The katana in the hand of the young man in his traditional Kusari sparring clothes was motionless. In the dry, late afternoon air there was a haze of dust roused by a gentle wind. To the sound of a Buddhist chant from the temple that adjoined his family's residence the young man, Kenzou Tenma, took a step forward. His opponent changed stance, raising his own sword above his head and took the hilt in a firm grip. As the Buddhist chant heightened in pitch Kenzou ran at his teacher, the katana glinted as it swung in towards a waiting neck.
The clear sound of the second katana as it met Tenmas rang sonorous through the courtyard. The blossoms on the cherry trees that stood in the first flush of spring around the edges of the cleared space shook in anticipation. Three blurred movements later and Tenma was panting. Blood flowed on the upper side of his lower arm. The tip of his teacher's katana dropped and sank into the loose earth. As Kenzou attacked again, his teacher flicked the blade in an ascending crescent and the student was forced to fling himself back and abandon the assault.
"That was a more competent dodge, Kenzou Tenma. You may yet make your father, Kenzou Hiramatsu, proud. However, there is only a small chance of this." Tenma's teacher, Inegawa-sensei, barked out a laugh and then attacked.
For three slashes, Tenma lost ground. Before the fourth he planted his back foot on the earth and lowered his body into a defensive stance. As he met Inegawa's katana crosswise, he jinked the blade and sent it to the side. The two swords whispered past his cheek, leaving a thin slice that took a moment to bleed. Tenma's knee met his teachers stomach and drove in, its force meeting and defeating the teachers iron muscles. His left hand was unburdened by a katana but it was held so that it mimicked the swords edge and scythed in with cruel speed to crush down on his teachers neck.
Tenma stared up at the sky. There was a cloud that drifted across the blue sky without haste. A Kusari State Police ship pierced it, enroute to the nearby spaceport. Tenma's mind worked back the previous moments with frantic speed. His hand would have hit Inegawa-sensei's neck, but- Sensei's hand, flat palmed, had struck his chest and he had been flung backwards. When he hit the ground hed lost his breath and now struggled to regain it.
"Tenma." Inegawa-sensei's voice was unwelcome in the dazed mind of Kenzou Tenma. "Kenzou Tenma. Stand up."
The shock was replaced by insidious pain that sapped Tenma of his strength. With discipline, he compartmentalised this pain, it was irrelevant to him. In short, jerking movements, the student returned to his feet. He straightened, and stared at his teacher. The blood on his cheek had caught particles of dirt, and they stuck out from his cheek like rocks in a river. Tenma harnessed his muscles, and stepped into an offensive stance, with his hands flat as sword blades.
Inegawa-sensei barked a laugh. He flicked his katana to shed the clinging blood, and then sheathed it in an elegant motion. He bowed. "Tenma-kun. That was a fine attempt." The teacher rubbed his stomach ruefully. "But you sacrificed your connection with the ground when you focused on the high attack. It was too complex a strike." Inegawa-sensei lost his smile. "It is time to take you to your father."
Tenma bowed. "May I wash first?"
"No. He will see that you have fought hard." The emphasis on 'will' was not lost on Kenzou Tenma.
"I understand that my father has applied to the Kusari Naval Forces for my admission." Tenma's voice was clipped, unreadable. Gonzaemon Inegawa frowned.
"He will tell you. You should not eavesdrop on the conversations of others."
"Sensei is right." There was no sarcasm in Kenzou Tenmas voice.
Tenma collected his katana and cleaned it with a square of silk, before sheathing the blade. Together, Kenzou Tenma and Gonzaemon Inegawa walked into the house, towards Kenzou Hiramatsu's rooms.
"Kenzou Hiramatsu-dono. Your son is here." Inegawa spoke from a bowed position.
"I heard this." Kenzou Hiramatsu looked through his holographics array at his son and his sons instructor. The numbers that flickered across the display were dizzying. "Tenma."
Tenma stiffened at his name, but remained in a bowed position, staring at the tatami mats. "Otoh-sama."
"A request for admission to the Kusari Naval Forces in the name of Kenzou Tenma has been submitted. You will proceed to their offices and await their decision. If you return it will be as an officer. If they find you unfit, you will not return. Is this understood?"
