CHAPTER ONE
Nine men with a wide variety of complicated firearms encircled one red-haired woman, leering.
"What's your name, Tastycakes?" said one, using the barrel of his rifle to prod her breasts.
"Well, it's certainly not that," she retorted with a moue of disgust, taking the barrel in two fingers and pushing it away from her person. "And where I come from, it's rude to poke strangers, especially with weapons."
"Yeah? Well, you're here now, and here the person holding the weapon gets to make the rules," a tall man with a large nose sneered, stepping toward her and sliding the shorter, thicker double-barrel of his gun up the inside of her thigh.
"I see," the redhead replied, looking almost bored as she flicked his weapon away in turn. "But there are nine of you holding weapons, so why should you get to speak for the rest of the group?"
"Look, Miss Manners, you're not here to give us an etiquette lesson. You don’t seem to understand your situation," another man of average height and build snapped, wanting but not quite daring to slap that haughty look off her face.
She tilted her head, turning her gaze toward him. Her eyes were icy deep blue with silvery starbursts around the pupils. "On the contrary," she replied, the round pupils suddenly slitting like a snake's, the silver igniting and burning down to a deep crimson. "Your egregious lack of manners is precisely why I am here."
One of the men behind her lunged to grab her. She sidestepped, then planted her foot on the small of his back and shoved him at two of the others. She reached for one on her left and pulled him toward her by his hair, keeping him off balance as she kicked his wrist to make him release his weapon, then yanked his head back and bared her teeth like a lioness just above his exposed throat. Her fangs had lengthened to lethal points.
She snarled at them all like a rabid tiger, and they stopped short in various stages of attack, going pale in the face of her unexpected Fury. Weapons dropped from nerveless fingers, unheeded.
"The next one who moves without my permission will be fileted into steaks and served rare for my supper," she growled, her voice low but inhuman, reverberating like a bass drum. A damp patch spread on the crotch of the unfortunate man whose hair she still held in her grip. She threw him to the floor, curling her lip in contempt.
"Look at me," she commanded. As each one met her terrifying gaze, unable to resist her command, his eyes went blank and filled with the same pulsing red in the starbursts of hers.
There was a fraught silence, the nine men gradually beginning to cry, shiver, or drool as she held them ensnared by her spell. As the moments ticked by, terrified passengers aboard the hijacked airship began to peek up and around toward the hatch through which the redhead had arrived, uncertain what was happening. They could not see her in the midst of the hijackers, who remained unnaturally still and quiet.
***
Earlier That Day:
When Thalia Cairde boarded the spaceship that took her through the Eridanus Supervoid into a parallel universe, she had not expected to land in the midst of a hostage situation that would immediately require her resolution.
“Isn't slipping between universes and leaping across dimensions enough excitement?” she grumbled to herself as she walked up the enclosed gangplank toward the hijacked passenger airship. Still, here she was, with the fate of two hundred passengers plus the airship's crew firmly in her hands. She squared her shoulders, determined that her first act in this new world she was adopting would be worthy of celebration. No innocent lives would be lost; she was committed to that.
It was all because of the child, she told herself. She could never resist a little kid. She thought back over the moments since she had landed and walked into the new world in which she was planning to build a life:
She had arrived in the Space Station dizzy, tired, and nauseated. It was no easy feat making the dimensional jump; this had damned well better be worthwhile, she grouched to herself.
She stood on the Observation Deck between the ship that had carried her and the main terminal of the Station while she awaited clearance to enter, looking out over the landscape. Ten thousand points of light glinted up at her as if standing at attention from the city stretched out below, reflecting from glass and highly polished metallic surfaces on buildings that formed an orderly pattern of streets and buildings all the way to the docks extending wooden fingers into the bay toward the East, interrupted in the Southwest by the green, irregular border of a forest.
Closer to where she stood, the gridlike pattern slipped into a series of concentric circles to allow for the docking of airships, both passenger and commercial, the smallest local ones furthest outside.
Spaceships filled the berths nearby, stunning in their alien designs and materials, though one or two besides her own were of familiar origin, from her home dimension.
