“The little steamer was already flapping her way eastward of the big crescent of shipping, and the low Essex coast was growing blue and hazy, when a Martian appeared… to starboard, and not a hundred yards from their heeling, pitching boat, a vast iron bulk like the blade of a plough tearing through the water… It was the torpedo ram,
Thunder Child, steaming headlong, coming to the rescue of the threatened shipping.” –The Narrator, HG Wells’
The War of the Worlds
Previous Chapter
Chapter Five: Thy Rod and Thy Staff
Expecting I wouldn't like the answer, I sighed and glanced at Jigoro to inquire, “Just what the hell do you think you're doing here?”
Jigoro shifted as he folded his arms, and I could just make out the scabbard of his family katana held tightly in his left hand—which for some reason that would no doubt have delighted Freud, he insisted on carrying everywhere he went. Practically growling, he replied, “You sidelined me once when something was happening, but I don't need anyone else to fight my battles!”
Sighing, Hisao spun around to face his charge and retort, “So, you choose the time I’m not decked out in the latest toys from the bloated American defense budget to make your suicidal stand against an alien that wants to rip out your spine and mount it on his trophy case!?”
“If he wants my spine, he’s going to have to rip it from my cold dead body!” Jigoro barked, sneering down at Hisao.
“He won’t wait for it to get cold!” Hisao sneered back.
“Ahem,” I grunted to grab their attention and surmise, “So, I take it you told him the situation on the way here?”
Hisao turned back to face me and nodded, rolling his eyes as he answered, “Yeah, I kinda had to when he dragged me into his car and we bolted here to ‘help’ you...”
“By making this harder?” I sighed, rubbing my temple; having Jigoro in the same prefecture as the alien was definitely not part of my plan. “So this is what that argument on the phone was about? In the background?”
Hisao nodded and gave a dark glance back at Jigoro as he explained, “Shizune and I were trying to convince him to stay put while one of us went to grab Matthew. Jigoro disagreed, and things escalated from there. Shizune tried playing keep-away with his sword, even...”
“You try that and you lose a hand,” Jigoro snarled.
“Why didn’t you just shoot him with the Tesla?” I asked, drawing a gruff chuckle from Jigoro.
“I tried,” Hisao replied, “but apparently his belt buckle is made of the same metal as those Tesla repellent swords Templars were carrying, so I ended up hitting Shizune instead... That’s gonna cost me a donation and a box of Hanako’s almond cookies.”
“The point is I’m here,” Jigoro declared, rattling his saber—or katana, in this case—both metaphorically and literally, “and I’m not being sidelined this time, so you better find a way to bring that alien here, because I intend to shove my sword down its throat!”
“I’m sure a samurai two hundred years ago thought the same thing,” Hisao remarked, “and I’m sure his skull is planted somewhere next to a Cossack’s and a Zulu tribesman’s...”
“They weren't of Hakamichi stock,” Jigoro seethed, narrowing his already narrow expression toward Hisao.
“Fine,” I conceded, rubbing my temple at the futility, “You’re here, you’re pissed, and you’re not sitting this out. Go ahead, commit metaphorical Seppuku and piss away all the effort we put into protecting you last time—at least it got Hisao some safety. Just don't get yourself killed, or Shizune will probably do something unpleasant with your sword to both me and Hisao.”
“The basic plan hasn’t changed much,” Hisao stated, trying to bring some semblance of order to our latest bout of chaos, “If I can get Matthew before the Hunter turns you two into trophies, we have a decent shot.”
Lowering my hand, I sighed, “Good point, but... why you?”
“Someone has to,” he replied with a weary shrug.
“Well it’s not you,” I declared, “You already fought an alien to a standstill; you’ve done your bit. You get involved here, the next Hunter might come after you.”
Hisao seemed to glare at me for a moment, but eventually he sighed and nodded. “Fine, then how we gonna grab Matthew?”
“Who is Matthew, anyway?” Jigoro asked.
“A sawed off twelve gauge Winchester Model 1912 pump action shotgun,” I replied, “six round mag with a barrel capable of holding any kind of round devised by man... and a few others as well, I imagine.”
“If we load it with high explosive shells,” Hisao added, drawing an incredulous look from Jigoro, “and pump them into the bastard at close range, odds are good our alien problem will be solved.”