"Yes, Otoh-sama."
Kenzou Hiramatsu turned his attention to the display as his son left the room. Numbers scattered across his face like a flurry of blossoms while Gonzaemon Inegawa watched him. The head of the Kenzou family could not concentrate for some time and chose to take tea to calm himself. Hiramatsu accepted a cup from a female servant in the conservative costume he demanded, and looked out of the one-way plasteel onto the courtyard where Tenma had fought Inegawa. The ground was disturbed in elegant, shallow swathes. Their movements had been exceptional.
"Kenzou-dono, forgive me but- Is it wise to send your son into space, in the arms of the Naval Forces when we are entering a period of overt war?" Gonzaemon Inegawa stood straight, and watched his master while searching for any reaction. He was disappointed in that regard. "He has not shown particular flair as a pilot, it is on his feet with a katana in his grip and in his letters that he reveals his strength. Could he not become a statesman, or a man of business?"
"Inegawa-san. When I was a young man, I flew for the Naval Forces. When he was young, so did my father. It is the honour of my family that we chose always to fight for Kusari, even when others chose to split our nation. My son understands this." Rings rippled across the surface of his tea as his hand shook. Inegawa did not see this, but Hiramatsu knew his weakness, and fought it.
"If they do not accept him?"
Kenzou Hiramatsu turned at Inegawa's insistent tone. "Then he will likely do as my brother did, and find a place among the Dragons. When a Kenzou respects his enemy more than his own Daimyo, this is the path that they take."
"The honour of your family blows with the wind?"
Hiramatsu's jaw tightened. He refused his instinct to remind Inegawa of his rank however, and replied in a neutral tone. "He will fight for Kusari. My brother informs me their attention is focused on an external threat. If all Kusari knew how many wars it waged simultaneously there would, I think, be a panic."
"Then I shall wish for his swift acceptance into the Naval Forces. Better to fight an enemy you can see, and read the tactics of, than something shrouded in mystery."
"Yes. That would be better. For him, at least." Kenzou Hiramatsu returned to sit at the holographics display. "Thank you, Inegawa-san."
"Kenzou-dono." Gonzaemon Inegawa bowed. He left the room with a troubled mind, he could comprehend a human opponent. He could read their muscles and respond accordingly, he could undermine their strategies and bring their tactics down to a desperate fight for survival. But how could anyone comprehend a foe that could not, by definition, be understood? He feared for his student and prayed fervently for his commission.
Kenzou Tenma-Taii, in the command of Mochizuki Tatsuya-Shosho. Battleship Matsumoto.
Patrol Report, Theta-1.
Today, timestamp provided in report encryption as per regulation, I was seconded to the command of Mochizuki Tatsuya-Shosho in response to his request for reinforcements. A great many of my peers have died in Hokkaido defending the Imperial Destiny. I must not bring shame to their memory.
On arrival I relinquished the Chimaera provided to my person by the Battleship Myoko stationed in Shikoku. I understand it will be shipped back to Shikoku within the week. As a replacement on my arrival it was intimated that I would receive a Chimaera more suited to the peculiar environment of Hokkaido, with improved communication systems and hardened exo-armour with a lining of lead to help prevent damage on extended patrols in the system.
I shall miss my Shikoku Chimaera. The weapon fitted my arm. Now I must learn the weight of a new blade. I do not complain because it is a challenge set by my superiors; I shall rise to meet it.
I have not met with Mochizuki Tatsuya-Shosho. I was greeted and directed by subordinate Naval Officers that crew the Battleship and all orders are relayed through Matsumoto Control. In the briefing room we are addressed by Tactical Supervisor Hiragata Mosuma who is present on the bridge during most operational periods, as I am told. My life is under his direct control. I shall strive to meet every task he sets me, and to not operate outside his directions as any actions outside mission parameters could degrade the strategies he has developed.
On return of Kappa-1 and his patrol, I received the order to launch and commence my patrol of Hokkaido in a cloud-to-cloud survey. Theta patrol group holds one member, myself. Due to personnel rotation and an excessive casualty rate, the Matsumoto was unable to place any other fighters on my wing. I understand this. I am the least experienced Taii aboard the Matsumoto and I must prove my ability to keep myself alive, let alone defend those for whom I may become responsible.
