you would die for someone who has always jailed you.” He stood, straightening his pants.

  “You’re not my jailer,” said Grace, the flash of intuition strong. “You’re my friend.”

  “Ah,” said Iwao. Joy/sadness. He swayed a little. “You have all the tools you need. Megumi and I have tried so hard. And now, there is no time left. Happy Birthday, Grace.”

  • • •

  The party was expected and unexpected at the same time. Grace knew there would be a party, and yet the shape of it was unknown. If she’d asked, her father would have said, Mongrel, pull it from their minds, and she would have gritted her teeth trying, only to feel the torrent of endless human emotions around her. Kazuo would have been disappointed again, and she wanted no more of that, so she never asked.

  The final lesson was that the unexpected can be delightful.

  There was music. The housekeepers pretended to smile. Her father welcomed her to adulthood, not once calling her a mongrel. She ate, and had saki for the first time, shared with her by the housekeepers. Someone lit a mighty fire, sparks climbing for the heavens. The world spun with bright colors. The saki dulled the noise of other people’s minds. Grace wasn’t sure if it was because they had drunk the saki, or she had, but it was welcome to not hear their every feeling.

  At some point, her father left, an air car taking him high. He’d touched her face before he left, then his lips twisted and he walked away. She didn’t know what time it was, but according to the itinerary it must have been ten o’clock.

  Things became harder when Aya spoke to her in soft tones, stroking her hair, crying before she turned away. “You should have gone, Grace. You should have gone.”

  Grace was about to reply when a hush descended. She turned to see sensei walking to a square of tatami mats, sword in her hand. It would have been fairer to say she had many teachers. Mickey Chase was one, teaching her the way of weapons as he taught her the way of self-pity. Keiji Kimura was another, a master of the unarmed arts, but he’d always been distant, deep in craft, never in the lesson. Megumi and Iwao were more than sensei; they were friends, and had been since that time in Ise.

  In her heart, Grace had one sensei. Her love was kendo, and she chose her teacher as Kiyoko Shimizu. Sensei held the sword’s scabbard, other hand on the hilt, drawing the blade in a flash of reflected firelight.

  Perfect steps took sensei around the tatami, a whirling display of kendo that Grace marveled in. The joy of that motion, so pure, so unattainable for her. Grace wished she could move like that, but felt the gift of seeing it in someone else. When the kata was done, Grace clapped her hands. Kiyoko came to her and Aya, sword sheathed.

  Grace bowed. “Sensei.”

  “Grace,” said Kiyoko. She looked to Grace’s mother. “Aya.”

  To Grace’s surprise, Aya spoke. “You’ve done it?”

  “I have,” said Kiyoko. She looked at the housekeepers, now in a ring around them, then held the sword out to Grace. “We have.”

  Grace took sensei’s sword. It was new, a shiny span of metal like a starship’s hull, but with an edge that looked like it could cut light. “Your … sword?” There was a low rumble, growing louder, the sky brightening with fire as two air cars blasted overhead, burning hard. “They are going where my father went.”

  “They are hunting,” agreed Kiyoko. She put a gentle hand over Grace’s where it held the sword. Kiyoko’s hand was warm, but weaker than it should have been. Grace picked out the fuzz of duty/happiness/sadness/completeness through the saki, but faint, like a ship’s horn far offshore. “Your father wanted to make ninja, like the legends of old. He spent the love of his only daughter to buy this extravagance. The best teachers, those to show you how to hide in plain site, to deal with electronics, to break locks. All to kill a man who does not deserve to die. Do you understand, Grace?”

  “No,” said Grace, looking between Kiyoko and Aya. “Not at all.” It might have been the saki, but Grace thought she saw Kiyoko’s leg give a little.

  “There was one thing he couldn’t make you unlearn, Grace,” said Kiyoko. “You have a gentle heart. Hide it. Others will want your powers. As you cover your face, shield your soul, or you will fall. This is the last lesson.”

  “What do you mean, sensei?” said Grace.

  “All of us,” said Kiyoko, then coughed, a slight red wetness at her lips. “All of us agreed. Your father wanted us to make an assassin. But we chose — chose — to make you free. If you push your own feelings down inside, they can’t be seen. Even by those who can read minds. Happy Birthday, Grace.” She gave a small sigh, the air coming out of her as her legs buckled, sprawling her on the grass. Grace bent down, turning sensei over. Kiyoko’s pulse was gone, the light inside her snapped out like that girl so many years ago after she’d eaten ice cream.

  “Grace,” said Aya. “You must go. Do you not see?”

  Grace looked around at the party, suddenly too quiet. “What?” The housekeepers were falling, one by one, to create a ring around Grace and Aya. They were all dying.

  “There will be no better time,” said Aya. “When he comes back, he will be so angry. You must not be here.”

  “But what of you?” said Grace. “What of them?” She stood, feeling a traitor leaving Kiyoko on the ground. Her eyes saw, but her mind reeled. Her face was wet from tears she had not realized were falling.

  “They have made their choice. The only one allowed them, when one controls your mind.” Aya touched her shoulder. “Do you not see? This is the best gift of a
ll. They cannot be made to follow you if they’re gone.” Aya wiped the tears from Grace’s face. “Now you must honor us. Go.”

  Grace looked at the sword she held, new, star forged metal. It was insufficient. She needed to send one last message. “Not yet,” said Grace, “and not without you.”

  • • •

  Grace went to Mickey’s room first, gathering what she’d need. A small canister, a grenade containing sleeping gas. And with it, four masks. Two of Mickey’s encrypted communicators. Aya’s eyes were questioning but her lips were silent. Grace handed her one mask. “Put this on.” Grace pulled her own mask on, feeling it mould against her face, a hermetic seal where it touched her skin. It was light, almost weightless, the clear visor letting her see everything. The rebreather technology rasped, cycling air through filters small enough to scrub even viruses microns wide from the air.

  It would do. Grace grabbed a tactical belt from Mickey’s stash, then slung the other two masks on the belt. She set off, leading her mother towards her father’s trophy room.

  Inside it was dark. Only the living need light. But despite Grace’s fears, there were two people inside. Megumi and Iwao waited by the trophy case.

  Aya touched her elbow. “Why are we here, Grace?”

  “Because they are my friends,” said Grace. She thought of Mickey and Keiji, and how they must be dead or in her father’s thrall. She couldn’t help them, but she could help the two people who’d stood strong against all for her.

  “Mongrel,” said her father’s voice from Megumi’s lips.

  “Mongrel,” agreed Iwao, stepping forward.

  Grace frowned. When she spoke, it was in English, her words clear. “Fuck you, Dad.” She tossed the grenade inside. It went off with a BOOMhissssss, a bright puff of green gas swirling about Megumi and Iwao’s feet. Her two bodyguards staggered, then fell forward, welcomed by the gloom.

  The gas lapped at her ankles as she stepped inside. Grace ignored it, her mask protecting her. She walked past the still forms of Megumi and Iwao to the armor cabinet at the back of the room. There was the old armor, and with it, her father’s sword. Grace opened the case, tossing the glass aside. She extracted the ancient blade. Grace held a sword in each hand, one from sensei, the other her father’s. She felt their weight and their balance. Sensei’s sword was the better weapon. It was perfect in every way, science and technology improving craft in ways the ancient smiths of old couldn’t hope to compete with. But in a war of the mind, perfect wasn’t always what you wanted. Grace remembered that lesson. No, what you wanted sometimes was plain ol’ revenge, to — as Mickey might have said — kick those motherfuckers in the balls. She slid sensei’s blade into the armor case, keeping her father’s ancient sword. It was hers. She had earned it.