“I've heard better plans whispered in elementary school bathrooms,” Jigoro snorted.
Opting for a disdainful eye roll, Hisao ignored Jigoro's discontent as he continued, “The trick is finding it, seeing it, and not getting killed lining up the shot...”
“We've already got a couple points in our favor there,” I mentioned, nodding for emphasis. “One, I’ve fried some of his long range toys—including his plasma caster, and his cloaking field,” I recounted, “Two, I have a pretty good idea where he’s going to wait for me-”
“What do you mean, wait for you?” Hisao asked.
“Oh, this one seems to be after me,” I stated, shrugging lightly as Hisao sighed, “Not sure why, and not too fussed to find out, either, as long as he’s not after the cops or Jigoro for now.“
“The fact you have two of his toys may be a contributing factor,” Hisao quipped, jerking his head at the alien weapons tucked into my belt.
I smirked and chuckled lightly, “All part of the plan. Anyway, if Jigoro and I can grab Matthew from my office, we can go find the Hunter and have this all finished in time to read our kids a bedtime story.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Jigoro remarked.
Turning a confident smirk at the unconvinced Hakamichi patriarch, I retorted, “In my experience, it’s best to plan in broad strokes, then fill in the details as you go.”
“This plan has all the earmarks of a suicide mission,” Hisao intoned, glancing at Jigoro, “especially if you're bringing him along.”
“That's the beauty of it,” I rebuffed, “we'll divide its focus, and turn that to our advantage.”
As long as Jigoro was insisting on butting into our job, we may as well be putting him to good use. Besides, it never hurt to have a burly sword wielding man with a grudge between you and whatever is trying to wreck your shit. Hisao still didn't look convinced, or particularly confident in the plan, but he knew me well enough to trust my judgment.
Slowly, he started nodding, and I took that as enough affirmation to continue, “So, Jigoro and I will head for the office while you lay low somewhere for a while.”
Hisao glared at me for a while, I think, but eventually sighed and gave in, “Fine, I’ll head to the Brass Wok for a while, I guess. You gonna hang onto those alien weapons?”
Shrugging, I replied, “I’ll give them back when I’m done with them. Right now they’re my best motivator for being followed.”
“Good point,” Hisao stated, “Good luck and... don’t die.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I asked, “I’ve been not dying for years now.”
“So, keep at it,” Hisao retorted.
“Do I get a say in any of this?” Jigoro growled.
“Sure,” I replied. “You can follow me and not die, or you can follow Hisao and drink in a dive bar, because no one is going home until this Hunter is dead and gift wrapped with all its toys for its alien buddies to pick up on their next visit.”
Jigoro glowered silently for a few moments, then humphed and uncrossed his arms. “Fine, then,” he snarled, “Let’s stop wasting time making ourselves targets, and get to work!”
“That’s the spirit!” I declared. To Hisao, I added, “Get going, man; we’ll keep the Hunter on its toes.”
Hisao chuckled, “I don’t doubt it. Good luck, man.”
Hisao took a step forward, but stopped and turned around. He took off his jacket and slowly pulled off the holster holding the Anaconda Colt he had taken with him. When he had removed the holster, he turned around and handed it and the held revolver to Jigoro.
“Here, take Revy,” he said, “That way you both have a gun, just in case.”
Jigoro eyed the holster and the revolver for a second, then nodded and deftly strapped it on under his shirt, somehow.
“Thanks,” he grunted.
“I’m gonna want her back,” Hisao declared, “And be careful; she has a hair trigger. Good luck.”
Once again Hisao jogged off into the night, only this time he kept going. When he was out of sight I glanced at Jigoro, who seemed resolute and steady, though he always seemed like that. I was doing my best to appear the same, but I was definitely on edge, and even a little twitchy.
“Well, let’s get moving,” I announced, turning to head out.
“Is leading this thing to your office a good idea?” Jigoro asked.
Honestly, I wasn't sure, so I shrugged and replied, “Probably not... but it’s our best option.”
Jigoro grunted, but said nothing. With nothing more needing to be said, I checked the rooftops around us as best I could. They seemed to be clear, so I checked the street and sidewalk, which also appeared clear—admittedly, that just meant I didn't see anything moving. With one last resigned sigh, I bolted from the alley, motioning for Jigoro to follow. Once I was clear of the alley, I heard thundering steps behind me, and we were off—the half-blind leading the half-crazed.