The Hokkaido Chimaera is a tighter fit than the Shikoku issue, due to the space taken by advanced communication systems and the reduction in size of the cockpit by approximately one inch to account for the extended anti-radiation armour. There are burn scars on the wings and one that, I am certain, must have obliterated the Kusari Naval Forces stamp on the port side of the ship. These scars have been subject to extensive beautification, perhaps in the interest of morale, but I can feel their memory in the hull as I run my hand over the chassis. This is a craft that has known war not duels, a desperate and fatal war. My heart, once as the still surface of a pond, is rippled by the fin of a carp that shatters my tranquillity.
For the first hour of my scheduled patrol I would circle the outer reach, remaining enclosed from the Kyofu, before driving a neat vector through the center. On concluding this manoeuvre I would engage in what I heard laughingly described as the Kyofu Burn on the Matsumoto and reach the next cloud with a minimum of radiation hull damage.
My patrol route began with Unyo Cloud, continued with Kuyo Cloud, followed by the Shiden Cloud and then the Unyo Cloud once more before reporting on all findings to the Matsumoto. The patrol would then resume. As mentioned, this action was undertaken for the first hour of that patrol. At one hour and three minutes into the scheduled patrol, Matsumoto Control ordered Theta-1 to investigate. Within the next four minutes the source of unusual radio chatter was discovered and found to be a Consortium vessel, sporting the /CS/ identifier. While the target was identified by the Chimaeras IFF software as a threat, it did not engage me on sight and on discovering this, Matsumoto Control ordered Theta-1 to hold weapons fire.
The gun camera footage and audio, both in audio form and transcript, are filed with this report and included is a tactical assessment of the Sabre craft.
For a matter of minutes the Sabre attempted to discover the name of his counterpart and intention. Following Kusari Naval Forces protocol, I provided my name and rank as well as the name of the Battleship on which I am stationed. On receiving this information the Sabre turned and withdrew. I would later discover the extent of my fortune when I was apprised of the level of threat the Consortium present to the Matsumoto.
For half of an hour my resumed patrol proceeded without incident until the unusual chatter resumed on systemwide. The strength of the carrier signal still surprises me. The Kyofu did not seem to bear any effect on the quality of the transmission, the words, while framed in a curious manner, were clear. Under direction from Matsumoto Control, I deviated from the standard patrol pattern and, under information from Samura assets, intercepted the targets close to Sapporo Station. Again, the vessels displayed the /CS/ identifier. Interceptor.Shield and Shamshir, of the classifications Sabre and Tridente respectively, assaulted a Samura gas miner and then withdraw, causing only minimal damage. The Sabre appeared to be the very same discovered earlier on the patrol.
Matsumoto Control again, despite my request, ordered a weapons hold for Theta-1 and adjusted the mission objective. Theta-1 was commanded to garner intelligence from the situation and supplied me with the current dossier, or as much as I am able to view with my current security clearance and rank, to assist the acquisition of information.
On request of their intention, the targets offered an explanation that surprised me. The dossier suggested that these were murderers of Kusari Naval Forces personnel and terrorists of an unusual calibre. Instead, the Interceptor.Shield asserted, their design was to introduce happiness and cuddliness. A transcript of the pertinent parts of this dialogue follow.
The /CS/ pilots then chose to release Theta-1, a factor unforeseen in the assessment by Tactical Supervisor Hiragata Mosuma. The patrol was granted permission to withdraw by Matsumoto Control. Two minutes after the dialogue with Consortium forces concluded a Kusari gunboat addressed system wide, with obvious difficulty in maintaining a strong carrier wave. At first I believed the vessel might be damaged, and attempted to intercept it, though in the soup of Shiden Cloud I lost my bearings. I place this failing as a direct result of my inexperience in Hokkaido and expect punishment. Consortium forces, from the chatter intercepted by my Chimaera on shortwave, were in pursuit of the Kusari Naval Forces gunboat. I can confirm that they did not catch the vessel later identified as the KNS Kataki.
