Ishimaru

by Louis Rosas

  The English butler sighed and looked to Connors with tearful eyes.

  “I am afraid Sir I must go now,” he replied.

  “What?” exclaimed Connors.

  “Your LSS systems are starting to fail. To sustain life support I am assigned by protocol to shut off,” explained Hopkins.

  “No Hopkins, don’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!” pleaded Connors.

  “I am so sorry, Sir. Please focus on the blinking star up above you and think of all those you have loved and lost. Please take those memories with you. They are your most valuable possessions,” instructed Hopkins.

  Connors began to feel the cold entering his LSS suit as he took in the devastating news that his trusted companion would leave him in his final moments of what had been an adventurous life. With a tear rolling down one eye, Hopkins stood up straight and adjusted his suit before bidding Adieu.

  “May I say, Sir, it has been an honor and a pleasure serving you. Please focus on the blinking star and enjoy this last parting gift,” said Hopkins.

  ‘Parting gift? What did he mean?’ wondered Connors.

  He had blinked his eye for a second and discovered Hopkins was gone. He could see no trace of him ever being there. Connors could not tell if he should feel this sad and abandoned or just outright delusional knowing full well that Hopkins never really existed. But in another world, he was more than a trusted companion. Hopkins had become his friend.

  Connors became distraught in the wake of Hopkins departure and started to succumb to despair in the shadow of his impending doom. Never before had he felt so alone since that day he found himself in that rain-soaked alleyway. For a moment he imagined seeing the Admiral standing before him looking on with pity when suddenly he noticed a small message indicator light blinking on his wrist. With no delay, he depressed the small button to play the long overlooked pre-recorded message. Strangely he did not recall ever recording it. For Connors, if this was Hopkins parting gift ‘then so be it.’

  The audible recording sounded like the crashing waves before turning into the sound of thunderous applause. As the applause died down to a discernible silence, a male voice made an announcement in Japanese. From what he could understand it translated to:

  “His Royal Majesty, Members of the Imperial Family, Ladies, and Gentlemen, may I please present to you Miss Aya Matsumura.”

  Hearing the brief applause brought a smile to Connors face and light to his tearful eyes. Like right out of a movie, Aya’s haunting melody played on as the blinking light he had been advised to pay attention to appeared to descend closer until turning into a series of bright lights. It might as well been another dream or a fanciful hallucination brought about by his near-empty oxygen supply. Perhaps he was finally crossing over from his injuries. All Connors could do was smile and laugh to himself as the series of lights appeared to be an approaching white-hulled vessel lit up like some fancy cruise ship so it’s features and ships name could be clearly seen at a distance.

  ‘Perhaps this is the end, and the angels have come for me,’ he thought.

  But if this was the case, why would he be reading Hiragana characters brightly painted in red on the pointed ship’s hull?

  As Connors looked closer through his condensation filled space helmet, he could just make out a smaller series of English lettering clear as day just above the large Japanese writing. ISHIMARU – NAGASAKI.

  “Ishimaru?” he pondered.

  “What the hell? A Japanese ship out here in the Quad-Threes? God bless them!” he exclaimed.

  Of all the possible outcomes he could not believe what he was seeing! Had he really been found by a Japanese ship in the nick of time? Or was this all in mind? In any case, it seemed all too incredible for him to believe!

  In space, one cannot hear external sounds. However, in a limited atmosphere you hear the muffled sounds and feel the ground beneath you shake as the force of downward thrusters could be felt descending close by. Connors could feel and hear the sands shake all around him and could hear the muffled sounds of large thruster engines close by. The condensation in his helmet had made it nearly impossible for him to see clearly. By the looks of things, sand and dust clouds filled the thin air in front of him. Moments later, beams of white light were pointed right at him.

