between the flowers and the moon

8/20/2019 Between the Flowers and the Moon

1/126

etween the Flowers and the Moon by Nene Adams ©2006 - All rights reserved

For eighty years and more,by the grace of my sovereignand my parents, I have livedwith a tranquil heartbetween the flowers and the moon.-----Narushima Chuhachiro

Tokyo, the 22nd century

Master Takuan Soho of the Unfettered Mind said: The art ofthe sword consists of never being concerned with victory or

defeat, with strength or weakness, of not moving one stepforward, nor one step backward, or the enemy not seeing me

and my not seeing the enemy. Penetrating to that which is

fundamental before the separation of Heaven and Earth

where even yin and yang cannot reach, one instantly attains


2/126

proficiency in the art.

Katsumi paused in the act of lifting a skewer of grilled eel toher mouth. Attached to the unagi vendor's cart was a battered

liquid crystal display that was broadcasting a streaming videofeed. A CGI head with banana-yellow cartoon hair wassuperimposed over the scrolling real-time images. The head‟slips were moving but no sound emerged. Katsumi fixed hergaze on the flat screen, her face impassive, and jabbed afinger on the volume icon. The eel vendor hunched his thinshoulder but made no protest. He used chopsticks to turn overthe skewers on his plasma grill while Katsumi remainedabsorbed in the news, her snack forgotten and drippingteriyaki sauce over her knuckles.

"Bindiya Bhattacharya," the announcer said, bobbingfrantically to an inner gyroscopic jitterbug, "accused of thebrutal slaying of her husband, Dr. Charles Li Fang, escaped

just hours ago from Shimekazari Asylum. In an unexpecteddevelopment, Department of Order psychics remain unable to

pinpoint the alleged murderer's location. It seems thatBindiya-san is determined to continue her run of bad karmicdebt! Let's download a call from the Koan Man in Ropponji,who thinks the good missus is just a harmlesslittle lepidoptera dreaming that she's a killer queen bee..."

A rustling noise erupted all around, a sort of hushed soundthat was like the sigh of silk against skin. Small objects

dropped from the sky, a technicolor rain that bounced off thevendor's persimmon-dyed umbrella and landed in the street,thumping mutely on the plascrete surface. Katsumirecognized the genetically modified butterflies, each with anadvertising message or company logo emblazoned on itswings. Like cultivated silk moths, these butterflies had no


3/126

mouths and only survived a day or two before expiring.

Kastumi shook off the dying insects that had tangledthemselves in her hair. Have you experienced enlightenmenttoday? asked a faded ad on the wings of a butterfly thatfluttered in its death agonies near her foot. Visit Dakini Web,

your one-stop dharma shop!

She ate her grilled eel in three bites, then twirled the skewerbetween her blunt fingers. In a movement that was too quickto follow with the naked eye, Katsumi flicked the thin bamboolength through the air, spearing several of the falling

butterflies; the shish-kabob landed on the vendor‟s grill andbegan sizzling. He ignored her, his face shadowed by the widebrim of his woven reed hat. She walked away from the vendor,her wooden geta clattering loudly on the street. Each footstepalso crunched the fragile insect bodies, making a noise akin toroasted rice being pounded in a mortar. Maintenance crab„bots scuttled from their lairs beneath the pavement, big clawssnatching at anything their logic circuits deemed as trash.

Katsumi carefully walked around one crab that threatenedthe hem of her hakama and continued on her way.

Shibuya ward was chaos, as always. Teenagers and youngadults of every sex and no sex congregated here, lured bytrendy shops, fashion outlets, anime clubs, digital-gladiatorarenas and gaming parlors, all bubblegum colors and frantic,frenetic motion. A group of girls passed by, wearing pastel

raincoats and eating green tea ice cream. They saw Katsumiand stared, eyes wide, before hastening to the other side of thestreet. She paid no attention to them. A muscle-graftedbodyguard with ugly metal bond-work on his teeth took a lookat Katsumi, and chivvied his androgyn client into the safety ofa Hello Sex Kitten club. Katsumi continued serenely in her


4/126

course, never deviating, never reacting as pedestrian trafficflowed out of her way as though impelled by some invisibleherald of doom that stalked ahead of her.

She stopped outside a multi-storied building whose nano-skinned sides displayed a mixture of advertisements and clipsfrom popular chanbara eiga films. Huge samurai clashedabove her head in operatically bloody combat whilescrolling kanji proclaimed the merits of hemorrhoid creamand three-ply toilet tissue. Katsumi kicked off her woodenclogs and slid them into a receptacle, receiving a printed claimticket in return. Entering the building, she was nearly rundown by a delivery woman in a neon green nylon jumpsuit,who was balancing a stack of lacquered jubako on hershoulder.

Automatically, Katsumi used her senses to detect andcatalogue each detail - the holographic logo of the Mongolianbarbeque restaurant on the jubako , a whiff of cold mutton andspices, the clumps of dried mascara clinging to the woman's

lashes. She took a breath through her mouth, tasting theacrid-sweet mélange of flavors that ghosted around thebrilliant green figure and her lunch boxes. The ninja'sanalysis lasted a heartbeat. Nothing was amiss. She relaxedher hold on the knife up her sleeve, allowed the woman tozigzag around her, and padded on split-toed tabi sockstowards the security guard's desk in the lobby.

Katsumi knew what the guard saw when he looked at her - ashort, squat female with cold shark‟s eyes in a broad flat face,dressed in an ash gray cotton gi , the legs of her hakama boundtightly to her calves with cords. Her glossy black hair waschopped off neatly and evenly just at the angle of her jaw,leaving a tattoo visible on her throat. Hiragana characters


5/126

spelled out Property of Yoshitsune International in an elegantscroll across her skin. Katsumi was a lab created ninja, just asgenetically engineered as the advertising butterflies. There

were not many of her kind, since the cost was prohibitive -both in terms of practical expense and time, as well as thenecessary government permissions and paperwork. Katsumitook some pleasure in being unique, as rare and precious asthe Jomon pots and Ankor Wat heads that were displayedbehind shatterproof polycarbonate in the building's lobby.

She returned the guard's bow and presented him with aorigami frog. The hand-made paper was screen-printed inthe yuzen style in a pattern of feathers and pinwheels. Theman stared at her, nonplused. She touched the origami withher index finger. "Kero , kero ," she croaked in imitation of afrog's sound, her mouth stretched in a smile that had nohumor in it.

The guard blinked. Slowly, cautiously, as if he suspected hewas moving in a dream (or being filmed by a crew of

pranksters), he extended a finger and touched the foldedpaper amphibian. The instant he did so, a tiny dart shot out ofthe frog‟s mouth and embedded itself in the meat of his palm.He went rigid and collapsed in a long backwards fall, musclesdrawn so tightly that he bounced when he hit the floor.Katsumi nodded, pleased. She had coated the dart with a newacquisition - a modified textrodotoxin which paralyzedinstantly, leading to death in a few minutes as the brain shut

down from lack of oxygen. There was no way of knowing if theman was in pain, however, so Katsumi knelt next to his bodyand produced her knife. There was no pleasure in torture; aclean kill was preferred whenever possible. She rolled theman on his side, tugged on his uniform coat to expose the


6/126

nape of his neck, and drove the knigr between the bony knobsof his vertebrae with a single powerful thrust.

Mission accomplished, Katsumi rose and patiently waited for

the other security guards and assorted bystanders to scrambleout of her way before she left the building. From a distance,she could hear the shrill sound of a police siren and estimatedthey would arrive at the location in approximately twominutes. This left plenty of time to retrieve her geta and leavebefore there could be any further confrontations. No doubtpsychics employed by the police would discern the cause of theguard's demise, and the word would spread. Her employer,the Long Eyebrow tong, would be satisfied, as the dead guardowed heavy gambling debts and had been targeted to serve asan example. Katsumi did not fear arrest. She was, after all, alicensed and bonded ninja, duly registered as a corporateasset, and was, therefore, above the laws meant for those whohad status as actual people.

Katsumi smiled at the distinction, causing a tattooed Maori

bouncer outside a karaoke club to blanch, his face a study inblack tribal stripes and apprehension-paled skin.

She took the subway to Nerima ward, where she had spaceabove an abandoned writing brush factory near Toshimaen

Amusement Park. A tribe of neo-pagan hackers lived in therabbit warren of rooms and corridors beneath her, carving outtheir own space around the thick bundles of cables that

snaked everywhere, providing power as well as access to theloas of cyberspace. When Katsumi came through the door, shenodded a greeting to the headman, whose platinum blondedreadlocks were ornamented with antique computer chips. Hecradled a sleeping infant against his bare chest and gave her


7/126

an affectionate smile.

The air was sweet with ganja smoke, laced with ozone andcooking smells. She could hear the ever-present hum of

computers, and track a number of flickering blue-whitescreens in the semi-gloom, each with its attendant priest. Onthe wall, a holo-projection of Maître Bandulu, sly god of datatheft, winked and rolled its eyes. From somewhere near theback of the building came the insistent thud-thud-thud of

African tribal dub, the melody twined with the haunting wailsof hurdy-gurdy and shakuhachi flute.

