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Authors: A. E. McCullough
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“The main purpose of
binding her legs was to keep her body in a dignified pose despite the
convulsions of death. Seppuku was a key part of Bushido; the code of the
Samurai warriors. It was used by warriors to avoid falling into enemy hands or
to attenuate shame but was rarely used by women.”
“Why would Amy commit this jigai thing?”
“That is the question my dear Diana. To the best
of my knowledge, Amy had never studied Bushido or served in the military. She
was just a civilian, a nurse if memory serves. Go back through her files, tax
records, employee records, anything and everything. Dig into her past, see if
anything turns up.”
“I’m on it, catch you later.”
Stepping off the tram, Iaido moved along sidewalks
already crowded by New Atlanta’s commuters as they went about their lives.
Glancing at their faces, he could tell that most weren’t even aware of their
surroundings. They rushed to get to their destination, oblivious to the world
around them. To these people the war was only news that happened in a distant
region of space, it couldn’t possibly affect their lives. Occasionally, Iaido
would make eye contact with another veteran, though they were few and far
between. Both would acknowledge the other with a slight nod or a slim smile
before passing. These individuals always had the same haunted look and grim
expression but they were acutely aware of their surroundings. A trait one
learns in combat, if you aren’t aware of your surroundings you’re dead. Iaido
couldn’t help but think these few veterans were wolves in a world of sheep.
Reaching a large building in the center of town,
Iaido stepped inside and into a different world.
The serene environment of the dojo was like
stepping through a doorway in time. Nothing modern seemed to belong in this
sacred hall. The Sensei had designed and built this dojo as a refuge from the
modern world.
An oriental girl in her teens sat at the
receptionist desk only nodded to Iaido as he entered. The lobby only had three
doorways in it, the main door, the men and women’s locker rooms where all
guests must change clothes; nothing modern was allowed in the dojo proper.
Following the protocols of the dojo, Iaido changed into his keikogi before
moving further inside. He left his weapons, clothing and body armor in his
locker without fear of anyone stealing anything. A dojo is a training hall for
warriors; self-discipline, respect and honor were cornerstones of that
training. Thievery was not tolerated. With a year long waiting list to train in
this dojo, few would jeopardize their status for minor theft.
Even though it was early, shortly after nine in
the morning, a beginner’s class was already in session. It was a class of
kids, guessing their ages to be from six to twelve Iaido paused to watch them
for several minutes. He never tired of watching this age group train. Maybe it
was his inability to have kids or the fact that he never had a childhood that
this junior class always fascinated him.
“Iaido-san,” said a small voice to his left.
Iaido smiled when he saw Sensei’s youngest son
standing next to him.
“Sam, you are getting sneakier, only a mouse would
be quieter than you.”
“Shaji Iaido-san,” Sam smiled at the complement
and bowed slightly. “Sensei is waiting for you in the shrine.”
Returning the bow, Iaido moved further into the
vast building.
He knew that the building was an old four story
‘brownstone’ near the center of New Atlanta. It had been given to the Sensei
for payment for his work on the SPARTAN project. He had converted the lowest
floor into a dojo. On the second floor were dormitories for visiting students,
the third and fourth floor were considered private; only special students and
family were allowed access. It was these two levels which housed the Sensei’s
quarters, an extensive library and the most elaborate Japanese garden since the
destruction of Tokyo. And lastly, there was a Shinto shrine.
A
binding her legs was to keep her body in a dignified pose despite the
convulsions of death. Seppuku was a key part of Bushido; the code of the
Samurai warriors. It was used by warriors to avoid falling into enemy hands or
to attenuate shame but was rarely used by women.”
“Why would Amy commit this jigai thing?”
“That is the question my dear Diana. To the best
of my knowledge, Amy had never studied Bushido or served in the military. She
was just a civilian, a nurse if memory serves. Go back through her files, tax
records, employee records, anything and everything. Dig into her past, see if
anything turns up.”
“I’m on it, catch you later.”
Stepping off the tram, Iaido moved along sidewalks
already crowded by New Atlanta’s commuters as they went about their lives.
Glancing at their faces, he could tell that most weren’t even aware of their
surroundings. They rushed to get to their destination, oblivious to the world
around them. To these people the war was only news that happened in a distant
region of space, it couldn’t possibly affect their lives. Occasionally, Iaido
would make eye contact with another veteran, though they were few and far
between. Both would acknowledge the other with a slight nod or a slim smile
before passing. These individuals always had the same haunted look and grim
expression but they were acutely aware of their surroundings. A trait one
learns in combat, if you aren’t aware of your surroundings you’re dead. Iaido
couldn’t help but think these few veterans were wolves in a world of sheep.
Reaching a large building in the center of town,
Iaido stepped inside and into a different world.
The serene environment of the dojo was like
stepping through a doorway in time. Nothing modern seemed to belong in this
sacred hall. The Sensei had designed and built this dojo as a refuge from the
modern world.
An oriental girl in her teens sat at the
receptionist desk only nodded to Iaido as he entered. The lobby only had three
doorways in it, the main door, the men and women’s locker rooms where all
guests must change clothes; nothing modern was allowed in the dojo proper.
Following the protocols of the dojo, Iaido changed into his keikogi before
moving further inside. He left his weapons, clothing and body armor in his
locker without fear of anyone stealing anything. A dojo is a training hall for
warriors; self-discipline, respect and honor were cornerstones of that
training. Thievery was not tolerated. With a year long waiting list to train in
this dojo, few would jeopardize their status for minor theft.
Even though it was early, shortly after nine in
the morning, a beginner’s class was already in session. It was a class of
kids, guessing their ages to be from six to twelve Iaido paused to watch them
for several minutes. He never tired of watching this age group train. Maybe it
was his inability to have kids or the fact that he never had a childhood that
this junior class always fascinated him.
“Iaido-san,” said a small voice to his left.
Iaido smiled when he saw Sensei’s youngest son
standing next to him.
“Sam, you are getting sneakier, only a mouse would
be quieter than you.”
“Shaji Iaido-san,” Sam smiled at the complement
and bowed slightly. “Sensei is waiting for you in the shrine.”
Returning the bow, Iaido moved further into the
vast building.
He knew that the building was an old four story
‘brownstone’ near the center of New Atlanta. It had been given to the Sensei
for payment for his work on the SPARTAN project. He had converted the lowest
floor into a dojo. On the second floor were dormitories for visiting students,
the third and fourth floor were considered private; only special students and
family were allowed access. It was these two levels which housed the Sensei’s
quarters, an extensive library and the most elaborate Japanese garden since the
destruction of Tokyo. And lastly, there was a Shinto shrine.
A
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