by Shouji Gatou
“Flee the scene? You stupid—”
“No... I see now. She had learned their secret. She was afraid of being silenced, so she fled the scene. A wise woman. She’ll live a long time.”
Kurz sighed.
19 April, 0330 Hours (Japan Standard Time)
Flight Deck, Tuatha de Danaan, Ocean Surface, Near Miura Peninsula
The noise of the engine roared.
The de Danaan had surfaced and exposed its flight deck. The black vessel’s maw stood open to the sky above, allowing ASes, combat helicopters, and VTOLs to take off from within. On the deck, a seven-blade transport helicopter stood by for takeoff. Its storage compartment was loaded up with an M9 arm slave and its equipment.
Sousuke tossed his bags behind his seat, then fastened his seat belt. He pulled his forged certificate of residence from his inner pocket and double-checked the information.
From beside him, Mao peered at his documentation. “You’re using your real name?” she asked him suspiciously.
“It’s not as if I’m registered in that country anyway,” Sousuke explained. “You can always change the name of someone who doesn’t exist.”
“Well, I suppose...”
“It’s not a problem. Take us out.”
The helicopter began its smooth ride toward their take-off point.
“Are you sure you can handle this, though? You’re kind of a dunce about social stuff...” Kurz asked from the seat behind him.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Tessa was worried, you know,” Mao added. Tessa was the captain of the Tuatha de Danaan.
“That’s understandable,” Sousuke agreed. “It’s an important mission.”
“That’s not what I meant...”
Just then, the pilot in the bulky helmet said “We’re taking off.”
20 April, 0820 Hours (Japan Standard Time)
Tokyo Suburbs, 100 meters north of Jindai High School
“Ugh, it sucked,” Chidori Kaname whispered in disgust. Her dark brown eyes searched vacantly for something in the blue sky above. The black hair that hung down her back swayed limply with each step she took. She repeated: “Ugh, it just sucked.”
It was Monday, and she was part of a crowd of students on their way to school. Tokiwa Kyoko, the classmate who was walking beside her, chimed in. “This again? You been moaning all morning, Kana-chan. Was he really that bad?”
“I mean, he just kept going on and on about nothing...” They were talking about a boy she had gone on a date with yesterday. “I agreed to go out with the guy. Couldn’t he have put together a conversation with a little more depth?”
Who cares if your dad’s a designer, or you have a friend who’s a J-Leaguer? Who cares? What about you? she had ended up thinking.
“Hmm, fair enough,” her classmate agreed, deciding it was too much trouble to do otherwise.
“The life of Zhuge Liang, pollution in the West Pacific, religious strife in the Middle East...”
“Hmm, fair enough.”
“You can’t ‘fair enough’ your way out of this, Kyoko!” Kaname objected. “You’re the one who introduced us!”
“Well, he asked me to.”
“So? If someone asked you to auction me off in Macau, would you do that too?”
“Hmm, fair enough.”
Kaname groaned. “You’re such a bitch... Huh?” She had noticed a line of students out the front gate. “Oh, God, a bag check...” Her mood sank. The noncurricular guidance teachers were checking the pockets and bags of every student heading into the building.
“Hey, it is... Wait, Kana-chan, you’re not carrying anything dangerous, are you?”
“Uh? Well, not dangerous, but...” The problem was that her bag was full of strange books, like Murphy’s Laws of Success, History Edition — You Can Live Like Zhuge Liang! and So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish, and Miracles of Archaeology: Did the Moai Write the Dead Sea Scrolls?! and such. (She had borrowed them from another friend, and she was bringing them in to return them.)
“So, what’s the big deal? If you had a machine gun or a bomb, that might be a reason to freak...”
“What kind of weirdo would bring in something like that?” she laughed, then paused. “Hmm?”
Beyond the gate, at the head of the line, a crowd had formed. She could hear the sounds of an argument.
“What’s that all about?” In the spirit of curiosity, Kaname and Kyoko approached and peered through the crowd to see what was going on.