One of the headman's wives, a thin woman whose shavenskull was peppered with chrome interface sockets, sidled overto give Katsumi a large wooden bowl containing portions ofpumpkin stew, lentil daal , banana fritters, cauliflower curry,and several rounds of cassava bread called bammy, soaked incoconut milk and fried in ghee. The ninja bowed her thanks,which the wife did not acknowledge as it was forbidden forSinsemilla women to make eye contact with anyone not born

of their tribe. Katsumi started towards the stairwell, dinnerin hand, and halted when the headman's fingertips brushedacross her back. She did not turn to look at him, but inclinedher head and waited.

“Hey, Steppin' Razor, no harm, yah? We heard from theGuédé today, from Maman Brigitte and Baron Dinki,” he said,naming the loas of the dead and obsolete, guardians of the

universal bit bucket where lost or destroyed data - includingthe viral-ridden programs called humanity - could be foundpost-termination. The headman's accent was thick, his wordsbarely understandable. A pinpoint of light gleamed on theinterface socket implanted high on his temple. “Want to warnya - watch out for the duppy, mah sistah; a pretty face wit'


8/126

death inside. Gonna be a botheration in the here n' now, thepriests say.”

“Hai .” Katsumi expelled the word in a huff of breath. Duppies

were, as far as she could tell, the equivalent of yurei - restlessspirits of the dead - or perhaps they were some sort ofsoftware glitch. It was difficult to be sure, since the tribe'sconsensus of reality was quite different from her own. Thesepeople made no distinction between the emergent collectivereality, or cyberspace, the bardo, Amida Buddha's Pure Land,Jingoku or any altered state of consciousness. All was one, onewas all. Katsumi respected the members of the Sinsemilla,and allowed them liberties that she would not have toleratedfrom others. They amused her, for the members had shown nofear from the beginning, simply accepting her as part ofthemselves and their strange world.

She continued, speaking gently, "Thank you for your concern.I will consider your words with care."

He shook his head, dreadlocks flying. The Nokiaophthalmologic implants that had replaced his eyes gleamed,iridescent as oyster shells. “Duppy's like a soul cracker, dig? Aghost in the wetware, not the hardware – not the machine.”The baby made a soft noise of complaint; he offered it aknuckle to suck. “Abnormal termination begets a vengeance-virus, say the Guédé, and not even a Steppin' Razor be safe.Mo‟ better ya go n' grok in fullness, sistah, then we take ya to

the balm-yard when the time come.”

Katsumi nodded without comprehending. Since it seemed hehad finished, she continued to the stairs, her geta slappinghollowly on the concrete floor. She had to skirt around acouple lying together on a rag pallet, one atop the other; their


9/126

faces were obscured by a flexible tunnel of black polyvinylheld in place by straps behind their heads. They were VR-interfacing as they writhed together, a slow dance of love and

lust fueled by a shared fantasy and simulated stimulation.The masks gave new meaning to the antiquated term „suckingface.‟ Blue-white light from a fluorescent bulb stuttered ontheir bodies, illuminating sweat streaks on pallid skin.

The ninja went to her quarters on the second floor, by-passingan offering on one of the steps – a heap of wilting marigoldflowers, Red Stripe beer and bottles of rum, a scattering of fathand-rolled ganja joints. Holographic prayer cards spilled in afan across the step, all of them representations of MamanBrigitte - a white-clad figure whose head was all scarlet lipsand open mouth and sharp teeth, her eyes hidden behind awild tangle of hair. On every card, the goddess danced to athrum of muted drums, the rhythm of the human heart. Forsome reason, it reminded Katsumi of the CGI announcer shehad seen that afternoon, and the news story broadcast on theeel vendor's cart.

She opened the door to her living quarters and came upon afamiliar face, glimpsed only a few hours ago on a liquid crystaldisplay – Bindiya Bhattacharya, escaped murderer andsupposed madwoman.

Zen master Ummon said, If you walk, just walk. If you sit, just sit. But whatever you do, don't wobble.

Serene as always, Katsumi entered her living quarters, shutthe door behind her, and offered the bowl of food to herunexpected visitor. “Have you eaten dinner?” she inquiredpolitely, not wobbling at all.


10/126

Bindiya gaped at her.

Katsumi catalogued the woman in an eye-blink. She was talland possessed the figure of a fabled houri of Paradise - full

breasted and wasp-waisted, her round hips and thighs andbuttocks packed into a white T-shirt and matching pants thatwere two sizes too small. She wore cheap recycled-rubbersandals in a nauseating pink color, probably purchased from avending machine at the same time as the nondescriptclothing. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a haphazardponytail at the nape of her neck; long tendrils had escapedand were stuck to her grubby, sweaty face. Bindiya‟s almond-shaped eyes were set close on either side of a delicatelybridged nose. Her mouth was wide and sensual, although thebottom lip was crusted with a scab. Katsumi‟s evaluationincluded the information that the woman was unlikely to betrained in any of the martial arts. She did not hold herself likea fighter; her body language spoke of fright and exhaustionrather than preparation to defend.

“I will make tea.” Katsumi announced, removing her geta andplacing them in a rack by the door. The bowl of food was set atBindiya's feet. Katsumi accepted the woman‟s unexpectedpresence as she accepted the quirks and twists of existence.Things happened. One acted or reacted accordingly. Shigataga nai . There was no help for it; escaping one's fate wasimpossible, so there was no sense complaining or permittingexpectation to cloud the future. Since Heaven had seen fit to

deposit an accused killer on her doorstep, Katsumi wouldwaste no time or energy fighting against it. Shigata ga nai - amost useful state of mind. Patience would bringunderstanding.

She went to the kitchen area, a space in the corner separated


11/126

from the main room by a long bar; the plastic frame and sideswere programmed to display random selections from the IChing. The Wû Wang hexagram was currently scrolling past.

Katsumi grabbed two self-heating cups of jasmine tea fromthe cupboard and popped the tabs on the lids to activate theexothermic reaction. While she waited for the tea to heat, thetrigram caught her interest, so she spent a momentinterpreting the divinatory symbols.

Freedom from insincerity, recklessness and selfishness will

bring success. Noble virtue. Fortunate action followed by the

stillness of deep waters.

Clipped to the side of an oil paper parasol that was suspendedfrom the ceiling, a solitary spotlight winked on as theenvironmental computer sensed Katsumi‟s continued presencein the kitchen, and assumed that she required moreillumination. The remainder of the large living area remainedswathed in the shadows of a rapidly deepening dusk. Despitethe lack of light, the ninja‟s genetically enhanced vision was

quite capable of making out the figure of her unexpectedguest.

Bindiya was hunkered down on her heels, scooping daal andpumpkin stew and curry out of the wooden bowl with tornpieces of bammy. The woman ate with the sort of grimdesperation that spoke of a belly clemmed by true hunger.Katsumi picked up a tea cup; steam issued from the

perforation in the lid, along with a faint flowery aroma. Shesipped her tea and watched until Bindiya scraped the emptybowl with a last scrap of bammy and popped it into hermouth, chewing slowly as if, her immediate need satisfied, shewas savoring the flavor. The scab on her lip was gone, nodoubt torn away in the haste of consumption; a minor


12/126

demonstration of self-cannibalism that had left a raw place onher mouth. Katsumi approached the woman, offering theother tea cup mutely.

“Th-thank you,” Bindiya said, accepting the cup. She took acautious drink, just wetting her lips with the liquid, andsighed.

Katsumi cocked her head to one side. “May I know how youcame to this place?” she asked.

“My husband...” Bindiya paused, took a deep breath, then

gulped the tea down in a few swallows, her throat working.She licked her lips and continued, “Charles. Dr. Li Fang.”Katsumi nodded for her to go on. She breathed heavily for amoment. When Bindiya spoke again, her voice was roughenedby unshed tears. “He was a bio-programmer who used to workfor Yoshitsune International.” Her eyes rolled upward, hergaze locking onto Katsumi's face. “Help me. Please, help me.”

Katsumi did not respond. There was no need. Charles Li Fangwas a name from the past, one which she knew very well.Something happened inside her head; long dormantbiofeedback and subliminal programming unspooled from hersubconscious, literally changing her mind. Unalarmed, shesucked down the remainder of her tea while she waited for theprocess to complete. The sensation was familiar; many of hermemories included receiving data downloads in Yoshitsune's

orbital laboratory. Her clever fingers peeled the label from theside of the cup. Katsumi folded the label into an origami cranewhen her neural pathways had settled. She pressed the paperbird into Bindiya's hand.

“I have red bean ice cream,” she said, “or cactus Pocky gelato


13/126

if you still suffer from hunger.”

Bindiya blinked then lost consciousness, toppling over ontoher side with another sigh. The origami crane fluttered to the

floor. Katsumi glided away. The sedative she had put into thetea would wear off in a few hours, long enough for her tocomplete a few chores, including collecting her fee from theLong Eyebrow tong. She pulled a futon mattress from a tallChinese lacquered cabinet, and flipped it open beside Bindiya.It was the work of a moment to roll the unconscious womanonto the futon and cover her with a knitted blanket.

Having made Bindiya as comfortable as possible, Katsumisquatted a moment beside the mattress. Her hand crept out;she brushed her fingertips against the woman's cheek. Therewas a bruise rising from the bone, moving upward throughflesh like a Hokusai wave that would eventually break andflow violet-blue under her skin. Bindiya smelled of hospitaldisinfectant, cigarette smoke, the rusty iron tang of blood, asharp/sour stink of stale sweat and adrenaline. She was

flotsam, discarded and tossed on the sea of destiny, to befinally deposited on the shores of Katsumi's private island.

