“Walker,” a woman in a white dress began to inquire, “who is this Ranma Saotome?”
A man in a formal three piece suite, apparently Walker, responded, “I suppose you could call him an old colleague. Remember the end of the wars, Church?”
“How could I forget? We lost a lot of people those last few days. Killed at least as many. I don’t like to think of it much.”
“Neither do I, but there are some things that are worth mentioning again. Ranma’s one of them.”
“What did he do?”
“He wanted out.” Walker was staring out a massive window into the city known as Central. The cityscape was massive, looking like New York at its height from a ground level office. It should be worth noting that the office Walker and Church were in was at least a thousand stories up.
“What do you mean? The fighting was done. He wouldn’t have to kill anymore.” Church seemed curious and desperate for answers.
“That’s just it. He hadn’t killed during the wars. Saotome was a hand to hand specialist. Not just a specialist but an elite. He fought his opponents at close quarters, always disarmed or disabled his opponents with non-lethal attacks and came out without a scratch. He had been born a fighter, raised a fighter, trained a fighter. Battle was his element, it was his home.” Walker continued to stare out the window, a stony expression etched on his face.
Church looked out the window with him, seeking a comfort from the massive, peaceful city she had helped build. After a few seconds of silence she continued the conversation. “How could we help someone like that?”
“That’s just it, Church, he didn’t want help. He wanted to continue with his legacy.”
“What?” Church seemed to scoff, “Fighting for the sake of fighting? Some kind of overly patriarchal ‘I can beat you up so I’m better than you’ mentality? A quasi-bloodlust?”
“Exactly.” Walker looked away and headed for the massive desk with the computer terminals that they had been watching the progress of Antaeus, the adaptive cruiser, on. He navigated some old personnel files and brought one up. “Saotome has thrived in combat heavy environments since shortly after he was a toddler. He has fought the world’s best and oddest since he was a teenager. He is probably the single most proficient combatant on a battle field on the planet. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had jumped out of one of those bombers that was attacking the cruiser at the wet dock.”
“That’s 70 metres!” Church gasped.
“And he can do that with the same effort you or I use to jump off a table to the floor. The only reason we haven’t lost our captain seems to be familiarity.”
“What do you mean?”
“Captain Tendo’s sister was engaged to Ranma Saotome.”
“You mean…”
“Yes Church, and the only reason he stopped is because he knew captain Tendo, allowing her to get that one shot off on him. We’re just lucky he wasn’t wearing protective armour.”
“Why the bitterness, though? I could understand disappointment, but he would still be able to find places where martial skill are prized. We haven’t eliminated all the fighting arenas.”
“That’s because someone fucked up when the fighting was done. I was leading the soldier team sent with him on his last mission, Church. A group of fanatics that had held up within an underground bunker, the same mission that Captain Tendo’s Mr Ransom went down. Ranma was at the front of the insertion team. I was in command. After the fighting, orders came in from above. They were, simply to place special operative Saotome under arrest for the betterment of the new civilization’s government unless he swore to never lift a fist against another person in violence again for any reason.”
“That’s it? Swear to it?”
“Saotome’s psych evaluation…” Walker brought up the file in question, “showed that he held his honour as the word of God. What he swore on was set in stone in his mind. He had been pushed around for years by those who knew this and were willing to take advantage of it.”
“Like who?”
“Our captain for one. Well, Saotome didn’t take it well. He trembled for a moment, my men had assumed it was in fear from being held at gunpoint by eight different people. So did I, in fact. Then he simply said ‘Hell no’ and proceeded to knock each one of us out. I was disabled first, but knocked out last. I remember having to wipe his spit off my face after I came to.”
“And he just walked away?”
“He slipped away. It was assumed he perished on that island as nothing was left behind for a man to survive on. We never found him.”
Church seemed apprehensive. “So what now? We have a potential asset and potential liability. He has the skill and a grudge and now a motive for revenge against his old employers. Whose side is he on?”
“His own, Church. It’s just that right now, we’re fighting for the same thing. To see that these bastards never hurt anyone again.”
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(Posted Thu, 18 Mar 2010 05:13)
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