Trembling Into the Blue

by Shouji Gatou

  The Arbalest was forced back one step, two steps—until its back hit the wall of the building. Its frame creaked. The tip of the swiftly rotating, vibrating monomolecular cutter inched its way toward the Arbalest’s chest. “Ngh...” Sousuke groaned.

  “Well, what now?! You’re about to die!” Gauron screamed. “And that girl you love so very much—”

  “Uruz-7,” Kurz said calmly, “stay put.” The next instant, Gauron’s machine took a hit from the side. Shards of shredded metal went flying, and the enemy machine’s head snapped back. Even from four kilometers away, Kurz’s shot had flown true.

  But—could it even guard against surprise attacks from that distance?—the 76mm shell still wasn’t enough to pierce the enemy’s force field. Fortunately, the sheer force of the hit did set the red AS off-balance, and that was enough to create a crucial opening. Immediately, Kurz poured on more shots: a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth. These shots were not aimed at Gauron; they were aimed at the half-demolished building behind him—each precisely-aimed blast took out one pillar or support. With the building’s upper half already holding on by a thread, the removal of these braces caused the whole structure to snap.

  No, “snap” failed to capture the gravity of the situation—it was a cacophony of steel supports being wrenched apart, of concrete imploding, of every piece of glass in the building shattering immediately to powder. Hundreds of tons of building material were collapsing down from above in an earth-shaking, ear-splitting tumult... all headed straight for the Arbalest and its enemy.

  “Get out of the way!” came Kurz’s warning, but it wasn’t needed. Sousuke dropped his machine down to sweep Gauron’s legs out from under him. Its balance lost, the red AS fell to its knees. Without even a glance back at the enemy, the Arbalest then leapt away, low and fast, like a bat out of hell.

  An instant later, the collapsing building hit the ground, crushing the red AS beneath. The ground shook and roared. Pulverized building material, walls, floor, pipes, and furniture were scattered everywhere. There was so much dust in the air that the whole world seemed to go white.

  “Sousuke,” Kurz asked, “are you alive?”

  “I think so...” he replied. The Arbalest, which had thrown itself to the ground in its escape, slowly picked itself up. That was a reckless move on Kurz’s part, Sousuke thought. One wrong move and Sousuke would have died with Gauron. But he also had to admire his marksmanship—from a distance of four kilometers away, the pillars of the building must have looked like needles, yet he’d gone four for four, taking them all out in seconds. “Your skill is impressive,” Sousuke said in tones of great admiration.

  “Bet your ass it is,” Kurz grumbled.

  Just then, Dunnigan’s M9 came running. “You get him?”

  “I’m not sure... Give me your gun,” Sousuke ordered, “and then stand back.” The Arbalest took the 40mm rifle from Dunnigan’s M9. He checked the remaining rounds, then kept the rifle carefully pointed forward, held in both hands, as he approached the mountain of rubble. He had no confirmation yet if Gauron was dead or alive. Surely, not even the lambda driver could hold up against a destructive force like that... right? But what if he was lying under the rubble, waiting for an opportunity to burst out and fly at them? Then he’d have to use the lambda driver to finish the enemy off once and for all.

  But... can I do it? Sousuke wondered. His hands were soaked with sweat. Just then, there was movement in the rubble. Sousuke was startled; it wasn’t a sudden movement, just chunks of reinforced concrete slowly swelling upward and falling away.

  The red machine appeared. It wasn’t holding a weapon. Its hands were both raised, and it spewed steam from its joints as it straightened up awkwardly.

  Uncertain of his opponent’s intentions, Sousuke’s finger hesitated on the trigger. He hadn’t let his guard down, but he also wasn’t certain that shooting him would work.

  “I guess you win this one... I overheated again,” Gauron said at last. There was a sound of depressurization. The red machine’s chest trembled then slowly split in half. He’d opened the hatch. For any AS operator, opening a hatch in front of the enemy was a sign of surrender. ASes were modeled after the human body, and given their skeletal structure, it was nearly impossible to move with the torso split like that. As far as Sousuke could tell, the Venom was no exception.

