Refraction | Part 2 | Multiverse
6) The Ninja Gets a Gig Out West
The Ninja was a master at his craft. Like so many other masters of esoteric arts he lived a lifestyle of feast and famine. If his reputation had preceded him into a province or town, there was often work waiting for him. A cuckolded husband awaited him at the Inn, an angry business man approached him on the outskirts of a village, a scorned woman came to him in the night. The Ninja charged fairly for his work, often his fee was only enough for his sustenance. The Ninja was not controlled by greed, had no great material desires. He wished only to eat, to sleep, and to practice his art. He was in the habit of walking from one place to another, public transit being a hassle because of his weaponry. Although it was perfectly legal for him to travel with the tools of trade, (he had applied for, and was granted a license by the Imperium.), he felt naked without his gunny sack and swords.
The Ninja worked his way South, taking back roads, enjoying the slow shift of scenery as he made his pedestrian progress through the countryside. He would stop at shrines and pray for the soul of his Master, leaving a small offering to his memory. He made camp when and where he wished, sleeping beneath the stars, and staying for as long as it pleased him. He was feared and respected, the news of his imminent arrival was often followed by a mad dash of apologies, gifts, and amends made between quarrelling lovers, business partners, and feuding neighbors. So besides the sporadic, bloody violence, the Ninja lived a more or less idyllic life. And the violence bothered him not a whit, so for the Ninja things were just as they should be.
He had been on the road thusly for a little over two years, and his reputation as a freelance super-assassin had grown with his mounting death toll. He was approaching the edge of a great city, the capital of the nation, and home to the Emperor, when he found along his path a serious looking personage. The Man was short and stout, his bald head gleamed in the sunlight, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. He wore an Eastern style business suit, sitting next to him in the dust of the road’s shoulder was a black leather briefcase. He remained motionless as the Ninja neared him, his face passive, the man appeared to be studying traffic along the main road. From this distance it was a black ribbon cutting through the valley floor, vehicles making their way along it colored dots of varying shades and velocities. When the Ninja came abreast of the man, who had until then made absolutely no sign of noticing the Ninja’s presence, he suddenly spoke.
“Ho there, Sire Ninja,” he stated quietly, still watching the highway in the middle distance, “Would you honor me with a moment of your time and attention?”
The Ninja stopped his forward progress and turned to the small man, studied him. The man, although not of great stature, was powerfully built beneath his sedate costume, and The Ninja’s well trained eyes easily noted the pistol concealed beneath the suit jacket. It piqued his curiosity. He was in no hurry, as he was traveling with out a goal in mind on this day, so he decided to give this odd little person his say.
“Lord Business-Man, speak then, if you have words for me.”
“Please Sire Ninja, call me Dalton, as I am neither lord, nor entrepreneur.”
“Speak then, Dalton, and I am only the Ninja, nay Sire or Sir. What do you wish of me?” replied the Ninja, unruffled by the formality of the highly informal situation.
Dalton turned slightly and gestured to a footpath the led from the shoulder of the road into a copse of trees some fifty meters distant. A thin gray spire of smoke rose from the center of the stand, disappearing into the blue sky of midday.
“As you see fit.”, Said the Ninja.
Dalton picked up his briefcase and began walking up the path, puffs of dust rising from beneath his well polished shoes. The Ninja followed, stirring nothing, and leaving no footprints behind him. As they neared the grove the Ninja reached out with his senses, his hand loosening the strap of his weapons unconsciously. Traps had been laid for him before, and though this Dalton had shown no signs of tension, the Ninja lived in a state of readiness. He heard no gun cock, no sword unsheathe, his eyes spied no movement in the boughs of the trees save for that made by the wind. The two men made their way around a bend and through the tall trunks to a grassy clearing. In the center stood a small, simple cabin, the thread of smoke the Ninja had seen curling up out of the stone chimney. The entered the tiny building and found within a group of four well armed men sitting around a table and playing cards.
“Gentleman, if will you excuse us,” said Dalton, “I believe your services will not be required today. You make take the chopper back into the city at your leisure.”
The men, two of whom were showing obvious signs of relief, gathered themselves and their belongings, and headed out the door. They did not speak to or make eye contact with the Ninja, who simply watched them leave, bemused by the evolution of his day. After they had gone, Dalton moved to the table and began methodically cleaning its surface with his handkerchief.
“Mercenaries”, he stated flatly, “Men in the employ of my employer. I was to have them attack you, to prove your skills. But I have been preparing for this meeting for some time, and know quite well the extent of your abilities. I saw no reason to sacrifice their lives for evidence of something I already know. It means a bit more paperwork for me, but I have been recruiting longer than you have been breathing, Ninja. My superiors will come to understand in time.”
The Ninja said nothing, did nothing. Presently Dalton finished wiping down the table and pulled out one of the chairs, offering it to the Ninja. From the far side of the grove, the muffled sound of a rotor engine whirred into life, picked up speed, and dopplered away, leaving the two men alone with the sound of the fire and wind.
“Tea?”, Dalton asked.
“Please.” Replied the Ninja, taking the chair he had been offered. He sat with his back to the door, at an apparent disadvantage, but for the Ninja as safe as any chair in the world. Dalton seemed pleased with the Ninja’s choice, he allowed the smallest trace of smile to bend his lips, as he busied himself preparing the table and pouring the hot green liquor into the tiny ceramic cups. Finally he sat down across from the Ninja, appearing almost as a child at a tea party. He removed his dark glasses, placed them on the table and fixed his gaze on the Ninja.
“As I have already stated,” He began, “I am a recruiter. I work for the largest private provider of clandestine services on the planet. I have followed your career with great interest. I knew the man with whom you trained, we had to work together on a number of occasions in our youth. You have done honor to his teachings, your skills are formidable. I have at last been presented with a job to fill that I believe you would be well suited for.”
Here Dalton paused briefly, as if organizing his thoughts, planning the course of the rest of his speech.
“Tell me Ninja,”, he asked, “What do you know of the unrest in Collosalia?”
So began the conversation that ended with the Ninja working as a free lance consultant for Seeyiya Corporation, the largest private provider of clandestine services on the planet. His first assignment would be abroad, part of what intrigued the Ninja, as he had never left his homeland. He would be assigned as a Military Attache to the embattled ruler of Collosalia. The man had traveled overland to speak with heads of the company, and was expected to return to his home in a week. The Ninja would travel by train to Collosalia, disguised as a Business Man, and rendezvous with the King’s Advisor, a man called Mosiva. This man in turn would provide him with transportation to the Citadel, where he would await the arrival of the man for whom he would be working. None other than The King of the Realm His Majesty Charles Xavier IV himself.
It would be an interesting adventure at the least, thought the Ninja.
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