Travel between these two universes had been facilitated by the discovery of the Eridanus Supervoid, which at first had been taken to be merely a large cold spot in space; later it was found to be a sort of wormhole, a portal to alternate dimensions, where pioneers made contact with the residents of other universes' versions of Earth. They were now in the second generation of interdimensional travel, and it had become commonplace for several realms to exchange not only ideas, messages, and appropriate technology, but also citizens. Thalia had become one of these, exchanging her home-world for the other, so like and yet unlike her native planet.
The scents of fuel, oil, and combustion rose in waves on agitated air. Underneath those familiar odors, she noted subtle differences in the way the air smelled here. Nothing tangible or uncomfortable, just enough to remind her she was in an entirely different place.
But this would be her home, and it waited for her in all its complexity and promise. When at last she was informed she could enter Edo officially, she smiled, lifted her chin, and stepped forward to embrace her new world.
Once inside, she took off her scarf and shook out her mop of waist-length red hair, much of which stood out wildly as if indignant over its long confinement. Thalia winced at her reflection in a window, then sought the Ladies’ room, where she could do basic damage repair before striding into the light of day; she could hardly comprehend that this was indeed her new home, alien in every possible way from what she had known all her life up until now. The universes were parallel, but still differed in myriad ways - some significant, most not. She felt a sudden, not unexpected stab of homesickness and repressed it.
The way to the ladies’ room was blocked; she could see the sign, but between it and herself stood a mob of perturbed people whispering amongst themselves. Most were natives of Edo, she guessed, although there was a significant ratio of other species sprinkled into the mix. She sighed, looking down at her enormous purple suitcase. Was it really worth it, she wondered? Lugging all this incredibly heavy crap around?
She decided it was not worthwhile to lug it to the bathroom through this crowd with her, anyway. If someone stole the thing while she was brushing her hair, then more power to them. They'd better hope she never caught them, but if they were willing to take that risk, so was she. She stuffed it halfway under a chair and headed for the ladies’ room, which had begun to attain the idyllic properties of an oasis in her weary mind.
As soon as people noticed her, they started to stare. She blushed, but couldn’t blame them. She looked human enough with her hair covering her pointed ears, but she was, nonetheless, unwillingly conspicuous; apparently this still held true in alien-occupied Edo, though she had hoped the variety of species would make her blend in more. It was a slow-paced obstacle course to the ladies’ room, but she eventually arrived intact.
Once her ablutions were complete, she gave her hair one more look of disappointment in the mirrors above the sink and went back in the direction of her obnoxiously large suitcase. She smiled politely as she murmured ‘Excuse me,’ at least 60 times in as many seconds, but was interrupted by someone who seemed to think he recognized her.
“You can help us, Bloodfire!” he exclaimed, attaching himself to her cloak. She stopped, confused.
“You’ve mistaken me for someone else,” she assured him. This inexplicably encouraged others to take up his cry.
“Help us!” they exclaimed. Thalia wondered what the hell she was supposed to help with, and how; she grew increasingly irritable until she noticed a little girl, perhaps three years old, tugging on her cloak, then on her fingers. The child’s huge brown eyes brimmed with tears.
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“My mommy, help my mommy,” the little one said in a tiny sweet voice.
Thalia melted, cursing herself for it. She turned toward someone wearing a uniform and began trying to convince him she was competent and trustworthy.
“What seems to be the problem?” she asked.
“Hijackers, Ojo-san,” the employee replied, bowing. “They refuse to let anyone off until their demands are met.”
“I’m trained in hostage negotiation. Will they let me on?” she asked.
“Ah … I can check,” the man said doubtfully, scrutinizing her. She stared him down. She was diminutive, but that did not reflect on her strength or speed. Many a foe had discovered that to their ruin.
The employee asked the hijackers to let her on. They demanded a look at her first, then demanded she take off her cloak and come aboard weaponless, then tried to demand she come aboard naked.
This last she ignored, though she did take off her cloak. They could see very well she was carrying no weapon without her removing more clothing; she had dressed strictly with comfort as her priority, deciding that was more important than making a good first impression at the spaceport among people who would hardly even see her, let alone remember her.
Hah! So much for that.
She could feel eyes gawking at her. She’d worn a velvet-soft bodysuit that left little to the imagination for the long, cramped interdimensional journey, trusting her long cloak to protect her modesty. She had not counted on hijackers wanting a free show before she even stepped foot on the ground in Edo.
