Chapter One
Just Enough to Get By
The Corron Empire's grand strategy for the past millenium -- annexing the=20
Giovanni Buffer Zone and adjoining territories to its expanding hegemony --=
=20
stems principally from a deep political and military interest in the unique=
=20
cross-section of hyperlanes in running between Tital, Jarao and=20
Rubia. Since 1632 C.E., the Empire controlled the lower tributaries of the=
=20
Manchuria Hyperlane Chain, the strategic set of gravity wave conduits that=
=20
drives a wedge -- known astrographically as "The Arm" -- into Confederation=
=20
territory. However, Imperial control of the hyperlanes north of Muscida=20
came to an end with the Jarao Cluster's induction into the=20
Confederation. The J'kal -- as the native Jaraoans were known in the=20
Empire -- rightly suspected that the Empire's five-hundred year lull in=20
offensive activities was finally coming to an end only four years before,=20
when the Empire attacked and nearly destroyed the Terran mission to=20
Rastaban. The First Corron Confederation War would set the tone for=20
Confederation and Imperial hostilities for the next century, and the=20
Giovanni Buffer Zone would become the most hotly contested piece of=20
galactic real estate in the known universe.
-Excerpted from "The Giovanni Buffer Zone," Volume 831 in the Revised=20
History of the Wars of Earth and the Confederation, Chapter XVII, pg=20
782. circa ET 2166 (ASG).
* * *
..The Present=85
Meteorlogical Orbital Control Center Padorin 922
44 Magyar Pasori II, High Earth Orbit
12 May 2165
"In other news, Premier Huang Han Zhan of the Chinese Colonial Arm attacked=
=20
President Harcourt's campaign to stop Chorymi raiding along the Periphery=20
on May 8. Most experts agree on a failure to deter Chorymi piracy,=20
although whether the Confederation response is too lenient is a matter of=20
seriously divided debate. Over the past five years, Chorymi raids have=20
tripled, and the cost to Confederation member nations has exceeded 249=20
billion nuyen this year. While widely suspected of sponsoring Chorymi=20
piracy and terrorism, the Corron Imperial Government has vigorously denied=
=20
involvement.
"This reaction follows the suddent halt to talks between the=20
Confederation and the Empire last Friday. Negotiators from both sides=20
censured each other for failure to meet obligations detailed in the Treaty=
=20
of 2150. The Corron Empire reiterated their interpretation Article Ninety=
=20
Four, a non-interference rule over mutual domestic affairs in future=20
negotiations, prevents the Confederation from raising the issue of the=20
Chorymi pirates. Confederation legal scholars point out that independent=20
and armed merchant marines within the Corron Empire's borders legally=20
predate the Treaty, although there is disagreement as to whether=20
demilitarization clauses are void in the case of the Chorymi.
"Premier Huang also demanded the Administration take 'unequivocal=
=20
action' to 'ensure both the economic and civil security' of the Jarao,=20
Rubia, and Betelgeuse cluster-sectors. Brigadier General Ig'hranaa,=20
Director of Public Relations, declined to comment; refusing to elaborate=20
further on the status of the special envoy to the Druse System and on=20
potential steps the Defense Force may take to rectify this problem.
"Amidst the accusations of complacency, the Navy's senior=20
officer--Admiral Alfred Rensselaer -- and the combatant commander in the=20
Giovanni Stretch -- Fleet Admiral Michel Lurout -- held joint press=20
conferences on May 10 to discuss the Navy mission to Jarao. According to=20
Admiral Lurout, President Harcourt approved the dispatch of carrier task=20
force to -- and I quote -- 'demonstrate the Confederation's united,=20
unrelenting resolve and national commitment to sovereign territories along=
=20
the Stretch.' Still, several respected commentators on military and foreign=
=20
affairs, chief among them Professor Ryan Goldhen, a professor of history at=
=20
the Naval War College and critic of the Harcourt Administration's naval=20
policies, criticized the action as a 'stunt to win back public confidence,'=
=20
as Dr. Golden expressed last week in Boston, Massachusetts. Dr. Golden=20
questioned wisdom behind the current administration's policy, claiming=20
Harcourt's foreign affairs agenda has fostered an unnecessary crisis=20
between the Confederation and the Empire while ignoring the more=20
fundamental issue of Chorymi piracy. In rebuttal, President Harcourt cited=
=20
his decision to increase the Confederation military presence on the border,=
=20
describing the deployment of Task Force 152 as an honest effort to maintain=
=20
the peace and integrity along the Stretch. Despite intense feuding between=
=20
the administration and its critics, Task Force 152 will arrive on the scene=
=20
within the next three weeks. The current deployment estimate includes two=
=20
fleet carriers -- those are large naval vessels that ferry small=20
strike-fightercraft -- and four groups consisting of other hull types.
"At eleven thirty, Common Broadcast Time, Sung Ji Park -- 'In the=
=20
Crossfire' -- will feature military correspondant Helga Bruemer on the=20
Right, Professor Ryan Goldhen on the Left, and Undersecretary of Defense=20
Ma'atez ibn al-Rashid in panel discussion. The topic on the table tonight=
=20
-- how will the Harcourt Administration respond to these latest=20
raids? Soon afterwards, a round-robin on the long-term foreign policy=20
embraced by the Liberal-Progressive congressional majority with Dan=20
Leanener on 'Policy in Review.' Back to you, Kate."
"Thank you, Ri-lyen. In other news, the approval of the site for=
=20
the New Edward's Aerospace Force base, located in Athens Desert on Planet=20
Eden has elicited protests from various fringe groups ranging from the=20
Humanity Unchained Fellowship to the United Terran-Zentraedi Church of=20
Christ's Unrepentent Love, along side several anti-unificationist groups..."
