Surely, he was just back-projecting. He had to have been. He’d never met Rokujo Yukionna before embarking on the Amaterasu.
III
Ghenji didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when the cocoon opened and a thin techie glanced down at him. “Signs are green, Flight Captain. You know the drill, ser.”
“Thank you.”
Ghenji eased his way out of the cocoon and sat on the stool, sipping the special post-suspension “tea,” waiting until the monitors showed that he was clear to resume duty.
After the evening spent with Rokujo, he hadn’t seen her again before he’d entered suspension, not because he hadn’t looked, but because their work and watch schedules had simply not coincided in any practical fashion.
He checked the ship-link—three point four standard years since they’d pushed off from Kunitsu orbit station two, and who knew how many more before they returned? If they returned.
Four stans later, he was in the squadron ready room with the other flight captains, listening to Operations Commander Togata.
“ . . . In less than forty hours, we’ll begin the attack on the first Mogul station. Flight Captain Nokamura will lead Kama-one . . . . Flight Captain Yamato will lead Kama-four . . . . Full briefings are on all consoles.” Togata gave a brisk nod to the flight captains, releasing them to study the attack profiles.
The briefing consoles were enclosed booths set against the bulkhead on the starboard side of the flight operations center. Ghenji sat down in the not-totally-comfortable padded seat and lowered the hood, waiting while the ops system verified his identity and then began the briefing.
The mission itself was simple. The Mogulate had already begun to change the planetary dynamics of the uninhabited system into whose outer reaches the Amaterasu had recently emerged. If the Parthindians completed the re-engineering, they would disrupt the clear-link-comm line used by the Republic that connected the upper galactic “west” section to the “east” section of the inhabited Republic solar systems.
The Amaterasu’s needles were “just” to take out the two central engineering installations in the system. At the very least, that would cost the Mogulate another ten years of investment and resources. At best, the Parthindians would abandon the project and attempt some other form of havoc. The mission required two separate attacks, roughly one to two days apart.
In the centuries since the Diaspora, warfare, like everything else, had changed, and with information and knowledge as the basis for technological societies, inter-system communications had become more and more paramount, for a system that lacked that connection could falter technologically and become vulnerable. So warfare involved attacks on the link-lines as much as attacks on systems and planets—and had also become rooted more and more in convictions of “rightness.” Not that righteousness and “truth” hadn’t been prime motivations behind battle from the first knapped flint spear.
Afterward, Ghenji went to the wardroom and had a large mug of green tea. He’d always felt cold, inside and out, after a console briefing.
Then he went back to the ops center and began to study the possible attack vectors from the drop spot, and particularly the last-instant options. Before he finished it was time to eat, but he was late and didn’t see Rokujo until she was already seated between several others members of the ship’s crew.
As soon as he could, he hurried to meet her before she escaped to the med-center . . . or wherever.
She stood waiting, smiling.
“I’d almost hoped to see you when I came out of suspension,” he confessed.
“You don’t want that,” she replied with a laugh. “I’m only there when there’s trouble, the snow-maiden-woman, if you will.” Her voice dropped. “Except I’m no maiden . . . as you well know.”
Ghenji blushed.
She took his hand.
Everything would have been perfect, except after she left his cubicle, he dreamed the suspension dream again—and the face was indeed that of Rokujo, and she was trying to tell him something . . . something urgent.
IV
Ghenji had run through the checklist, and waited in his needle, monitoring the operations net, with his armor tight and restrainers locked, as the Amaterasu began to spew forth the attack needles.
Kay-one, stand by for release.
Standing by, Sunbase control.
Launch one!
Kay-one is clear. Flight kay-two to position . . .
Before long, the four needles of Kama-four were in position in the mass-drivers.
Launch four!
The brutal jolt of acceleration pinned Ghenji and his armor into the needle’s couch as the Amaterasu’s mass drivers hurled the four needles of his flight “downward” toward the solar engineering facility orbiting the F2 star that the Mogulate was working to turn into a facsimile of a nova.
Kay-four, release on schedule.
Affirm, kay-four on line and alpha victor, Ghenji beamed back, concentrating on the mental display fed to him by the needle AI, showing his four needles on courseline aimed directly at the Mogulate installation. They were traveling energy-blanked, hurled out by the sun-like power of the Amaterasu. Without energy emissions the Mogulate EDIs would detect nothing until the needles were within enhanced visual range, and by then, effective reaction would be difficult. Not impossible, because nothing could conceal that a ship had entered the system and that it had released a single blast of energy. But the defenders could only estimate what sort of attack might be coming, on what vectors, and when. There was always the possibility that the launch blast had been a decoy, designed to lure defenders into position, wasting time and energy, and even putting them in the wrong location.
Even so, Ghenji kept checking the EDI and detectors for any signs of defender vessels.
Fourteen and a half minutes later, he had visual on the Mogulate installation—as well as EDI on more than a dozen hot-scouts—the high-powered and heavily-shielded Mogulate defenders. The Kama-four needles had certain advantages—far higher down-system absolute velocity than the defenders could ever match, greater numbers, and, until they began to use their drives to maneuver, virtual invisibility. The disadvantages were that the defenders knew where the Kama needles had to go in order to plant their torps and that the defenders individually had greater fire-power.