  Connors crossed his hands to block out the blinding light pointed directly into his eyes when suddenly he could feel two sets of hands pulling his hands down. He could almost hear the muffled sounds of men speaking when suddenly he could feel that they were lifting him to slide a gurney under him. While he still couldn’t see very well out through his condensation filled helmet, Connors flew faint gasps of hot breath, just enough to clear a small view of the men in white space suits lifting him up off the ground. They carried him twenty meters to what appeared to be a brightly lit landing ramp. Connors could not see or breathe very well. He struggled to blow warm air until he could hear an internal sensor warning him his oxygen supply would be out in thirty seconds. Suddenly everything went black again.

  “CLEAR-O!”

  That was the first audible human words Connors could hear as he lumped back down hard onto a white examination table. He had just been shocked with a defibrillator.

  “Mate’-Mate (wait)!” instructed the lead medic in a heavy Japanese accent.

  Connors took in a deep breath like none other he had ever made before as if he had come up from out the deep waters for his first breath of life-saving air. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see several medics attending to him. It was clear that his breathing and heart had stopped at some point making it necessary to revive him. He could see looking someone over him behind a white surgical mask who was ready to intubate him. Lucky for Connors, he had become conscious before that could happen. But with all that was taking place around him, he could not tell where he was at or what was really happening.

  It was unclear how much time had passed while being under. Connors had no way to know what was going on other than he was no longer freezing in his LSS suit or his condensation filled helmet. He was somewhere safe in some brightly lit medical bay with a clear IV attached to his left arm. Apart from the ambient noise, Connors could somewhat make out the sounds of conversations by men who partially were out of view. It sounded like Japanese, but he could not make it out even with his understanding of the language he had come to know through the Matsumura family. But nothing seemed as it should be. With his groggy state, he could only make out minor details within the room that seemed enveloped in some brightly lit fog. Enter the Surreal.

  Connors opened his eyes once more and found two men dressed in white standing before him. One wore a surgical mask and a stethoscope around his shoulder. The other man wore a cap with some insignia of the ship they were aboard. Connors tried to speak but found it difficult. Judging by the soreness in his throat and the limited ability to make sounds, he must have gone out once again forcing them to intubate him. Suddenly, the doctor tried to speak in broken English to him:

  “If you can hear me, please move your hand.”

  Connors struggled yet slowly moved his right wrist and nodded his head to acknowledge the doctor. While Connors could still not see him so clearly, he could make out the taller man wearing the cap who stepped forward to talk to him.

  “Anata wa Americanjin desu ka (Are you American)?” Connors understood this question and waved his right hand as he struggled to say:

  ”Hai.”

  The man appeared surprised to see Connors response prompting him to ask another question;

  “Nihongo ga wakarimasu ka (Do you understand Japanese)?”

  Connors once again understood the man’s question and waved his right wrist back and forth while struggling to say:

  ”Sukoshi (a little).”

  Connors blinked his eyes once more under the bright white lights in the room. He still could not clearly make out detailed of the man in front of him as he continued to speak:

  “Watashi wa Murakami desu (I am Mur
akami) Sencho no Ishimaru desu (captain of this ship).”

  Then as if things could not get any more surreal the captain leaned ever closer to Connors' ear and then began to speak to him in English.

  “You are safe now. You shall be home soon,” said Capt. Murakami.

  Connors nod his head to thank him. The captain leaned in even closer before asking:

  “Are we good now? Daijoubu desu ka? Are we good?”

  “Eh?” exclaimed Connors.

  Suddenly everything went white.

  Connors had no idea how long he had been out for when he started to come to he could hear the sound of a friendly voice.

  “Mike-san. Wake up!” said the familiar voice.

  It could only be Hiroshi Matsumura. Michael Connors squinted his eyes to find his brother in law smiling in a chair wearing his old brown JASDF aviators jacket bearing the patch of the 6th Sentai on one shoulder and the Japanese Flag on the other sitting right next to his bed.

  “How do you feel?” asked Hiroshi.

  “Like shit,” replied Connors.

  “Well, I heard you had quite a crash. Your data recorder shows from the shallow angle of entry into the thin atmosphere of the planetoid you crashed on that you conquered the Six Minutes of Terror you were always afraid of,” revealed Hiroshi.

