Friend and Ally (The Saga of Nichole 5, Part One)

By Clayton Barnett

Model 5 is a prototype designed to fit seamlessly into human society. A meeting in Tokyo derails Nichole's planned training as she is dispatched to Portland, former Oregon; the last working deep water port on the West Coast of the imploding US.

There, under her cover as a Graduate Engineering Student, she is to do her utmost to nurture the people and politics of the City-State into a Friend and Ally of the Japanese Empire. But from her first day in her new home, all of Nichole's plans go awry.

Beset by those who want this small lamp of Western Civilization snuffed out, Nichole must find within herself the courage and ability to protect her new friends, at whatever personal consequence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clayton Barnett
• Release date: Dec 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463037355

Book preview

Prologue

eighteen months ago

Hakane took another drag off his cigarette in Somi Corporation’s breakroom, laughing at his colleague’s comment. It wasn’t so much their company discouraged smoking as that they wished to make sure their products were not contaminated. Given the delicacy of some of the prototypes, all respected this rule.

Can you believe it, Atazaki? he asked, flourishing his newspaper. The US economy imploding like this? I’m an engineer, not at economist, but how in the world…

Call it belief; call it faith. Lose it, and your world ends, his friend replied, looking at a domestic part of his own newspaper.

What’s that? What Hakane knew of politics could fit into a sake cup.

Since the war, for a Japanese, that meant only one thing, the world economy had the US dollar as its reserve currency, backed, not by gold or silver, but by the faith – mind you – that the US will always be there!

Atazaki glanced at the clock over the inner door and decided one more cigarette was in order.

So now we find, he said, pointing at Hakane’s paper with his lighter, that as the American President is being removed via extra-Constitutional means, the Russians, Chinese, and Indians are rolling out a new currency… what’s it called?

The ria, Hakane managed.

Whatever. Backed by the gold they’ve been buying up for a generation, and indexed to oil. At that point, US dollars became valueless.

Hakane was still confused. But why…

Why is there rioting in the US? And getting worse so fast? Atazaki blew a blue-grey cloud toward the ceiling’s scrubbers.

It’s a replay of what almost happened back in oh-eight: credit dries up, the velocity of money drops to zero.

Atazaki realized his friend didn’t get a single word. He tried again.

Credit cards stop working; all the zeros and ones in banks are gone, and, for the Americans, he took another drag, their food- welfare cards, whatever they’re called, stopped working.

He exhaled again and sat back.

All cities in the US are starving right now. And there is nothing… nothing at all, to stop it.

Atazaki took another drag while looking out the window at bustling Osaka.

They’re done for. Quieter. God help us; we’re all alone.

The silence was deafening. Hakane tried reading what was in front of his eyes. About their so-called new Empress.

May… maybe not! He tried. There is her, after all! His friend took his eyes from the window to the paper.

Our new Empress? He watched him shake his head. If she survives the year she might just change Japan!

Yeah, I agree, Atazaki! Hakane replied. Using the Social Democrats against the Liberal Democrats to gain the final vote for her claim to the throne does seem insane! They’ve wanted to ditch the monarchy since the war!

He took another long pull on his smoke before stubbing it out. Still, he reflected, "makes you wonder just what kind of

long game she might be playing…"

Uh. His coworker Atazaki grunted in a noncommittal tone, flipping a page in his newspaper. And what the hell with her taking that name as Empress?

Long known as Princess Tenshi and expected, by tradition, to be passed over in the succession in favor of her male cousin, her unexpected power play was an on-going domestic and international item. With her position now ratified by the Diet, she announced she would rule under the name ‘Togame.’ It had sent the entire country scurrying for their dictionaries.

Hakane looked up as the outer breakroom door opened. Seeing his boss about to open the inner, he stood. She waved him back down as she drew a pack of from her inner coat pocket.

Tomoe-san, he said carefully. How unusual for you to take a break! We all appreciate your hard work!

Those in the room under her remained frozen. Those who were not still took care: it wasn’t so much Tomoe was going up the ladder – fast – but one mis-answered question would have a career in flames.

She moved to the picture window that looked down onto the rest of Osaka from their sixteenth floor, inexpertly lighting her cigarette. She coughed a little with her exhale.

Is there anything of concern, Tomoe-san…? Hakane ventured, prodded by the stares of fear from his coworkers.

