The door opens and she and Zoge-san enter. The office is small and private and quiet. The carpeting is green, the paneling like a burled wood of a neutral brown. Honjowara
-sama
sits behind a desk of polished oak. He gazes at a telecom screen, tapping briefly at the auxiliary keyboard. Machiko advances three steps, then kneels and bows. She puts both knees down and bows till her brow brushes the carpet. The sudden rush of blood to her head threatens her balance, and for an instant the carpet seems tinted in swirls of red, but she recovers. She bows a second time and then extends her arms, lifting her sword, making an offering of it. Drawing against grip and scabbard to expose a small portion of the blade.
And then she waits, bent forward, sword offered, blade exposed. It is difficult to maintain the posture correctly. Her arms subtly waver. Her mind seems vague and prone to wander.
She realizes Honjowara
-sama
is approaching when she catches sight of his feet. After a few moments, the sword is snatched from her hands. She breathes and bows, then turns aside, bends forward and pulls her hair from her shoulders to make a clean target of her neck. She holds this posture for what seems like a very long time. Then she hears the sharp click, like that of a sword being thrust firmly into its scabbard.
This so surprises her that she glances toward her side. Honjowara
-sama
, standing over her, and looking very resolved, thrusts the katana toward her as if to return it to her hands.
Machiko hesitates, confused.
Again, Honjowara
-sama
thrusts the sword at her.
"I am not worthy," she says softly.
Yet again, Honjowara
-sama
thrusts the sword at her.
This baffles her completely, but only for a moment. She nearly lets slip a moan when understanding finally comes. In this, her moment of unbearable shame, Honjowara
-sama
acknowledges the years of service she has rendered. He honors her not for what she has done, or failed to do, but for what she is. That is why he returns her sword. She bows deeply. She turns toward her Chairman and bows again. She accepts the sword and lays it on the floor before her. She removes her overvest, folds it, lays it over the sword's scabbard, then draws the scabbard clear and lays it at her side. She rolls the blade of the sword in the fabric of the overvest, then pauses to prepare, to settle her spirit, to breathe. The Warrior's Way has rarely seemed so clear to her. Already she can feel the tip of the sword slicing into her stomach, cutting upward, cutting three times, resolving everything. She does not fear it. She welcomes it.
One last time, she bows to her Chairman.
"Machiko," he says, after a moment. "You will not kill yourself. I forbid it."
Machiko puzzles. How can this be? First, she is denied
yubitsume
. Now this. Can her Chairman despise her so greatly? Surely, he understands how deeply she is ashamed. She nearly led an assassin directly to her Chairman. She allowed an explosive device to be detonated at the front of the headquarters building. Her original error involving Uekiya, failing to warn the checkpoint about him, seems of no significance compared to these two immense instances of failure.
"Sheathe your sword, Machiko-san. You do not understand." In a powerful voice, a voice of command, he adds, "You are injured and not thinking clearly. Do you hear me?" She hears. And she recognizes that what Honjowara
-sama
says is so. She does not feel quite herself. Doubtless, she is still suffering the effects of the blast. Yet, she does not feel as though she is suffering unduly. Her confusion is not the result of mere mental trauma. Her shame is not an illusion.
"Sheath your sword, Machiko," Honjowara
-sama
says quietly. "We will explain."
Naturally, she obeys. Her life is not her own. It is neither her privilege nor her responsibility to decide when her life will end. She will end it when her Chairman wills, once he has explained. She draws her katana free of the folded overvest and slips it into its scabbard. She lays the sheathed sword over the folded overvest and settles herself, preparing to listen.
"Zoge," says Honjowara
-sama
.
Zoge-san coughs and clears his throat. "Machiko-san," he says, "do not be in such a hurry to die. Perhaps you believe that you have failed in your oath to the Chairman. You are wrong. You should feel no shame. I tell you that you have performed well. Very well indeed.
"This afternoon, shortly after you were called to the checkpoint, there was a brief disturbance in the lobby. A man shouted as in alarm. This was one of the medtechs you summoned for the old grocer Uekiya-san. The Chairman heard this shout and inquired and learned of the initial incident with Uekiya-san and his gun. The Chairman became very concerned, as Uekiya-san has been coming to the Open House for many years. The Chairman decided to investigate the situation personally. He was passing through the lobby on his way to the checkpoint when the explosion occurred.
"Our experts believe that the old man carried a shaped charged in his bag. By knocking him down, you directed the blast against the ground, the street pavement. Perhaps the only direction that would not have resulted in many deaths. The grocer's body absorbed much of the back-biast. You yourself were partially shielded by his body."
Machiko looks to Honjowara
-sama
and finds him gazing at her steadily, sternly. Not the least sign of doubt appears on his features. A brief nod of the head answers all questions. It confirms what Zoge-san says. Machiko realizes that, despite the enormity of her failures, she apparently has had the inadvertent effect of preventing the Chairman from being harmed by the blast.
For this she is very grateful.
She reaches to her sword, exposes part of the blade, and bows deeply and waits. It is a good moment in which to die. How bitter death would seem if she came to it knowing that she had not only failed, but had failed to protect the Chairman as well.
"Machiko-san," Zoge-san says. "Do you not understand? You saved the Chairman's life. You made no error."
Machiko bows. She understands perfectly. If Zoge-san were a warrior, he would also understand. "Please forgive my rudeness," she says, quietly. "But certain facts must be mentioned. I did not warn the checkpoint about Uekiya-san
's
gun. I allowed an explosive device to be detonated at the entrance to the headquarters during the Chairman's Open House. If not for the weapons detector, I would have led an assassin directly to my Chairman. These are the reasons I am shamed, so greatly I cannot bear it."