Fondness made a rare, real smile crease Katsumi‟s mouth andtouch her eyes.

***

Bindiya came back to herself abruptly, as if she had fallenfrom a great height. Her limbs jerked; her heart slammedpainfully in her chest. For a moment she was back in theasylum, curled up in a corner of her padded cell while awoman who was/was not there shrieked endlessly – a soundthat sliced through her skull and exploded against the backs


14/126

of her eyeballs in showers of chrysanthemum fireworkssparks. Sweat prickled on her skin. Bindiya whimpered deepin her throat. A hand spread over her shoulder and shook her

carefully - the barest vibration of flesh on flesh.“Do you wish cha ?”

The voice was cool but not cold, calm and soothing, yetpossessed of great confidence. Bindiya's recollection was joltedback to the present. She was not in the asylum. She hadescaped. She was... Bindiya struggled to think clearly. Wherewas she? Information flooded her consciousness. She was in

the presence of a vat-grown ninja whose neural network wassaturated with dangerous knowledge, a futuristic throwbackwho could kill her a dozen times over with an eyelash or aslice of toast. A warrior rumored to have the ability to becomeinvisible, walk through walls, and utilize the esoteric blackarts of kuji-kiri and saiminjutsu and yogen to paralyze herprey, enslave a person‟s will, or rend a soul screaming from itshost body. The ninja was a killer genetically altered and

enhanced with recombinant DNA, making her deadlierthan Yersinia pestis and hemorrhagic fever combined.

Bindiya's eyes fluttered open. She stared upward into a flat,impassive face and surprisingly, felt no fear. Some instincturged her to trust. She did not know why, but so much hadhappened since her world had been chopped into bloody littlepieces. How long ago was it? Time had no meaning when one

dwelled in a perpetual nightmare. It had become easy to castaside her education, her rationality and reason, in favor ofsome voodoo survival programming of the lizard brain. No, noteasy. Necessary. After everything she had endured, puttingher faith in this woman would be the tiniest and easiest of


15/126

steps.

“I knew your husband once,” the ninja said conversationally,as though she was a sarariman ‟s wife sharing confidences at a

corporate brunch. "On the space station. Is this how you knewwhere to find me?"

Bindiya uncurled from her fetal ball and sat up, taking itslowly since her head had apparently been hollowed out whileshe slept and filled with cotton wool. Why had she come tothis ninja? What had prompted her to seek assistance from aperson she had only read about in one of her late husband‟s

files? The last thing she remembered clearly was... Bindiyagasped, a flurry of images appearing and disappearing one-by-one inside her mind, quickly as a stack of flashcards flippedbetween thumb and forefinger.

The door of her cell opening, the sliver of blackness beyond

the door that was relieved by firefly flashes from a guttering

fluorescent strip. There were phosphene trails at the corners

of her eyes, green-yellow threads against the red-tinged dark.The sour smell of acetic acid bloomed, the taste of chemicals

on her tongue, the sound of shuffling wet footsteps and

through it all, a steady dripping of water . Fast forward to atrain station, shivering despite the heat, pushing New Yenbills into a vending machine‟s slot. She did not know how shehad gotten here, or even how she had known the ninja's exactlocation. It was not as though an assassin would be listed in

the residence directory. Her presence here was another puzzleto pile atop the rest.

“I don't...”Bindiya stopped, and rubbed aching temples withthe heels of her hands. The ninja - memory supplied a name,Katsumi - peeled a dermal endorphin patch off a strip and


16/126

thumbed it firmly against the side of her neck. Bindiya lickedher dry lips and groped for an answer to the question she hadhalf-forgotten. “I was privy to my husband's files,” she said at

last, a shiver creeping through her skin. “All of them.” Katsumi nodded, clearly unconcerned. Bottomless black eyesregarded Bindiya. “You asked for my help.”

“Yes,” Bindiya gasped, fingertips digging hard into the futonmattress until her nails threatened to splinter. She was notsafe, her world had teetered to a point that had been shiftedfar left of center, and she knew that life would never be the

same for her again. At best, there would be an endlesspurgatorio of drugs, therapies, personality splintering andreintegration, memory wipes and mental reconstruction. Atworst, she would be dead. The human animal was driven, atits most basic deepest level, to survive by any meansnecessary. Bindiya‟s ego and id and superego were, for achange, in full agreement with the primitive mind. Despitethe ninja's history, trusting Katsumi was imperative.

“Yes,” Bindiya repeated, her voice cracking. “Please, help me.”

“Very well.” The cool gaze returned to its contemplation ofBindiya‟s face. A blunt-fingered hand reached down to her,and she took hold of it in a bruising grip. Katsumi did notflinch. She simply braced herself in place and hauled Bindiyato her feet. The knitted red-and-purple blanket stubbornly

clung to Bindiya's shoulders, and she clung with equalstubbornness to the lifeline of Katsumi's hand.

Katsumi looked down at their joined grip. A tiny smilequirked the corner of her mouth. "Do you wish tea? Not


17/126

drugged this time."

At long last, relief dissolved the barbed wire tension that hadbeen coiled inside her what seemed to be an incredibly long

time. She knew, with a certainty as inflexible and immovableas hard-cured plascrete, that as long as she remained withKatsumi, she would be safe. Those two words – “very well” -had sealed Bindiya‟s fate. She would be protected; threats toher person would be removed efficiently and with minimumfuss.

Thank Shakti I‟m safe , Bindiya thought. Thank the Mother

goddess that Charles was fanatical about keeping duplicatesof his case files and journals, and that my bump of curiosity

was big enough to make me steal his password so I could pry

into his affairs . Bindiya relaxed and rolled her tongue aroundher mouth to taste the faintest marshmallow/gun oil trace of acommon trank. “How long was I unconscious?”

“Four hours.” Katsumi patted her arm in what Bindiya could

only perceive as a friendly manner. “Would you care tobathe?”

“I don't... I don't have any clean clothes.” Bindiya forcedherself to let go of Katsumi's hand and stretched until herspine crackled. The blanket slid off. She wrinkled her nose asher own sour scent wafted from the luridly colored material.

Katsumi gestured towards a leather sling chair; shoppingbags were stacked on the seat. Bindiya looked from the bagsto the woman standing next to her. Katsumi was a full headshorter, her figure broad and nearly square. She was notoverweight by any stretch of the imagination; the womanlooked heavy and solid, dense muscle packed on a stocky


18/126

frame. She had taken off her uniform – no one wore ashgray gi except construct ninjas - and donned a forest greenkimono paired with black-and-white checkered hakama . The

starch-stiffened trouser legs stuck out like wings. Purewhite tabi socks covered surprisingly slender feet.

“There is a communal bath in the building,” Katsumi said.“The Sinsemilla don't mind sharing.”

Bindiya blinked, apprehension making her mouth dry. “Thosepeople...the ones downstairs...”

“They will not harm you. They will not betray you.”

Yet again, Bindiya was struck by the ninja's confidence. Atone time in her life, she might have rejected such an absolutedeclaration as a matter of course. That was before. Before.The word was freighted with eldritch meaning. Her mindskittered away. It was enough to deal with the present. The„before‟ would have to wait. Katsumi regarded her, an

inquisitive tilt to her head, but remained silent. Bindiyaheaved a sigh, scrubbed her face with her hands, and went toroot through the shopping bags. The clothing was simple,comfortable, all natural fabrics. She chose multi-pocketedcargo pants, the dull red fabric imprinted witha vajrayana thunderbolt pattern, and a plain safflower-dyedshirt. Both items looked as if they would fit, unlike the horridcheap clothing she had bought at the train station.

She paused. Vending machines carried garments that wouldfit her. Why were the clothes she was wearing two sizes toosmall? Why? Bindiya's hands were shaking. After enduring somuch horror, this most trivial of mysteries was unbearable.Her nerve broke with a near audible crack. Her breath caught


19/126

in a sob. She bit into her bottom lip and felt a small cut openunder the pressure. Warm wetness tickled her chin. Tearsburned. Her chest ached fiercely, filled beyond capacity with

powerful emotions.Katsumi hesitated a bare second then wrapped hands aroundher biceps and pulled her close. Bindiya found herself heldagainst a firm warmth that smelled of plums and moss andsalt. “Tell me,” Katsumi commanded softly.

Despite being the taller of the pair, Bindiya bent, burrowingher face into the dark hollow between Katsumi's neck and

shoulder, and pressed her mouth against the taut tendon. Tellme. This close, the command was even more compelling. Shecould hear it, but also feel the vibrations of each wordtraveling from Katsumi's body through her own.

Bindiya took a breath and began.

***

Katsumi listened to the litany that spilled from Bindiya'smouth, punctuated by long shuddering breaths and whimpers.The narrative was rambling and incoherent in places, but notutterly incomprehensible. Katsumi spread her legs slightly,the better to maintain her balance, and cupped the fragile-seeming bones of Bindiya's shoulders in her palms. She hadnot meant to prompt this doleful flood, but it was necessary togain a closer understanding of matters. Katsumi would act asthis woman's shield, and also her sword, if necessary. Shigataga nai. The „why‟ of things did not matter; she only knew thatit was meant to be. Her mental programming told her so.

“At the asylum, I saw her in the pool room, in the water. It


20/126

was late, it was cold,” Bindiya babbled. “Charles had gonehome early. We worked together, you know, but he went hometo wait for me. But she was floating in the water, too cold, too

cold. I heard her calling.” The thread of the plot, tangled as it was, could nevertheless beunraveled with patience. That quality was one which Katsumipossessed in abundance.

