Chapter Two
Wonderful, absolutely wonderful.
John had never felt so good as he lay between starched sheets with the pillow pulled close to his face. He was in that pleasant state between sleep and reality. A zone of comfort where the real world couldn't interfere and dreams were a stone's throw away.
So different from his usual place of rest, a small couch with his feet propped up on one arm and an old blanket thrown over him for warmth. Awakening in his flat he was often greeted by a gray television screen that hissed static and cast shadows against the walls, but now his ears were greeted with silence and a smell that he had almost forgotten. The smell of clean things, of laundered sheets and a scrubbed floor. Those thing that showed someone cared not just about appearances, but about self-imposed standards of pride and decency.
John felt the pleasantness fade and he opened his eyes. There was a black-faced clock set atop a bedside table. In bright red it flashed 10:07 am, an indicator not only of the time, but also a reminder that the world was run by machines. Whether it was a huge mainframe that processed millions of bit of data on peoples lives or a simple alarm clock, there was little difference between the two.
John propped his body up on his elbows and looked around the room. The walls were an off white on which were hung several pictures. Most of them were of nondescript scenery but there was one he recognized, a religious figure that had failed to save mankind.
John felt a twinge in his right hand and brought it close to his face. His hand had been scrubbed clean and wrapped in white bandage. It still hurt a little, but in time the hand would heal, leaving only a thin white scar as a reminder of the most eventful night in his life.
John stared at a plain wooden door and let his mind take him back to the previous evening, after the events in the alley. He had followed Inoda to a factory where the hunter had exchanged the heads for sixty thousand chips, a sum that had surprised John, but Inoda had only grumbled something about the factory being stingy. Afterward Inoda had lead the way to his home, a small apartment in a gray building not far from where the two had first met.
The halls of the building were mopped clean, not a trace of dirt. And the walls were freshly painted and the lights burnt strong. These days landlords cared nothing about their tenants and the upkeep of buildings was left largely to the occupants. It was obvious that those who lived here were concerned with such things.
Inoda had brought John before a gray metal door on which was hung a huge padlock. Once inside John had dropped his exhausted body onto one of the several white metal chairs in a small dining room seperate from the kitchen. Inoda had removed his cloak and set his weapon against a wall. Then he filled a pot with water and as he waited for it to boil, he gathered the things he would need to attend John's injury.
As Inoda cleaned John's wound it became apparent that the larger man had experience with such things. Small wonder. It was also obvious that Inoda was mostly of cyborg construct. This mattered little to John however, for most of his friends were also cybernetically enhanced or handicapped.
After the operation Inoda had instructed John to bathe and drop all his clothes in a hamper as they would be cleaned and ready to wear in the morning. John had complied and Inoda had shown John to the room where he now found himself, feeling very much alive for a man that had escaped death twice in one night.
John eased his back against the headboard and closed his eyes. The bed felt so comfortable that he was tempted to go back to sleep. Not for too long, but just to forget the world for a little while longer.
"Good morning."
John rose with a start and stared at the foot of the bed. There was a young woman standing in front of the open door, holding his clothes draped over one arm and looking at him in the most peculiar way.
John was mesmerized, there was no other word to describe his state of mind. The girl appeared to be about eighteen years old with a slim figure wrapped in a simple white blouse and a plain skirt that ended just below the knees. Her hair was shoulder length and cut straight across the front. She seemed more a porcelain figure than a human being, yet those brown eyes revealed a soul of warmth and compassion that seemed both out of place and appropiate.
John kept staring at her, unable to speak or turn his eyes. He was no stranger to being in the company of women, but never one like this.
The girl leaned forward and furrowed her brow.
"Is there something wrong?" she inquired. "You don't look so well."
John cleared his throat and pulled the sheets up until they touched his chin.
"No, nothing," he stammered. "You just surprised me, that's all."
John's eyes followed the girl over to a chair on which she lay his clothes in a neat pile. She looked at him again and smiled warmly.
"You should get dressed," she said politely. "Dad is waiting for you in the kitchen."
At the mention of the word 'Dad,' John placed his tongue between his teeth and frowned in concentration.Yes, he remembered. Inoda had briefly mentioned that he had a daughter, but the beauty before him bore little resemblance to the old man.
