"History is merely a list of surprises. It can only prepare us to be surprised yet again."
-Kurt Vonnegut
"Tachikoma, Borma, get ready to dive," Ishikawa requested, pulling down the dive interface. Borma nodded. Togusa, continuing to monitor the feeds from the system, then asked,
"So, what was it like in there?"
"Like reincarnation," Ishikawa answered wryly. Really, there was no way to describe the mental confusion and interference of another person's psyche into his own. Even now, a word, a tone of voice, a concept would bring to mind a memory fragment, and he found himself analyzing it to see if it truly belonged to him, or if it was from Sosuke. He couldn't actively recall Sosuke's memories like he could when inside the Historical Immersion System, but he remembered remembering them. Even now, he wondered if he was still the same person, or if the samurai's memories and personality had tweaked his own irrevocably. I think, therefore I am, right?
"What's reincarnation, anyway?," a Tachikoma asked.
"It means a new birth into a different body," another answered authoritatively.
"What do you mean a 'new birth'? Can't you only be born once?"
"I don't know; that's just what the dictionary says! But maybe if we analyze its Latin roots . . .Let's see, "re", meaning "again", with "carn" meaning flesh . . . hmmmm . . ."
"So it's like reheating a steak or something?"
"That doesn't seem right!"
"Which part means heat?"
"You're taking it too literally!"
Ishikawa finally broke in, amused. "It's a belief that, when a person dies, they are born into a different body. Kind of like when you guys were reconstructed from the AIs of the old Tachikoma shells that got destroyed.
"Ohhh . . ." The Tachikoma were silent for a few moments, processing this new information.
"Anyway, we've got to make a virtual pathway to those guys at New Tokyo University Hospital. Tachikoma, look for a good backdoor via the University. Borma, find a useable connection between the university and the hospital. Make sure there are plenty of hops inbetween -- we get traced, and the patients are in danger."
"What about you, Ishikawa-kun?," the Tachikoma asked cheekily.
"If you finish your work fast enough, maybe I'll let you watch."
"Oooh!" The three of them set to work, diving within the net to make a twisted, untraceable pathway through virtual space. The silence of focused concentration was broken, though, as Togusa asked,
"So, is there any proof for Kawazumi's theories?"
"Proof? Well, I don't know if I'd call it proof . . . but there's a lot of convincing evidence," Ishikawa answered. "They did some analysis on meditating monks -- experienced ones -- and they could actually detect a dissipation of electrical impulses on external Ghost interface equipment as they reached higher stages of mindfulness. One monk was supposedly even able to control an empty prosthetic body from the other side of the room, by transferring his Ghost. Some of the methodology was called into question, but it wouldn't surprise me if it's true. It's not so different from when the Major's Ghost survived in the net when she was shot by that sniper."
"I see . . ," Togusa said thoughtfully. A Tachikoma interjected,
"Hey, if it's possible to transfer a Ghost like that, does that mean that someone could live forever by moving their Ghost around?"
"Well, theoretically . . . but in order for a transfer to take place, the Ghost has to have a strong will and strong desire. Also, in Kawazumi's research, as people aged, they were less able to transfer their Ghosts."
"Oh . . . " The Tachikoma appeared to be thinking this over, but then several of them broken in with more questions.
"Does this mean old people aren't as strong? I thought old people were supposed to be wise . . ."
"Why don't they just keep a backup on the net?"
"But, where does their Ghost go then? When someone dies?"
Ishikawa shrugged. "They did monitor some people as they were dying, but tracking Ghosts is not that easy to do, so that's still a mystery."
"Wow, you're really into this stuff, aren't you," Borma exclaimed with a smile.
"Nah, actually I just read some research papers yesterday because I thought it might be useful for this case." He grinned, a somewhat disconcerting sight since his eyes were still focused on the dive interface. "Now, are you guys almost done with those connections?"
"Yes, sir! We've connected through an unsecured server in the University dorms!," a Tachikoma answered proudly.
"Yeah, I've got a path to the hospital via an outdated machine in the basement," affirmed Borma.
"Good. Come on over here, and we'll put them all together." Within the net, the avatars of the Tachikoma and Borma slid over to join Ishikawa. A tangle of connections glowed around him, like a vast tumbleweed, and Borma whistled in disbelief.