Maintaining contact with the information system external to Hokkaido I received reports of a gunboat proceeding towards the Taus, some time after the fact. This information I relayed to Matsumoto Control. Tactical Supervisor Hiragata Mosuma shelved the scheduled patrol and I was ordered to pursue the gunboat and render assistance if required. Hiragata Mosuma-Sensei also required that I resume recording audio and visual once the gunboat was discovered.
I met with the KNS Kataki in Tau-31 on the Tau-29 Jumpgate. The Kataki was not, as was assumed, in critical condition. The Captain, a Kondo Sachiko, appeared hale and healthy. Under orders from Matsumoto Control on acknowledgement of this information, I rewrote my waypoints for the swiftest path to Hokkaido.
I shall, at this point, mention a lapse of judgement.
When both I and the Kataki returned to Kyushu I stalled and indulged in an unprofessional conversation. A Gaian who assisted me during my tour of duty on the Battleship Myoko named Aoyagi Ritsuka was also present.
I understood this lapse and concluded the dialogue with my apologies, then jumped to New Tokyo. On the route to Hokkaido and the Matsumoto, nothing of note occurred. On arrival my duties were concluded by Matsumoto Control.
This report was compiled for the eyes of Hiragata Mosuma-Sensei and Mochizuki Tatsuya-Shosho.
Hiragata Mosuma reviewed the reports of the many patrol pilots with heavy lids. It was one of the more tiresome parts of his duty, one which he could not delegate to an inferior officer. As a matter of fact, this was a matter of delegation on part of Mochizuka Tatsuya, commander of the Matsumoto. Any curiosities were to be reported...
As his eyes skimmed over a section of report, he practically fell from his chair. Mosuma backtracked to reread.
"KATAKI?!"
Looking at the name of the pilot who had encountered the ship, he simultaneously sent a call through to Mochizuka Tatsuya. This was about as unusual as it got. Undoubtedly the commander would want to interview young... Tenma? Yes, Kenzou Tenma. It's not every day a Naval Forces Gunboat goes AWOL, and least of all one commanded by a female.
Tenma ached. His arms and his brain both complained in competition, seeking to hurt more than the other. That dogfight lasted for almost an hour, in the end he and the Bretonian had each stopped and stared at one other. Nose parted from nose by a space of one K. In an unspoken agreement, they each turned and left the field of conflict. A fight was one thing, but when neither could even burn off the shield of the other, it seemed a little ridiculous to continue.
Recalled from the frontlines, from Seto and the great war, Kenzou Tenma-Taii stood again in his officers billet. A bed folded to the wall, a table folded down. Tenma pulled his chair out of the corner, the metal of it screamed against the metal of the floor. Tenma winced. He picked the chair up and placed it in front of the desk before he sat. The printed letter on his desk had a copy on the mainframe, he knew, yet they still sent a hardcopy. Perhaps to discourage excuses.
Tenma unfolded the letter and flicked the desk lamp on. For the eyes of Kenzou Tenma-Taii, it said. Mine then. We have taken into consideration your recent efforts on the frontline, a destination to which we were loathe to send you. Many of your fellow patrollers were also called and may have led to the potential destabilisation of Hokkaido. Your defence of the Ting Yuan above New Tokyo against a combined Chrysanthemum and Blood Dragon force also led to the decision to provide you with permission for the use of an Umibozu precision bomber. You shall share this Umibozu with the leader of Patrol Rho, Fujiki Gennosuke.
Tenma stood. He knew Gennosuke. Hed seen that Umibozu come in after a battle before, seen the scars, the rents, the time it'd been dragged back by the rest of his patrol. Gennosuke was a brute, and he used his bomber as a bludgeon. A sword with two masters, each so different, could it bear that strain? Tenma found calm. This sword would not break with his wielding. He would discover the strength for them both.
Tenma looked to his sword-worn hands. The phantom burden of a wakizashi and a katana weighed them down with familiarity; the Chimaera and the Umibozu.
For the Emperor, for Kusari, I shall prove worthy. Tenma caught sight of the small photo he'd found of Ouya Sachiko. He'd been forced to ask an old crewmate of hers when he failed to find one in the database. It gleamed in the cast white light of the desk lamp, still where he taped it, on the far wall from the door where a window might be if he still trod a planet's earth. I shall prove worthy.
