The men in the front did not respond quickly enough to save themselves. The SEAL swept an ankle from under the man on the right, breaking the joint and leaving him hobbled. With a cry of pain, he fell to the floor.
Only one uninjured opponent remained. The man did not run. He had a gun, but he knew he could not draw it fast enough to save himself. He kicked at the SEAL, but the clone ducked, spun, and moved away. The man chased, his arms guarding his face, his fists clenched tight.
As the SEAL came in range, Oshiro tried to kick him, but the SEAL dodged the kick, dropped to one leg, and struck the inside of Oshiro’s injured knee with a back-fist. With his right elbow and left knee broken, Oshiro fought back the pain as he rolled toward the knife he had dropped. The SEAL leaped over his shoulder and drove the heel of his foot into the wounded Yakuza’s neck, killing him.
The uninjured Yakuza lunged at the SEAL, an aggressive mistake that ended the fight. Using his fingers like a knife, the SEAL drove his fingers into the man’s gut. Blood jetted out of the wound, but the SEAL had not finished. He slashed the man across his left biceps, then along his throat. The cut across the arm was disabling. The holes in his stomach and neck drained the man’s life in a matter of seconds.
The last of the Yakuza lay helpless on the floor. He did not have a gun, and the knife was too far away for him to reach it. He tried to drag himself to safety, but Oliver slid silently behind him, grabbed his head, and snapped his neck.
Only when the fighting had ended did the three SEALs behind the corner emerge with the body of the fifth Yakuza, the gunman. “Not exactly a textbook assault,” Senior Chief Warren said in the condescending tone of a teacher correcting an errant pupil.
“I just eliminated four men,” said Oliver.
“Yes, and it wouldn’t have been much louder if you had attacked them with a set of kettledrums and a bugle,” said Warren.
The other SEALs set to work without a word. They loaded the bodies onto a cart, which they rolled to the same wastedisposal unit that the Yakuza would have used to incinerate Oliver. While Oliver and Warren mopped the floor and cleaned the walls, the bodies of the gangsters burned to ash.
In less than three minutes, the SEALs cleaned the service hall and disposed of the bodies. They prided themselves on efficiency.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Earthdate: November 28, A.D. 2517
“Fifteen of my men are missing,” said Admiral Yamashiro. “What do you know about the disappearances, Master Chief?”
The master chief stood at attention, his eyes straight ahead, his chest out, his arms at his side. “Nothing, sir,” said Oliver. It was a lie, and he knew that Yamashiro could see through it; but lying was within the parameters of his mission. Before leaving Earth, the SEALs had received special orders.
“You know nothing about it?” asked Yamashiro. He stood and stared angrily into Oliver’s eyes, looking for any sign of nervousness, then he walked around the SEAL. “I think you and your men have been poaching.”
“Poaching, sir?” asked Oliver.
“Hunting without permission,” growled Yamashiro.
Oliver did not respond.
Captain Takahashi, who sat in a corner of the office watching the interrogation, silently shifted in his chair.
“I will not tolerate vigilantism on my ship,” Yamashiro grunted. He did not raise his voice.
“ ‘ Vigilantism,’ sir?” asked Oliver. “Was somebody breaking the law?”
“The missing men are all Yakuza.”
“Permission to speak, sir?”
“Speak,” said Yamashiro.
“What are Yakuza?” asked Oliver.
Yamashiro looked to Takahashi for help. The captain said, “Gangsters.”
“Lieutenant Tatsu Hara is missing,” said Yamashiro.
“Hara?” asked Oliver.
“The intelligence officer who spoke at the briefing yesterday.”
“The man with all the brantoos?” asked Oliver.
“Yes.”
“And the curled hair?”
Yamashiro glowered.
“And the dark glasses?”
This time, Yamashiro did not respond at all.
“Was he a gangster?” asked Oliver.
“You were seen in the Shin Roppongi bar last night,” said Yamashiro.
“Me, sir?”