She got to the doors of the ship and found them locked. She glared at the porthole, through which a pair of wild eyes stared back at her. She put her hands on her hips, knowing that would help her cause.
***
The Tokugawa Shogunate of this universe - and many others - had two divisions of special police at their disposal: the Mimawarigumi was the elite force favored by the Bakufu, trusted to protect the Shogun and the palace, while the Shinsengumi was charged with keeping the peace among the common people throughout the city.
The Shinsengumi had many nicknames, more than one of which originated with their rivals, the Palace Police: Bakufu’s Dogs, Wolves of Mibu, or simply the Peasant Police. Their responsibility lay in the parts of the metropolis that leaned and sprawled drunkenly, like relatives you preferred to keep hidden from the public eye, rather than the fashionable ones you were proud to introduce to strangers.
Edo had progressed culturally, technologically, and in every other way since the alien intrusion fifty years ago; steam technology was everywhere - airships filled the skies and trains checkered the landscape. Hospitals were modern, transport was up-to-date, and fashion was thriving in the city center.
None of that was what the Shinsengumi was expected to keep control over, however; rather, their iron fist was needed to keep the rougher elements from polluting all this progress. And, of course, when criminals had the temerity and the poor taste to thrust themselves in amongst the progress, the Shinsengumi was often called upon to drag them back out and hide them quickly from the outraged public's view. Which was why the Vice-Chief and the First Squad Captain now stood with their troop awaiting further instructions regarding the hijacking of the passenger airship.
Harada Tetsuya was notorious throughout Edo as the Demon Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi, due to his legendary strength and speed combined with his volatile temper. Despite these flaws – or perhaps in part because of them, though mostly because he was unnervingly handsome – he held immense popularity with the people, especially women.
He stood waiting for the order, staring up at the phallically shaped Space Station in Edo’s center. It was an appropriate shape for the representation of invaders, he thought, without much bitterness. When your own leaders bent over to let them in, fearing to resist, there was not much to do except find the best possible way to adapt; he was nothing if not pragmatic.
Not everyone saw it this way, of course. There were still rebels who dreamt of expelling the invaders. However, since the Shogunate had outlawed resistance, these rebels were branded terrorists. Harada could understand their resentment, but did not see how it helped anyone to stubbornly cling to ideals that only increased bloodshed and war, putting unbearable strain on the people.
The common people were used to oppression and hardship; he knew this, having been one of them all his life. Even now, the Shinsengumi were denigrated as ignorant peasants by most of Edo’s higher class, including the Shogunate’s elite palace police, the Mimawarigumi, who had originally been assigned to Kyoto, but then reassigned to the palace as a reward for special service.
The derision of the people they protected did not often bother Vice-Commander Harada, since the Shinsengumi ably demonstrated that money and birth did not dictate skill. They trained and worked hard, taking nothing for granted, and it generally paid off.
Commoners were acquainted with hardship; most often, changes in power structure only made a real difference to those in power. The common people were those the Shinsengumi protected, though in name they were the government’s pets: ‘Wolves of Mibu’ and ‘Bakufu’s Dogs’ were but two of the derisive characterizations that appeared in the press whenever any Shinsengumi member, especially a senior officer, was involved in some ugly incident, however minor.
“Harada-san,” called Captain Okada Seizo, standing near a compact, steam-powered squad carriage. “They're willing to negotiate.”
“Let's go,” Harada replied, still looking up at the Terminal, where a hijacked ship full of Edo’s citizens had docked, overridden by a group of terrorists with a list of demands making increasingly hysterical threats.
Harada and Okada arrived with their troop to find the whole place staring up at a screen that showed a nicely-shaped woman with a lot of wild red hair at the doors to the hijacked ship.
“What the hell is going on?” Harada demanded. “Who is that?”
Okada shrugged but looked ready to be entertained. “Who’s that woman?” Okada asked the employee, who had the grace to look embarrassed.
“Some of the customers think she’s Bloodfire, so they begged her to go in and save the ship,” he explained.
“And you thought this was a great idea?” Harada demanded. Members of the infamous Bloodfire clan only knew war; this would not end well if she was one of them.
“I bet she’s Saya’s older sister or cousin,” Okada said with something resembling enthusiasm, referring to the only Bloodfire he knew personally. “Same hair and skin.”