For some brief while, the room is silent. Machiko waits, gazing at the exposed portion of her sword. She recalls a poem in which an ancient samurai warrior, in contemplating the end, regarded death as a lover, his sword as death's sweet kiss.
"You speak of warning the checkpoint," says Honjowara
-sama
. "This is not relevant. You are not the director of a corporate unit, or a headman of
kobun
. You are the acting senior of the Green Serpent Guard. The personnel of the Guard were chosen and educated by the masters of the Guard. It is assumed that they who come to us in the uniform of the Guard know how to wield the sword they bear. It is not your obligation to delineate to every member every small event that might possibly occur. It should not have been necessary
to warn anyone concerning Uekiya and his gun. Have you
forgotten why there are no ranks within the Guard? Every member of the Guard is individually responsible for fulfilling the duty of the Guard. We speak of members being senior or junior to other members, but this is merely an indication of relative experience. As the acting senior, you are responsible for organization, for monitoring discipline and training. You are to see that posts are properly manned. That responsibility is shared by the other senior members, but that is where your responsibility for others ends.
"We have interviewed every witness to what occurred. We have reviewed the record of security cams. The facts are clear. The gun was not drawn in a threatening manner. Gongoro overreacted. The personnel at the checkpoint overreacted. That is not your error. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Honjowara
-sama
," Machiko says, though she does not understand, not really. The error is hers. She knows this. If the Chairman wishes to declare otherwise, that is his right, and she will agree that he is right. Given the time, she will make herself accept what he says, believe what he says. But now, in this moment, it is very hard.
"Nagato security was responsible for keeping weapons away from the headquarters. Doubtless, the explosive device was brought to Uekiya's store before the perimeter was established. You could not prevent this. You went to the grocer's aid as duty demanded. You were not responsible for detecting the explosive, yet you did detect it. You could not prevent the explosive from being detonated, yet you prevented grave loss of life. You hurled yourself at death, Machiko-san. There is no shame in this."
Machiko struggles with her growing confusion, her pain. She gazes at the exposed length of her sword. Yearns to feel the lasting comfort of its kiss.
"The warrior's course is one of fanaticism and desperation. This I know. But you must learn to heed your own advice, Machiko-san. You gaze at the world very narrowly. Your vision is a keenly edged sword. But when the fire and thunder has passed, you must step back, broaden your gaze. In this way, you will see correctly what has occurred."
Tears rise into her eyes. She fights them. "Chairman
-sama
," she says through a throat grown tight. "You wish me to live? To continue to serve?"
"I command it."
The issue is therefore settled. Her heart and mind still rage with a tumult of conflicting feelings and thoughts, but this she will survive. It is her duty,
neh
?
She bows deeply and takes up her sword.
Sleep does not come easily, and when it comes it is fitful and full of trouble. Her dreams are unsettling and confused. At one point, she wakes to the conviction that the Chairman has been killed, assassinated. Yet, the conviction unravels like a poorly tied knot, fading into streaming tendrils of fantasy, before she can free herself of the tangled snarl of bed sheets wrapping her hips and legs.
Later, she imagines that she herself has died, impaled on a thousand shiny blades that run with the rivers of her own blood.
A thought comes to her through the mists: assassins sometimes have backup. She feels a compulsion to rouse herself, rise to the Chairman's defense before another bomber appears. But now the climb to consciousness is long and tiring and saps her of her strength. Before she can open her eyes, she begins slipping, slipping back . . .
Then, bright sunlight fills the room. Her body aches. The bed sheets are damp with sweat. She pushes a sea of hair back from her face, stretches and yawns, and then discovers the stark white features of another GSG in the open doorway, peering in from the hallway outside.
She breathes, and asks, "What is the Chairman's status?" The member steps fully into the doorway and bows.
And now a second white face looks in from the hallway. "Honjowara
-sama
has moved on to Nagato Tower. Ryokai-san invites the acting senior to devote the morning to contemplation."
The idea seems typical of Ryokai, something he would suggest. He is sometimes too much the diplomat. What she really needs is time to recover from yesterday's injuries, and to settle the tumult of her spirit. Time to accommodate herself with the prospect of living. Perhaps she holds herself to too high a standard, demands more of herself than any mere metahuman could ever hope to achieve. She sees this as nothing less than her duty. For her duty is to protect a man absolutely in a world where no degree of protection can ever be absolute.
She looks to the GSG members at the door, and says, "Why are you not with the Chairman? Are we not still on alert?"
"Ryokai-san directed us to remain here in case the acting senior should require assistance."
Assistance? Again, that seems like Ryokai talking. It is the custom of the Guard to stand watch over members disabled by injuries, and she has already been the subject of at least one deliberate attempt at assassination, but these facts seem like mere excuses. More likely, Ryokai-san feared that she might repeat her abortive attempt at
yubitsume
. Or perhaps he knows of what transpired in the Chairman's office and posted a watch to ensure that she does not attempt suicide. A foolish concern. Even if the shame she felt last night were to return with all its power, the moment for death has passed, and the Chairman has spoken.
Life is but a fleeting sorrow, a tear shed and wiped away in the blink of an eye.
She looks to the two GSG at the door. "Report to the senior in charge at Nagato Tower. I will be along shortly."
The two GSG bow, turn, and go.
Machiko gets to her feet. Every muscle aches. Her eyes and throat feel as if rubbed raw by sand. But this is meaningless, as meaningless as yesterday's shame. The Chairman's word will be her law. She must heal herself and return to duty.
Nagato Security has delivered her duty bag. From it she takes a spare
gi
and
tabi
. She leaves yesterday's clothes with a headquarters' matron to be laundered and takes the stairs to the lobby. There is none of yesterday's hustle and bustle. The lobby is staffed by only a pair of attractive hostesses, one elf, one norm, and one kobun, an ork. The atmosphere is one of tranquil quiet.