"Shut that damned thing off!" Electrical Technician First Class=20
Ishi Karano nearly spilled his coffee across himself and the fritzy console=
=20
in front of him. Wiping the few stray splotches off his terminal station,=
=20
Ishi switched off the multivision and whirled back to his monitor. The=20
lieutenant, in a typically unpleasant mood, stomped onto the control deck,=
=20
pausing for a moment to consider the view screen -- disgusted glare cast=20
over her face. Outside, the dark, inauspicious spectacle of one of the=20
most cluttered orbital rest areas in space perfectly reflected the demeanor=
=20
of the station's callow commanding officer. Karano, completely familiar=20
with his grumpy CO's negativity ritual, looked down at his console in=20
slight disinterest. The obsidian black surface -- puncuated only=20
self-illuminated touch-keys -- replied with a tinted reflection of the=20
electrician's bewhiskered facade. Definitely need to pick up some more=20
beard suppressor, he thought quietly as his hand reached to graze against=20
an irritated patch of facial hair..
ET1 Ishi Karano, quickly approaching his eleventh year in the=20
service; he had little under seven months left on Pasori Station. At the=20
age thirty, Ishi could look forward to retiring on a chief's pension and=20
staking out a colony plot on some frontier world out here in the=20
Periphery. Sometimes it disconcerted him -- he didn't feel as old as most=
=20
of the Confederation's retired citizenry. His sculpted, Sino-Japanese=20
features scratched against his unusually pale complexion, and his shoulders=
=20
relaxed into a taut, obtuse triangle that capped a build bordering on=20
lankiness. Wrinkly lines that had no good reason to be there were now=20
etched across his face, unusuahly in a day and age when humans lived to=20
ages previously unheard of. If that's the worse of it, then I'm doing=20
pretty damn okay.
Surprisingly, Karano's physique had drastically improved during=20
his time in service. Eight years ago, he had taught Introductory Naval=20
Power Systems Maintenance on Belmont, a lunar-world orbiting LTT 4332's=20
second gas-giant some thirty light-years from Earth. The gravity well's=20
depth on Belmont ranked somewhere in the upper tenth percentile of human=20
tolerance levels. For quantity's sake, that came out to approximately=20
one-point-four-four gees. ET1 Karano -- an acting petty officer third=20
class back then -- managed to survive three months of vigorous high-gee=20
training onboard an orbital gravity acclimation facility, uniformly=20
accelerating its torque from one gee to Belmont's gravity, until the=20
doctors pronounce Karano fit to go planetside. One of the most miserable,=
=20
uninhabitable worlds within the human tolerance range, the torrent weather=
=20
and the bitterly agitated seas of the aquarian world -- eighty-seven=20
percent water -- appealed to the Academy leadership (for some strange=20
reason known only to the nostalgics at Headquarters). After all, the=20
natural, chaotic elements of Belmont's furious weather system proved more=20
than adequate as a test of the mettle of the Navy's servicemen and=20
women. ET1 Karano, to this day, wondered what had ever implanted in=20
Command's perpetually mysterious mind that he of all people was fit to=20
teach the lucky pupils of the Navy's most rigorous wet-navy training asset.
He cocked his head back as the lieutenant took to the console=20
immediately to the left. The watch officer's chair traditionally lay in=20
the center of the room, but the lieutenant frequently complained about the=
=20
small size of the visual construct in her armrest. So, with no argument=20
(or concern) from anyone else, she sat at the superfluous forward station;=
=20
configured to support her privileged command console. Considering that=20
Meteorlogical Orbital Control Center predated its senior officer by close=20
to fifty years, and that the station's computer and network hardware was an=
=20
unholy collusion of unnecessarily ancient technology and modern-day=20
electronics, Karano had to physically hardwire her command functions into=20
that one console. His job was hard enough, and this wannabe hard-ass=20
lieutenant only seemed to increase his burdens.
The same forces that rendered the local space a confusing maze of=
=20
space trash also brought Karano and his senior officer together in a sort=20
of paradoxical mixture of feuding and camaraderie that explored the many=20
paradoxes characteristic of relationships. God help them if the Lieutenant=
=20
suddenly caught religion and started pushing the dress regs, but mutiny --=
=20
Karano briefly considered -- might go almost as unnoticed as half of the=20
other gross violations of the Uniform Code..
Fortunately, the atmosphere onboard at Pasori Station made it a=20
bit easier to relax the formalities, regardless severity and seriousness in=
=20
which the Confederation considered its border with the Corron Empire. The=
=20
UPC Navy stood watch along a six-hundred light-year stretch of the Buffer=20
Zone. For the most part, the work was incredibly boring. A vast majority=
=20
of the real estate within a twenty lightyear sweep out of Pasori lacked any=
=20
strategic value at all -- just handfuls of dying stars and a few dead=20
planets. The Navy only bothered to picket Pasori because of a nearby, rare=
=20
space-time phenomenon known as a gravity wave. Natural distortions in=20
space time, gravity waves provided mankind with rapid, reliable=20
interstellar transport (cutting transit times by factors of five or six),=20
yet as an interest of theoretical physics these natural enigmas defied any=
=20
attempt by the sentient universe to directly and exhaustively understand=20
their mechanics. Gravity waves lacked a sense of physical realness that=20
Karano and most laymen could or would attempt to intuitively grasp. For=20
one, the direct evidence for gravity waves lay well beyond the realm of=20
sensory perception; only gravitational radiation detectable by special=20
instruments demonstrated the existance of what people commonly refered to=20
as "grav waves" or "hyper lanes." For practical matters, a hyper-capable=20
starship folding within the vicinity of the grav wave could piggy back=20
along the wave like a sideband on a carrier signal, departing it simply by=
=20
disengaging the ship's drive. This analogy also supposes that the easiest=
=20
translation into a gravity wave occur at termini -- high energy points=20
where gravitational radiation leakage reached a maximum, the power=20
requirements to latch onto the wave's signal were at their lowest, and the=
=20
risk of disattenuating into "noise" reached a minimum. Gravity waves most=
=20
commonly occurred in the vicinity of a stellar body, but millenia of=20
collected Confederation experience with astrophysics could not identify any=
=20
discrimination significant based on stellar mass or explain the diverse and=
=20
complex celestial arrangement translation points shared with their local=20
stars. Although some new research promised to reveal more how gravity=20
waves interacted with celestial bodies -- particularly hard evidence of the=
=20
so-called "hyper gravity limit" defining the minimum distance between the=20
center of a star system and a translation point based on third and fourth=20
order functions of solar system mass, mass distribution and momentum --=20
most people accepted that the mysterious waves would continue to mystify=20
scientists and enthusiasts alike.