Seconds later, his sensors could pick out a gap between two of the hot-scouts not linked by defense screens. Too obvious. He tweaked the drives and angled for a narrower space “above” and to the right of the central hexagonal energy net maintained by the Parthindian defenders.
Almost as soon as he’d committed, he was through the gap and releasing his four torps. The rear screen display, only “rear” in the sense that his mind identified it as such, showed the fading energy flares that had been Republic attack needles. Initially, he could see that three of the four needles in his flight had survived the defense barrage.
Torp energy lines, seemingly from everywhere, converged on the hollowed-out nickel-iron asteroid that would have been one of two energy fulcrums used to change the stellar dynamics of the F2 sun that dominated one quadrant of his EDI. Then, the entire EDI “screen” flared, before blanking to avoid overloading both the nanotronics of the needle and the brain cells of the pilot.
Ghenji checked his departure vector against the projected track of the Amaterasu. If the giant needle-carrier followed the projected track . . . if . . . then he was home free.
That was all there was to it, in a sense—an approach in which the less maneuvering required, the greater the possibility of success and survival; a window of between nanoseconds and seconds in which to launch torps; and the selection and execution of an escape vector that would take the pilot back to the needle-carrier that had launched him or her. In the end, nanoseconds were all that separated success and failure.
Kay-four lead, kay-four-delta . . . massive damage . . . vectoring on you, open slave link . . .
Within his armor, Ghenji winced, b
ut immediately activated his slave acquisition system. Then he checked the inputs from the damaged needle. The drives had kicked the needle onto the departure vector before fusing, but outside of the separate slave transmitter, the delta needle was half-junk, and habitability was nil. He could only hope that Kashiwagi’s emergency life-suspension system had functioned as designed.
Ghenji used his steering drives to link with the damaged needle but, even hull-to-hull, could get no feedback.
Another seventeen minutes passed before Ghenji had lock-on with the Amaterasu.
Sunbase control, kay-four lead, approaching from your eight-seven, amber level.
Kay-four lead, interrogative status.
Kay-four lead and beta green, kay-four gamma strike at target. Kay-four delta on slave-link and tow. Status unknown.
Standing by for link-recovery for delta. Couplers ready. Suggest decel in ten.
Sunbase control, affirm decel in ten.
Operations control took Kashiwagi’s needle first, and then the two remaining Kama-four needles, with Ghenji last.
Before he powered down and left the cradle, he linked to ops. Interrogative status, kay-four delta.
Recovery successful, pilot in suspension.
Thank you, Sunbase ops.
He finished the shutdown checklist and then eased himself out of the restrainers and then out of the needle through the flexible umbilical tube.
Later, there would be a complete debrief, after operations correlated all the information, but, once he finished the post-flight and mech report, he checked the mission status. Out of sixty needles launched, seven had been lost, and four had returned with various stages of damage to the needles and their pilots. He nodded—the stats were close to operational norms.
He still had time before the flight leader debrief, and he needed to check on Lieutenant Kashiwagi. The lieutenant was one of his pilots. Tired as Ghenji was, he headed up to the medical section. As he neared the two technicians stationed at the master suspension consoles, he couldn’t help but overhear the quiet words between them.
“Snow-woman got him . . . but he should make it . . . bring ’em back from a block of ice . . . not medically possible . . . she can . . . ”
Snow-woman? Ghenji stepped forward. “Can you tell me about Lieutenant Kashiwagi?”
“Ser!” Both stiffened. Neither spoke for a moment.
Then one finally said, “Dr. Yukionna could best tell you, and it will be a while.”
“I’ll wait.”
He stood there, pacing back and forth, for close to a stan before he saw a flash of short brilliant white hair.
“You’re here because of one of your pilots?” Rokujo’s words were barely a question.
“Kashiwagi . . . Kama-four-delta. Will he make it?”
She offered a faint smile. “It’s likely. He did suffer explosive decompression before life-suspension fully kicked in. That’s in addition to major organ failures. We don’t have the facilities to rebuild him here, but there’s a good chance that we can keep him alive in suspension until we return to Kunitsu . . . ”
“Likely?” That didn’t sound good.
“Most of those who are likely to survive do, and if they survive, the med-systems at Kunitsu orbit station can return almost all to full function.”
That was the best Ghenji could hope for. He nodded.
“Later?” he asked.
“It might be much later, but . . . yes.” The quick smile that burst through the formal frosty exterior was gone almost as soon as it had appeared . . . but Ghenji had seen it.
V
Immediately after the needle recovery, the Amaterasu withdrew and began the maneuvers to move into position for the second attack.
Ghenji had appreciated Rokujo’s company the evening after the first attack . . . but he did not see her again until the evening meal the following ship-day. She was looking for him, though, as she entered the wardroom.
“How is Kashiwagi?” he asked.
“He’s under suspension. There’s no way to tell now, not until they bring him out when we return. How are you?”