She must take after he mother, he mused.
"So you're Inoda's daughter," he said casually.
"Yes, my name's Mara. And if you don't hurry your breakfast will be cold by the time you eat it. You are hungry, aren't you?"
John pressed a hand against his stomach and felt a twinge of pain. He hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon and his body was telling him there was a big space to fill.
"Yes," he answered. "I'll get dressed and be right out."
Mara left the room and shut the door behind her, leaving John alone with his thoughts. He hadn't the slightest idea what Inoda might want to talk to him about but it didn't matter. He just wanted to see Mara again.
He leaped out of bed and walked over to the chair, snatching up his clothes and pulling them over his limbs. Mara had washed his clothes and they smelled fresh and looked better than they ever.
He smoothed out his shirt and ran his hands through his hair in attempt to smooth back the undisciplined locks and once he was satisfied, he pulled open the door and stepped warily into the hall.
He walked noiselessy down a short corridor past a door on either side, obviously one was Inoda's room and the other was Mara's. The hall made a sharp left turn and opened onto the small dining area. John saw Inoda sitting at the head of the table, plowing his fork through a plate of powdered eggs and humming the same tune from the previous night. Now that John had a good luck at Inoda, stripped of the hardware and clothes he wore as a hunter he was even more impressed by the man's appearance. He was powerfully built with a face of quiet resolve, his huge frame seeming out of place in the small room. Mara sat on his left, eating slowly and one hand resting in her lap.
They both looked at John who stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, feeling a lttle out of place in someone else's home.
"Come in," said Inoda. "Sit yourself down and Mara will get you some food."
John made his way to the right side of the table and slid into the chair opposite Mara. She seemed not to notice John looking at her as she rose and walked toward a thin curtain that seperated the dining area from the tiny kitchen.
John stared at the curtain until Mara returned a moment later with a plate of eggs and several pieces of toast. She walked over to John and leaned over his shoulder, setting the plate in front of him. She wore no perfume, instead her fragrance of choice was simple baby powder applied after bathing. It was the sweetest fragrance John had ever inhaled, and as she stood she brushed her hand against his forearm. His pulse quickened and he smiled as politely as his nervousness would allow.
"Well dig in," said Inoda, pointing to John's plate.
John picked up the fork and scooped a clump of egg into his mouth. In truth he hated eggs, but he was not about to say so in front of Mara. To his surprise the eggs tasted wonderful. It was amazing that something so bland as a powdered substitute could be made to taste so good.
"This is the best that I've ever eaten," said John as he spooned some egg onto a piece of toast.
"I'm glad you like it," said Mara. "I've had a lot of practice making dinner for Dad."
"She takes after her mother," said Inoda between sips of coffee.
John continued eating, occassionally glancing across the table at Mara. He wanted badly to strike up a conversation with her but not in front of her father. She didn't seem too receptive but she wasn't standoffish either. And that meant there was a chance.
"Well," began Inoda. "What are you going to do now?"
John paused and looked at Inoda. The question was unexpected and he was unsure of how to answer.
"What do you mean?"
Inoda leaned back in the chair and the floor creaked under his tremendous weight.
"Well John," said Inoda. "After you've finished eating you're going to leave and return to whatever life you have in the street.&qout;"
"What else should I do?" answered John defensively. "I appreciate all that you've done for me but I have places to go and people to see."
Inoda smirked and clasped his fingers behind his head.
"Yeah, I'll bet you do," he said to John. "I have a pretty good idea of the kind of places you go to and the people you hang out with."
John put the fork down and shifted in the chair so that he was facing Inoda. He was becoming angry and he was not very good at hiding his emotions.
"I don't see what business it is of yours. You said that you owe me, well consider the debt repaid. I'll just take my portion of the bounty and leave."
John started to rise from the table but Inoda beat him to it. The larger man stood over John and rested his hand firmly on his shoulder.
"Relax," said Inoda. "No offense intended. All I'm trying to do is force you to take a look at yourself. The kind of life you lead, where you're going and what's going to happen to you. Maybe I was hasty in my judgement of you. Do you have any family, a wife perhaps?"
Mara frowned at Inoda and let her fork fall to her plate.
"That's enough Dad. I think you're being rude asking such personal questions of a guest."