  “I wasn’t afraid of it. I just prayed I’d never had to do it, replied Connors.

  “The same thing,” laughed Hiroshi.

  “What’s become of my crew?” Connors asked.

  “Everyone but the survey officer was accounted for. He is presumed dead,” replied Hiroshi.

  “Well, that’s good to know the crew on the D-9 Scout Ship made it. As for Andre,’ he got his just desserts. Say, where the hell am I anyway?” he asked.

  “We had just come out of the NFTL flight stream thirty minutes ago. At our current rate of deceleration we should be back on Earth within an hour,” replied Hiroshi.

  “How long have I been out?” asked Connors.

  “After you were transferred to Europa Station you were put in a medically induced coma for a month before we could make the flight home,” revealed Hiroshi.

  “Home?” asked Connors.

  “Hai!” replied Hiroshi as he pulled back a small curtain to reveal a window where he could see they were just crossing the Moon’s Equator before the final leg to the big blue planet they called home up ahead.

  “Beautiful isn’t it?” remarked Connors.

  “Hai! Would you like to see something even more beautiful?” Hiroshi asked.

  “Yeah,” responded Connors as Hiroshi pulled forth a small projector on a movable arm that was attached to the bed.

  With the flick of a switch, a beam projected a 30-centimeter image of Connor’s unborn child moving around in Aya’s womb.

  “Is that?”

  “Yes. This was taken earlier this morning,” interrupted Hiroshi.

  Just then a call came in. Hiroshi switched the screen over to project Aya’s call.

  Connor’s eyes lit up as he looked upon his wife as she lay in her hospital bed on the other side of the call. He could see that she had stitches right above her temple yet her smile put him at ease.

  “Hey there, stranger,” she greeted.

  “Well hello to you too,” he replied.

  “I heard about your ordeal. I was happy to hear they found you alive. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” said Aya.

  “I’ve missed you too. How’s the baby?” he asked.

  “You’re going to be just in time for our little girl’s delivery next week,” announced Aya.

  “A girl?”

  “Yes, you are going to have a little girl,” remarked Hiroshi.

  “I just want to say how sorry I am for taking this contract and coming home broken and empty-handed,” apologized Connors.

  Aya giggled then asked her brother;

  “You didn’t tell him did you?”

  Connors appeared confused. As far as he knew all the gold was lost and the most he could expect was his standard contract pay for his flight engineering duties.

  “What does she mean? Tell me what?” asked Connors.

  Hiroshi smiled as his sister nudged from the screen to reveal some unexpected news.

  “We know from the Red Adair that the Fortin was high jacked with the entire haul lost. The rest of the crew were recovered within hours of colliding with an unknown pirate vessel believed to be of Russian origin,” revealed Hiroshi.

  “Before you were rescued, you had transmitted a claim to a gold discovery on the planetoid you crashed on. Under the exemption provisions of your contract, you are the sole claim holder of your find on Eros 3117. You landed on top of a large find. Those black sands were rich with gold. You’re going to be rich my friend!” exclaimed Hiroshi.

  Connors appeared in shock as Hiroshi and Aya both grinned with excitement.

  “You hear that Michael? You won’t have to go out on dangerous deep-space contracts anymore,” said Aya.

  “You can lease your claim and take a healthy percentage. Now you can move to the Inland Sea or the Puget Sound or wherever you want to raise my new niece!” said Hiroshi.

  “Mike, the nurse says I need to rest so I will see you soon. Love you! Mata ne!” said Aya.

  “Love you too! See you soon!” affectionately replied Connors.

  Connors was relieved to know that Aya and the baby were safe. He was happy to return home in time for his wife’s delivery. He smiled yet still appeared somewhat confused as he stood up out of bed to stretch his arms.

  “What’s wrong?”asked Hiroshi.

  Connors rubbed his eyes and looked out the window to the Earth before speaking.

  “You mentioned that I was transferred to Europa Station. Transferred from what ship?” asked Connors.

  Hiroshi appeared somewhat confused at the importance of his query.