While science trudged on, the Navy also took interest in these=20
hyper lanes; discovering translation points, charting the normal space=20
projections of the gravity wave's path through space-time, and picketing=20
strategically vital space lines of communication built around these=20
celestrial riddles. In fact, the Navy started thinking of exploring and=20
discovering new gravity waves as one of its primary missions. Expending a=
=20
decent portion of their annual budget on regular survey duties, senior=20
naval officers fell in love with translation points and felt a violent urge=
=20
to protect them. Indeed, the Fourth Corron Confederation War knocked the=20
sense out of anyone who still thought the nature of warfare made gravity=20
waves strategically useless.
Karano vaguely knew the story on how Pasori got Command's=20
attention. During CCW-4, Pasori had been one of the stars that the=20
Confederation secured outright and clung onto, simply by chasing down=20
gravitational waves that happened to lead into it and putting a destroyer=20
or two in-system. The Empire thought it better not to contest the=20
seemingly unfulfilling fait accompli. After all, Corron naval forces were=
=20
kicking Confederation ass up and down the Blue Corridor and conquering=20
Earth -- why waste the effort on a dead solar system with one uninhabited=20
planet? So the Confederation got to have its little victory in the Pasori=
=20
system.
Unfortunately, victory also meant that after the war, they had to=
=20
keep their newly acquired real estate. The admirals, more enamored than=20
ever before by the gravity hyper lanes, decided that Pasori should get a=20
permanent picket. After all, Pasori drifted through space with two gravity=
=20
wave termini very close to each other and no more than one lightyear out.
This story got stranger when Karano learned that the Empire had=20
never once expressed interest in territory anywhere near Pasori. The=20
Buffer Zone negotiations after the Second Corron-Confederation War=20
absent-mindedly tossed the uninhabited solar system to the Empire. Karano=
=20
sometimes wished the blue-skin bastards would take this bitch of a=20
star-system back. Of course, Navy Command was not in the habit of=20
considering the strategic assesments of a pension peddling rate wiltering=20
at the hind end of space watching the space rocks grow.
Besides, if the Empire wanted the system back, they'd have to=20
fight for it. The docksman -- Navy jargon for a sensor specialist --=20
witnessed just enough gore and bloodshed to conclude that he didn't=20
understand how anybody -- Corron or not -- could get their rocks off=20
killing each other. Then again, Karano could imagine a few hotheads back=20
on Earth turning up the heat on his ass -- blueskins or no. Either way,=20
Karano did not appreciate the incommensurate relationship between his=20
dangerously personal proximity to the Empire -- less than fifteen=20
lightyears -- and the global significance of his meteorlogical duties. He=
=20
was the one standing on the proverbial wall, handling a job as personally=20
rewarding as determining insectoid genders or shoveling shit in Louisiana.
Karano could irritate himself simply by looking at the nearest=20
meteorological display, which he ultimately did to get his mind of the=20
Hwi'zhemal-orra -- the Imperial Interstellar Army. Immediately, he took=20
bitter note of the increase in electromagnetic activity in the higher=20
orbits. Any free electrons and corresponding ions floating about would=20
undoubtedly be sucked into the ion belt eddies, and sooner or later an even=
=20
larger mess would translate upward to MEO, severely hampering the range of=
=20
his EM scopes. Shit would get really interesting when the next week's=20
round of merchantmen arrived for mothballing. Karano often wondered why the=
=20
Navy needed to come here to off their oversized flatbeds. Unfortunately,=20
Transportation Command had no obligation to explain itself to a mere=20
ET1. Karano could have looked up the answer if he really wanted to; in=20
fact, he had on more than one occassion. On paper, the explanation made=20
perfect sense: why not?
Given that Transport munched on bullshit -- hook, line and sinker=
=20
-- the Navy now needed to make sure they could move in their big, empty and=
=20
now institutionally useless freight ships without damaging the goods. So,=
=20
these unmaintained, essentially inert kilometer long bricks needed=20
protection from the ridiculous peppering of Pasori II local space by=20
meteoroids. That's where Ishi came in -- the courageous and bold ET1=20
Karano. The Custodial Knight of the Order of the Cosmic Mop -- destined to=
=20
nobly render baneful meteoroids into "inert," micro-meteorite dust. From=20
his mighty throne in his orbiting fortress, he commanded an army of=20
semi-autonomous laser and grav-beam arrays -- assembled collectively into=20
independent "Range Firing Units." In all seriousness, these tools made his=
=20
job significantly easier if no less boring. The grav-beam and laser=20
installations were deliberately set in orbit between Pasori's third and=20
fourth moon. Controlled by five orbiting, unmanned space relay buoys=20
coordinating tracking operations beyond the planetary system, each RFU=20
slaved into the MOCC's primary computer. The automated task handlers left=
=20
him with little to do but to watch the fireworks, unless one of them=20
suddenly started acting up.
Like Number Four right now.