“She said she’s trained in hostage negotiation,” the employee protested. “I wouldn’t have let her on otherwise,” he added.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Harada said with withering sarcasm. “Let’s go, before this gets worse,” he said to Okada, but found his way blocked. “MOVE!” he shouted. But no one moved; onscreen something was happening.
“Open the door,” the redhead demanded irritably. Harada clenched his teeth. Sure enough, the usual Bloodfire level of diplomacy.
“Ask nicely, bitch, or we’ll kill a hostage!” came the hysterical reply.
The redhead put two delicate-looking fingers to her forehead and scowled. Then she looked up and smiled like the sun emerging after a long season of storms. “I apologize,” she said in quite a different tone. “I’m exhausted, and forgot my manners. Would you be kind enough to open this door for me, perhaps? Then we can discuss arrangements for the safe release of the hostages.”
Several worried relatives immediately looked more hopeful.
“She’s not Bloodfire,” Okada said. “Bloodfire would beat the door down, kill first, ask questions later.”
“I agree. However, if she’s not Bloodfire, what the hell made her walk in there like that?” Harada replied.
“Sounds like the general public did,” Okada said.
The hijacker was placated by her softer attitude. “Yes, come in. Only you – no one else.”
“I’m alone, don’t worry,” she replied, still smiling.
“Shit. What’s she thinking?” Harada said. Perhaps she really was trained in hostage negotiation, he thought, but dismissed this as unwarranted optimism.
The door opened, let her in, then closed behind her.
“Where’s the camera in there?” Harada demanded of the employee.
“There i-isn’t one, sir,” the man stammered.
“Shit!” Harada swore again. He thought over his options, which were pitifully limited. “Seizo – we go in now up to the door. If it's quiet, we give her five minutes, on the off chance she knows what she’s doing. No more, no less. After that we go in.”
Seizo nodded, relaying the order to the men.
There was protest from some citizens, who were afraid the police would end it in a bloodbath. They were hurriedly reassured, and the troop took up their stations under the leadership of their captain and vice-chief. Tension mounted as the seconds ticked away, but before four minutes had elapsed, there was activity.
The hijacker who had let the woman inside came out crying and shaking. Eight others stumbled out behind him in varying states of hysteria. They threw their weapons down, some actually begging to be arrested. The Shinsengumi were all astonishment, but the Vice-Chief recovered quickly.
“Get them all back to headquarters for questioning,” he ordered.
Okada was already looking for the woman; Harada joined him.
“What did she do to them?” he murmured. She must be some sort of monster. Sure, they were grateful, but what might she do to the civilians left on board after reducing nine hijackers to hysteria in less than five minutes? They hadn’t been obviously damaged, but that only deepened the mystery.
They found her in the main cabin, passengers clustered around her as she knelt beside an elderly woman on the floor, administering an inhaler. The woman’s lips were faintly blue, but she inhaled feebly at the redhead's prompting.
“Better?” she asked. The elderly lady nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Let's do two more to clear your airways,” the redhead advised. “Ready? Here comes the first, on three. One, two, three, inhale.”
Once this was repeated, the patient was able to sit up without her rescuer’s support. A few other passengers cheered.
“Let’s get you off the floor,” the redhead suggested. “There’s a draft.”
“Thank you,” the lady gasped. “Sorry to trouble you.”
“No trouble,” the redhead assured her with a smile. “Would someone help me support this lady, please?”
Okada stepped forward, putting his shoulder under the elderly woman’s other arm, then lifting her into a seat.
“Thank you, young man,” she quavered.
“Tell me what happened here,” Harada asked one of the passengers.
“There were nine men in masks with big guns,” the passenger explained, still shaken. “They threatened to kill someone every ten minutes until their demands were met. They shot the co-pilot in the leg and shoulder when he tried to release sleeping gas into the cabin. Then this lady came aboard and saved us. She’s an angel.”
“Is she?” Harada murmured. He was not sure, although he had to admit he was impressed so far. “But how did she save you?”
The man looked mystified. “I’m not sure,” he said. “The hijackers surrounded her when she came in, so we couldn't see anything. I couldn’t hear what she said either, but they suddenly started crying and apologizing like they were scared half to death. Then they dropped their weapons and ran out.”
“Thank you, sir. Once the prisoners are in custody, we’ll get you all out there,” Harada assured him.