There were actually a few ways to get back to my office on foot: either by street or back alley; that was one of the reasons I had chosen it as my new location. The route I decided on was a balance between circuitous and direct, in that it didn’t backtrack but did zig-zag. I wasn’t entirely sure why I had selected that route, except that I was unwilling to go straight back to the office, even if the alien would more than likely follow us there eventually, no matter which route we took.
Sure enough, we hadn’t gotten far when I started hearing thudding, clunky footsteps on a nearby rooftop. The echoes made identifying its source difficult, and we were moving too fast for me to focus, but it didn't sound like it was very far away. From the quick shifts in the way he was facing, I could tell Jigoro was trying to pick a shadow out of the rooftops, but I knew that was probably futile—it wouldn't follow close enough to be seen with its cloak disabled.
“I think it found us,” I quipped.
“Sounds that way,” Jigoro concurred, giving up his futile searching, “That part of your plan?”
“Of course,” I remarked, trying to sound confident.
Granted my plan had more holes than the Schlieffen Plan after Chief Moltke and General von Kluck had picked at it, but, under the circumstances, things were going swimmingly. So of course shit was about to hit the fan, and in the worst way possible. Jigoro and I rounded onto an abandoned side street, roughly halfway back to the office, and were just entering the next alley when I felt a chill work its way down my spine and ripple through my spleen.
A moment later, something large, green and angry landed several meters in front of us, and we both skidded to a halt. The Hunter had apparently decided it was done following us around, and now stood in the middle of the alley, its hulking, dark green form blocking our way. I didn’t doubt for a moment that if we tried to run he'd cut us down in no time, which meant we had no choice but to fight.
Thinking quickly, I reached into my pocket for a Tesla grenade, but paused when I felt a large hand placed on my shoulder. Surprised, I glanced up behind me and saw Jigoro standing there, his face fixed on the Hunter as his other hand held his sheathed sword tightly—my spleen immediately didn't like where things were going.
“Get to the office,” he growled, “I’ll handle this.”
“No fuckin' way!” I snapped, “The entire point of this was to keep you safe, not throw you into harm's way.”
The Hunter growled something, an unnatural, chitinous sound that sent the hairs on my neck standing in primeval fear.
“You wait your turn!” Jigoro barked, which had the surprising effect of stopping the alien's growling. “Rude,” he added, then focused on me, “You, get to the office—finish the plan.”
“If you stay, that thing's gonna kill you,” I stated; Jigoro may have been a retired Yakuza spy who had hacked his way out of the mob, but he was also getting on in years, and hadn’t been in the field for decades.
“Maybe,” Jigoro conceded, “But it sure as hell beats being sidelined again. Go, I’ll hold him off as long as I can, and, maybe, I’ll do your job for you.”
“No. Fucking. Way!” I reiterated.
Jigoro sighed, tensed, and then shoved me out of the alley. I staggered and stumbled, but managed to stay on my feet. As I regained my footing, I sighed and rolled my eyes. Apparently Jigoro was dead set on fighting the Hunter. Unfortunately, I couldn’t shoot Jigoro because of his belt buckle—though if I had to I could’ve kneecapped him—and there was no guarantee I’d be able to stun the Hunter, either. Jigoro’s plan was the best we had at the moment, so I sighed again and turned to bolt for the office.
“Good luck, man!” I called, and started running. “Don't die!”
“You as well,” I heard Jigoro bark behind me.
In my haste, I was only able to look back over my shoulder once before the alley left my limited sight. The last thing I saw before rounding a corner looked like a scene out of a Shogun movie from the seventies. The Hunter paced sideways, holding out its wristblade threateningly as Jigoro mirrored its movements, pointing his unsheathed katana at the creature's head in defiance. For that brief moment, watching them circle before hell broke loose, I deluded myself that Jigoro stood a fighting chance. Either way, I had a job to do; if I couldn’t protect Jigoro, I could at least avenge his murder.
I did wonder who would avenge me when Shizune found out, though.
+++
Next Chapter
Now, really, how could I not resist having a duel between Jigoro and a Predator?
I’m not sure what it says about Kenji’s plan that it took a major component of it failing –protecting Jigoro from the alien –to achieve the second major component –attempt to kill said alien –but there you have it.