Model Five is learning too fast, she spat in consternation to the window. Not only against our algorithms, but ever the other units, four-point-five-two and four-point-oh, are surprised at five’s capacity to…

She trailed off, coughing a little more.

To act like us. She stubbed her barely used smoke out against the window and tossed the butt aside, turning around as she did.

Where in the hell did this come from?! she demanded of the room.

Hakane stood again. Having grown up poor, he had no fear of being poor again.

I think I know who can best address that, he said, moving to open the inner breakroom door, waiting for his superior.

And who in this geek-laden company would that be?! she demanded as she drew next to him.

Why, Nichole Five herself.

Just in the doorway, Tomoe’s head snapped right to glare at him and his use of her name.

It’s just a clever toaster, Hakane.

He recalled harvesting apples as a child in Hokkaido. With no shoes or socks.

She’s a clever young woman, Tomoe-san.

She narrowed her eyes but passed on without a word. A few minutes later saw them to what most called ‘their rec room.’ Tomoe’s followers called it ‘the holding pen.’

Behind the glass wall, Hakane saw Shiro and Shinji pouring over old print books, a dozen on either side of them. Kazuya was close to completing his notations on a third whiteboard about quantum computing. At their right, Hajime seemed focused on her next oil painting. In the middle of the room…

Take that! Nichole yelled, swatting the little ball with a leap.

Caroline made a tiny motion with her left. The ping pong ball blurred back.

Nichole spun in place and backhanded it without looking. Caroline returned that, too.

I have told Nichole Five that given her older sister’s unique eyes, she will never defeat her, Hakane said with a smile. Yet she still tries!

I understand why four-point-five-two was given microwave radar in place of standard optics, Tomoe said, but why waste time on ping pong?

Hakane resisted the urge to shout.

Because they are family; because they are friends. What you call ‘wasting time’ is for them an act of love.

He heard her teeth grind.

Toasters don’t love! She tapped at the door’s keypad. Come with me!

Distracted – how can it be distracted from its duty! Tomoe raged – Nichole looked up to see who came in. The ball sailed past her.

I win. I always win. Caroline 4.52 spoke in a hollow voice.

She tossed her paddle onto the table and stood motionless.

Ha-kun! Nichole cried, happy to see her friend. And Tomoe-sensei, too!

She grinned so much her eyes were pressed closed; she waved the little distance between her and the security door.

I am so happy to see you! Please make me older!

Part I

The Ship

Chapter 1

The young woman stood at the rail, just a few yards away from the gangway, looking out toward the city. The sky was a pleasant mix of clouds and sun for mid-June; the wind blew at what few strands of strawberry-blonde hair escaped her ponytail. She smiled to herself.

The city of Portland. The largest city in the State of Oregon. One of the best deep-water harbors on the west coast of the United States. Not that there really was a United States. Or State of Oregon. Her smile fled.

Nonetheless, this was her new home.

She easily picked up her travel bag, looping it over her left shoulder. Her smaller bag she held in her left hand. She turned toward the gangway. There, the midshipman saluted her with a polite smile, which she returned. Sasaki had been so helpful toward her on their voyage over!

He said quietly. She bowed to him.

Walking down the gangway toward the quay on the west side of the Willamette River, she could not help but notice some of the looks she got from the natives. A civilian? A girl? And at the very least Celtic, if not Irish, from her looks! What was she doing on…?

Stepping onto the quay, she turned and bowed low toward the vessel that had been her home for these past days, Her Imperial Warship Guided Missile Destroyer Kongo, safe at harbor between the Steel and Burnside Bridges, in the heart of the city; the only functioning port between Vancouver in Canada and Manzanillo in Mexico. A message, she thought. Of hope.

She turned, ignoring the staring, and set off at a brisk walk in the direction of the Customs and Immigration office. As all sailors with leave had been through some hours before, there was no wait time. The clerk behind the counter could not have been much older than she appeared; perhaps in his mid-twenties? she wondered. She smiled as she’d been told to do by her family. Happy to be at the center of attention of such a pretty young woman, the clerk sat up straighter and adjusted his necktie.

Afternoon, Miss! How can I help you? He asked cheerily.

She handed him both her passport and her special visa. You…you’re… After studying them, he looked up at her.

You’re a Japanese citizen?

Subject. She gently corrected him. I am a subject of Her Imperial Majesty.

Oh, sure. Of course, of course. He began to stamp things, pausing to regard her visa. And you are here to study?

Yes, she replied. I shall be attending Portland State University.