Their homeroom teacher, Kagurazaka Eri, was apparently grilling a student. “You think we’ll tolerate this kind of attitude your first day here?”
“No, I...”
“You’re not going inside until you show me your bag!”
“But...” It was a boy. He seemed to be trying hard to stay cool, but couldn’t completely hide his distress. His eyes darted all around, suggesting unease with the attention he was getting.
“Who’s that?” Kaname whispered. “I’ve never seen him before...”
He was wearing the same high-collared uniform as the other boys, but there was something strange about him. He was handsome enough, but Kaname’s real first impression of him was “grim.” He had disheveled black hair; his mouth was in a tight frown, with the air of someone on constant alert. He seemed skinny at a glance, but he carried himself like a practitioner of judo or some other rough sport.
“Show it to me! Now!” The teacher grabbed the student’s hand and snatched his bag away.
“Ah...”
“Don’t tell me... You’ve got cigarettes, don’t you?” She opened the bag and rummaged around inside. She pushed aside textbooks, and notebooks, and...
At the very bottom, she found an Austrian machine pistol with three 34-round magazines. There was also a cylinder of plastic explosives with a detonator, a stun grenade, a miniature camera, piano wire—
“This has to be a joke,” she said after a pause.
“What?” The boy looked distraught.
“You can’t bring toys like these to school. I’m confiscating them.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Go on, wait for me in the office!” the teacher ordered. “It’s almost time for homeroom!”
The student just stared at her. The onlookers dispersed, laughing. Kaname mustered her most disgusted tones to say, “Ugh, a military geek. Gag me...”
Kyoko laughed. “I don’t know, he seems hilarious to me...”
Kyoko’s prediction would turn out to be right. Sagara Sousuke had grown up on battlefields. He had traveled all over the world... but tragically, here in this microcosm known as high school...
He was an idiot out of his element.
I can’t believe they searched our belongings... Sousuke thought as he followed Ms. Kagurazaka down the quiet hallway.
His first thought—when the noncurricular guidance teacher first asked him to show her his bag—was, have I failed in my mission already?! His second thought—after his weapons were discovered and confiscated—was, I suppose now they’ll take me to the basement for interrogation. (He was unaware that most schools didn’t have basement interrogation rooms.)
But as it turned out, that kind of inspection was an everyday occurrence at this school.
Does that mean students regularly try to smuggle in guns and explosives? Sousuke wondered. It’s hard to imagine, but... If students regularly brought firearms to school, it would make his bodyguard duties that much harder; a passing member of the volleyball club could whip out a submachine gun and start firing at any moment.
Then again, Kurz Weber had the M9 Gernsback waiting in the copse behind the school. Sousuke had a miniature transceiver disguised as a watch—one call, and backup could be there in ten seconds.
“Uruz-6, what’s your status?” he whispered to his comrade through the transceiver.
“Hungry. Want booze,” Kurz replied into Sousuke’s earpiece. Only morning, yet already brimming with complaints.
But I suppose my
infiltration was successful, at least... Sousuke consoled himself.
Kagurazaka Eri, the teacher leading him down the hall, was in her mid-twenties. Her hair was done in a short bob, and she wore a trim gray skirt suit.
“Ma’am?” he asked eventually.
“Yeah?”
“That gun you confiscated...”
“Oh, you’ll get it back... at the end of the term,” Eri responded with a slightly teasing air.
“No, it’s not that... I wanted to warn you. There’s a shot loaded in the chamber. You need to not touch the trigger under any circumstances.”
“Oh, really?” she deadpanned.
“It’s an extremely lethal splat bullet,” he told her seriously. “An accidental discharge would be fatal. Please.”
“I get it,” Eri sighed. “Calm down.”
You don’t get it and I can’t calm down, Sousuke thought. But he just shook his head in silence.
When Kaname and Kyoko saw Eri lead Sagara Sousuke into the room, they flew into a conversation of silent gestures.
“Hey! It’s him!”
“The firearm geek!”