Bindiya Bhattacharya and her husband worked on the staff ofShimekazari Asylum, a complex for the criminally insane.Five days ago, Bindiya had stayed behind in her office to

finish editing an article submitted by their medical AI forinclusion in the hospital's in-house psychiatric journal. On herway out of the administrative area, she had heard a girlcalling for help. Bindiya followed the voice to the exerciseroom. No one except staff was supposed to be there at thattime. The lights had been off except for a single red emergencybulb that turned the water in the swimming pool to the colorof fresh blood.

A body had floated on the surface, face down, arms and legsspread as if free-falling.

Acting on reflex, Bindiya had dived into the water, reachingfor the still figure, believing she was already too late butcompelled to try. Strands of long wet hair had insinuated intoher mouth, on her cheeks, wrapped around her wrists,

tightening and cutting into her skin. She had seen the girl'sface underwater, so young, so cherubic... until shockingly, theeyes had popped open, and the lips parted, and a high-pitchedscream had shattered her skull.

Bindiya had no clear recollection after that. Her memory of


21/126

that time was a shoddy thing, blank in some places, tatteredbeyond recognition in others. She had woken up three dayslater - seventy-two hours vanished into the void, leaving very

few crumbs of clues behind - as a patient in her own facility. Asympathetic judge had granted Shimekazari Asylumtemporary custody, pending a murder investigation by theDepartment of Order. Dr. Charles Li Fang had beenbutchered with a pair of five-hundred year old Chinesebutterfly knives that resembled cleavers. All the evidencepointed to Bindiya as the culprit.

There was no sign of forced entry in their home; thecomputerized security system had not been compromised. Thehouse was in a secure residential compound patrolled bymutated Rottweilers trained to attack non-residents uponscent or sight. Her fingerprints and DNA trace were on theweapons used to kill Dr. Li Fang. Department of Orderclairvoyants had captured scattered psychic images of thecrime which tended to suggest that Bindiya was guilty,though their testimony was too unclear to serve as a legalindictment against her.

Bindiya herself had been found in the house, covered withblood, in a state of profound catatonic shock. It wascircumstantial evidence yet damning all the same, and thefact that she could not remember anything in her own defensewas the final blow - presumption of guilt by reason of insanity.Bindiya's colleagues had done their best for one of their own,

using minimal pharmacological and cybernetic interventionuntil a proper diagnosis could be made. She had at least comeback to herself in the company of friends; Bindiya could haveended up in any of the public hospitals, drugged and pluggedinto a virtual therapy program that was marginally better


22/126

than no treatment at all.

The ordeal had not ended with her hospitalization. Bindiyahad continued to experience hallucinations of the dead girl,

both visual and auditory. Phantom screams burst agonizinglyupon her eardrums, making her echo those screams until herthroat was raw. Long bloody scratches appeared on her body.She never remembered making them, never found skinbeneath her fingernails, and could only assume that she musthave... disposed... of the evidence, a bit of self-cannibalismthat was not nearly as disturbing as the inability to recallmaking the decision to do so in the first place.

“I don't remember! I can't remember!” Bindiya cried inanguished panic, spittle spraying the side of Katsumi‟s neck.Shivers racked her body until her teeth chattered. Thestricken woman balled up a fist, and made as if to punchherself in the side of the head.

Katsumi gently fended the blow away. She massaged the

pressure points on Bindiya's wrists to help lower her bloodpressure, then applied a firm touch to the area of her thirdeye to encourage proper ki flow. Katsumi stimulated some ofthe shao yin meridians to nourish the woman's heart, calmher spirit, and trigger endorphin release. When she wasfinished, Bindiya was relaxed against her, making wordlessbreathy noises of appreciation. Katsumi was pleased with theresult of her ministrations. In the past, she had only used

pressure points to kill or maim. Applying her knowledge to amore benign area was a new experience.

“How did you escape?” Katsumi asked, her lips against thewoman's ear. She felt Bindiya's shudder, smelled a very fainttrace of arousal, and filed that information away for future


23/126

reference. All knowledge was valuable.

“I don't know,” came the answer.

Katsumi pulled back, monitoring Bindiya as she did so. Thewoman's heart rate was still elevated but no longer asirregular; her breathing had evened out. Bindiya's faceremained mottled and splotched with the evidence of herdistress. Katsumi produced a large white handkerchief fromthe sleeve of her kimono and used it to mop up the slickness oftears and spit and snot, careful of the purpling bruise onBindiya's cheek. When she finished, Bindiya settled with a

sigh against the bulwark of Katsumi's body. This was anunusual feeling for Katsumi, permitting the closeness ofanother. The shared intimacy of a close-quarters kill wasdifferent - less bodily fluids involved, if one was careful. Herneck was wet, the collar of her kimono soaked. She decided itwas not entirely unpleasant. Nurturing did not come asnaturally as killing. She had to work at it, but her newlyengaged protective attitude towards Bindiya made her say,

"You will bathe. You will eat again. You will have tea, then Iwill tell you what I have discovered."

Bindiya nodded, compliant and seemingly calm. She picked upthe shirt and trousers that had fallen on the floor and blew astray lock of hair out of her eyes. Katsumi led her to the door,stopping to pick up an object from a writing table. It was asword - her own sword, in fact, a straight length of sharpened

steel about as long as the distance from the tip of her middlefinger to her elbow. The scabbard was quite plain; the metalsurfaces had been blackened and dulled so as not to catch thelight. There was nothing fancy about her ninjato . It was notan antique, nor was it particularly valuable. Katsumi feltnone of the sentimentality that a salaried samurai displayed


24/126

towards his inherited katana . Her sword, like herself, was anefficient killing tool – nothing more.

But… you are more than a tool , Dr. Li Fang had told her.

Katsumi visualized the man's face, the deep lines scoring hisflesh from nose to mouth, the thick eyebrows that nearly metin the middle, his skin the color of old parchment. He hadworn his black hair cropped short on the top, the back leftlong and plaited into a dozen skinny braids that reached hiships. On Yoshitsune station, Li Fang had floated in null-gravity, his feet hooked through a rung in the wall. His thinbraids had floated straight out around his head like Medusa'sherpetological locks. She could conjure him in her mind's eyeand hear his voice - so deep, so rich - as he manually re-programmed her, cracked through the defenses that had beenbuilt into her mind by her creators, and downloaded a soul-virus into her mainframe that had left one who was more thanhuman… more human.

She turned her thoughts away from the past and back to the

present.

Master Musashi said, Step by step, walk the thousand mileroad .

Katsumi shepherded Bindiya down the stairs, carrying theninjato in her hand. Some questions had been answered.Others remained elusive. Eventually, the truth would be

uncovered and matters would be resolved. In the meantime,Musashi-san‟s advice was apt – matters could only proceedone step at a time.

***


25/126

„I'm sorry,” Bindiya said, subdued but now gloriously clean.She had put her hair up into a much neater ponytail tied witha paper ribbon. Dressed in new clothes and radiating a fragile

calm, she looked and felt somewhat better. Bindiya was awarethat her emotional state was still very brittle, likely to crackunder the least pressure. She was grateful that Katsumi didnot seem to mind being drenched with tears or subjected tohysterics. Indeed, the ninja had taken everything in stride -even going so far as to take charge in the bath house. Bindiyahad been stripped, placed on a stool, then washed with lime-flower scented soap and a scrubbing bag filled with rice bran

before being led to a furoshiki tub to soak in water almosthotter than she could stand.

Katsumi's touch was not impersonal, but not as intimate as alover's, either. Comforting, not intrusive, somehow permittingno embarrassment or self-consciousness, as though Bindiyahad regressed to childhood in the state-run crèche with herassigned amah . All she was required to do was relax andpermit someone else to take charge. It had been a long timesince anyone cared for her that way, and that includedCharles Li Fang. She and Charles were never very close.Their relationship was more mentor and pupil than husbandand wife. It had suited her needs at the time, but thingschanged. People changed.

Oh, how they change. Look at me. A week ago, just seven

short days, I would never have conceived of feeling so safe in

the presence of the ninja described by Charles in his journals.Now I can't imagine leaving Katsumi‟s side. The idea

frightens me to death. It isn't rational. Perhaps I am insane.

“I didn't mean to fall apart like that. Thank you for takingcare of me,” Bindiya said aloud, shifting a bit in her chair and


26/126

glancing shyly at Katsumi. The woman was seated lotus-fashion on a cushion on the floor, eating from a bowl of ricetopped with meat, vegetables and raw egg - pibim-

bbap delivered from a local Korean eatery. Bindiya hadfinished her portion and was toying with some sweet potatotempura.

Katsumi scooped the last of the pibim-bbap from her bowl,chewed and swallowed. She met Bindiya's gaze, her dark eyesunfathomable. “Drink your tea.”

Bindiya shook her head. “Will you tell me what you've found?”

“As you wish.” Katsumi put her empty bowl on the floor,chopsticks crossed and balanced on the rim. She arranged herhands just so - the right cupped over her right knee, fingersrelaxed and pointing downward, and the left hand positionedpalm up in her lap. Bindiya recognized a Tibetan mudra, asymbolic gesture named „calling the earth to witness,‟thebhumisparsha . “I have nothing new to add to our

knowledge of the murder itself,” Katsumi said. “Do you?”