“You were seen.”
“What makes you think it was me?” asked Oliver. “With all due respect, sir, there are three thousand Navy SEALs on this ship, and we all look alike.”
Yamashiro growled, and Takahashi giggled. Yamashiro whirled around to face his son-in-law, and snarled, “Do you think this is funny?”
Takahashi fought back a laugh, and said, “Yes, sir. I do.”
“I see no humor . . .”
“Admiral, when we left Earth, you were given orders that you have not shared with the rest of the crew. What makes you so sure Master Chief Oliver is not following special orders as well?”
“Is that the case, Master Chief?” growled Yamashiro.
Oliver, his gaze still straight ahead, said, “This sailor has received no special orders, sir.” He hated lying; but he preferred it to disobeying orders.
“But you would not be able to tell me if Admiral Brocius gave you a direct order, would you?” Yamashiro asked, then he turned back to Takahashi, and asked, “What kind of orders?”
“Orders to enforce Unified Authority regulations,” said Takahashi. “Orders to do whatever he sees necessary to ensure we accomplish our mission.”
“This is not a Unified Authority ship,” Yamashiro grumbled.
“But the SEALs are on loan from the U.A. Navy.”
“Admiral Brocius is the only officer who would have authority to issue those orders,” said Yamashiro. He turned to Oliver, and yelled, “Did you meet with Admiral Brocius? Tell me.”
“It could have come from the Linear Committee,” Takahashi said. “It might be an executive order.”
“Do you think the orders included assassinating members of my crew?”
“Naturally,” said Takahashi. “They may include assassinating you if necessary.”
Yamashiro sighed, and said, “Maybe so. At ease, Master Chief.” He walked behind his desk. Before he sat down, he asked, “Do you believe I have shown good judgment as a commander, Master Chief?”
“Yes, sir,” said Oliver.
“We did not need those men, I suppose. Hara was a useful officer,” said Yamashiro, then he muttered the words, “bootleggers and extortionists.”
The admiral sat down and asked the SEAL to sit as well. Only when Oliver was seated did Yamashiro begin speaking. He asked, “Master Chief, what do you know about colonizing planets?” There was a notepad on Yamashiro’s desk. He picked up the stylus and focused his attention on the small screen.
“They didn’t cover colonization in special operations, sir,” said Oliver. “I do have men who specialized in survival training.”
“Survival training?” asked Yamashiro.
“Supplementing limited resources by living off the land, locating and purifying sources of water ... building shelter . . . camouflage. Some of it could be useful.”
“We may need them for protection as well,” said Takahashi.
Yamashiro grunted his agreement, and said, “Master Chief, as you know, we’re sending all nonessential personnel down to the planet. We will not need your SEALs to complete our mission. I want to leave them with the colony.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve thought about that, sir, and I believe that would be a mistake, sir.”
Yamashiro looked up from the notepad for a moment, his eyes on Oliver; but the SEAL did not meet his gaze. “You think I am making a mistake? Just yesterday you recommended sending all nonessential personnel to New Copenhagen.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you changed your mind?”
“Not entirely, sir. I still believe we should establish a colony. I have had second thoughts about the size of
the colony.”
“Everyone left aboard this ship will die,” said Yamashiro. “A-361-B will be a Kamikaze mission.”
“Yes, sir,” said the master chief. “Sir, resources are going to be scarce on New Copenhagen. It may take years before the colony becomes self-sufficient. I’m concerned about overpopulating the colony.”
Yamashiro placed the stylus back on the notepad, and said, “Who do you think we should leave on the colony?”
“Not me or my men, sir. I believe we have nothing to contribute to a colony.”
“Master Chief, once we program the broadcast coordinates into the broadcast computer, we can fly that mission with a skeleton crew,” said Takahashi. “We won’t need you on this mission.”
“What would we contribute to the colony? If the objective is to preserve life ... to continue humanity, Admiral, we’re clones. We’re sterile.