"You connected each patient's heartrate monitor to a different nurse's phone?! Unbelievable . . . and, wait, isn't that mass over there a bunch of cooking droids?"
"He's using the entertainment terminal as a bridge between floors! Ah, Ishikawa-kun, it's so beautiful!," a Tachikoma shouted excitedly.
Ishikawa chuckled, clearly pleased. "Not at all. But it will all be for nothing if this doesn't work. So let's connect the Tachikoma's network to Borma's using an indirect route . . . and now to the hospital . . . check connection stability . . . looking good . . ."
"Major?," Ishikawa's voice broke in through the comlink as she hid near the top of an aging oak tree.
"I read you. Have you forged a pathway for the researchers yet?"
"Yes, it's all done."
"Good." She flipped down out of the tree noiselessly, wincing as she landed, and sprinted across the courtyard. Pulling out her short sword, she brought the hilt down squarely on the back of a soldier's neck. This should be Tanaka . . . As he lost consciousness and flopped to the ground, she disconnected him from the system.
"Tanaka's disconnected," she informed Ishikawa through the comlink.
"Roger that," he responded, "We're seeing an elevated heartrate and a nurse on the way to his room, so I'm guessing that it worked."
"Major, please hurry with the others, so that no one gets suspicious before they wake up."
"I'm on it, Chief." Even as she spoke, she was already running around to the barracks. Stopping for a moment to listen, when all was quiet she slipped through the door, blocking the open door crack with her body so light would not enter. She spied him lying on a bunk, and then tensed as she saw him move. By his breathing patterns she could tell that he was asleep. I guess my work's already done, here. She logged him out, and his avatar stopped breathing.
"Fujiwara's done," Motoko reported.
"Good, good . . . I don't see any sign from the hospital that he's recovered, but I suppose it could take a while."
"No time to worry about that now." She was already tracking the next researcher, who appeared to be patrolling the third floor of the castle. Finding a narrow gap between the external barracks wall and the castle wall, she jumped from side to side until she could grab hold of the balcony railing and swing over. Looks like Batou's near the stairs to the third floor . . .
Analyzing the castle layout, she found another route to the third floor, a ladder leading to a storage room. Slipping in and out of shadows, stepping over bodies that Ishikawa had disabled, she searched for the next researcher, Watanabe. He's very close -- he must be in one of these bedrooms. She turned a corner, and there he was, dressed in a fine-looking sleeping kimono, walking softly down the hall. As she neared, ready to strike, he turned just before she reached him.
"Who--" he began, but was cut off as she rushed him, and with a leg sweep and jab to the throat he fell to the ground. She pinned him with her forearm to his throat, preventing his breathing, and though he struggled like a wide-eyed fish, his eyes soon rolled back as he fell unconscious. Quickly, she released him and terminated his connection.
"Watanabe's down," she announced over the comlink, and crept swiftly up a small stairway at the end of the hall.
"Roger that. Should be two more, Professor Ogawa and another assistant. Looks like they're on the top floor," Ishikawa noted.
"I'm already there."
Miyoshi Seikai had never seen such bloodless carnage in his life. He had seen many men fall on the field of battle, some with small wounds, some with great -- but always there was an explanation for their deaths. Always there was a sword, a spear, an arrow, a soldier who was responsible. Even the dagger of an assassin left a visible wound, though the assassin might flee. But this . . .
Everywhere he walked in the castle, lifeless bodies stared at him accusingly. None had any visible wound, not even a rope mark or bruise on the neck. A cook, a courtier; a foot soldier, a samurai; a laundress' baby, the Lady Yodo herself -- all lay unmoving. None had tried to flee; none looked surprised. It was as if they had simply . . . stopped.
Was it a silent disease? Some foul poison in the air? Divine punishment, meted out suddenly and mercilessly? Or perhaps he was going insane . . . No, it must be the work of that ninja, the woman from before. He had never quite believed a ninja could have supernatural powers, but it was the only explanation that made any sense. He remembered her hard eyes that did not fear, her skill when they fought, her lithe form melting into the night like rain into a pond. He must find her. He was the only one left, as far as he could see, the only one who could stop this honorless she-demon, or die trying.