“Charles collected antique weapons," Bindiya offered. "Thebutterfly knives belonged to him. He bought them after theHong Kong real estate bubble two years ago.”

She had a memory flash of her late husband's study, one wallcovered with old swords and knives that he had bought fromaround the world. The weapons that had been used to kill himwere Chinese in origin, five hundred years old, a matched pairof square chunky blades that resembled oversized butcher'scleavers. Bindiya closed her eyes and tried to breathe aroundthe cramping knot in her chest. Another flash came - herhusband's body, sprawled on the floor like a broken doll. The


27/126

blood, so much blood everywhere - huge glistening crimsonpools of it, streaks and splotches and sprays. Yet who wouldhave thought the old man to have so much blood in him? The

vision was red and white, exposed muscle and bone. A flycrawled on his open eyeball. Bindiya gagged.

Katsumi was beside her in an instant, holding a cup of tea toher lips. Bindiya sipped delicately, unwilling to chance anupheaval. The ninja's fingers massaged her body here andthere, and the nausea finally eased. When she was sure thatshe was no longer in danger of losing her dinner, Bindiyasmiled her thanks. Katsumi moved back to her place on thefloor, picking up her narrative as though the interruption hadnever taken place.

“As to your escape... the whole of it is unknown. Someoneopened the door of your cell from the outside but no DNAtrace was found on the keypad, no retinal scan was logged atthe time. Shimekazari AI's spy „bots recorded no visuals in thecorridor, no heat signatures, no anomalies of any kind, no

lapses in the time recordings. Self-diagnostic tests and anindependent scan showed no sign of unauthorized entry intothe core. However, vid capture clearly shows the door of yourcell opening.” Katsumi settled back down on her cushion. Thistime, she chose the bhutadamara mudra - hands crossed atthe wrists, palm outward, ring fingers folded down to meet thethumbs. It was a ritual gesture to protect against evil. “Viddoes not show you exiting the cell. You do not appear at all.”

Bindiya blinked. “What?”

“Your cell door remained open for one minute and fortyseconds before closing of its own accord. No one entered orexited the cell.” Katsumi seemed amused. “No one exited the


28/126

hospital. And yet here you are. You don't remember?”

“No.” Bindiya felt her breath hitch. She struggled to controlburgeoning panic. Unbelievably, losing her memory was more

terrifying than losing her husband.

Katsumi leaned forward and let her right hand move out,palm forward, in the mudra of compassion, the varada . "Didyou kill Dr. Li Fang?" she asked.

Bindiya stood so quickly, the chair skidded back severalinches. “No! I did not murder my husband!”

“You say you don't remember,” Katsumi pointed out, stillaiming the varada at Bindiya. Her tone was non-judgmental,soft and soothing – in the manner that one might use toaddress an injured child. “How can you be certain?”

“I just... I don't...”

“All humans are capable of murder given the proper impetus.

The possibility exists that you were responsible for Dr. LiFang's death.”

Bindiya swallowed hard. She sat back down, elbows on herknees, head hanging. Her neck felt hot, the sinews hummingunder stress. “You're right, of course. The possibility exists...but I'll deny responsibility anyway.” She tightened hermuscles, and loosened them one by one in a vain attempt to

relieve the tension that threatened to make her fly apart.Silence stretched between them. Finally, Bindiya said, “Theremust have been some kind of tampering with the hospital AI'ssurveillance.”

“Unlikely, considering the high security safeguards used to


29/126

protect the AI's memory core.”

“Then how do you explain it?”

Katsumi once again made the mudra of protection againstevil.

“I don't understand,” Bindiya said. She had hardly gotten thewords out of her mouth before the world exploded in whitelight.

She was deaf, she was blind, cut loose from the anchor ofgravity and set afloat. Every nerve in her body was singing, ahigh-pitched mewling caterwaul that drilled through thecenter of her brain. Her stomach turned cartwheels. Gravityclicked back on and she was falling, falling, reaching terminalvelocity and she felt no pain until... bam! Bindiya's visioncleared. She was on the floor, shaking hard, sweat pouring offher in an acrid flood that was tainted by adrenaline. Katsumiwas hovering above her, one hand pressed to the back of her

skull to protect it, the heel of the ninja's other hand jammedbetween her teeth. Bindiya sucked in a breath and tastedblood in her mouth. She closed her eyes and opened her jaws,allowing Katsumi to withdraw. There was something on herforehead. She reached up blindly, pulled off what seemed to bea thin, rectangular piece of paper and crumpled it in her fist.

“Convulsions?” Bindiya asked when her muscles had relaxedenough for speech.

“It resembled a grand mal seizure, except for this.” Katsumilightly touched her arm.

Bindiya opened her eyes and found herself looking at a seriesof deep welts and scratches on her forearm. Something was


30/126

familiar about the pattern. She swallowed a mouthful of bittersaliva and forced herself to concentrate. Suddenly, everythingleaped into focus and she recoiled, as if the arm belonged to a

stranger. “Mother Goddess!” she exclaimed in horror, unableto believe that this was real. Bindiya turned her head to judgeKatsumi's reaction. “Do you see it, too?”

“They appeared spontaneously during your seizure. Thephenomena is not without precedent,” Katsumi said, takinghold of Bindiya's wrist and turning her arm so that she couldstudy the marks more closely. “Religious stigmata...”

“This isn't stigmata. I'm as far away from living sainthood asyou can get and still be on the same planet. In the sameuniverse. Sharing a journey on the same kalachakra , spinningon the dharma wheel.” Bindiya let out a weak laugh, thesound coming out of the depths of her body. She wasperilously close to hysteria but was not inclined to doanything about it except surrender to the rising tide. “Youthink I'm some kind of homicidal dakini , a deva of long

knives? What does that make you, O contract murderer... akarma killer?”

Katsumi assessed her with hooded eyes. For some reason,that made Bindiya laugh all the harder.

After a while, Bindiya wound down, giggles turning into tears.She held her arm stiffly away from her body, refusing to look

at the damning marks upon her skin, the characters carvedinto her flesh that spelled the word, „guilty.‟ A message fromher subconscious, perhaps. She was aware of Katsumi leaving,bringing back a kit in order to smear the shallow wounds withointment and wrap her forearm with gauze and tape, covering


31/126

her shame.

From the corner of her eye, Bindiya could see the teeth marksshe had made on Katsumi's hand; they were already scabbing

over. The construct was blessed with a healing ability thatwas second to none, due to modified angiopoietin-relatedgrowth factor proteins produced in epidermal keratinocytes aswell as in her internal organs. Cutting off her head might killKatsumi... and on the other hand, it might just piss her off.

To give herself something to do besides fall back into an all-too-familiar state of disconnection, Bindiya uncurled her fist

and examined the yellow piece of paper that had been on herforehead. It was such an odd thing; she thought it had been onthe floor and gotten stuck to her face during the convulsions.She frowned, realizing that it was an ofuda , a paper talismanfrom a Shinto temple. The rectangular length of rice paperfeatured red stamps and a scroll of black calligraphy down thecenter. Her frown deepened.

As though this sort of thing happened so often that she hadgrown blasé, Katsumi sat back on her heels and said calmly,“I suspected spiritual possession. As soon as the ofuda touchedyour forehead, the episode ended and you came back toyourself.”

“That's not possible. Personality doesn't survive the deathprocess," Bindiya protested. “This has been proven beyond

doubt. The Price Experiments, the Bligh Invariance… so-called hauntings are just infrasound, or residual chi energiesrecorded in the global etheric body, or the manifestation oftelekenetic ability at onset of puberty..."

“And the girl?” Katsumi interrupted. “The dead girl you saw


32/126

in the swimming pool. You heard her screams.”

“It isn't unusual for mentally disturbed individuals toexperience auditory hallucinations.” Bindiya gusted a weary

sigh, sat up and tossed the balled-up talisman at Katsumi.She was taken aback by a burst of confetti hitting her in theface. She realized that the ninja had, incredibly, drawn hersword, reduced the ofuda to shreds mid-air, and sheathed herweapon in a single blurred motion too swift. The unexpectedpaper blizzard made Bindiya‟s gaze snap to Katsumi's face. Asa means of gaining her attention, the demonstration wasabsurd but effective, and after a moment's thought, aweinspiring. She must've cleared sword from scabbard in thesplit-second that the ofuda left my fingertips. Amazing!

“You are not deranged. Insanity cannot cause you to becomeinvisible to digital surveillance.” Katsumi made thepronouncement with confidence. “Regrettably, there is norational explanation for it. Please accept the fact that we aredealing with spiritual possession. Your flesh is being taken

over by another force for some unknown purpose. Revenge ismost likely, if the old tales are to be believed.”

Bindiya opened her mouth to rebut and closed it with a click. After a few moments of intense thought, she replied, “If I sayyes, that I'll accept your supposition for now - mainly becauseI'm too tired for a prolonged debate - what do we do then?”

Katsumi bowed her head in acknowledgement. “First, wemust determine the origin and identification of the yurei ,” shesaid, and rolled smoothly to her feet.

Walking across the space with Katsumi, Bindiya took theopportunity to observe her surroundings. The apartment was


33/126

huge by Tokyo standards, taking up the entire second floor ofthe old factory. The brick walls were pierced by narrowwindows that were covered with accordion-folded mulberry

paper shades. There was an eclectic mix of furniture; antiquesand modern piece were placed at random. The only definedspace was the kitchen area with its solid teak cabinets andthe long bar that displayed hexagrams from the I Ching.