"Patrol Alpha, Patrol Delta, Patrol Theta, report to the Briefing Room. This is a code five alert." Aches forgotten, Tenma threw himself out of the room and raced down the tight corridor. He hit the shoulder of, and spun off, one of the engineers and kept running, shouting his apology behind him. "Patrol Alpha, Patrol Delta, Patrol Theta, report to the Briefing Room. This is a code five alert."
"Tenma-kun!" Patrol Delta-3 stood by the Briefing Room door, a smile tugged at the man's large lips. Sasaki Nozomu, the man who'd scooped his escape pod when Delta was re-routed to assist at a piracy event. The Outcast Tridente decompressed moments later. Tenma offered a broad smile in reply, before making a deep, quick bow.
"Sasaki-senpai! Arigato gozaimasu!" Tenma straightened, to see Sasaki's frown.
"Did I not tell you to call me Nozomu? I'm hurt, Tenma-kun. Hurt."
"Gomen, Nozomu-senpai!"
"Come on, Mosuma-sensei will glower at us if we keep him waiting."
"We're the last?"
"No, Alpha is always late, but he'll still be grumpy!" Nozomus teeth glimmered in the striplit corridor. He turned, and slipped into the Briefing Room leaving Tenma to follow.
The shift patterns changed again that night, but Tenma couldn't sleep. He should, but his mind was creeping with questions and expectations. Like oo-hari-ari they clambered over each other and fell, tumbling, and found their feet and anyway how can you sleep when thoughts are like this?
'Han-ta,' he pronounced. 'Is-ei-jin.'
The words felt strange in his mouth. Reclined on a packing crate in the docking bay of the Matsumoto, his only company were the engineers of which there were few at that moment. Tenma poured sake from a gaudy bottle with an unkempt, barely clad Geisha on the label into a delicate iroe-jiki sakazuki. He tipped the bowl back, the sake like crude oil, thick and unrefined. So be it.
His father would frown to see him, the great Kenzou-dono. Head of the Kenzou clan. Kenzou Tenma raised a bowl to his father and tipped it back. Tenma told his father of the transfer. The moment he held the papers in his hands he'd sent a message.
The reply of Kenzou-dono was succinct, to the point, and destroyed Tenma's mood. 'Do not.'
What did that old man know anyway? Because of that man he'd been posted everywhere but the frontlines. Tenma recalled the Mining Guild trader who had addressed him as 'warrior'. He laughed, and drank down another bowl. Without war there is no warrior. No, Kenzou Tenma was a border patrolman- a policeman- a child kept out of harm's way to preserve the bloodline of a withering clan.
Tenma's hand trembled, but he did not throw the sakazuki as he wanted. He was brought up too well to drink from a bottle.
A hand appeared, then a second, on the edge of the crate. Sasaki Nozomu hauled himself up, kicked his legs a couple of times and slowly tipped forward until his cheek pressed against the riveted metal of the crate an inch from the second sakazuki.
'It is not full, Tenma-kun,' said Nozomu. 'A man who pours only for himself is a man of miserly instincts.'
'Tautology is not wisdom, Nozomu-senpai.' Tenma caught Nozomu's armpit and dragged him the rest of the way onto the crate. When Nozomu was settled and had dusted his uniform unnecessarily, Tenma tilted the bottle above the second sakazuki, and then refilled his own.
They raised their bowls together, and drank.
'When you got your papers,' said Nozomu. 'I thought you would dance or sing, or anything.' He refilled both bowls, careful not to spill any across Tenma's hand or wrist, his own he splashed. 'I thought this is the moment I see Kenzou Tenma-sama unguarded, but you know how to disappoint!'
Tenma smiled. 'I was pleased, but I have a very bad singing voice. And my legs are unsteady, like an ojii-san's.'
Nozomu snorted and held out his sakazuki. 'You are too many rules, Tenma-kun. They are bound all around you, tied like a boot. A very tight boot. What idiot ancestor said the Kenzou clan must not show emotion? Must not feel!' Nozomu stood, he set the sake on fire with a lighter and held out his sakazuki like a shrine offering. 'The Kenzou clan,' he said in a high, whining voice, 'Must be carved out of ship hull plating! They must be adamant against the awkward ways of life, and shall forever be known as the coolest cats even under fire!'