The only one . . . Suddenly he remembered Lord Hideyori and Lady Senhime. If they, too, had been subjected to this malevolent magic, then he truly was masterless, alone. But if they were alive . . . he must protect them.
Batou turned and ran up the stairs, two at a time.
Hideyori-sama . . .
Just then, a high-pitched scream pierced through the halls like a flaming arrow. He quickened his pace to three stairs at a time.
Motoko stepped into a large bedroom, and was momentarily blinded by the bright light of a fire burning within. A man's voice spoke,
"Well, now, who's this? You're not one of the people the system created, are you?" As her eyes adjusted, she could see a young man in imperial robes sitting at a low table. His face was smooth and unwrinkled, but his eyes sparkled with wisdom and age. Nearby, a beautiful young woman lay under a thick blanket on a futon, but she sat up groggily when the man spoke.
"Dear? Did you say something?" Suddenly, she spotted Motoko and gasped. "Who is that?!"
"Professor Ogawa?," Motoko asked, and when the man nodded, she continued, "I'm with Public Security Section 9. I'm here to help you get out."
"Get out? Section 9?," he asked, puzzled, "Is there a problem with the system?"
"You and your assistants were hospitalized when you fell into a coma. That was four days ago." His eyes widened for a moment, and then he looked thoughtful.
"Has it been that long? I suppose it has. I guess I was just enjoying the immersion in history. You have, too, haven't you, Yumeko-kun?" He smiled, and turned to the young woman, who looked at him with sudden apprehension.
"Yumeko?," she asked, truly puzzled. Then, she turned to Motoko. "My grandfather sent you, didn't he? And somehow you've put a spell on my husband, or had something put in his tea to make him say these strange things. Hideyori, you mustn't trust her." She came over and touched his hand gently. He looked at her, confused.
"Yumeko, you can stop pretending now. It has been wonderful to experience this history with you, but it sounds like we need to log out now."
Motoko nodded, and added, "There was an attempted bombing of the Historical Immersion System at the University, orchestrated by Akimoto Hiroshi. He is now in custody, but you may still be in danger. Please log out now."
"Log out?" Yumeko struggled to sound out the foreign phrase. "What are you two talking about! Dear, just look at her!," she pleaded, gesturing to Motoko's black-swathed form. "It's obvious this is part of Tokugawa's attack on the castle -- he plans to undermine you from within with this, this ninja's mind tricks." She was pleading now, and her hands were clenched in anger. When the Professor shook his head, she began to shout. "Guards! Guards! Help!"
"Professor, I'm going to have to log her out forcefully by rendering her unconscious. There's no time to explain," Motoko informed him.
He nodded sadly. "I understand. Yumeko, dear, please trust her. Or, if you can't trust her, trust me." He reached for her hand, but she pulled back in fear.
"If even you are against me, then I would rather perish with honor by my own hand." She drew a dagger from her kimono sleeve and pointed it at her midsection.
Motoko wasted no time. If the girl wouldn't log out on her own, she would just have to give her a hand. Crossing the space between them with a running leap, she grabbed her wrist and twisted, pressing her fingers back until she dropped the knife. Smoothly, she seized both sides of Yumeko's kimono collar and tightened it, stopping the blood flow to the brain from the carotid artery. The girl screamed and pummeled Motoko's chest with her fists, but soon her struggles weakened. When she collapsed, Motoko logged her out and turned to the Professor. He was staring at Senhime's crumpled form, still beautiful even without a Ghost.
"So real . . ," he whispered, touching her cheek gently. Motoko cleared her throat impatiently. She thought she heard footsteps dashing up the stairs.
"Can you log out on your own?"
He jumped a little, then inclined his head. "I shall try. I hope to hear a more thorough explanation from you when I do." She nodded impatiently. The Professor took a deep breath, and then fell across the table, lifeless. Motoko looked up to see Batou filling the doorway, and she drew her sword. He's the only one left . . . I can't put this off any longer.
He stood there, utterly still, for a long moment, looking like he was either going to collapse or explode. After a moment, he straightened, and looked her straight in the eyes. Normally blocked by the Ranger-issue optical implants, she could see his eyes here were deep obsidian, tinged with the flame of rage.