Land of the Dead

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A slim Nisei woman, her back straight as a sword blade, glossy black hair coiled at her neck, paused before a shoji -panel of laminate cedar and redwood. She took a moment to straighten the crisply starched cuffs of her dress whites, to tuck her cap under one arm, and to adjust the four tiny golden skulls on her collar tabs. Then, prepared, she placed two fingers against the door itself.

There was a quiet chime-the sound of a temple bell filtered through autumnal leaves-and the panel slid soundlessly to one side. The Imperial Mexica Navy Chu-sa stepped out onto a covered porch, walked down a flight of broad wooden steps and out into a perfectly manicured Tokuga-period garden. A glassite pressure dome vaulted overhead, half of the armored panels polarized against the glare of the twin primaries of the Michoacan binary. Her boots clicked on a curving stone bridge crossing a swift, silent brook-the recycled water clear as crystal, reeds and tadpoles wavering in the current running over mossy stones-and she passed beneath the rustling branches of a stand of hothouse aspen.

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