"Hmmm," Sparky spoke up. Karano leaned over nonchalantly, saw=20
what Sparky has humming about, and then leaned back in his chair -- not=20
particular concerned or even interested.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sparky cast him that=20
disapproving look again. She really was in a bitchy mood today. No=20
matter, nothing he could do. After a few seconds, Sparky simply sighed in=
=20
resignation and turned back to her console. In a moment, the annoying=20
bleep indicating RFU 4's tracking routine failure ceased. Life went back=20
to normal.
"Godddamn it, Karano," Lieutenant "Sparky" Tobalt hissed, her eyes=
=20
firmly locked on her console's display. "Can't you just look like you=20
actually work here? Please?"
He simply shrugged as the lieutenant scrolled down RFU-4's=20
self-diagnostic report. He completed the same query not more than five=20
minutes before the Lieutenant stormed onto the bridge. Of course, he=20
understood that the Lieutenant always double-checked his work; more out of=
=20
boredom than distrust. Well, at least he'd seen the failure coming,=20
re-routed tracking coverage to RFU 5, and logged the maintenance=20
report. The skipper knew that to, but she was on a roll.
"Damn it, Karano." The lieutenant shifted her display as so to=20
scroll back the last ten minutes of RFU-4's diagnostic reports. "I can't=20
go on a break without worrying that you'll let a friggin' boulder smash us=
=20
the shit."
"Sorry, Sparky," The docksman shrugged, not really interested in=20
confronting his lieutenant at the moment.
"Lieutenant, or Ma'am."
"Yeah. Sorry, Mizz Tobalt," ET1 Karano replied, darkly noting=20
that his choice in honorific wasn't exactly the most respectful one in Navy=
=20
jargon. First glance, Sparky seemed like one of those movie-esque officers=
=20
-- pert, pristine and hauty. Once you got to know her, though, she was=20
every bit the slacker that Karano and his misfit compadres were. No one=20
had ever expected her to go real far in her career; she was gunning for=20
short time and a nice, planet-side career as a law clerk or=20
something. She'd signed up for a second tour only to keep the Navy=20
bankrolling her graduate degree. Those lucky enough to draw Pasori Station=
=20
as a first assignment normally were selected from amongst the poorly=20
motivated officers and enlisted in the Navy and Marines. At twenty-six,=20
Lieutenant Sparky Tobalt had the honor of being the youngest commanding=20
officer in Pasori MOCC's history, one easily forgotten by even the admirals=
=20
who insisted that two rarely traveled hyperlanes made Pasori a strategic=20
center of gravity. To a young, yet indolent person like Sparky, being the=
=20
first in anything often meant being the first to catch flak for it.
Hell, that's one good thing about her, Karano thought. He didn't=
=20
relish the idea of sacrificing his life to demonstrate the motivation and=20
competence to some caricature of good leadership.
"So, what happened?" Sparky paused at the end of the datafeed and=
=20
closed the diagnostic window. Her console screen went blank as her eyes=20
squared off with Karano's.
"Heh?" The ET1 blinked twice. Sparky's taciturn expression caught=
=20
him off guard. Ordinarily, he could read her like a billboard=20
poster. Such passivity in her facial expressions simply didn't register=20
with him.
Sparky turned back to her monitor for a moment, frowned, and then=
=20
reassumed her deadpan expression. "What were they talking about...on the=20
news."
"Oh," Karano sighed. "Didn't you hear?"
The ET1's brow furrowed as Sparky shook her head dumbfoundedly.
"The Periphery's still up in arms about about those raids." The=20
lieutenant's eyes widened, and not even the time gap between Jarao and=20
Pasori could possibly lessen the shock. Hyperstate communications,=20
although instantaneous, were still limited in the sense that the media=20
could never conceivably be everywhere in the Confederation immediately. A=
=20
modern telecommunication news entity -- the media service had long since=20
separated from video entertainment -- worked (an effectively managed)=20
thousands of smaller news agencies simply to facilitate the lack of=20
manpower. No single organization could manage the billions of reporters,=20
editors, producers, and other workers that currently drove the=20
system. Even so, news coverage was the stuff that headaches were made=20
of. Distributing to the nearbly systems required endless maintenance of=20
contracts and relations with sister or competing media=20
agencies. Territorial stakes were high, and most small-system news=20
agencies relayed on hyperspace-capable courier drones to transmit messages=
=20
across the vastness of space -- light-speed transcievers still the maxim in=
=20
communications technology. Consequently, sometimes breaking news took days=
=20
-- even weeks and months -- to spread throughout the Confederation. In=20
this case, the news had taken roughly fifteen hours; the hyperstate network=
=20
in this region was fifth generation and public access. Still, a full=20
five-sevenths of the Confederation -- outside of the major system-clusters=
=20
and colonial branches -- lived with either tenuous hypertate/gravitic=20
communications, or with none at all.
On a positive note, the "necessity" of on-the-scene news reporters=
=20
had increased the focus on local news franchises. For the first two months=
=20
of the Katherinian conflict with the cetacean d'N'ra and for nearly the=20
first half of the civil war that ensued, T=E9l=E9vision Cinq -- one of=20
Katherine's oldest broadcasting conglomerates and on the verge of collapse=
=20
-- covered the escalating situation with an exclusivity soon envied by the=
=20
Confederation's major news broadcasters. Much of Cinq's news was over=20
five-weeks old by the time it reached the nearest major hyperstate=20
com-route; the Martha Sector's communications were limited to military=20
com-nets and light-speed communications. Ergo, the only way news made its=
=20
way outsystem was embedded in the computer memories of courier drones sent=
=20
out to navigate grav-waves by remote. Still, by the time nation-wide=20
"paper" and "televised" news coverage arrived on scene -- like the=20
Washington Post or the Karbarran New Network -- T=E9l=E9vision Cinq had=20
elevated itself into the international scope. Faces such as Jacques=20
Gersault and Samantha Purpleton achieved household fame as the UPC's=20
excitement-starved populace tuned into the violently dramatic events that=20
plagued the Martha sectors
Today, the focus of the news people lay hundreds of light-years=20
from that internecine hellhole.