  “You were brought aboard Europa Station by the crew of the USDSRV Red Adair. You owe your life to a communications officer named John Kirby,” said Hiroshi.

  Connors seemed somewhat at a loss to understand how this could be. His good friend and brother in law Hiroshi Matsumura had just explained the timeline of known events to Connors yet it was not how he remembered it.

  “You say I was rescued by the Red Adair? That’s impossible!” argued Connors.

  Hiroshi seemed to be at a loss for words.

  “It’s true. You were rescued by the USDSRV Red Adair. In fact, you have a taped message from the Captain and Communications Officer Kirby that rescued you who wish you a speedy recovery and luck with your new family,” further revealed Hiroshi.

  Connors continued to shake his head in disagreement.

  “I remembered the ship that came for me. It was an angular vessel with a lot of bright white lights and a pointed bow. It was a Japanese ship painted white with big red letters saying ISHIMARU – NAGASAKI,” recalled Connors.

  “No, that must have been a dream. You were rescued by the Red Adair,” assured Hiroshi.

  Connors remained somewhat unconvinced as he started to dress out of the medical scrubs he had recuperated in and into regular clothes complete with a green flight jacket with a USDSRV Red Adair SAR Mission patch.

  “I tell you I was not dreaming! I was rescued by a Japanese vessel out of Nagasaki bearing the name Ishimaru. I even met their Captain Murakami,” argued Connors.

  “Ishimaru? Murakami?” questioned Hiroshi.

  “Yes! I tell you that’s who came for me. I remember talking to him in both English and Japanese,” said Connors.

  “What did he say to you?” asked Hiroshi.

  “He introduced himself as being the captain of the Ishimaru then asked me in English if we were good. I have no idea what he meant by that,” said Connors.

  “Mike-san, we have an hour before we land. If you so choose, please join me in the main passenger cabin while I let you get your bearings straight. This will allow me time to research this,” suggested Hiroshi.


  “All right then,” agreed Connors.

  “Find out what you can, and I’ll see you in a few.”

  Thirty minutes later, Connors appeared in the main cabin deck freshened up and ready to take his seat next to his brother in law before entry into the Earth’s atmosphere.

  “Ah! There he is,” greeted Hiroshi.

  “Iie-iie (No-no), don’t get up. You can keep the window seat,” remarked Connors.

  “You might want to buckle in. The flight attendants are about to make their announcements,” advised Hiroshi.

  Connors sat down and buckled his seat before sighing at the thought of returning home after his ordeal in deep space. Yet despite it all, Connors appeared perplexed which Hiroshi could hardly ignore.

  “Hiroshi-san. Did you find any information on the Ishimaru?” asked Connors.

  Hiroshi looked uneasy as he pulled out a small tablet to show what he had found.

  “As far as I could find, history records five Japanese vessels by the name of Ishimaru. There was one record from the year 1830 of a vessel commanded by a Captain Murakami that was lost at sea with its fate unknown.”

  “Can you pull up an image on what he looked like?” asked Connors.

  Hiroshi tapped a link on the projected image that produced a small rough black and white etching of Captain Murakami. Connors' eyes lit up as soon as he recognized the man from the small rendering that this indeed was the same man he had interacted with.

  “What is it?” asked Hiroshi.

  “That’s him I tell you! But how?”

  Hiroshi Matsumura sighed deeply before answering his American brother in law’s question.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” asked Hiroshi.

  “Yes, I believe they exist. Why?” he asked.

  “How about ghost ships like the Flying Dutchman?” asked Hiroshi.

  Connors turned a shade of white.

  “It’s okay. We have such stories in our history from that period too. Due to Japan’s Isolationist policies of that time, many stranded sailors washed ashore only to be ignored by passing Japanese ships for fear of prosecution. There are stories of young boys who were eventually rescued who often cursed the crews of such ships that left them marooned to die. Perhaps this may have been one of those ships doomed to sail on like restless spirits until they right a wrong,” speculated Hiroshi.