Tenma punched Nozomu's leg. 'Idiot,' he said.
Nozomu was grinning like a Taoist when he sat back down. 'Well?'
'I feel. I just don't need to cry all the time to feel better. Not- like- some,' Tenma finished, with a sly smile.
Nozomu grumbled. 'It was a very painful break up. I loved her, I thought I'd marry her. Apparently a Naval Forces officer isn't enough for her.'
'She earns more than we do in a year, in a month.'
'I might get promoted.'
'Half her customers are CEOs!'
'My father might take me on...'
'And you never did tell me how you managed to afford her,' said Tenma.
Nozomu looked like a sheep might, if it was caught with its hands in a till. 'Well, you see...' he started, and reached for the sake.
The sake bottle found its way into Tenma's hands however, and was held sternly out of reach. 'Not until you tell me.'
'Fine, I let a Hogosha off the hook.' Nozomu shrugged. 'He was scooping up the remains of a Rheinland trader, there was an escape pod bobbing around next to him. The Rheinlander very kindly uploaded a comprehensive video of the assault and the previous and 'very short- dialogue. Naturally I assured the Rheinlander, his name was Hans I think. I'm not sure, their names all sound alike- I assured him I'd take the matter with all seriousness and tractored the pod.'
Nozomu waved his sakazuki and Tenma dutifully refilled it.
'The Hogosha said I had two options, erase the video or resolve to never sleep again. I think that was a threat,' said Nozomu. Tenma rolled his eyes. 'Of course I had the position of greatest strength in this negotiation, as Mosuma-Sensei is always saying. He ended up offering me three nights with his best woman if I deleted the footage. My finger was this close to the button. I swear. This close. Then I remembered he was Hogosha, and demanded a signed contract.'
Tenma smiled and shrugged. 'You'd have to.'
'He huffed and grumbled, but the contract appeared in my inbox after a few minutes and then that footage was history. Of course I had to shut the Rheinlander up...'
'There'd be no other way...' said Tenma.
'I dumped him in the lap of the cheapest, most understanding Mama-san I knew. She's probably still milking him for every credit he's ever earned.'
'You only had three nights, but you've been seeing her for a month.'
'Once Miyuki-chan met Sasaki Nozomu she fell in love, three days was not enough for Miyuki-chan. She wanted her Nozomu every day to hold her, and speak haiku and to feed her grapes-'
'She fell in love for a month?'
'It took a month for my mother to find and harangue her,' said Nozomu.
Tenma said quietly, 'I've met your mother.'
The two men drank in silence.
At the far end of the docking bay klaxons shouted their warning. After a moment the first Chimaera rose from the airlock, a second followed. All five gleamed with a haughty magnificence, ignoring the engineers crawling over them and the pilots crawling out of them. The Chimaera is a ship with no match. It is at once the snake in the grass and the spider in the arch; it is the tiger and the heron.
'My shift,' said Nozomu as he stood. 'I will see you again before you leave, I think. But if not I wish you good fortune, warm sake and soft women.'
Tenma reached up and they clasped hands. 'It has been an honour, Nozomu-senpai.'
'Tenma.' Nozomu looked hurt. 'Don't bring honour into it now. It has been fun!' He stepped back, stepped back again and fell out of sight. Tenma heard the snap of Nozomu's boots as they hit the ground and then the pilot was running to the Chimaeras.
Kenzou Tenma lifted a sakazuki to the retreating back of his comrade. 'It was fun. But now I go to where the fun is not. To war.'
Interview Room Roku was small but lit so bright that it was painful. Kenzou Tenma tapped out a spare rhythm on the steel table with his fingertips. The steel misted when his fingers touched down, vapour holding to the surface, drops coalescing. He was sweating and resolved to wipe his sleeve inconspicuously across the table when they finally arrived. In the ten minutes Tenma waited, the room was without noise, as if it were dampened.