"That," Karano continued, "combined with last week's raid on Jarao=
=20
V -- "
"Wait, did you say Jarao?" Sparky interrupted him, her reticent=20
expression immediately shifted to one of intemperate suprise.
"Yep." Karano slowly sipped the last bit of his coffee. "Seems=20
that a Chorymi raiding part -- they said five Jackrabbits -- went hit and=20
run on the Marine training installation there. Jumped a Marine fighter=20
squadron training there and battered the hell out of two Garfish DGs. The=
=20
whole thing went fubar. Just as they were about ready to finish it, a=20
destroyer squadron shows up. They bugged the hell outta there real quick."=
=20
Karano was citing from the official communiques which had arrived on=20
station hours earlier; Sparky clearly hadn't had the chance to read through=
=20
her daily SitRep datapad.
"My God." The lieutenant drew in a sharp breath. "How...how many?"
"Sixteen pilots, all Marines," Karano answered; his tone had=20
dropped noticably. "No one made it back. They were jumped before they hit=
=20
vacuum."
"Oh god," Sparky gasped. "That's only..." she drifted off, her=20
gaze subconsciously shifting to the vacuum outside.
"Real close," Karano announced their mutual thoughts outloud,=20
although his tone dripped with a despicable detachment. "Too close..."
"Damn it, Ishi! We're talking about at least thirty dead people,=
=20
and we both know that Jarao's got a big red X marked through it on their=20
star-charts. What's the hell are the politicians waiting for, anyway? I=20
mean, they come across the damned border all the time, hitting our ships=20
and killing; but no one gives a damn. It just doesn't make any sense."
"No, Sir." Karano turned back to his console -- RFU-3's diagnostic=
=20
was complete and the datafeed was already en-route to his station. He took=
=20
the opportunity to relax a bit; reclining as far back as his chair would=20
allow. "It really doesn't. God knows that the Periphery knows what's=20
going on here; and they know that the government isn't really doing=20
anything about. Still, you got to look at it this way -- look who's making=
=20
the decisions.
"Core Worlders, non-Terrans, and Demmies. They've got the House=20
and Senate, and they've had it for the past almost twenty years. I'm=20
surprised that they're -- oh! I forgot to tell you, looks like we'll have=
=20
company in a month or two. Navy's sending a task force our way. Even so,=
=20
maintaining the active fleet is a big enough cost as it is, and so long as=
=20
the politicos pay lip service to the problem on Calypso, then nobody's=20
whose voting for them will give a damn. That's the simple way of putting=20
it. Don't forget, while humans are ready to remember what the Empire did=20
on Earth back then, the rest of the Confederation isn't willing to risk=20
paying the price we did in CCW-4. I mean, jeez! So what if a few=20
incidents occur out in the Periphery? No voting power out here, and the=20
Core's been holding that over the Jaraoans heads for a hundred years!"
"I know the Confederation isn't perfect, but you'd think she'd=20
take care of her own." Born on Earth, Sparky had never really known how the=
=20
anti-Core sentiment of the Periphery -- amongst Terrans and non-Terrans=20
alike -- until she arrived at the Pasori MOCC station. Ishi Karano grew up=
=20
on Rigel IV, and he knew exactly how the Huang political machine used the=20
festering internal rivalry to win election after election. The past eight=
=20
years had seen the worst of it, although Karano doubted that this year's=20
elections would change the current precedent. Remember when I had to=20
defend my poli-sci masters? My thesis was on the tripartite relationship=20
between the bureaucracy and legislature, foreign policy, and the=20
proletariat. In the long run, though, avoiding war at the expense of some=
=20
of its small-change colonial holdings sounds like a great deal -- at least=
=20
from a Core-worlder's perspective. They look at things just a little=20
differently out here. After fifty-plus years of eating the Core's crumbs=20
on secondary membership, the Rubians are getting sick of holding the short=
=20
end of the stick -- no voting citizens, no Congressional=20
delegates. Through in our own colonists, who can't vote in local elections=
=20
or run for local office, and you've got a pretty angry mix of people out=20
there. The Core treats you like a foreigner. Hell, you still need a=20
passport to move in and out of the sector. I can't help but take it to=20
mean the Core wants to use the Periphery as a shield, while spitting in=20
their faces any time they get uppity about a tax hike or some=20
representation issue."
"To be honest," Karano leaned back, "I'm not sure I'd like to see=
=20
what would happen out here if the shit hits the fan."
Civil war sounded a bit extreme, yet Sparky had to nod in=20
agreement. If current trends continued, in either passivity or ardent=20
fervor, the Core risked alienating the Periphery completely. At this=20
point, the Periphery state governments had clearly expressed their general=
=20
discontent with the Core's inability to differentiate between them and the=
=20
Buffer Zone.
"So. You're saying the government's ready to let hundreds die -- "
"Hundreds of thousands, yep. What do you think we did at Ishtar?"
"Damn it," Sparky swore in surmounting anger. "And what the=20
hell's Command doing about it? Nothing? I just can't believe that."
"Well, I didn't say that, Sir," Karano politely cleared his=20
throat. "We simply wait until the government thinks we have something=20
worth fighting for. Don't forget, almost every keyworld has gone through a=
=20
nuclear war of some sort; ours was wiped three times, and occupied during=20
another major invasion. A lot of folks, even Terrans, have really started=
=20
looking at war a bit more contemplatively since the twenty-first century,=20
Sparky. Even when we watch the lunar parades and crap like that, all we're=
=20
seeing is the side that trumps up a false air of security. To tell you thr=
=20
truth, I think we're downright scared of getting into another pissing=20
contest with the Empire"
Sparky acknowledged with a nod, then broke the conversation and=20
returned to her screen. Looking at his empty mug, Karano looked up at his=
=20
CO pleadingly, "Say, Lieutenant. Can I run down to the mess hall and get a=
=20
quick refill?"