The students buzzed, and the teacher raised her voice over the din. “Okay, quiet down! It’s time to meet your new classmate!” She slapped the blackboard with the attendance roll, sending the students of class 2-4 into temporary attention mode. “All right, Sagara-kun. Introduce yourself.”
“Right.” Sousuke took a step forward and struck an ‘at ease’ posture: chest out, shoulders back. “I am Sergeant Sagara Sousuke,” he announced in a clear, resonant voice. Then he realized his mistake, and his face went pale.
“Sergeantsaga Rasousuke?”
“I think it’s one long title, like Hashiba-Chikuzen-no-Kami-Hideyoshi.”
“Sergeant... like a drill sergeant? The army trainer guys?”
Nobody seemed to take the statement very seriously.
“Quiet!” Eri barked. “He’s not done yet! And Sagara-kun, stop fooling around!”
“I... I’m sorry...” He’d never felt this kind of nervousness before. One careless word could condemn his mission to failure. The very thought of it brought beads of sweat to his forehead. “Sagara Sousuke. That is who I am. Please forget the ‘Sergeant’ part. That is all.” Then, he fell silent.
After a pause, Eri asked, “Is that it?”
“Yes. That is it.”
She turned back to the students. “Any questions?”
“Me! Hey Sagara-kun, where do you come from?” one student asked.
“Many places,” he answered. “Afghanistan, Lebanon, Cambodia, Iraq... I’ve never stayed in one place for very long.”
A hush fell over the class, and Eri spoke up to fill the awkward silence. “What Sagara-kun is saying is... he’s lived overseas for most of his life. You were in the United States until recently, weren’t you?”
“That’s right,” Sousuke confirmed. She had likely read his transfer form, which listed his prior residence as ‘Fayetteville, North Carolina, USA.’ It was untrue, of course—He had chosen that location because he knew someone who lived near there, which would make it easier to keep his story straight.
Another student raised a hand. “What are your hobbies?”
Before Sousuke could respond, someone else interrupted, “Model guns, right?” which caused the room to break out in laughter.
“No,” Sousuke corrected, “fishing and reading.” That part was true: he typically spent his free time at Mithril’s West Pacific base, fishing while reading munitions manuals. If it was raining, he’d bring an umbrella, and lock himself up in his own little world... It was a little depressing, really.
“What kind of books do you read?” someone in the back asked. This time, Sousuke’s eyes lit up.
“Mostly technical manuals and trade magazines. I frequently read Jane’s Fighting Ships, and I enjoy Soldier of Fortune, as well as Arm Slave Monthly from Harris Publishing.” He paused to think for a moment. “Oh, and I’ve read the Japanese publication AS Fan. I’m impressed by the level of information they get access to... It’s a good magazine. These days, I’ve been more interested in maritime matters, though. I recently acquired the latest ten publications from the Naval Institute Press...”
Silence.
Sousuke trailed off, and looked down at his fingernails. “Forget all that,” he said at last.
But nobody even remembered it.
Another girl raised her hand. “Um, do you have a favorite musician?”
This was a hard one; Sousuke hardly ever listened to music. Then he suddenly recalled the CDs that Master Sergeant Mao had gathered up on the submarine before they deployed. And so, he proclaimed with confidence:
“Itsuki Hiroshi and SMAP.”
20 April, 1508 Hours (Japan Standard Time)
2nd Floor, Athletics Club Building, Jindai High School, Tokyo
“He’s a total freak, I’m telling you.” Kaname stressed to Kyoko as she undid the ribbon on her chest. “Have you heard him say one thing that’s in tune with reality? There’s no way he’s doing it to be funny, either. He’s just one card short of a full deck, right? First-class crazy?” She talked and talked.
While she did, she unbuttoned her blouse, removed it, and reached out to arrange it on its hanger. But the sleeve got caught, and knocked over the Mizuno bat she had leaned against the locker. “Oh, for the love of...” she grumbled, but then went back to her rant. “And did you see the way he kept looking around all during class? And at lunch break, how he kept going back and forth from the hall?”