He brightened at that, exclaiming, My aunt is a professor there! What are you studying?! then stammered, Er, that is, if you don’t mind me asking…?

She shook her head with a smile.

Not at all! I’m in the College of Engineering and Computer Science. Where does your aunt teach?

Now he was grinning. In the same College! In Computers, I think! This is so great!

They stared at one another for a moment. She glanced at her papers before him.

May I go?

Taken aback by his own unprofessional behavior, he tried to compose himself as best he could.

Of course! He was sweating now. I’m so sorry, Miss… He glanced at her visa as he stamped it.

…Miss Clarke. An Occidental surname? he wondered.

He handed her things back to her.

Please, she said, lightly touching his hand with hers, call me Nichole. What’s your aunt’s name? I look forward to meeting her.

It’s Vikki Bishop, he replied. Uh… would you like me to arrange a ride for you…?

Not at all, but thank you! It’s not that far, and walking is the best way to learn about a new town. She glanced at his nameplate. Thank you for your help, Mister Beauchamp. She nodded and made to go.

Half standing, the clerk replied, "Please! Call me John!

Miss…erm, Nichole!"

She glanced over her shoulder. Her emerald eyes almost seemed to flash at him.

Thank you, John!

He sank back into his chair and was still for a few moments.

If the phones are working, I am so calling my aunt tonight! He thought. And I think I’m gonna start hanging around the PSU scene…!

As Nichole ambled southwest through the city toward the campus, she took in her surroundings. The buildings here in the heart of the city were in surprisingly good shape. Like every other city in America, Portland had lost a huge swath of its population when the US economy ground to a halt overnight. However, their just-elected mayor, Lee Sanchez Johnson, had turned out to be just clever and unscrupulous enough to not let his town fall into barbarism.

She paused at a street corner to let a slew of bicycles and a few horse-drawn carts go by. Nichole had read before she’d left Japan that what little gasoline and diesel that was distilled in the city went south under guard to the farmers and ranchers of the Willamette Valley to keep them in operation and the city survivors fed. And those survivors bent to keep the great deepwater port open: for the trade goods that went down the Columbia River and to keep the hydroelectric dams running and the electric power flowing.

Just then there was a flickering. Lightning? No: as a slow dusk fell, a tall, black lamppost at the edge of the university flickered to life. Nichole looked up and smiled. For her, this was not just light, but life. Considering the time, she realized there was little left; the school’s employees would be going home soon. She picked up her pace, passing against the thin stream of students and faculty already headed the other direction, toward what she’d memorized as the Student Union and Administration building.

The security guard told her that the elevators didn’t work; since she needs to see someone on the fourth floor, would she like him to watch her luggage? She shook her head with a small smile. Up the stairs she went. Coming out of the stairwell, she almost bumped into a woman in her late fifties, who was about to leave.

Excuse me! Nichole said with a little bow. I’m here to meet with Mrs. Patricia Franks. Could you tell me where her office is?

The woman sighed, obviously put out that her departure was to be delayed.

Sure. Follow me.

She led them down a hallway to their right. Along the ceiling, about every fourth light was on. Spare parts must be a problem, Nichole thought. The older woman took a key from her pocket and unlocked a door, swinging it open.

Er…. Nichole started. There’s no one here.

The woman moved around the desk and flicked on a small lamp. She sat down.

I’m Patricia Franks. How can I help you?

Nichole gasped and dropped her bags, bowing very low.

I’m so sorry! Please, return to your home! I can sleep outside tonight! I didn’t mean to keep you…!

Mrs. Franks slapped the top of her desk.

Stop talking nonsense! She said curtly. We are not hanging onto civilization just to have girls sleep outside! Now, judging by your behavior, you must be Miss Clarke, from Japan. She stared at Nichole as she continued.

We were expecting you yesterday, but the Pacific is a big ocean, isn’t it? She smiled just a little. Please sit down.

Nichole did as she was bidden.

We had a slight delay, she acknowledged. The ship’s Captain encountered some pirates off of Kamchatka and wanted them suppressed.

Such things happen in this world we find ourselves, Mrs. Franks said softly. The older woman pulled a moderately thick file out of her desk and flipped through it, squinting in the fading light. She passed Nichole a small manila envelope.