"Go ahead, Karano," she waived him by. "Sorry about -- "
Suddenly, the world about them exploded into a frenzy of alert=20
klaxons, quickly cutting Sparky off as the bridge crew frantically=20
responded. Without so much as a warning, the station's internal alarm had=
=20
suddenly blasted; the blaring blast sounded the rare five-key alert through=
=20
the metallic floors.
"What the hell?" Ishi Karano, not even halfway out of his chair,=20
plopped back down and hurriedly looked over his console.
The klaxons ceased and the main screen lit up; with a flashing=20
"Priority Golf" occupying the upper left-hand corner.
"Passive contact, Ma'am!" a docksman manning a rear station cried=
=20
out. "Bearing three-three-four mark two-zero-zero. Range, five-three-five=
=20
thousand klicks. Approach time vector is seven minutes out of lunar orbit=
=20
at projected terminal velocity, heading towards orbital approach at five=20
degrees off tangental! I can't get a fix on its acceleration yet, the=20
oblique is to narrow. Whatever it is, it's real small, but it's definitely=
=20
on approach. At that speed, it should hit the atmosphere at close=20
to...er...oh shit! Eight-seven ee-ess!" That meant by the time it crossed=
=20
passed the orbit of Pasori II's closest moon, it's orbital speed would be=20
eighty-seven times the local planetary-lunar escape velocity. The=20
resultant impact would be quite...spectacular.
"How the hell did it slip by OutSys?!" Sparky demanded. "What's=20
the ETA? Somebody, get the damned actives on-line!"
"One hour, twenty minutes, estimate -- that's all I can get out of=
=20
passive," Karano datalinked his terminal to the lunar-side computers, which=
=20
in turn churned out constant data pulled from various satellites scattered=
=20
throughout the lunar-planetary system. "Got it! She's on active=20
hyper-sensor. Lidars standing by. I've figured approach, coming in on=20
zero-three-four mark off Approach Delta-Foxtrot. It's...it's=20
decelerating=85shit! She's slowing down on her own, Lieutenant!"
"Speed?"
"Dropping to point-two-zero down zero at Groucho -- thirty=20
minutes!" Karano meant that meant that it would soon drop below the local=20
escape velocity -- roughly thirty-eight kilometers per second. There was=20
some time before the object traversed the distance between its current=20
position and Pasori II's lunar orbital shell. However, no shuttle or probe=
=20
could intercept and retrieve something moving that quickly. They'd have to=
=20
move fast.
"We don't have all fuckin' day!" Sparky's eyes deviated from her=20
monitor. "Bobby! Wilkes!" She looked down stomped on the grated floor=20
that separated the First and Second Meteorlogical Laser Control Center=20
Levels. "Wake up down there!"
"Aye, aye, Skip!" the chocolate-brown face of a sensor dock rating=
=20
peered through the grated floor. "Small-mass object on course for=20
approximate intersection at Approach Delta-Foxtrot; currently bearing=20
oh-oh-fiver mark zero-three-four off intersection relative -- that's true=20
bearing three-three-four -- check, make that three-three-three mark=20
one-nine-nine. It's definitely showing a deflecting radius, but I can't=20
figure out what it is. Looks like its jettisoning=20
material. Romeo-Foxtrot-Uniform Fiver, Four, and Three on-line, targeting=
=20
solution ready. Estimated final velocity, point-zero-zero-zero-niner=20
ee-ess. Decelerating tractors on standby."
"Mark India-Victor-Five -- approach vector Nine-Zulu-Delta to=20
Delta-Foxtrot approximate confirmed," the code referred to the planet the=20
fifth and last station, their station, orbited. Ishi carefully manipulated=
=20
the heat-sesitive scanners, then switched through various EM and TEM scans.
"Holy shit! Inertial readings at point eight!" A starship at=20
maximum warp only leveled off at a fraction of that level. That meant=20
whatever it was made a crash translation back into realspace. But if=20
nothing was powering it, that meant it had to lose momentum in the=20
hyperspace metric to parasitic forces. Considering how small the braking=20
effect in a vacuum was in any frame of reference -- Jesus Christ, how long=
=20
was it out there for?
"That thing is about six meters in length, major heat distortion=20
-- man, that thing's gotta be man-made. Wilkes! Filter it! I want the=20
Three and Four tractors on-line now. Keep RFUs on-line, but get ready to=20
cycle them down to stand-by on my command!"
"Aye, aye, Skip!" the technician shouted back up. Sparky loaded=20
up the computer data. Ishi looked over at her for a brief moment, and then=
=20
did a double-take.
Man-made? he scoffed silently. Yeah right. Even if it was rare=20
for a rock to make such a direct, speedy approach like that, claiming it=20
had to be man-made was just jumping to conclusions. After all, inbounds=20
like this were rare, but not unheard of.
"Computer, identify," Ishi ordered outloud, invoking the=20
computer's voice recognition software while his fingers went rapid-fire to=
=20
refine the inbound's projected flight path.
"Working," the unfittingly dulcet reply came back. In a few=20
seconds, a detailed sensor report came back.
"Crash pattern my ass," Wilkes shouted through the metal=20
grating. "It's emitting some sort of hyperstate transponder=20
signal! ID'ing as a Markham Class...er...Class Baker." Ishi stammered=20
slightly -- confused even -- until Sparky's voice brought him back to rapt=
=20
attention.
"But point eight on the grav-scope?" Sparky thought to ask, her=20
mind working over the dilemma with unswerving efficiency. "That doesn't=20
make a hell of a alot of sense for something that size at sublight."