  “It seems our positions are reversed from the last time,” Gauron chuckled. “I surrender; do with me as you will.”

  Sousuke quietly seethed. “Get down from there.” He was struggling to keep his voice soft and calm.

  “You’re not going to shoot me? You may find yourself regretting that...” That was the last word from the external speakers. A few seconds later, a man’s figure emerged. He was wearing a dark red operator’s uniform. There was a vertical scar on his forehead and a burn scar along his neck. He looked thinner than he had four months earlier, but it was Gauron, no question.

  “So? What will you do with me?” asked the terrorist with a rueful smile.

  28 August, 0440 Hours (Local Time)

  Berildaob Island, Perio Archipelago

  Within a mere thirty seconds after the battle with Gauron ended, the transport helicopters from the Tuatha de Danaan arrived. The members of the PRT—primary response team—disembarked and scattered throughout the base, while the M9s hung behind them for support. There were a few sporadic shootouts with the remaining enemy infantry, but they managed to secure the base without any serious injuries.

  They took seventeen hostages from the terrorist group. Most of them were struggling mercenaries, who had been crowded out of various worldwide conflict zones. The American base personnel, 48 in total, were also liberated from the barracks where they’d been held. Normally, there would have been more men on base, but since it was summer vacation season, over half had been away.

  As for Mithril’s own losses... Melissa Mao had survived. Gauron’s “finger gun” shot had passed just above the cockpit block, so it hadn’t actually hurt its operator. She’d just been knocked out by a concussion caused by the force of the impact.

  The best news of all was that they had recovered Gauron and the Venom virtually unharmed; investigating man and machine would let them learn some things about the organization backing them. On paper, the mission was a roaring success...

  But only on paper. To Sousuke, what happened back there felt like the furthest thing from success there could be. His failure to use the Arbalest’s lambda driver had almost gotten Mao killed, and they’d only survived thanks to Kurz’s quick thinking and Gauron’s stall-out. In other words, he himself had contributed nothing. He’d gotten lucky, no more.

  McAllen had said, “Don’t sweat it. You did well.”

  Kurz had said, “Hey, sometimes shit happens.”

  Dunnigan and Nguyen had nothing to say at all.

  The base was in a clamor with the counterinsurgency complete. Sousuke was in his Arbalest, standing in a pockmarked heliport on the base’s west side, protecting the landed helicopters. Nearby lay Mao’s damaged M9 and the red machine, the Venom.

  Sousuke turned his eyes to a small transport helicopter. Next to it stood Major Kalinin, who had come with the PRT, as well as Captain McAllen and the tightly-restrained Gauron.

  “Hey there, Ivan. How many years has it been, now?” Gauron seemed perfectly at ease, even in the presence of the large, burly Russian with eyes like ice.

  Kalinin stared closely at the terrorist, his gaze one of murderous intent. It was a look that would cause a normal person’s heart to leap from their chest in terror. “What are you planning?” the Russian asked at length.

  “Planning? Whatever do you mean?” Gauron chuckled.

  Kalinin watched him a moment longer. “If you insist,” he allowed. “Just a warning—don’t expect the smallest hint of mercy. There won’t be any deals made, here. I’ll make you confess everything, and then I’ll erase you from this earth. Remember that.”

  “I’m trembling already,”
Gauron mocked.

  Kalinin turned and addressed to the soldier next to him. “Take him away.” With a shove from the PRT member, Gauron boarded the helicopter. Kalinin and Captain McAllen took their distance as the machine began to lift off. “Get your men out of here within five minutes. I’m going to stay on the base, as planned.”

  “Sir,” Captain McAllen acknowledged.

  Kalinin still had some petty politicking to deal with: contacting the incoming US military forces and negotiating with them about the aftermath. Except for a few of his subordinates, all other staff and equipment—AS and transport helicopters—would be withdrawing at once. Gauron and the Venom would be moved to the de Danaan, while the other hostages would be remanded to United States custody. Kalinin really did believe he should have shot the man dead on the spot, but headquarters had ordered that Gauron be taken in. This “stealing” of the terrorists’ leader would surely earn blowback from the Americans.