It would make sense. Tenma was present at the interrogation of a Bretonian spy from... that shipping company, was it Bowex? The man was past screaming long before his interrogators set aside their tools. The secrets that were extracted lead to an uncovered ambush and the ability to launch a counter-offensive against a new staging post in the Tau-31 system. Tenma could understand the method. For a moment he entertained the fantasy that he might face the same treatment in this room, his flesh sliced thinly, like the meat in a sukiyaki dish. It was possible they would choose to prune his fingers. They did so to the Bretonian. At first they used a tanto, but it was deemed too sharp, a ragged edge would produce a more satisfying effect on the nerves. They were still working themselves up at this point, Mosuma-sensei’s top-knot was not yet unkempt, and his pate did not shine with the sweat of exertion.
Would they send Mosuma-sensei? His teacher knew him well, and would be the most qualified to break him. Tenma felt a trickle of sweat run between his shoulder blades before it was absorbed into the uniform. He shifted in his seat, settled down and tapped his fingers on the steel to the beat of ‘My Baby, My Baby,’ by Rick Daniels, a Liberty singer who’d performed on New Tokyo during Tenma’s leave. The man was short with hair gone grey and heading to white. He stooped over his guitar and let the speakers sing out each chord. At first, while he was standing amongst all those people, he disliked the musical style, though it grew on him. The concert was Nozomu-san’s treat, then the Twelve Lit Lamps Geisha House. Miori-chan attended him, her face as pale as a Bretonian’s, her lips plump and pink like the first blush of the sakura. She made exceptional tea.
The door opened, and a woman Tenma didn’t recognise marched in, took a seat and stared at him. Her uniform was Naval Forces, as it was for her two subordinates. These men flanked her, stared at the wall above his head and said nothing.
The woman’s scrutiny continued for minutes, as though she were reading the pores on his skin, or the structure of his eyebrow, or like a painter with her model. Tenma resisted the insistent urge to speak.
“Yes,” she said with finality. The chair scraped as she stood, her guards followed her out of the interview room.
Stunned, Tenma continued to sit. He failed a test, what else was it? He should have spoken, said something. Said hello, how are you. I want to fly for you, kill for you. What would she have wanted to hear? I’m your man? That really would have got him failed...
The lights, so bright, died. The dark clung to him, his arm moved with such slow clumsiness as he pushed the chair back and tried to stand. The floor moved, like a raft on the Kyushu seas, it was fragile, he could fall through it and keep falling and drift in space where it was warm. There was something in his mind. When his knees hit the deck it was to the sound of depth charges, a distant whump and the shakes and shocks. His eyes could see nothing but his hand, laid out in front of his face, his cheek to the floor – Nozomu’s cheek had laid like this, flat on the packing crate, and on the tatami mats when he’d drunk so much he fell asleep and I carried him home – he could feel something on his hand, roll over it, slide along it. He couldn’t really feel, it was just the pressure, the constriction, he couldn’t say - this is slimy, sticky, covered in scales, a woman’s soft hand – because he didn’t know.
The dentist will pry your jaw open and clamp it wide if you’re bad, his mother said. Tenma always opened his mouth wide for the dentist, he did what he was told to, and even though his jaw ached he was happy because the dentist told his mother he was a good boy. It was Tenma’s duty to be a good boy, so he opened his mouth and gagged and choked around the drill that filled his throat and just kept sliding down until it weighed in his stomach and then he could see.
And it was glorious.
The gas succeeded in its purpose. The Lieutenant was unable to struggle or refuse. The gas even opened his mind to suggestion. We are pleased.
Kenzou Tenma-Taii saw the world as though through a lens held at a distance, but that little he was offered stopped his screams before he threw them at the walls of his mind. His hand, that was his hand in front of him, bathed in St Elmo’s flame, or it was something similar. The veins, no they weren’t his veins, they- there- they flailed outside his arm, then drew back inside. Like a snake tasting the air, he realized.
The woman was back, Kenzou saw her shoes. They were behind his head and this confused him, but then she stepped around to the front and he knew she had been there. She crouched down, stared into his eyes. He heard an echo above him, not from outside but from within. It was too far to reach, but he clawed for it anyway.
Good boy, Kenzou Tenma. Be a good boy, and hush while we speak.
After receiving special dispensation from Command to gather information on a missing Lieutenant, his friend Kenzou Tenma, and the moment the Kusari Gunboat Shinsen was prepared for launch, its sleek body slid out one of Yukawa shipyard's docking bays.
