Initiation of the Lost (Book 1)

S
YMPATHY
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VOLUME I

Computations of Flesh and Starlight

BOOK ONE

Initiation of the Lost

M.R. A
DAMS

Solemn Chanting Press

©2013 M.R. Adams

All rights reserved.

www.MRAdamsliterary.com

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Cover Image:

Explozoom 2/2 by jepoirrier (Jean-Etienne Minh-Duy Poirrier) on flickr

Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License

PROLOGUE

Man in Charge

They crashed through the roof, wood splinters and glass shards falling around him. James Crawford–Raijin–huddled into a ball, peaking to see three pairs of robotic boots: What were the Benzaiten doing in Colorado?

"Target ten-eight-six: James Ryota Crawford, self-named 'Raijin,'"
said Benzai-one in Japanese,
"you are under arrest–"

Raijin launched from his feet into the air, into the open sky towards the fat red moon and twinkling stars revealed by the decimation of the dojo's roof.

"He can fly?!"

He flew higher, glancing back to see the three Benzai–Japan's cybernetically suited law enforcers–in pursuit. They didn't know his powers; he had one chance for escape. First, he'd assess their capabilities.

Benzai-one, in English: "Fleeing is not the answer. If you do not cease flight, charges will be appended."

Benzai-two: "Target is descending."

Raijin landed amongst the branches of a cherry blossom tree at the temple's inner wall.

Benzai-three: "Remove yourself from the tree."

"On what charges?"
he said.

The Benzai landed around the tree, touching down on the rocky ground. A high pitch rung through the air, the bar on Benzai-three's arm cannon glowed green. Showtime.

"Look,"
said Number One, a woman, her voice calm, reassuring. But as Raijin looked at each of them, he only saw the cold sheen of their steel black helmets.
"You entered Japan illegally. We have orders to escort you to headquarters for questioning. Just a few simple questions. That's all."

He lifted off and hovered above the tree...then descended, coming to his hands and knees before the Benzaiten. Number Three approached. Looking at the moon reflected in the oncoming enforcer's mask, Raijin grasped the biggest rock and hurled the stone; it smashed into the helmet. Number Three fell back, raising his cannon–Number One rushed forth:
"You can't!"
–but the cannon fired, discharging the sonic boom, a radiation of concentrated sound waves. The air shimmered; Raijin took flight once more.

BOOOOOOM!
The tree exploded into daggers of bark cloaked in the confetti of the cherry-pink blossoms. Raijin raced the tree's remains as they shot in array. A throbbing in his leg unleashed waves of pain through his body. His legs and bare feet were scratched, but the throb came from the deep gash in his thigh. He couldn't use his second power in full force to shield himself, fearing the enforcers' notice.

The Benzaiten recovered their senses and rushed to continue chase, sending a series of small booms into the air. Raijin’s assessment: They were on a capture mission after all. Number One was the leader; Two, a dutiful subordinate. Number Three was trouble. If his plan didn't work, he had to make sure their leader took him first.

The pain zapped him, draining his energy and concentration–he staggered through the air. The enforcers gained ground. But flying over the forest, he was close to the outer wall. There! He had reached the gigantic bamboo shafts that made the temple's first barrier and swan dived, sailing head first towards the ground.

"This is it,"
said Benzai-One.
"He's making his last stand."

"He'll be unlucky if he survives,"
said Number Three.

"Silence. Our orders are to capture him alive and unharmed."

"Too late for 'unharmed.'"
A snicker.

"Awaiting orders,"
said Number Two.

"He's heading for the torii. I'll pursue directly. Three, flank left. Two, cover my right."

And the Benzaiten spread through the sky and dove after the target. In seeming freefall, the ground headed for them like a speeding train. Raijin, moments before collision, pulled up and shot under the torii, a series of tall iron-red gates that arched over the stone steps that descended from the majestic temple like a dragon, coiling up and down the hills and valleys.

Benzai-one knew she couldn't clear the first torii and pulled up to sail over the first three gates before dipping down to continue in the target's wake. Up ahead: the young man–smart, brave. To each side: her men had descended and they flew in V-formation. If she had come alone, she could have visited him in person and talked to him–the oppressive, "official" displays would have been unnecessary. They were making the situation more drastic than it needed to be.

"Benzai-one, take the shot."

"No, Number Three. We can't risk any more structural damage. We've compromised our presence enough."

"The game is over. We destroyed–"

"We?"
said Number Two.
"You are the only one who'll have to explain the evidence of any international incident that leads to war."

"No,"
said Number One.
"I'm the head of this operation; I'll take full responsibility. Let's just capture the boy. We can't have him escaping custody, especially knowing now he's a chikara. Make sure radar-cloakers are on maximum, and pray the Americans find some other scapegoat for the damage. When he exits the torii, disable him with a disorienting sonar pulse, then gas him. Understood?"

"Understood, Benzai-one,"
said Number Two.