Bindiya followed Katsumi over to a new Sony liquid crystalflatscreen that hung on an inner wall. Below it was acomputer interface deck and to one side sat a small butsudan .

A bell sat on the altar, as well as a bowl of sand, a bamboocontainer of joss sticks, flowers, three pears in a dish, anoffering of rice, a collection of origami animals, a Buddhistrosary and a digital display frame that scrolled slowly througha dozen pictures of men and women.

While Katsumi knelt in in front of the deck, Bindiya peered atthe pictures. They were obsolete flat images, not holographicprojections, of seven women and five men of varying ages who

all appeared to be of pure Japanese stock. She recognized oneof them - Dr. Murajiro, a geneticist whose pioneering workwith recombinant DNA had increased the value of Kobe-KlineLaboratories stock nearly a hundred percent during hiscareer. He had died eight years ago at the ripe age of onehundred forty-two. Bindiya had read that Murajiro-sanattributed his longevity to Taoist breathing techniques andFang-Chung, an esoteric sexual practice. She was more

inclined to believe in the efficacy of cloned organ transplants,gene therapy, and illegal stem cell transfusions.

Katsumi noticed her interest and said, “My technical fathersand mothers - contributors of genetic material as well as myliteral creators in the laboratory. They have all left this plane


34/126

of existence and await rebirth in the Pure Land.”

“Do you really think of them as your parents?” Bindiya asked,curious.

“No, but it is customary to honor one's ancestors.” Katsumiput on VR interface goggles and data-gloves, and pluggedthem into the deck. She stuck a microdot near the corner ofher mouth, and another on her ear; they were connected by avirtually invisible hair-fine filament, serving as microphoneand receiver. Finished with her preparations, Katsumi beganmoving her fingers to establish a connection, air-typing as the

data-gloves supplanted the need for a keyboard. Harsh actiniclight burned under the edge of the goggles and limned theshallow curve of her cheek until it glistened like bare bone.The flatscreen remained blank for the moment.

Bindiya sat next to her, close enough for their shoulders tobrush. She recalled reading that Katsumi was suspected ofhaving killed all the scientists involved in her „birth,‟ but not

the people who had educated and trained her.

A fine distinction in assigning responsibility , Bindiyathought. Rogue ninjas don't happen. The deep mindsubliminal programming is supposed to be unbreakable,

ensuring complete loyalty and automatic obedience to the

corporation or assigned individual. Charles cracked through

her implanted neural defenses, cleared away the cortical

blocks and set her anima free. Katsumi doesn't even have asafeword anymore . It was standard practice to implant a codeword or phrase within a construct‟s subconscious, meant toinduce instant cataplexy and/or causalgia in the unlikelyevent that something went wrong. Charles Li Fang hadeliminated Katsumi‟s safeword, making her the most


35/126

dangerous ninja alive.

The flatscreen suddenly sprang to life, startling Bindiya. Sheinstinctively pressed closer to Katsumi. As soon as she

realized what was happening, Bindiya moved away, unsettled.She had undergone a great deal of trauma in the last fewdays; it was understandable that she was feeling vulnerable,in need of protection. Why she found that instant sense ofsecurity with Katsumi was a mystery that she was notinclined to explore at the moment. At least the other womandid not seem to mind. Indeed, one of her gloved hands reachedout to smooth down Bindiya's thigh in a comforting gesturebefore returning to its neutral upright position when theconnection completed.

Katsumi navigated skillfully through the data streams,represented on the flatscreen as complex interweavingpatterns, shapes and threads of colored light. Eventually, shecrawled to a halt and, hands weaving, connected to a smallunobtrusive node. After scrolling through a series of menus,

Katsumi downloaded a program, then transferred it to ahand-held pad. She gave the pad to Bindiya. “Recognitionsoftware,” Katsumi said, sliding the goggles into her hair for amoment in order to make eye contact. “There are facialfeatures stored in memory. Select those that appear to matchthe drowned girl. Once you have a picture complete, I'll run itthrough the Department of Order‟s mainframe. Perhaps wewill learn her name.”

Bindiya nodded and used the attached stylus to select someoptions on the pad. In the meantime, she also watchedKatsumi. The ninja had put her goggles back on and wascruising a low-rent area, ablaze with advertisements for sexinterfaces, tattoo parlors, and cheap body-modification clinics.


36/126

Katsumi chose one of the latter. The virtual shop door writhedinto intertwining dragon shapes as she entered. A curiouscollection of goods was displayed, ranging from dyed ostrich

eggs in a rack to a sleeping tabby cat sprawled on asilk zabuton . Bindiya knew the objects were visualrepresentations of programs that permitted interaction incyberspace; function did not necessarily follow form. Katsumigestured, knocking the lid off a blue-and-white ginger jar, andher avatar jumped inside.

The flatscreen showed a dismal corridor, illuminated byoccasional pools of light. Due to a trick of perspective, thehallway looked endless, stretching into infinity. On either sideof it were closed doors. Katsumi composed a text message andsent it winging off into the darkness. Splitting her attentionbetween the screen and her pad, Bindiya missed reading thecontents of the missive. A reply came in the form of aminiature dragon breathing fire kanji that glowed anddisappeared in showers of ash and pearls too quickly forBindiya to catch. Katsumi broke the connection, removing hergoggles and gloves. “We have an appointment in three hoursin Akihabara,” she said.

The techiya district? Bindiya glanced at the pad in her hands;the portrait was nearly complete. She poked the screen withher stylus, selecting a pair of eyes and moving them onto theface she had created. “Why Akihabara?"

“We must obtain something important there.” Katsumishuffled around on her knees, so that she was facing Bindiya,about an arm's length away. “It will mean going out in public.

Your appearance will have to be changed. The police will notharass me, but they will try to detain you if you arerecognized. The resulting massacre will surely attract media


37/126

attention and is, therefore, to be avoided if practical.”

“And if not practical?”

“Most regrettable but necessary.” Katsumi shrugged, herindifference clear.

Bindiya did not know whether to be horrified or pleased.Katsumi's willingness to kill on her behalf was frightening,like having the power of a goddess over life and death. Beforeshe could say anything, however, there was a whoosh of airpast her face. She heard the soft click of Katsumi's sword

returning to its sheath. What felt like soft feathers slithereddown her arms. Bindiya's eyes went wide in shock as theremains of a paper ribbon joined the severed locks of her hairon the floor. Her head felt strangely light, as though it mightfloat away.

Katsumi frowned and rubbed a strand of Bindiya's nowshoulder-length hair between her thumb and forefinger.

“Pink, I think,” she said. Bindiya stared at her in disbelief, then her mouth pulled intoa thin, straight line of indignation.

***

Master Sun Tzu said, Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack .

They had come to the techiya district to make Bindiyainvincible against ghostly possession.

Katsumi walked beside Bindiya, using the flat-footed, bow-legged stomp of a hired samurai bodyguard. She wore a pale


38/126

blue rubber kimono and zori sandals, a freebie Nippon Airlines headband tied around her brow. Her ownershiptattoo was hidden beneath a latex prosthetic that mimicked a

patch of bubbly burn scars. Although there wasa katana scabbard thrust through her sash, the lacqueredbamboo sheathe actually contained her ninjato . She had otherweapons concealed about her person as well. Katsumi rolled asimulated ivory toothpick around her mouth and guidedBindiya through the Akihabara crowd with a hand on thetaller woman's elbow, scowling at anyone who was not quickenough to get out of their way.

After enduring Bindiya's displeasure - who knew that shewould prove emotionally attached to hair or so inventive inher verbal abuse? - Katsumi had dyed what was left shockingpink, then used a static micro-generator to make the short-cropped strands stand out around the woman‟s head likedandelion fluff. Bindiya's make-up was the latest retro-

yamanba style - a strip of black paint sprayed across her eyes,white mascara and lipstick, white body paint coating everyinch of the flesh that showed through an artistically shreddedblack T-shirt and transparent mini-skirt. Pink plastic boots,white cotton panties and black metal bangles completed thepicture of a trendy young madamu , possibly the girlfriend of aTaiwanese mafia snakehead or one of the mag-lev motorcyclegangsters that plagued Tokyo by night. The fact that she wasbeing escorted by Katsumi's seedy rent-a-samurai addedverisimilitude to the disguise.

A strung-out sim/stim addict boogied past, headed for amanga cafe. In his haste, he brushed against Bindiya.Without breaking stride, Katsumi grabbed the back of hishead where a mare's nest of cables ran from his VR goggles


39/126

and the interface sockets on his skull down into the back ofhis sensor suit. A jerk and a twist and he was unplugged,disconnected from whatever full immersion program he was

running, his reality shockingly shattered. The man let out athin scream and fell to the pavement, flopping like a gaffedcarp. Katsumi's heel smacked against his nose in passing;there was a soft crunching sound and a spurt of blood.

Bindiya's sidelong glance of disapproval did not makeKatsumi regret the extra back kick, which she admitted wasnot strictly necessary. News of the incident traveled in somemysterious and silent way via the street telegraph, for theyhad no further trouble negotiating through the masses.Katsumi stopped at a vendor's cart and bought Bindiya a sackof crunchy fried grasshoppers sprinkled with a mixture ofchilis and spices.