Sparky was right after all, Ishi commended her silently before=20
double-checking his current figures. That meant that the pod had traveled=
=20
in hyper somewhere in the outer solar system -- for God knows how=20
long. Eventually, local gravitational pockets, producing the braking=20
effect, had managed to naturally coerce it back into normal space. There=20
was no other explanation, but Ishi still found it to be a bit=20
incredulous. Much to his surprise, the artificially intelligent computers=
=20
already confirmed their suspicions as they siphoned through data flooding=20
out of RFU Station One and Three. Consequently, the three other RFUs=20
cycled to readiness, realigning their projection nodes in order to form a=20
'hyperspace safety net.' Standard operating procedure demanded that=20
Station Five, the command base, would be equipped with the most powerful=20
force-beam -- a Mark XIa hyper-pulsar array. That first blast should be=20
enough to knock off a considerable amount of mass, or change the course of=
=20
the incoming asteroid. However, this was not necessarily the case all the=
=20
time. In fact, a great deal of meteoric material managed to evade the=20
strength of Station Five's pulsars. So, when a really nasty rock managed=20
to dodge into the planetary system, the next four stations would take turns=
=20
whittling it down to a manageable size -- the number of satellites on the=20
job dependent on station positioning. Finally, Station One could launch=20
missiles -- if necessary -- at the remainder, completely neutralizing the=20
deadly object. When a REALLY fast moving object (at a signifigant=20
percentage of sublight) charges into orbital space, the tractors on all=20
stations are set on high and wide spread. By the time it reached Station=20
One, it will have either slowed enough to effect neuralization or it had=20
already been rendered harmless. Anything moving supralight -- well, that=20
was the Interplanetary Meteorological Office's jurisdiction. If such an=20
object fell into Pasori Two's court, there was nothing Sparky and the MLCC=
=20
could do; so, the crew prefered not to think about it. Right now, Sparky=20
realized, they had enough time to easily gather a firing solution and let=20
off an intercept torpedo, or a pulsar beam once the object came into range.
However, destroying an escape pod was never an option.
The primary tractors would literally strike the pod with a wave of=
=20
gravitational force and coerce the object in question into a somewhat=20
manageable vector. Once they slowed it down to about nine kilometers per=20
second, the mooring tractors could kick and draw it on an orbital path for=
=20
Home Base.
"Passing into standard approach lane at=20
point-down-five-zeroes-eight-seven-two rads deviation," one of the=20
non-commisioned techs from below shouted up. "It's still going to fast to=
=20
sweep into a direct orbital approach. The momentum she'll pick up on the=20
swing back up might throw her back up into Wild Child." That meant, while=20
Pasori II had just earned itself a new satellite, the current velocity --=20
to close to escape velocity for comfort -- would swing the escape pod into=
=20
a radically elliptical orbit. With that asteroid death trap surrounding=20
the planetary system...Sparky didn't feel like thinking about it.
The tech manning the station to Karano's rear suddenly dropped his=
=20
jaw, "Well I'll be a Chorymi Tristar, it just fired its attitude=20
adjusters. Proceeding on a direct course right for us!"
"Station Four's images are coming through," Kanaro keyed in the=20
video to the viewscreen.
"God almighty, look at that!" Sparky pointed at the image of the=20
escape pod. A distinct glow eminated from its ultra-violet outline, almost=
=20
as if it had -- "Geez! It must've been out there for months!"
"Yeah," Kanaro nodded in agreement. "I can't see in any=20
registration marks. Still, it looks safe enough."
"Station Two's ready to release. It's up to us now."
The pod drew into the view of Station Two's visual=20
sensors. Repeated scans of different information channels brushed across=20
it. Many showed a non-incandescent glow that seemed to dim much of the=
rest-
Sparky stared at the pod, as a flash of recognisance flashed in=20
her eye. "My god, it's actually bleeding off its own grav-residue."
Kanaro studied his own readings, before bolting upright in=20
astonishment. "I'm picking up some activity from in the pod! Looks like=20
the hypersleep beds"
Sparky whipped her head around. "What do you see?"
"Definite biological activity -- level three strength. Whatever=20
it is, it's in deep freeze."
"It could be -- " Sparky was about to comment when a shout came up=
=20
from the number two level.
"Hey, Cap'n!" Wilkes called up. "If you give me a minute, I can=20
clean that thing off."
"How?" Sparky smiled questioningly.
"Station Two's laser array is still in range. I just need them to=
=20
tweak some code and we can use it to sweep the pod," Wilkes=20
replied. "After that, you can draw it in naked. Right now, I think its=20
too hot to bring it any closer."
"All right, Bobby," Sparky looked down at the dark-skinned=20
sergeant. "Get on it. I want Bay Three's mooring tractor ready in three=20
minutes. Let's get to work people."
Within a few minutes, Station Two's laser array had completely=20
swept the pod clean of radioactivity. "She's clear."
"Entering local space," Kanaro announced. "Approach base=20
three-four-zero mark zero-one-three true. Its slowed to thirty-eight=20
kilos-per-sec."
"I got my tractors ready!" Bobby flipped on his tractor=20
control. Outside, the tractor array began to power up. "Locked on -- I've=
=20
got'er!"
The tractor beam gently latched onto the surface of the pod,=20
carefully drawing it closer to Station One. "C'mon baby, right down the=20
pipe," Sparky breathed, feeling like an old Terran shuttle pilot preparing=
=20
to effect a precarious docking operation with those old claptrap space=20
stations. For a brief moment, Sparky felt her stomach churn with sickening=
=20
impatience. "Just a little more."
She counted away the final seconds of approach in silent prayer.
Just a little more...a little more...there!
Sparky was already moving. Throwing on her headset, she once=20
again shifted into her harsh, authoritative persona.
"Medical!" she barked. "Two teams to Cargo Bay three! Now!"