Kyoko was next to her, undoing the hooks on her skirt. “Oh, did he do that?”
“Yeah, he did! Ugh, I hate watching nervous types like him. It so gets on my nerves...”
“Then... don’t watch him, maybe?”
“I wasn’t!” Kaname stammered. “Like I’d ever be watching that geek!” But, as she adjusted her bra, she went right back to it. “Oh, oh, also! I made eye contact a few times. He was totally watching me!”
“Who was?” Kyoko questioned.
“That guy, duh! Then he’d look away like ‘oh, I wasn’t really looking at you,’ but come on, it was so obvious! Ugh, it’s just creepy...”
“Well, you’re pretty attractive, Kana-chan,” Kyoko whispered with the smallest hint of jealousy. She put on her stirrup socks and reached for her orange pants.
“Well, thanks, but that’s beside the point. Those eyes were the eyes of a total sicko.”
“You know, Kana-chan, you’ve been spending a whole lot of time dissing Sagara-kun...”
“I have?”
At that exact moment, Sousuke was striding across the athletic field. He stopped in front of the sports clubs building, looking up at the line of six second floor windows. There should be a staircase... yes, there it was. He checked the paper he was holding one more time, then started to climb.
“You have,” Kyoko affirmed, back in the club room. She knew her friend all too well.
Kaname was a loudmouth, but that was actually something people liked about her; her no-holds-barred attitude was a large part of why last year she’d been dragged (reluctantly) into the student council vice presidency. She also had a fundamentally people-pleasing nature, which was why she was here now, helping out Kyoko’s team. It was odd to see her complain this much about someone she barely knew, and odder still for her to badmouth him behind his back.
“Are you that into him?” Kyoko asked.
“Oh... what? No way!” Kaname denied. “Ah... ahahahahaha!”
Kyoko knew what that “ahahahaha” meant, too. That was her way of saying, “I don’t know, but this conversation is over”—even if Kaname didn’t realize that herself.
“Okay, let’s go.”
With their uniforms on, Kaname and Kyoko headed for the door. But as they swept open the curtain that cordoned off the changing area...
There were two sharp knocks, followed immediately by the club door opening wide. The boy who had opened the door—Sousuk
e—locked eyes with a girl in the middle of changing.
“Y...” The girls present—eighteen or so in total—all sucked in a deep breath, and then...
“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!” Their scream was loud enough to shake the windows.
Sousuke stood there, first confused, then alarmed; he was probably more surprised than they were. The first thing he did was clear his mind of the information “most of these girls are in their underwear” (a trivial factor during an emergency). Then he dove into the room, grabbing Kaname’s collar and pulling her to the ground as he passed. In one fluid motion, he yanked the revolver from his ankle holster, shouted, “Everyone, get down! Get down!” and rolled onto his back with his gun aimed at the door.
It had taken less than two seconds in all; his reaction speed was remarkable, honed by years of practice. Sousuke remained just as he was, senses on full alert.
Then after a moment, he switched to confusion. There was no one in the doorway—no one at all. Kaname still on the floor under his back, his gun still pointed at the door, he looked around and around, growing more and more puzzled.
There was no sign of threat anywhere in the room.
Correction: he was surrounded by girls with murder in their eyes.
Ten minutes later, the chaos in the club room had finally subsided.
“You had another one of these on you, huh?” Kagurazaka Eri, who had been notified by one of the girls, snorted as she picked up his .38 five-shot revolver.
“Yes,” Sousuke said. Then he added after a moment, “I’m very sorry.” He shrank into the folding chair they’d sat him in, looking completely run-down. His uniform collar was torn, and he could see traces of scratches forming on his flesh here and there. His hands were cuffed behind him, holding him in place—they had used the very aluminum alloy handcuffs Sousuke had brought with him. It was like a prisoner interrogation.
“I’ll be confiscating this, too,” Eri told him. “I’m sure you won’t object.”
“Right. But...”
“But what?”
“At least remove the bullets,” he pleaded. “They’re hollow points. Extremely dangerous.”