Takahashi, Mikako

[Bakamono]

After long enough alone in deep space, silence becomes almost tangible. Takahashi lay in her pod meditating, shrouded in the quiet cocoon.

Hours earlier had been maddening, then she let thoughts of what had led to this consume and harry her: a desperate moment. Once she had regained control she estimated perhaps four more days of air were left, enough time for someone to find her, she reasoned. There should have been a larger supply, but someone had removed her extra tanks. Earlier she had frustratedly cursed the deficit, during the stage of anger leading to fear.

Now in the cold centre of herself, there existed no distraction or panic. Makoto appeared, Mikako felt a tremor at the edge of concentration.
“Little Miko-chan, my little one is lost, how did you get here?”
“I was careless, I was betrayed.”
“And has this saboteur won, my daughter? Have you given up?”
“Iia, no, Father. I will survive.” a subtle tone of defiant resolve perfused her otherwise detached voice.
“You are not the little girl you once were.” he stated, without malice.
“Hai father.”
“And what of traitors Mikako?”
“Suffering, Father.”

KNF patrols, largely headed by Ryoma had been scouring tau twenty nine for the past forty-eight hours. Nagata appeared and ran a patrol himself for a while, before stopping at the freeport six to offer his apologies. After announcing it frequently, he ran another search of the system, his ship became just one more of formation sweeps of assigned sectors.

Mikako had been hungry for some time, what little rations she had were now gone – a series of tiny, precious meals, that she now could only re-live through memory. She counted down the air she had left in hours rather than days. Her pod had lost inertia after crashing around the asteroids and eventually succumbed to the gravity of the white sun. Flickers of light in the distance occasionally made her heart rise in hope, but her hope went unanswered as they revealed themselves to be shining pieces of debris or simply disappeared back into the black. Taka saw little alternative, action must be taken.

*******

She began by stripping the pod interior, awkwardly repositioning herself time and again, within the tight confines. With pinches and pushes that peeled and tore the synthetic skin from her naked left hand, She carefully dug out interior panels, and began sorting through wires and piping to assess her workable materials.

Beneath the seat she found a standard issue ballistic pistol, “lucky?” she wondered “or did someone leave this here thinking I would take the easy way out?” she considered this as she inspected the weapon. “Only one round, soka.”

After her destructive looking activities, Mikako sat with her feet braced against the window. She had sealed her flight suit and wrapped herself in whatever insulation she could strip. In one hand she held the pistol, in the other, a reshaped slab of what had been the pods interior covering. She prayed briefly to her ancestors as she carefully gauged the pods turning and telemetry. She held her breath and fired at the canopy.

Instantly a huge rush of whistling air hissed out of the tiny hole, as Mikako was pulled toward it she thrust her makeshift shield before her, her screams of effort to hold it steady were lost in the deafening chaos. Just as quickly as it had begun, the maelstrom stopped: Mikakos patch had worked, the canopy had held.

For now the tiny hole was sealed, and the force of the jet had sent her pod moving once more, if she had calculated correctly, in the right direction. “All that air better be worth it...” Mikako mused over the precious expenditure of what little air she had left.