  While walking with McAllen, he sank into dark thoughts. That man clearly has something up his sleeve. A lifeline, at the very least... The Gauron that Kalinin knew would never engage in such reckless terrorism. He might act self-destructive and hedonistic, but he was still a professional; he’d construct his plans carefully, with achievable goals and a guarantee of his own safety in mind.

  Gauron wasn’t suicidal. He’d put his own life over that of the whole planet; Kalinin knew that for sure. By contrast, the seizure of that base, the absurd demands, the easy surrender... none of it fit his usual modus operandi. It was no wonder Tessa was concerned; the base attack could well have been a diversion for Gauron’s allies to attack some other critical facility elsewhere.

  Mithril’s top brass, having already acknowledged that possibility, were keeping an ear to the ground, and issuing warnings to the security forces of various nations. There was no sign of any such activity at the moment, but... if the enemy had made the right preparations, they’d effectively have no way to guard against it.

  It was just like what had happened here; they were always stuck reacting. It was a fundamental problem with Mithril. Deterrence was their goal, and they called themselves invincible, but everyone in the organization knew that that was a lie. It wasn’t a problem limited to Mithril, of course; all anti-terror entities faced a similar dilemma. The initiative in a battle always lay with the attackers.

  Mithril’s lone advantage was their advanced equipment and elite personnel—but that, in turn, meant their expansion was limited. A power to crush evil that was extremely potent, but rare—this was the reason the anti-terrorist mercenary organization had named itself after “mithril,” after the fictional metal from the works of J.R.R. Tolkien.

  Kalinin broke out of his musings. “Ask Colonel Testarossa for instructions regarding the Venom,” he said. “I’ll leave the treatment of that man... Gauron, to you.”

  “Sir,” McAllen responded.

  “Keep at least two men on him at all times,” Kalinin cautioned. “Who they are is up to you. Following his physical examination, keep him under strict lock and key, and do not remove his restraints under any circumstances. Keep him completely isolated until quarantine is over. Once he’s received his bill of health, ignore any further requests for medical aid.”

  “You mean, any sudden turns for the worse?” McAllen grinned. He was talking about feigned illness.

  “Yes. I don’t care if he dies as a result; there’s no need to afford him any respect,” Kalinin said. “Treat him like an extremely intelligent, exceedingly savage animal.”

  “Understood. Sir.” McAllen saluted, then ran back to his own M9.

  The Mithril transport helicopters receded into the distance. Some were large with ASes dangling beneath; others were small, for personnel transport. They must have engaged their ECSes in flight, because they all suddenly disappeared in the morning sun. Plumes of smoke were still rising here and there around the base, and the barracks, communications center, administration building, and hangar were all riddled with holes.

  Kurama crawled out from under the remains of the Dark Bushnell left on the shore. He’d determined there was no more need to stay in hiding. “Hmm...” He gazed at the last vestiges of the helicopters, a pale purple band hanging in the air, and his round nose let out a snort. There goes Gauron, he thought.

  Luck would determine what happened to him next—and that man’s devil’s luck was not to be underestimated. No... perhaps the pancreatic cancer was a balancing of the books for all of the undeserved good fortune in his past. He was a dead man walking now; a man with nothing left to fear.

  Kurama put the chance of the plan’s success at about 50-50. Bad odds; they both must be mad.

  He pulled out a satellite communicator module, extended the antenna and swiftly manipulated the panel. Soon, he’d opened an encrypted channel.

  “Yes?” came the voice on the other end. It was the languid voice of a young man; he sounded sleepy.

  “It’s me.”

  “Oh... Kurama? How’d it go?” There was a sound of hair being brushed back, and a faint sound of rustling cloth. He could hear a woman’s nasal moaning in the background.

  “Gauron’s been taken to the Toy Box,” Kuruma said.

  “Hmm... Sounds like I won the bet. Mr. Gold owes me three Leviathans and five dollars. Next time I see Gauron, I’ll have to treat him to dinner...”

  This gave Kurama pause. “You think we’ll see him again?” he asked doubtfully.