“Concerned. Now that I’ve thought about it, there should have been more defenders at the last installation.”
They settled near the end of the second table.
“You think there’ll be more at the next?”
“Maybe they thought we’d attack it first.” He shook his head. “Enough of that. Do you prefer the art of calligraphy, representation, or actuality?” That should spark some discussion, since it had been more than a little controversial on Kunitsu just before they had left, in part because one of the “art-monks” had used a molecular shredder to destroy an entire actuality exhibit at the national museum at Oharano, claiming that the actuality school did not practice art, but merely plagiarized reality.
“I tend toward representation.” She smiled. “Especially when embellished by calligraphy . . . ”
As she talked, occasionally gesturing, turning her hand, in the indirect light of the mess, Ghenji thought he saw the faintest pattern of white on her white skin. White on white, almost diamond-like, or . . . he wasn’t quite certain. He thought there might be the same pattern on her neck as well, but then again . . .
Much, much later, as they lay there together in Ghenji’s cubicle, he did not wish to think about the next day. He’d never really worried about missions and duty, not before he’d met Rokujo. So he tried to think of something, anything, that would divert her . . . and him.
“You said you were the snow-woman . . . and so did one of the techs . . . ” Ghenji didn’t want to turn his statement into a question.
“That’s because of my billet, and my name. The name is the same as one from an old legend, and . . . you know what I do . . . I’m responsible for bringing people out of suspension, out of the cold . . . or putting them into it, if necessary.” She absently licked her lips, red, but thin, and, as he had discovered, more than mobile.
Ghenji couldn’t help watching closely. They were very close, and when she’d done that, it had looked to him almost as though she’d flicked her tongue—a rather pointed tongue. He wanted to shake his head. That wasn’t possible. “And the white hair?”
She just shrugged in that incredibly sinuous and sensual fashion that fascinated him. “The hair goes a long ways back, to Old Earth at least. It’s always run in my family. I’ve been told the women are an odd mixture.”
“What else runs in your family?” Ghenji tried to keep his tone light. “Besides passion?” He grinned.
“Jealousy.” She bent forward and nibbled his ear. “We don’t share. Ever.”
That was fine with Ghenji. Then he thought. “What about duty? You do have to share me with duty.”
“You’re fortunate. One of my ancestors didn’t understand that. I do . . . mostly.” She wrapped her arms around him, coiling herself about him.
At that moment, Ghenji had no more interest in biographical questions.
When he woke, she was gone.
VII
Once more, Flight Captain Ghenji Yamato waited in his needle, monitoring the net. Within his armor, he felt hot and clammy, yet cold and chill. Why? What had happened to the warrior-monk?
Kay-four, stand by for release.
Standing by, Sunbase control, he pulsed back.
Launch four!
The sudden acceleration slammed Ghenji and his armor into the needle’s couch as the Amaterasu’s mass drivers hurled his needle out and away. He and the remaining two needles of his flight slashed “upward” at an angle toward the second component of the Mogulate solar engineering facility. Ghenji checked vectors and relative speeds. Sunbase control, affirm, kay-four on-line.
He forced himself to concentrate on the mental display, while he kept checking the EDI and detectors for the first signs of the Parthindian defenders. Less than twelve minutes later, he had both visual and full EDI on the Mogulate defenses—and he didn’t like what he saw. There were close to forty hot-scouts
comprising a defense net with four energy-screen hexagons, and all were lined up almost perfectly to block the Amaterasu’s needles.
He mentally checked the options, scanned the offshoots, and pulsed to his flight, Kay-four, course change follows . . . Execute . . . NOW!
The two quick heading changes would do nothing to the flight’s projected target release point, but they would change the angle of penetration of the defense screen—enough, Ghenji hoped, to allow a successful torp release. He wasn’t so sure about whether they could correct enough afterwards, assuming they did penetrate, to regain a departure vector that would allow successful recovery.
There were no real gaps in the defense screens, not given the speeds and vectors involved, and Ghenji angled his needle toward the lowest energy concentration level in the screens with the least course deviation possible. Then, just in the nanosecond when the needle impacted the screens, the system shifted all power to ablation and defense.
The needle was through the Mogulate defenses, and nothing lay between it and the second hollowed-out asteroid.
Ghenji released all four torps.
In his mental display, ahead of him, his screens showed far fewer energy lines impacting the Parthindian installation than during the first mission and, behind him, far greater numbers of energy flares that had once been Republic attack needles.
At that instant, the EDI screen blanked in overload protection. Nearly simultaneously, the needle bucked and shuddered—and the diversion screens crumbled. That was trouble. At the velocities his needle carried, anything at all that struck the needle could now turn it into a mass of scrap composite and metal.
A second shudder rattled the needle, and Ghenji couldn’t help but wince as fire shot through his back and down both legs. Then . . . he felt nothing below his waist. Nothing, not heat or chill.
Ignoring what he couldn’t do anything about, Ghenji forced himself to study the needle’s diagnostics. The shield generators had already gone red. The converter blinked amber, then red, and stored power reserves running down, barely enough for a return to the Amaterasu on residual velocity.
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