On Patrol

"Mutants sighted entering through access way near junction five. Coordinates x76.5, y45.2."

At last, he thought, some action. He turned to the rest of his patrol and gave the hand signal to move out. As one, the five samurai of his retinue activated their engines. The hum of skimmerdrives vibrated the air. Kimoka twisted the hand grip and his bike slid smoothly forward on its anti-gravity field.

As he passed the exit of their watch station he was already doing over 100 kph and accelerating. The road spooled past beneath him at eye-blurring speed. He passed skimmercars and heavy truks as if they were standing still. Just for the fun of it, he thumbed the activation button of his siren. Its banshee wail drowned out the rush of the wind past his helmet. No one could be in any doubt that he and his retainers were samurai going about the business of enforcing the law.

The road dropped dramatically, descending nearly a thousand meters in a single kilometer. Branch points and cloverleaf intersections blurred by. The pagodas grew ever broader and more massive as the patrol raced downward towards their bases. The temperature dropped appreciably as they entered the starscrapers' massive shadows.

Kimoka pulled his bike around at almost ninety degrees to the boundary wall of the highway, and shot into the Zazami tunnel. His patrol adjusted to his movements without needing to be told. They were all good warriors. They had followed him throughout the desert campaigns against the Skavengers. He was glad they were with him on this relatively easy duty, simply keeping the peace and enforcing the law in their own home sector.

A warning chime sounded within his helmet. The coordinates the dispatcher had given him were fast approaching. He was directly beneath a fly over. Massive stanchions held the roadway in place above his head. The rumble of traffic made the air vibrate. He began to decelerate keeping his eyes peeled for shadowy figures.

Mutants

The mutants were already running for the access tunnel that led back into the Kitsune sector and the Boar patrol leader was tempted just to let them go, until he noticed that several of them were turning to face him and unlimbering weapons no mutant should have. A few brandished forceblades, one or two even had blasters.

Ronin, he thought.

He ducked low in his seat as blaster bolts whizzed by his head and brought his bike round amid the mass of mutants. Reaching deep into his being, he touched Tau. As his bike slid to a halt, he jerked his forceblade free from its scabbard and vaulted over the handlebars straight into the fray. A wolf-man and a serpent mutant blocked his way. They brandished powerblades and a chain naginata. He raced past them, striking as he went.

A sweep of his blade parted a serpent head from scaly shoulders and separated a clawed hand from a furry arm. He landed on his feet directly in front of one of the forceblade-wielding mutants. Almost casually he deflected another blaster bolt, and gave his attention to the mutant leader.

"It is forbidden for you to bear such a weapon, mutant. The sentence is death."

The mutant looked at him. Half his face appeared to have melted. One of his eyes hung on a stalk. He reached inside his kimono and scratched his chest with clawed fingers. Kimoka almost gagged at the mass of festering sores in the mutant's flesh. The mutant stamped one of his hooves on the ground and spat.

"You are just like all Boars, all mouth. If you want this blade you will have to take it from me. I am samurai, just as you pretend to be."

A red haze descended on I Kimoka. He knew the mutant was taunting him, hoping to force him to lose his temper. He fought for control but it was difficult. He could almost taste the bloodlust rising within him. He forced himself to speak although his voice was almost strangled by his rage.

"No mutant has a right to that blade. It was one of the First Edicts. Only samurai may bear the weapons of samurai. You forfeited any right when you became tainted. If you had any honor you would have committed seppuku. Most likely you were never samurai anyway. Most likely you stole the weapon from a dead man's hand."

The Duel

Around them his patrol and the mutants had halted their fight to watch the battle. I Kimoka had the measure of his man now. He aimed at blow at the ronin's neck, then at the last second swept it down, drawing blood from the man's leg. If the mutant had been a fraction less swift, he would have lost the limb.

Slowly, step by step Kimoka forced his foe back to the place where they had first traded blows. There the mutant halted. They stood their ground, matching blow for blow and parry for parry, blades flickering faster than the eye could follow. The observers were silent, entranced by the combat, certain they were watching two masters at work.

Almost by mutual consent they sprang apart and stood looking at each other gasping. "I apologize," panted I Kimoka. "You were indeed once samurai."

He bowed his head slightly, never taking his eye off his foe. The mutant bowed back slowly and deeply, keeping his eyes on the ground. I Kimoka swept forward. His blade separated the mutant's head from his shoulders and sent it rolling free.

Seeing the death of their leader, the mutants threw down their weapons and turned and fled into the tunnel mouth. I Kimoka signaled for his men to let them go. He saw his samurai looking at him strangely. They were wondering at his stroke, taken when his foe was bowing, thinking that perhaps it had been dishonorable.

He smiled at them, wondering how long it would take for them to realize what he knew already, that the mutant had wanted to die. He had been too great a warrior to knowingly let his guard down. He had chosen a warrior's death and thus regained his honor.

"Burn his corpse as you would burn a samurai's," he said, and turned and walked away. Slowly, the meaning of what happened percolated into his retinue's minds and they began to beat their hands against their chest plates in samurai applause.