Captain Nozomu Sasake felt like a fish returned to water. He'd drowned slowly on that station, waiting for confirmation, then repairs, and then the interminable routine diagnostics. His friend was missing almost a month before Nozomu could initiate his search. The last readings left of Kenzou's Chimaera and his predicted flight plans indicated a path just outside the harmful kyofu in Hokkaido and for the first week of his investigation, Nozomu's eyes absorbed raw data, extrapolations and endured the minimal science crew's theories and pessimisms.
The first clue came when a wyrm seconded briefly to the Shinsen to assist in close analysis of debris discovered, by accident, a buckled fragment of hull plating when it occluded a star. The brief occlusion was enough to register on the wyrm's sensors and the pilot was able to retrieve the fragment for analysis on the Shinsen. It was a part of the port wing, barely recognisable due to laser scars. The use of laser weapons and the fact the fragment was discovered in Hokkaido suggested a conflict with Blood Dragons.
While a Chimaera does not require the wings to function, it was unlikely the damage extended only to that part of the ship. The way the scarring was layered, burns overlapping, lead the science crew to conclude that it was the result of numerous strafing runs, or possibly fire from numerous opponents.
Able to report concrete findings to Command, Nozomu received authorisation to extend the search. Three weeks later, with little more to add to the investigation Nozomu was ordered to conclude 'with haste'.
It was while writing his statement for the official report that Fujimata Naomi-Daii informed him a corrupted data transmission was intercepted, bearing a partial match for Kenzou Tenma's signature encryption. The message was incomplete and appeared to have been routed through a number of jumpholes. It stated that an attack by Blood Dragons had damaged his ships systems beyond his ability to correct, that he lost navigation, salvaged only three sunfrenzy cannons and that life support was struggling to maintain oxygen concentration.
The official report was abandoned. Nozomu, with the transmission as evidence, persuaded his superiors that further investigation was merited, especially considering the distance from which the transmission was broadcast.
Permission was obtained from the 113th Hanta Iseijin to enter the restricted Tohoku system in pursuit of Kenzou Tenma who was, after all, one of their agents.
At the first sight of the Arch there was a collective gasp from the bridge crew. It was a masterpiece of engineering, a testament to Kusari's innovative spirit. Two wings of 113th Chimaeras approached them on entry, then matched their course and speed. The reactions of their pilots were almost synchronous, and eerily precise. The Lieutenant in command of the wings offered his regret that communication must be limited between the Shinsen and the 113th, but offered his full support.
With sensors adjusted to detect the faint trace signal from Kenzou Tenma's Chimaera the 113th spread across the system, while the Arch funnelled the readings from each craft back to the Shinsen at a four point eight minute delay. Much of the data was incomplete and obviously edited, but Nozomu had expected as much.
One 113th pilot reported a jumphole leading into an unidentified system and obtained permission to enter.
Several minutes later he exited the jumphole back into Tohoku.
Kenzou Tenma's Chimaera was drifting 20K from the jumphole, and the 113th gave the green light for the Shinsen to proceed. They would pass out of Kusari.
On the bridge of the Patrol Ship Shinsen, Nozomu Sasake raised a sakazuki. His crew followed suit. First Officer Fujimata Naomi met his wandering eyes and held them. There was no crack in his second's facade, but he knew there must be some doubt. They were about to cross the threshold, the last border, beyond which Kusari did not exist.
Did he have the right to ask that of his crew?
He must ask it. Tenma was out there, alone.
Nozomu tilted back the bowl and tasted the rice wine. It bore a hint of cherry, which surprised him. The bridge crew mirrored him. Fujimata wrinkled her nose, but made no complaint. He knew she was not fond of alcohol as a rule, and appreciated her gesture. He threw the sakazuki into the bin prepared for the occasion. Fourteen bone china bowls shattered, each impact leaving a crack in Nozomu's mask.
He turned from his crew, and nodded. They resumed their stations, Fujimata calling out the time to intersection with the event horizon of the jumphole. Nozomu felt the song of the cruise engines through the floor and in the air of the bridge.
The jumphole was more stable than most, but from readings taken on entry, it was old. There was one universal rule to stable jumpholes. They were in use.
'Give me a full sensor sweep when we exit the jumphole, I want to know if we've got company before it does,' said Nozomu.