That’s your key and map to your dorm room. She seemed to smile grimly at something. Before the Breakup, no one wanted to live on campus; now it’s a matter of survival. Ah. And here: this is your temporary campus pass. We’ll get you one with a photograph in a few days. I impress upon you… her eyes narrowed, if you are on campus without a pass, at best you’ll be forcibly escorted off. At worst – if it’s night – shot. She hit the top of her desk again. These are… odd times we find ourselves in. Do you understand me perfectly, Miss Clarke?

Yes. Thank you.

Mrs. Franks looked once more into the file, but shook her head.

I recall that you’re for the Engineering and Computers College, just not the details. She looked out at the lengthening darkness. Let’s have you here at nine tomorrow morning? Good. She stood. Nichole did as well, retrieving her bags and moving into the hallway. The woman locked her office and they made their way down the stairs and outside. Nichole looked around at the lights ablaze about the campus. Franks followed her look.

Safer to keep these lights on than the offices’. She leaned over and took the temporary campus badge, clipping it to Nichole’s collar.

Your dorm is just over there, she indicated, pointing north. She finally smiled, just a little. You go rest. And welcome to Portland.

Thank you so much! Another small bow and Nichole set off determinedly toward her new home.

The sun was now well below the West Hills and the sky was a complex palette of red to pink to purple. That was something new for her. She slowed her brisk walk and stared upward, ranging her head from west to east. In the periphery of her vision, more lights came on. Insects began to circle in about them. What was purple was now black and moving west.

Narrowing her eyes, she sang clearly: "Night… Feel…

No one else; my world…>"

She allowed her voice to trail off. It was best she get to her dorm.

*clap!*

The sharp sound echoed around the school’s buildings. Startled that she’d let someone get so close to her without her knowing, she turned in the direction of the sound. The single clap was joined by more. Two young men stepped out of the shadows just ahead of her.

Students? She focused and first saw, then read the badges they’d clipped to their navy athletic shorts. She relaxed. Slightly. The one on her right stopped his applause and smiled at her.

That was absolutely beautiful! Even if I didn’t understand a damned thing past ‘Night’!

He was a few inches taller than Nichole; maybe five ten? she wondered. But so powerfully muscled and broad under his gray tee shirt that it made him appear shorter. His hair color was difficult to tell in the twilight, but it was light – oh, as he came forward under a lamppost, she saw it was an oddly faded brown. He smiled more broadly. His left hand held a sports bag of some sort over his shoulder. He extended his right.

Hope we didn’t scare you too bad! He laughed. Kinda rare to see girls out after dark! I’m Joe Kreeft, by the way!

She took his hand and gave a small shake with a tiny bow. You make me older. Thank you! She replied. "My name is

Nichole Clarke."

Letting go, her hand hung slightly in the air as she looked toward the other. Joe punched his shoulder.

Dude! Manners!

The other came forward a step. He was taller than Joe, and thinner, but wiry in his own right. He set down his bag and held out his hand.

Gil. Gil Haven. He said quietly, taking her hand firmly.

At least seven inches taller than me, she thought. She could not tell where his black hair ended and the night sky began. He released her hand and stepped back lithely; cat-like. Nichole had an odd feeling. Something she’d never felt before. It scared her a little.

My pleasure, she murmured.

Hey! Joe almost yelled. We’re headed home after swim practice. Which dorm you in? We can see you to it!

Um. She looked at the small envelope. I’m in the Stratford, it seems.

’It seems…? Joe’s face fell in puzzlement. You’re new here, Gil said directly. She nodded.

That’s right! It’s so interesting to meet new people! She said brightly.

Oh, Joe said, recovering. I’m at the Stratford, too! Mr. ‘lone-wolf’ there actually lives just off campus. How’s about we head off… Nichole, was it?

Thank you for your escort. She nodded toward Gil. A pleasure meeting you!

She and Joe had just taken a few steps when Gil called after them.

That was Japanese – that song you were singing. Right? She stopped and turned a bit.

Yes, it was. She smiled hopefully. Anatawa Nihongo ga wakarimasu ka?

He guessed at what she was asking.

Nope. He smiled for the first time. But you have a lovely voice. See you! He walked off into the twilight.

She continued on with Joe. Passing under another light, she saw him looking at her.

Yes?

Oh, nothing! He laughed. Gil’s only half-right! Not only a voice, but you’re a looker, too!

Nichole stared ahead. She couldn’t blush, but she knew this would definitely be a time to do so.

That voice; those looks! Joe continued loudly. You’d make a great model!

I am. Number Five. She said absently. Joe hesitated half a step.