Inoda ignored his daughter and looked hard at John. The younger man stared back, trying to guess at what was on Inoda's mind.
"No," he answered. "No family of any kind. There's just me, it's been that way as far back as I can remember."
Inoda took his hand away and sat back down on his chair. There was a brief moment of silence and then he spoke again. This time his voice was much softer, as if he were giving advice to a close friend.
"Look John, I'm not being nosy. What each man does with his own life is his business. But it's a shame to waste a life, isn't it? Remember what happened to those men last night? That's the fate of people with no guidance, no direction. Are you really any different from them? Is that the fate you would have for yourself?"
"What choice do I have!" John shouted. "It's not as if I like the way things are but I have to survive. What do you care Inoda, if I screw up you can just come looking for me. Hell, I'll even make it easy for you. I'll just hold my neck out and let you take my head. You're good at killing, I've seen you do it!"
Inoda slammed a fist on the table, silencing the young man.
"You do have a choice John. Yesterday you almost died a violent death in some corner of the scrapyard. No one would have cared, not a tear would have been shed. Today you're in a warm house with food in your stomach. We each get a chance in our lives to change for the better, but the smart ones recognize the opportunity when it presents itself."
John stared at Inoda, unable to answer him. He had never given any thought to the things Inoda was saying. Life had always been a day to day existance. Every day of living was a personal victory over the scrapyard.
Inoda picked up his cup and brought it to his lips. He frowned and turned toward Mara.
"We're out of coffee," he said to her.
Mara crossed her arms and looked at her father.
"I'm not surprised, you drank it all and left nothing for John. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Inoda frowned at Mara as she rose from the table with coffee pot in hand. She pushed aside the curtain and disappeared into the kitchen. Again John watched her go, staring for a moment at the curtain swaying from side to side.
"What are you looking at?" asked Inoda.
John glanced at Inoda and saw the big man glaring at him.
"Ah, what did you say?"
"I said, what the hell are you staring at? We're talking about important things here."
"Oh, sorry," stammered John. "I was just..."
"Just what?" asked Inoda, folding his huge arms.
Mara stood in the kitchen, leaning over a counter with a coffee pot in one hand, the other clasped over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. She could clearly hear the exchange taking place in the other room and her father was mercilessly working John over. It would take her a little while to compose herself before she returned. She hoped she wouldn't laugh and spill the coffee on either of them. Inoda had told her that he planned on asking John to stay with them, he wouldn't dare make such an important decision without consulting her. She however had deferred judgement until she had a chance to meet him, and she had approved. It was now up to John to accept Inoda's offer or return to the street.
"I have a proposal," said Inoda. "You can stay here and make this your new home. After all what do you have to go back to? If you leave here you'll either die at the hand of some punk or your face will end up on a bulletin monitor. Is that what you want?"
John was unsure of what to say. He had always been satisfied with the way things were, but maybe that was because he had never experienced any other way of living. He cheated death every day and knew it was only a matter of time before he lost. Inoda was offering him a chance to change all that, to beat the odds. And there was something else, there was Mara. He would be living in the same house with her and that alone was incentive enough.
John lay his hands on the table and looked Inoda straight in the eye.
"All right," he answered. "I'll give it a try. It's not like I've had any better offers recently."
"And you're not likely to," answered Inoda. "You know you'll have to work, get a steady job and help out."
John hadn't considered this. He had never been employed and didn't feel like starting now. Working was for other people, not for him. And he knew that with his limited skills he would probably end up doing manual labour.
"I have connections," said Inoda. "You may not have any practical skills but you do have spirit, you demonstrated that to me last night. And I think I have just the right job in mind."
"Oh, and what would that be?" replied John.
Before Inoda could answer, Mara entered the room and placed the refilled coffee pot on a cosy in the center of the table. She stepped back and clasped her hands in front of her. Inoda looked at the pot and then at Mara.
"Well, aren't you going to pour me a cup?" he asked her.
"You can pour your own," said Mara with a hint of anger. "Sometimes you act if I'm nothing more than a servent around here."
"Well actually.." began Inoda.
Mara leaned forward and slapped her father on the top of his bald head. The big man flinced and reared away from the angry girl.
"Come on sweetheart, I was just kidding," said Inoda, rubbing his sore head.