“Where are we going?” Bindiya asked, holding out the bag toshare. Katsumi shook her head; a real hired samurai wouldrather dine on pride than admit to being hungry.

“An appointment,” Katsumi said, sucking on her toothpick. “Itisn't much further.”

The Akihabara district was full of electronics shops, digitalcafes, freelance hackers and crackers, data brokers, implantclinics, vendors of software and hardware and wetware. Averitable sea of humanity surged back and forth; the

atmosphere was saturated with the buzz of business, dealsbeing made and broken and re-made in an endlesslyindustrious cycle. Katsumi stopped at a corner where a dozenteenagers were crouched like gargoyles on a low wall. Theyhad all undergone body modification of the same type -pointed ears tufted with fur, their mouths stretched


40/126

grotesquely to the angle of the jaw. The gaki gang also hadinterface/processor plugs riding over their ears, black plasticcurves studded with micro-splinters in every color of the

rainbow. They appeared to be zoning on some quasi-lethalcombination of software and cortical stimulation, lost in acollective wet-wired Zen trance.

Katsumi held out a hundred New Yen credit chip to a slack-faced teenager whose furred ears were bright orange. Hestared blankly. She had to wave the money in front of him fora full ten seconds before he roused himself and focused.

His fingers stretched out to take the chip, but Katsumi held it just out of reach. He frowned, the expression nearly drippingoff his face. “Hey, momma-san , what you want?”

“Are you Jubei?” Katsumi asked.

“Maybe so, maybe no.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion, and hesaid to a skinny girl squatting next to him, “Check „em out for

dolby, Miko.” The girl pulled a piece of equipment out of the waistband ofher bicycle shorts. It was gray metal, shaped like a pistol witha wide, bell-shaped muzzle. She pointed it at Katsumi, pulledthe trigger and peered at a readout on the hand-grip. “Noeavesdroppers, no spy-eyes, no uplinks, no broadcast „ware,”she reported in a nasal voice, then repeated the process withBindiya. “They're clean, Jubei-san.”

Apparently satisfied that the women were not wearingsurveillance equipment, Jubei leaned out a little and grabbedthe chip from Katsumi's grip. “Heki da yo , no problem. Yougot five minutes, momma-san ,” he said, tucking the chip up


41/126

the sleeve of his cartoon-printed jacket.

“You are the proxy for Tara Phuoc Trung,” Katsumi declared,memorizing the teenagers' positions and making contingency

plans for defense against assault. She could remove threethreats in the first three seconds with her sword alone. In hermind's eye, Katsumi played a sequence of events, alteringweapon and attack vectors until she was happy with hercalculations. This assessment did not interfere with holdingup her end of the conversation. “I wish to make a specialcommission.”

Jubei let out a breathy little laugh, showing the whites of hiseyes sidelong. “That'll cost you more than a hundred New

Yen.”

“How much?”

Bindiya fidgeted with impatience while Jubei and Katsumibargained, but for the ninja, the need to split her attention

between the gaki punks, the woman beside her and theirsurroundings in general was not really difficult. She had beencreated to multi-task. At last, they reached an acceptablefigure. Katsumi passed over a handful of colorful chips and inreturn, Jubei used his thumbnail to remove a bright greenmicro-splinter from his interface. He gave it to her, along witha muttered address.

Katsumi glanced at Bindiya's face as they continued theirwalk. The unfamiliar make-up, the shocking pink hair, madeher seem to be a completely different person, confident andassured. That was only on the surface, however. Behind thecosmetics was the face of a woman whose control was shaky atbest. Breaking into her thoughts, Bindiya squeaked and


42/126

jumped and clutched at her arm when a man bawled loudly inher ear. Katsumi scowled her displeasure at the oshiya , a big-bellied man who was attempting to bully customers into his

cyberware shop. He sneered back at her, unimpressed by amere yojimbo -for-hire. Mindful of Bindiya's aversion tounnecessary violence (although Katsumi thought of violenceas a useful tool, and impoliteness could not go unpunished inany case), she settled for launching her toothpick at him like aminiature dart. The sharpened piece of simulated ivorypierced his nostril and he bellowed in pain. Not wishing afurther confrontation, Katsumi used the momentum of the

crowd to carry her past his shop and down the street before hehad time to react. She towed Bindiya alongside, the pair ofthem looking like a tug boat escorting a sleek but colorfulcruiser.

After walking for several blocks, they came to a tattoo parlor.The storefront display contained an obsolete military-gradeexoskeleton, the metal surface powdered with rust. A womanwho had been goliathed lounged against the door. Extensivebone grafting and gene therapy had made her nearly sevenfeet tall; huge muscle grafts bulged in her shoulders, armsand thighs, like basketballs under darkly tanned skin. AMossberg combat shockgun was cocked over her shoulder, theneon yellow jelly-charge visible through the clearpolycarbonate barrel that was big enough to swallow adoubled fist.

Katsumi approached the goliath and offered the green micro-splinter she had gotten from Jubei. The woman lookeddisdainfully down at Bindiya, then further down to rake ascornful gaze over the ninja. She finally took the splinter,handling it carefully in her big hand, and inserted it into a


43/126

reader hanging from her belt. After a few moments, she curledher lip and moved away from the door. Katsumi urgedBindiya inside and followed on her heels.

The room was brightly lit, although the rubber tatami matson the floor were scuffed and grimy. Hospital screensconcealed several work areas. A Tsuchiyama diagnostic bedwas in the center of the space, illuminated by an adjustablelight. As they entered, a small „bot in the shape of a scorpionscuttled near their feet and misted a fine spray ofdisinfectant. In the back of the store was a traditional beadcurtain; it was swept aside as a plump woman barreledthrough and came to a halt, facing Bindiya. The look of nakedcalculation and sheer greed in the woman's expression wasbreath-taking.

“Konnichiw a,” Tara Phuoc Trung said, a smile wreathing herfat-cheeked face and squeezing her eyes into narrow slits."Xin chào , bonjour , good afternoon, shalom , selamat pagi ,howzit, g'day!” She was shirtless, exposing the dozens of

tattoos that covered her torso. Lakshmi was sprawled acrossone breast. On the woman‟s other breast was Kintaro, the red-skinned witch‟s child, while over Tara‟s chunky shoulders anddown her arms, Coatlicue in her serpent skirt danced arm-in-arm with Wang Mu Niang-Niang and her peaches ofimmortality, refereed by Ereshkigal on a throne of bones.

“How may you be served in my establishment?” Tara asked.

“Not with an apple in my mouth, I hope,” Bindiya mutteredfaintly.

Katsumi inserted herself between Bindiya and Tara, forcingthe tattooist to acknowledge her. “Custom interactive,” she


44/126

said, “full body, single activation point.”

Tara's plucked brows rose. Her head was shaven, the better todisplay a winged serpent that coiled around and over her

skull. “Expensive,” she replied, gnawing her bottom lip. Abruptly, her eyes went as hard as obsidian chips. “You're nohired katana , and I'll bet that she's no bosozuko' s girlie-girl.

You don't have the corporate stink, nor do you look like a pairof high-riders slumming down the gravity well.” She stoodwith arms akimbo, frowning. “What, exactly, do you want?”

“The Emptiness of Forms sutra,” Katsumi said.

“Eeee! Like Hoichi the earless!” Tara hooted in amusement,her rolls of fat jiggling.

Bindiya shivered; Katsumi could feel the vibration against herback. She reached behind, curving her hand over Bindiya'ship. “Let us avoid repeating the error,” Katsumi said. Thestory was familiar to all Japanese, who absorbed the tale with

milk at mother's breast. Many gaijin like Tara and Bindiyacould claim a familiarity with the story, as it was a popularsubject for plays and 3D programs. Mimi-Nashi-Hoichi theblind biwa player-priest found himself haunted by angryghosts of the Heiki clan. To save his life, his fellow monksinked his skin with the Emptiness of Forms sutra to makehim invisible to the spirits, but forgot to mark his ears.Hoichi's ears, the only parts of his body visible to the ghosts,

had been pulled off, leaving him maimed for life. That wouldnot happen with Bindiya.

Tara laughed until tears trickled over her cheeks and drippeddown her double chin. Finally subsiding into hiccups, thetattooist wiped her face and stepped back a pace, calculating


45/126

once again. The expression in her eyes was practically anabacus. “For you or the long tall drink of sake over there?”

“My client‟s wishes,” Katsumi said. Behind her, Bindiya

inhaled sharply; she squeezed the woman's hip in warningand was gratified by a silent exhale. “Can you program asingle activation point?” she asked.

Again, Tara's needle-sharp gaze swept over the pair. “Ofcourse,” she said. “Slow spread? Patterned spread?”

“Speed is essential. Aesthetics are not.”

“I see.” Tara rubbed her nose, making the piece of steel in herseptum waggle back and forth. “All right. Come back in twoweeks.”

"Regrettably, the work must be done within the hour. We willwait." Katsumi was immovable on this point; delay could befatal. Bindiya had to be protected as soon as possible, beforethe yurei could attack again. The woman could not go through

life with an ofuda stuck to her forehead; that was toouncertain, as well as too conspicuous a solution.

There was nevertheless some debate, with Tara growingincreasingly unpleasant until Katsumi considered doingsomething messy and lingering, solely as a warning to othertattooists who might be considering suicide-by-ninja.However, Tara Phuoc Trung was supposed to be the best of

the underground interactive artists. More importantly, shedid unregistered work for cash; illegal, since all tattoos andother body modifications were supposed to be registered withthe Department of Order, along with DNA trace, retinal scanand a Kirlian aura analysis.