What was that?

Oops.

Nothing! She gave what she hoped was her cutest smile. Oh.

Silent for the few minutes of their walk, they drew up to the Stratford Building.

It’s guys on the first couple of floors, girls on up, Joe said, pointing as he spoke. Safer that way!

Nichole nodded. What she had read at home was correct: ‘political correctness’ had died with mass famines of the Breakup. They walked through the entryway. Another young man – with a rifle behind his chair – sat at a desk just inside.

’Sup, Joe? Who’s this? Your girl of the month?

Joe knew not to argue with the armed, but Nichole was amazed to see him seem to swell even larger in suppressed fury.

Shut your f – face, Bill! He tossed his head in her direction. She’s a new tenant.

Nichole placed her two bags down and handed her envelope to the man called Bill. He looked quickly at the paper inside and nodded.

Floor four, room eight. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to smile. Welcome to your new home, Miss.

I’ll help you with your bag! Joe called. Wait! That’s…!

Off balance, he pulled up on the strap. She heard something… odd… from his shoulder.

Ack! He cried.

Are you all right?! Nichole stepped to him and pressed her hands into his left shoulder from both front and back. Ah. Nothing broken.

What the hell is in this thing, rocks?! He demanded. Noticing her touch, he stopped. He looked down just as she looked up. Before, in the dark, he’d not seen the little splay of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

You… He breathed.

You’ll be fine! She said calmly, easily shouldering her main bag and picking up her other. See you later!

Joe watched as she made for the stairs. It wasn’t until Bill cleared his throat that he collected himself enough to make for his own room.

‘Lightly furnished’ is more like ‘barely furnished, she thought as she moved about her little room. The small bathroom had a door, but the rest was an efficiency kitchen and a table with two chairs that opened into where the twin bed sat. Ah, well. A place is only a place: it’s people that make the difference. She parked her large bag in a corner and set her smaller one on the table. Opening it, she took out the cord. There, by the stove, was a plug for one end. She draped the other end over the back of one of the chairs.

I hope I can do my best! She said softly to the dark.

She unbuttoned and removed her mauve blouse. Then removed the lime sleeveless undershirt below. For just a moment, her right hand reached across her chest to let her fingers just touch the tattoo on her upper left arm. She shook her head.

She arched her left arm behind her head. Inches below her neck, her fingers pulled the skin apart. With her right, she plugged the other end of the cord into herself. Her emerald eyes flared slightly at the power input. It has been a big day. Time to rest.

Chapter 2

Even with her eyes shut, she could perceive the faint brightening of the sky. Outside, she heard the quiet patter of a light rain. Over that, some carts in the distance. Closer in, she took in the sounds within the dorm itself: doors being opened and shut, water running through pipes, the creak of stairs. She had always enjoyed mornings: the world around her coming back to life.

Her eyes opened. Best I get ready, too! she said aloud.

In reverse of last night, she removed the plug from her upper back and smoothed her skin across the port. Moving to her larger bag, she took out what few changes of clothes she had and laid them on the twin bed. The rain seemed to be stopping – but in Portland, one could never be sure – so perhaps her tawny skirt with a white blouse and a brown sweater-vest? She removed her slacks from yesterday and reached for today’s outfit. She was just leaving when, on impulse, she grabbed a forest green silk scarf. That lightly tied around her neck, she attached her badge just below it and walked to her door.

As Nichole stepped into the hallway, the door directly opposite her opened. A girl with straight black hair, black glasses, and a long dark gray dress looked up, startled to see someone else.

Good morning! Nichole cried cheerfully.

The girl clutched her books across her chest and fled toward the stairs, mumbling something inaudible even for Nichole.

Nice to meet you… Nichole said softly to the now-empty hall.

Passing through the lobby, there was another young man behind the desk. The rifle hadn’t moved. He nodded to her, his eyes flicking from her face to her badge.

Morning, he said reservedly.

Good morning!

Walking back toward the Administration building, the clouds were breaking up. The other students out that morning seemed an even mix of males and females. And about one in three had side arms. That had certainly not been in what research she’d read at home. Under pressure of the Breakup, the culture here must be evolving at a furious rate. How interesting!

Two minutes before nine, Nichole tapped on Patricia Franks’s open door. Franks was surrounded by files, her head just visible above them. She glanced up over the rims of her reading glasses.

Come in, come in. Her eyes returned to the file before her. "Be with you in just