“One hundred of my men have been trained in basic survival tactics. They may be useful. They can serve as peacekeepers, they know how to build shelters and purify water. They can contribute. The colony will need farmers, not saboteurs. They didn’t teach us farming in SEAL training. We don’t belong in your colony.”
Yamashiro sighed and rubbed his eyes. Takahashi made a whistling noise that sounded like a bomb dropping, and said, “You’re a cheerful fellow.”
“Do your men agree with your assessment?” asked Yamashiro.
“To a man,” said Oliver.
Yamashiro let a moment pass before asking, “What do you suggest we do?”
“Leave our survival specialists on New Copenhagen.”
“And you think I should take the rest of you to A-361-B?” asked Yamashiro.
“Yes, sir,” said Oliver.
“You don’t want to live?” asked Takahashi.
“Sir, we were created to help ensure the survival of the human species. We want to do what we were created to do, sir,” said Oliver. “You will not need us in your colony, Admiral. Life in your colony does not fit our mission.”
A smile flickered across Yamashiro’s lips and vanished while his eyes remained cold and hard. His irises were such a dark shade of brown that they appeared to be black.
“In my colony? It may not have occurred to you, Master Chief, but you are not the only man in this fleet who is willing to go down with this ship. I have no intention of hiding on a planet while my ship is destroyed.”
“You mean my ship,” said Takahashi. “I command the ship; you command the fleet.”
“Which is down to one ship,” snapped Yamashiro. “Captain, the Sakura is my fleet.”
“With all due respect, Admiral, there is no fleet,” said Oliver. “There will be a colony, and it will need a governor. You will be needed on New Copenhagen. Any part you would play during the destruction of A-361-B would be insignificant. Your leadership in the colony, on the other hand . . .”
Yamashiro would not have looked more stunned and angered if the SEAL had spit on him. His jaw clenched tight, his eyes narrowed to angry slits, and he said, “I am more than seventy years old. Do not deny an old man the opportunity to die with dignity.”
Takahashi stood and walked over to his father-in-law. He placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder, and said, “You are a miserable excuse for a fleet commander. You were a fantastic governor and a masterful politician, but I never liked the way you ran the fleet.”
Yamashiro’s shoulder tightened, then sagged. For a brief moment, it looked like he might take a swing at Takahashi, then the strength leaked out of his body. When he looked up, his eyes were moist. He asked, “Was it my fault? Was it my fault that we lost the other ships?”
At some point Takahashi had blamed Yamashiro for their losses. He had sided with the warlike Miyamoto instead of listening to his other captains. Now, though, Takahashi realized the weight of command and forgave. “No,” said Takahashi. “It was nobody’s fault.”
Oliver added, “The colony will need a government and laws. It will need a leader, someone who can tell the people not to eat more food than they can grow even though they are hungry.”
“That is not me,” said Yamashiro.
“That can only be you,” said Takahashi.
“What about you?” asked Yamashiro, desperation rising in his voice.
“You were the governor of a planet, I am the captain of this ship, both of our futures have been decided for us. You will lead the colony, and I will protect it.”
“And die a hero,” whispered Yamashiro.
“Sometimes it is easier to die for your beliefs than to live for them,” said Takahashi. “I think my job will be easier than yours.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Earthdate: November 29, A.D. 2517
Location: New Copenhagen
Galactic Position: Orion Arm
Astronomic Location: Milky Way
Thirty-five stealth infiltration pods hovered in space, ten thousand miles away from the Sakura forming a loose blockade around the ship. The technicians controlling the pods kept their field-resonance engines fully charged and on the brink of overcharging. They were like grenades, keys pulled and ready to throw.
Theoretically, the enemy ships only needed to venture within five thousand miles of one of the pods for the trap to work. When your bombs explode with enough force to shatter small planets, marksmanship is not really an issue.
Within an hour of the Sakura drifting into place above New Copenhagen, three ships streaked into view. They glowed a brilliant orange gold in the darkness of space, like fireflies flying in formation. They might have broadcasted in millions of miles away or they might have been lying in wait. Sakura security never detected their anomalies.