John forgot his anger for a moment and couldn't help but smile. As tough as Inoda seemed it was obvious that he loved his daughter very much. And Mara was no shrinking violet. The girl had fire and that added to her appeal.
Inoda poured the coffee into two cups and passed one of them to John. He looked at Mara and smiled.
"John has accepted my offer," he told her. "He'll be staying with us for a while."
John looked at Mara, trying to gauge her reaction. Her expression remained blank, as if she could have cared less either way.
"That's nice," she answered with no hint of emotion.
John took her response as a good sign. If Mara hadn't approved both men would be running for cover by now.
Inoda drained his cup in one gulp and rose from the table. He grunted and strode down the hall to his room, shutting the door loudly behind him.
John looked at Mara and smiled.
"I want to thank your for breakfast," he said.
"You're quite welcome," she answered. "It's nice to hear a compliment now and then, Dad tends to take what I do around here for granted."
"But your father's a good man, he's offered me a chance to change my life and I'm grateful."
Mara narrowed her eyes and stared at John briefly before answering.
"You may come to regret saying that," she answered.
John leaned back and put his hands in his lap. He had no idea what Mara was talking about, but he figured that whatever the old man had in mind it couldn't be as bad as the way things were now, could it?
John heard Inoda coming back and looked at the big man as he entered the dining room. He was fully clothed in his hunter's attire and the short sword was sheathed and hanging from his waist.
"Come on," he said to John. "There's someone I want you to meet."
"Who's that?" answered the younger man.
Inoda waved for him to follow and walked toward the door leading to the outer hall.
"In good time," he answered simply.
Inoda showed no sign of waiting for him and John rose quickly from the table.
"Thanks again," he said to Mara over his shoulder.
John bolted for the door and closed it after him, leaving Mara to sit alone with a sink full of dishes to be washed.
The young woman placed her hands on the table and brought her head down, resting the right side of her face on her forearms. So much had changed in such a short time, it would be as great an adjustment for her as it would be for John. In a way she felt sorry for the young man. Though he was a little older than her and had experienced more of life he seemed rather naive. She had approved of John staying with them but not of what Inoda had in mind for the young man. John would soon have another decision to make, and she secretly hoped that her father would lose.
***
John followed in Inoda's wake. The big man was an imposing presence and people moved aside to allow him to pass. He was walking quickly, cutting a path through the crowded streets toward a sector of the scrapyard John was unfamiliar with. Inoda remained silent, apparently he had nothing to say or he considered idle conversation unnecessary. Finally John spoke up. There was a question he just had to ask, and now that the two were away from Mara it was as good a time as any.
"Inoda."
"Yes John, what is it?"
"Why are you doing all this? We only met yesterday and already you've taken me into your home. I can't say that if the situation was reversed I would do the same."
Inoda stopped so unexpectedly that John bumped into the big man. Inoda turned and placed a hand on John's shoulder. He couldn't tell if Inoda was being friendly or trying to hold on to him.
"I was your age once," said Inoda. "Back before I met Mara's mother. I know what life is like in the scrapyard and if I hadn't met her and fallen in love I would be dead now, do you understand? That woman changed my life and I owe her. Think of this as nothing more than a debt owed a fine woman, and any gratitude directed toward me belongs to her."
John understood but wasn't satisfied. He could sense that Inoda was being sincere but there was something more, something that Inoda wasn't telling him.
"I believe you," said John. "But you're still holding something back. There are others more deserving than I am. What makes me a special case?"
Inoda grinned and slapped John hard on the shoulder.
"Potential," he answered.
Inoda continued on his way, leaving John confused and unsure. What was the old man talking about, why didn't he come right out and say what was on his mind? Could this have anything to do with Mara telling him that he might come to regret accepting Inoda's offer of help?
John shook his head and ran after Inoda who was almost lost from sight. He decided not to ask any further and followed Inoda into a lane that opened onto an expanse of flat land, dotted by makeshift shacks and debris strewn over the ground. The two picked their way carefully through a terrain of rusted iron and abandoned cars until they stood in front of a small building of corrugated sheet metal and various other cast off items.
John looked up at the sign which was nailed over the open door.