46/126

At last, Tara ran out of objections, possibly because Katsumiwaved a credit chip in her face. The amount on the chip wasimpressive enough to make the woman's pupils contract. “The

customer's always right,” Tara said, taking the chip andfeeding it into a security box. When she was done, she tappedthe bright red Kintaro tattoo on her breast. “Run out onto the„Net and fetch back a copy of the Emptiness of Forms sutra,”she ordered. The witch's child flexed its legs and leaped offTara's skin, disappearing in a sparkle of static discharge as itdived into a wireless connection with a nearby computer deck.

“He'll be a few minutes,” Tara said. She opened a mini-refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. “Sapporo or

Asahi?” she asked. “I might have some Csarda, too.”

Katsumi shook her head.

The tattooist shrugged, popped the cap off the bottle andchugged until the bottle was empty. “Suit yourself, ronin-san .”She munched unselfconsciously from an open sack of curry-

and-cuttlefish pretzels while they were waiting for herservant/avatar to return from its appointed task.

Bindiya bent down and whispered urgently into Katsumi'sear, "We need to talk. Now. In private."

Nodding to Tara, Katsumi allowed Bindiya to steer hertowards a screened area of the shop.

***

We are both delusiona l, Bindiya thought. A folie àdeux instigated by superstition, reinforced by visual andauditory hallucinations and false perceptions. In the

consensual world reality, ghosts don't hijack a person's


47/126

consciousness to enact some death-in-life scenario. That's a

fantasy straight out of Yoshitoshi and Kurasawa X and

kabuki theater and puppet shows. Fodder for the uneducated

masses who clamor to see faces in indigo and black, limp- wristed and legless figures that are pathetic rather than

frightening.

The lack of control over her own body was completely outsideher personal experience, but explainable if one embracedscience rather than voodoo. A part of her mind could not helpbut wonder about her apparent invisibility on hospital „vid,the paper talisman that Katsumi had put on her brow, thescratches and welts on her arm that spelled „guilty.‟ Thepower of suggestion? Perhaps. The map of the human brainand its potential was not yet complete. Science went only sofar. Bindiya could admit that. On the far distant horizon thatwas the vast collective experience of mankind, enigmasbeckoned.

One of those enigmas was standing in front of her. Bindiya

had been passively following Katsumi's lead, doing as she wastold, going where she was led without protest. Now the ninjahad gone a step too far. This was worse than the involuntaryhair trimming, which she was sure she would be havingnightmares about later.

“Why am I getting an interactive tattoo?” Bindiya asked,doing her best to loom over Katsumi in an alpha-dominance

display. She was helped by the high heels on her boots; shecould have rested her breasts on top of the other woman'shead had she been so inclined. The next step to establishingdominance would be throwing leaves and sticks at the ninja‟shead if one followed the classic primate model.


48/126

However, Bindiya was hindered by the fact that Katsumirefused to be threatened. In fact, she looked amused, thetiniest sparkle in her eyes. “To protect you from evil,” Katsumi

replied in an „of course‟ tone of voice. Bindiya shook her head. Wisps of pink hair stuck to herforehead and cheeks; she brushed them away, sparkscrackling on her fingers from the electrostatic micro-generatortaped to the back of her neck. “I am not going to... no. No, no,no. This isn't happening.”

“It is.” Katsumi casually touched Bindiya's hip, much as she

had a few moments ago in the main room of the shop. Asbefore, Bindiya felt the imprint of the woman's hand burningthrough her clothing like a hot brand. She licked her lips andtried another mode of attack.

“I won't permit it,” Bindiya said, spearing the other womanwith her best eyebrows-meeting-in-the-middle glare.

Katsumi smiled. “You will.” Bindiya was momentarily stymied. Walking away was not anoption. She needed Katsumi; perhaps not quite as much asshe needed air, but close enough as to make very littledifference. Katsumi seemed to know what she was doing,whereas Bindiya was stumbling around in the dark. Believingin ghosts is ridiculous, a pre-civilized fear-based response to

the unknown. But I don't have all the answers, either. I doubt

even Shakti has all the answers . The cycle of belief/disbeliefwas making her crazy... possibly literally. She had given in toKatsumi because she was tired, because she was terrified ofherself, because her life had spun so far out of control that one


49/126

more bit of lunacy would hardly be noticed.

Now Bindiya closed her eyes and wished she was anywherebut here, in a tattoo parlor with dirty floors, puke-green walls

and what she was sure were bloodstains on the ceiling. Thecloying smell of disinfectant had trickled down the back of herthroat, making her feel sick to her stomach.. Katsumi‟s handon her hip began a gentle massaging motion.

“There will be a single small activation point,” Katsumi said,the warm voice breaking through Bindiya's anxiety andexhaustion. “Very small, hardly bigger than a pinhead. Not

noticeable at all.”

Bindiya felt herself drooping a little, wanting to lean into thatsolid body mass. Why had she never consciously noticed howmesmerizing Katsumi's voice could be? “But I don't...” shebegan and stopped, unsure of what she wanted to say.

“This is necessary to protect you,” Katsumi continued, still

soothing, still rubbing Bindiya‟s hip in circular motions. “I don't believe in ghosts,” Bindiya whispered.

Katsumi tilted her head back. Glossy black hair slid awayfrom her shoulders like strands of silk. “They believe in you,”she said and smiled again.

Bindiya could not find the strength or the inclination to argue

anymore.

The screen rattled as it was thrust back, revealing thetattooist. Tara said, “You two lovebirds ready? I don't rentspace by the hour. Get your sucky-fucky thrills at a love hotel,


50/126

huh? I got a business to run.”

Bindiya's whole body jerked as Tara's strident presenceshattered the bubble that had built up between her and

Katsumi.

“We are ready,” Katsumi replied. She slid closer and put anarm around Bindiya's waist, never breaking eye contact.

Bindiya sighed, shrugged a shoulder and relaxed minutelyinto the embrace. Some things were inevitable. Shigata ganai - a most useful philosophy to adopt. She ought to bow

gracefully to the demands of karma. “Yes,” she said, “we'reready.”

Tara rolled her eyes.

The blank tattoo forms were kept in an enzyme bath in therefrigerator. While Bindiya stretched out on the diagnosticbed (the surface was somewhat tacky and stuck unpleasantlyto her skin), Tara prepared to inject the digital sutra into the

new tattoo's matrix. It dangled from her fingertips like a sheetof clear jelly, benign and unthreatening. The instruments sheused were very delicate, but she wielded them withworkmanlike grace. A pince-nez magnified her eyes hugely.

After forty-five minutes of labor, during which she muttered acontinuous stream of invective under her breath, Tara wasfinished. She dunked the programmed matrix into a nutrientsolution and held it up, dripping.

“Pull your shirt up,” Tara instructed, squinting over the pince-nez that gripped the bridge of her nose. Reflected glare fromthe steel bar in her septum and the sweat on her shaven skulldistorted her features, blurring them like heat shimmer off


51/126

pavement.

Bindiya complied, baring her stomach. Tara matter-of-factlyswabbed a patch of make-up away and draped the cold slimy

matrix on her flesh. She flinched, earning a growled order tostay still. The tattooist produced a charge baton, applied oneprong to Bindiya's skin and the other to the clammy sheet onher belly. A worm of electricity twisted greenish-white. The

jolting buzz made Bindiya yelp in mingled surprise and painas ink-charged nanites were driven into her epidermis, thrustthrough the stratum basale, stratum spinosum, stratumgranulosum and stratum corneum, burrowing deep betweenthe second and third dermis layers. When Tara was finishedand the remains of the sodden matrix were wiped away, allthat remained was a little dot centered above her navel. IfBindiya had not known better, she would have sworn it was amole.

Katsumi helped her rise and guided her to a full-length mirrorscrewed to the back wall. As Bindiya watched, Katsumi

reached under her shirt and pressed the activation pointfirmly. She shuddered, the sensation of ants crawling underher skin almost too much to bear, but she was too fascinatedto close her eyes. Lines of text scrolled around her navel, sunrays extending and rippling on her skin, outstretched serifsturning into individual symbols that marched in regimentedfashion and settled into place. They could be but dimlyglimpsed beneath the white body paint that still concealed

most her skin. Bindiya looked more closely, trying to followtheir progress. Shadowy characters moved under their ownpower, silhouettes like sharks swimming in murky waters ifglimpsed from a height. She gasped, staring into the mirror.There was calligraphy on her eyeballs, spokes of wheels


52/126

centered on her pupils.

Bindiya was speechless.

Tara grinned. “Good work, huh? Not exactly ichi-ban , but notbad for a rush job.”

Katsumi examined Bindiya closely, warm puffs of breathstirring the tiny hairs on her arms, her neck, her cheek. “Itwill do,” she confirmed.

“Avoid UV tanning booths, reiki healing and further bodymodification for two weeks,” Tara said. She turned away,headed to the front of the shop.

Bindiya felt rather than saw the clench of muscles, thetightening of tendon and sinew that signaled Katsumi'sreadiness for action. She grabbed the ninja's wrist, squeezinghard to abort the blitzkrieg draw/strike of ninjato. Tara, shewas sure, had no idea how

between the flowers and the moon

Documents