Three anomalies appeared behind the first ships, signaling the arrival of three more ships. Another trio of ships appeared on the opposite side of the Sakura.
Watching the nine ships advance, Yamashiro said, “First wave, support wave, third wave to flank, cutting off retreat ... Those must be Unified Authority ships, they are using the same tactics they used against the Mogats.
“Who are they at war with? Why attack us?”
“Are they responding to our signal?” asked Takahashi.
“No, sir.”
“Keep trying,” said Takahashi.
Another few seconds passed, and he asked, “They’re still not responding?”
“No, sir.”
“Are they in range of the pods?” asked Takahashi.
“Almost, sir. They’re flying very slowly. They’ve dropped down under one thousand miles per hour.”
“Maybe they want us to escape,” Yamashiro said. He had already begun the transformation from military leader back to statesman.
“Still no response?” asked Takahashi, now getting nervous. Knowing that destroying the ships could start a war between the Unified Authority and New Copenhagen, Takahashi wanted to avoid bloodshed.
“The first three ships are in range of the pods,” said the weapons officer.
“Still no response?” Takahashi asked one last time.
“Captain, we need to . . .” Yamashiro did not get the chance to finish his sentence.
Takahashi knew his job. He took a deep breath, and said, “Fire the nearest pod.” He spoke in English. It was his bridge now; ceremony and tradition had never interested him. He and his crew spoke Japanese, but they spoke English more fluently.
To the naked eye, it looked like nothing happened. If there was a flash from the explosion, it was so small that nothing showed on the monitors. There was no visible shock wave, no wall of debris. An uninformed observer might have thought that the three glowing ships had simply malfunctioned.
What struck Takahashi was not the destruction of three ships with a single weapon but the completeness of their demise. Torpedoes left holes. Sometimes, they set off chain reactions. Sometimes, small parts of the hull broke off.
That was not what happened to these ships. In the invisible wake of the explosion, the three glowing ships slid sideways like b
oats caught by a powerful wave. Their bows continued to face toward the Sakura as they skittered to the side and began shedding parts. Their shields disappeared, and the armor fell from their hulls in flakes, revealing skeletons of twisted girders. Because they were in space, and there was nothing to stop them, the U.A. ships continued sliding sideways until the Sakura’s telemetry could no longer track them.
For a moment, the universe seemed to freeze.
This wasn’t a naval battle. It was like crushing an insect, thought Takahashi.
“The other ships are leaving, sir.”
On his tactical display, Takahashi watched six glowing ships disappear into anomalies.
Admiral Yamashiro and Captain Takahashi stood in the control tower of one of the landing bays. Below them, lines of sailors, both men and women, marched onto transports. They wore uniforms and carried duffel bags. They moved slowly onto the transports, heads down, steps short. “It’s like watching prisoners on their way to a firing squad,” said Yamashiro. “They think they are the ones who are going to die.”
Takahashi asked, “Is living easier than dying?”
Yamashiro said, “Your crew would mutiny if they knew what you planned. You, Hironobu, you are the brave one. You know where you are going and what you need to do.”
“My mission will end three minutes after it begins. There’s no need for bravery,” said Takahashi. He did not look at his father-in-law as he said this. He stared away, watching the lines of sailors boarding the transports. Lifeboats, he thought. These men and women will escape my sinking ship.
For the first time in three years, Yamashiro smiled at his son-in-law. Speaking in Japanese, he said, “You cannot convince me that flying a Kamikaze mission over an alien planet is the act of a coward.”
There is much you do not know, thought Takahashi. Takahashi Hironobu, who could not return to his wife on Earth and was about to lose his ship, took comfort in the thought of a quick death.
For the first time in his short life, Senior Chief Jeff Harmer raised his voice as he asked, “Me? Why do I have to go?”
The Clone Redemption Page 23