  “I certainly hope so,” the boy said, and then yawned. “It took me three days to create that special program, after all. And Mr. Zinc laid all that groundwork... Well, I want that rotten little sister of mine to learn a lesson.”

  “Really, sir?”

  “Yes. At the very least, it should get her attention,” the boy reasoned. “I’ll wait for good news, but I won’t get my hopes up... So, are you heading back now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be careful, then.”

  “Thank you.” The transmission concluded, Kurama closed up the transceiver and threw it into the ocean. He checked his clothing; it was your basic American military uniform. His rank was corporal, and his dogtag read J. Rock. He had an ID card, too.

  A dozen or so US military helicopters were approaching from the northern skies. “Let’s see...” Which should I ride back? Kurama wondered.

  27 August, 2015 Hours (Greenwich Mean Time)

  Main Hangar, Tuatha de Danaan

  Once all the helicopters had landed in the hangar, the ship’s hull—a.k.a., the flight hatch—slowly closed with a muffled roar.

  The ASes detached from the helicopters. Then, each walked to their designated spots and knelt down. The helicopters stopped their engines, folded up their rotors, and were locked down. Deck crew and maintenance personnel ran busily around the hangar, securing machinery and disarming weapons.

  Kaname stood at the hangar’s entrance, fidgeting. Combatants from the earlier battle kept passing by. They mostly looked tired, but at the same time, relieved. A few even winked to Kaname. It looks like everyone’s okay, then... she was thinking, when just then, Mao was carried past on a stretcher. She looked like she’d been wounded.

  Kaname tried to call out to her in concern, but the middle-aged ship’s doctor, Peggy, who was standing next to her, said, “Don’t worry. She just took a tumble, is all.” Mao was taken to the sick bay. Kaname watched the stretcher go, turned around, and found Sousuke standing there. He must have been seeing Mao off, too.

  He was safe. Relief flooded over her, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she realized it. “Sousuke?” It was clear that he was depressed about something. His face was its usual sullen one with its usual tight frown... but his eyes were scanning the floor listlessly. He had none of his usual vigor. “Um... Welcome back,” she said hesitantly.

  Sousuke didn’t respond. He just sat down on a small electric tractor parked nearby and didn’t even seem to notice that Kaname was there. She had come all this way to make sure Sousuke was all rig
ht... but of course, he didn’t seem to realize that.

  An alarm rang out from the submarine’s speakers, and a synthetic voice called “Dive! Dive!” The floor tilted a bit, vibrating. At some point, the hangar had come to be nearly deserted, and a hush had fallen over it.

  “Y-You don’t have to get back to the duty room?” she asked.

  “No,” he muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “I made a mistake. I can’t face my comrades,” he said coldly, before starting to remove his operator’s uniform. He took off the cast-like neck brace designed to prevent whiplash, then the thin body armor, and then unzipped the chest, which acted a bit like a biker’s coveralls. He tied the sleeves around the hips of his still-covered lower half, but on top, he was just wearing a tank top.

  “Did... someone die?” Kaname asked cautiously.

  “No.”

  “It’s all good then, right? Mao-san didn’t seem that bad off, either...”

  “Don’t trivialize it.” Sousuke raised his voice.

  “I’m not... trying to trivialize it...” Kaname stammered.

  “She could just as easily have died... because of me and that AS.”

  “Huh?”

  Eyes still averted, Sousuke began to speak, the words flowing from his lips as if a dam had burst. “I couldn’t use that device—the lambda driver—properly. ‘Pour your will into it,’ ‘imagine the shot’... none of it makes any sense to me. I’m sick of it. It’s too vague and random to serve as a weapon. It’s just like magic; they should get a shaman to pilot it, not a soldier. I...” He looked at the Arbalest parked on the other side of the hangar. “I don’t like that machine,” he went on bitterly. “I hate it. It lets its operator down at the most crucial times. It’s not a tool for a professional. Whoever made it is the worst engineer ever.”

  Kaname had never seen Sousuke complain about anything like this. Fighting back her numb surprise, she clutched the hem of her apron and said, quietly, “Hey, why don’t you get some rest? You must be tired...”