"He assaulted an officer."

"No, Three. He assaulted you,"
said Number One.

Raijin conjured the last of his energy, draining every cell, reaching deeper and deeper into himself, scavenging his being for the will to...to what? Be free. Freedom. If they took him with no one knowing, he was theirs...forever...to be probed, dissected. He was being paranoid.

Finally, he glided through the last torii and crashed into Kurenjingu Pond. The cold waters leeched him further and the crash left him dazed. He staggered to his feet, the cold rippling up his spine like vines of ice. The Benzaiten flew overhead and landed–splash!–the vibrations of their armor sending waves of continuous ripples through the pond.

"So you tin cans are waterproof," he said, too tired to conjure his Japanese.

"Happy to disappoint," said Number Three, raising his cannon.

"Stand down,"
said Number One.

"But–"

"Abort plan. Rai–Target is disabled. Resort to apprehension."

Number Three pushed a button on his cannon and took aim once more.

Raijin screamed, raising his hands...

Benzai-three:
"What the–?"

Spheres of lightning formed in Raijin's palms...

Benzai-one:
"Now we know why he calls himself  'Raijin.' Quickly: apprehension procedure."

But before the cannon could release the binds, the lightning crackled, pulsating and ripping through the air. Away from the temple and forest, conducted by the pond, he fully unleashed his last defense, a devastating offense. He collapsed into the water...did he get 'em?...blackout.

<<>>

The murmurings of conversation. They were talking. The night air was cool, streaming–they were flying. He was numb. No pain. Raijin opened his eyes. Darkness. His eyes hadn't opened. He went to move his arm. He was still. His attack was for nothing.

Now harnessed on Benzai-two's back, the Benzaiten would return to their submerged vehicle and high-speed their return to Japan. All this because Raijin–James–ran away. But from where? He was old enough to not have to be home with his parents. And no one expected his return to the temple. But still he felt he had ran away to find his birth mother. She was beautiful, warm and welcoming. He–she–they were born from a lineage of fishermen.

As he fell back into the haze of blackness, that point where conscious and unconscious meet, where he sensed but had no control over what he sensed, he did not see or feel the presence of his mother, birth or adopted, or his sister. No, he saw her, wearing a plaid skirt and cropped red jacket, looking at him through her blue rimmed glasses. She introduced herself, like the first time they had met, as Silby Masters, director of invention at Hyperion Enterprises and, more relevant to him, dean of admissions at Hyperion Academy.

"Why am I here?" he had said. They were in her office, cluttered with machinations, piles of books, scatterings of papers, and blackboards covered in equations and diagrams. "I'm not good at science."

"No. But you can fly. And you have an electrical charge to your immediate aura; so I'm sure you can do more." She smiled. "Do you know how you can do what you can do?"

Raijin sat erect, proud of his ancestry: "I am the reincarnation of Raijin, God of Lightning."

Silby looked to him kindly, awaiting to hear more. He grew self-conscious, almost preferring the mocking he was accustomed to as the discomfort grew.

"Well," she said, "Perhaps I can explain the mechanisms designed in your physical nature that allows for the expression of your divinity."

"Sure," he said, puzzled. Was he being patronized?

But she explained. She explained his DNA, the building blocks of his life and all life, was unique compared to most humans, laced with two additional base pairs bound and supported by the presence of a third strand. Ultimately, his DNA consisted of six base pairs, as opposed to the usual four, arranged within the structure of a triple helix, as opposed to the double helix found in other humans. This third strand was often nicknamed "The Conscious Strand" and even "The God Strand;" however, the power was in the two surplus base pairs, the complementary burine and zycosine, which supplemented the four common base pairs–adenine, guanine, cytosine, and thymine–allowing for the expression of his abilities. She informed Raijin that others shared this trait and had manifested their own unique powers.

He didn't want to hear any more, to think he and the others, his family, were gods reborn because of science. But as he lay hopeless and helpless across the Benzai, flying over the Pacific, he didn't feel like a god. He didn't feel unique, special in a way that made him matter. He wasn't unique, just back to being different, a freak. The kind of weak, useless freak that only a boy, not even a man, could be. But deep down, he had to have known this all along.

Silby explained Hyperion Academy existed to help educate him and those like him in the use of their powers. He struck a deal–why not? He would enroll in the school, but only if she found his birth mother and got him into the country to see her. Without questioning the illegality of foreigners entering the Pacific Union or even furrowing an eyebrow as she pondered how to execute such a feat, she handed him a radar-shield, and a silent alarm.

Deep down he had known he was just another man, not a God, maybe not even a man but a boy, because as he returned from Japan, back to his only sanctuary in America, Tengoku Temple, he heard the mechanized hum of the Benzaiten and triggered the silent alarm as he went to his bedroom in the dojo. And now, knowing the radar at some point had failed, he prayed, as only a man who knew the troubles of the world could, that his silent alarm was heard.