BLADEHOUSE
Inoda didn't give John a chance to ask any questions. He walked up to a door of gray iron and rapped several times with great force. John took a step back, fearful that Inoda's knocking might bring the structure down on them. It was a miracle the building was still standing.
"Yes, who is it?" came a male voice.
"It's me," shouted Inoda.
"Go away," came the reply. "I'm busy right now."
Inoda pushed the door back and stepped inside. John followed close behind, curious as to what await him. The two men stood in a small room with a workbench on one side. On the walls around were mounted all manner of bladed weapons. Swords, knives, some curved and some straight. There were enough here to outfit a small army thought John. He also saw various chisels and files, obviously tools for fashioning. John put his hand out and ran his fingers along the blade of the nearest sword. Even to his untrained eye and touch he could tell that the weapon had been made by an expert craftsman.
"You like that one," said an unfamiliar voice.
John saw a man standing several meters away from him. He was shorter than average and powerfully built. His head sported a close brush cut that was receding and he wore a black apron around his narrow waist. The man stared briefly at him and then turned his attention to Inoda.
"So what gives?" he said to Inoda. "That blade I made for you can't be giving you any problems."
"No," replied Inoda. "You do good work Lam, there's just someone I thought you should meet."
Lam placed his hands on his hips and leaned back, running his eyes over John and snorting a lungful of air.
"So who's the kid?" he asked.
"Lam, this is John, he's going to be staying with me and Mara and he could use a job."
"A job?" replied Lam. "This isn't some place for a kid looking to make a fast buck. I'm probably the best swordsmith in the scrapyard and I need skilled help. Someone who knows his way around a pressure gun and can hammer a blade into shape. That kind of knowledge takes at least two years to learn, and only if someone has a natural aptitude for working with metals."
"Ever done this kind of work?" Lam asked.
"No," John answered.
"See, what did I tell you?" said Lam.
"Come on," implored Inoda. "Give the kid a break. There was a first time for everyone, including you. I remembered the last time I was here you were moaning about being so busy you could use some help. Well no one has applied, have they?"
Lam frowned and said nothing.
"Well here it is," continued Inoda. "Give the kid a try, if he doesn't work out you can let the boy go, no harm done."
"I wouldn't be so sure," said Lam.
He walked over to the bench and picked up a small file, rolling it in his hand and tossing it in the air.
"I've heard what Inoda had to say," he said to John. "Now I want to hear it from you. This is a tough job, the pay is low but the rewards are great. You'll be learning how to construct the finest weapons anywhere for people like Inoda here. If you want to learn you've come to the right place, but if you're not interested say so now. I have no time to waste with someone who can't put up with the demands of the job or me."
John thought a moment before answering, for this wasn't at all what he had expected. A steady hand and sharp eyes would be required, and there was the added satisfaction of seeing the results of one's labor. He had never given any thought about doing this kind of work but he was smitten with enthusiasm.
"Sure," he answered. "Give me a chance, and if I don't work out you can let me go."
Lam threw the file at John who caught it a scant few inches from his face. He turned and glanced at Inoda who was grinning from ear to ear.
"The boy's quick," said Lam.
"Good," replied Inoda. "I'll leave him with you. I have some business to attend to and I'll be back this afternoon to pick him up. And don't go easy on him Lam, the kid has a lot to learn before I'll let him work on my sword here."
Inoda patted the scabbard at his waist.
"Oh, don't worry," smiled Lam. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Inoda strode out of the building and in a few moments his footsteps faded into silence.
"Well come on," said Lam. "We've got work to do."
The swordsmith picked up a dull strip of iron and clamped it in a vice, turning the handle so tightly that John thought it would snap off.
"What do you want me to do?" asked John.
"Pick up that box and bring it here," said Lam, pointing to a wooden crate set against the far wall.
John walked over to the crate and bent down. He grabbed the box and was surprised at how heavy it was for it's small size, struggling not to drop it as he weaved his way back toward Lam.
The swordsmith snatched the box from him and dropped it on the table.
"Ok," panted John. "What's next?"
"You'll find about a dozen or so of these crates around back in my old pick up. Bring them in here and stack them neatly against that wall."
John stared for a moment in disbelief and then turned away. It seemed as if he was going to be doing menial work after all.
Chapter Three