The screen instinctively refocused to its cargo bay cameras. As=20
the surrogate doors slid open, the tiny ship floated in, the blue wave=20
warmly guiding it to its resting place. Finally, Kanaro and Sparky could=20
see the --
"You see those letters on the port side, Ma'am?" Kanaro's face=20
tightened as a light went off in his head. Sparky didn't put it together=20
immediately, but even she could sense something wrong about this one.
"The Markhov pods - don't they use numbers? Been that way as long=
=20
as I can remember."
* * *
"C'mon, candyasses! Move!" the medical officer in charge barreled his=20
teams into the stations small cargo bay. They donned special full body=20
suits, as no one knew if the radiation levels near or inside the pod were=20
safe for humans to approach unprotected. The officer's lieutenant harshly=
=20
barked his orders. Two corpsmen were already tying the pod's power systems=
=20
to the station's supply. "Three corpsmen there! Move it!"
"Hatch blowing!" someone shouted as the door fired itself off its=
=20
ledges. The error had been a voltage overload. "Fuckin A', Ell-Tee! This=
=20
fucker's old!"
The corpsmen working on powering up the pod finally opened the=20
utility ports on the pod's outer hull, plugging it into a station tap. The=
=20
escape pod's systems finally switched over from the slow discharging=20
batteries, nearly spent after what seemed to be decades of absolute=20
dedication to the cryobeds.
"Three static lifesigns, induced coma," the senior corpsman -- a=20
chief petty officer -- reported has he and his buddy moved inside,=20
carefully scanning the atmosphere before proceeding. "Ain't nothing to=20
worry about here. Jacker, up front!"
"On it," his partner acknowledged, heading straight for the pod's=
=20
forward control console. As could be expected, the escape pod's systems=20
retrieved the necessary information on its passengers right before it blew=
=20
free of the mothership. "We got two kids, one adult. The kids look all=20
right, but it looks like the grown-up went comotose."
"Somebody check me on this Deep Freeze procedure," the younger=20
corpsman asked. The Chief looked over his shoulder to see the officer in=20
charge and two more men enter the pod.
"Go ahead, Maev."
"All right," the corpsman replied, tapping in commands to the=20
computer console. "Helium and oxygen levels decreasing."
"Turn on the carbonite filter," the officer ordered. The corpsman=
=20
immediately complied.
"I'm bringing them outta hypersleep!" the Chief announced as he=20
ejected each of the hyperbed canopies. He effortlessly activated each=20
bed's hypodermic systems, injecting all three with a quantity of a=20
hypochornadicin. Within seconds, the kids at least were out of hypersleep=
=20
and were in normal, rapid-eye-movement sleep. "No response on the adult!"
"Fuck!" the Chief had taken point on the cryobeds, bending over to=
=20
read off the displays located on the open sides of each bed. "The adult's=
=20
definitely comotose. He must've iced through before he hit hypersleep."
For the first time, somebody noticed the stench, a meaty, intense=
=20
and frightening odor filtering through his breathing mask. "Ventilate!"
Someone managed to get to the forward console. The two remaining=
=20
emergency hatches blasted off the sides as their explosive bolts=20
discharged. After a minute or two, the station's scrubbers finally cleared=
=20
out the bad air. The Chief looked down at the third display -- belonging=20
to the comotose adult's bed -- and immediately understood what had=20
happened. "This doesn't look to good. Looks like pre-termination rigor=20
mortis. Good God, his legs are dead."
Almost instinctively, the Chief pulled the bed out of the=20
bulkhead, grabbed the body and hoisted it out of the pod, the adult's legs=
=20
dragging against the floor while still encased in heavy helium-ice. The=20
adult's legs to sizzle like beef on a grill as the open-atmosphere of the=20
station worked on melting the ice block.
Back inside, the jacker finally got the patients personal=20
information on the viewing screen. "Kyoko Yatsumi. She's got three years=
=20
of age on her, that's for damn sure. God they must've been out there for a=
=20
long time. I need sometime to get more information."
He paused a second, familiarizing himself with the small=20
biomonitor's toggling options. "Wait, I got something. Linna Yatsumi."
"What's the aging ratio on these bed?" The officer thought to ask.
"Very fucking big," the corpsman at the console snapped back=20
without thinking just as the Chief stepped back into the pod. The officer=
=20
looked to his senior enlisted corpsman, but got no sympathy. Nobody was in=
=20
the mood for dumb questions. "I need the goddamned personal files for it!"
As the corpsman tried desperately to break through the rigmarole=20
of security screens and passowrds, he angrily rapped his fingers against=20
the toggle dash. "Jesus fucking Christ! Nobody's used this kind of shit=20
since forever!"
Another jacker arrived momentarily. Plugging in his equipment, he=
=20
quickly called up the biomonitoring computer's database, much to the=20
chagrin of the infuriated corpsman. "Here ya' go, guys. Well, what do we=
=20
have here? Sir? I think you wanna look at this."
The Navy Lieutenant (JG) looked forward. Kyoko Yatsumi, blah blah=
=20
blah -- what? Eight years old? He rapidly and silently did the math and=20
got a chilling estimate. "What the fuck? Call it. Damn, over=20
half-a-century in hypersleep! Linna, she's twelve. David, nineteen."
"Was nineteen," the newly arrived jacker replied=20
coldly. Everybody knew David wasn't going to live long. Half of his body=
=20
was already dead, and the other half would soon join it.
"Two live ones, though." The Chief tapped in a command on the=20
first cryofreeze drawer's computer deck, standing back to let the biobed=20
slide out into the open.
The chilled, transparent canopy glistened in the pod's internal=20
illumination, and through the blue tinge and foggy cryo-ice, the Lieutenant=
=20
could see the preserved countenance of a young, innocent girl. He=20
carefully looked over the scrolling data on the cyrobed's side-screen=20
before scooping up the sleeping child into his hands. "Kyoko Yatsumi. All=
=20
right, let's get her to Medical, now!"
"Come on, let's move her out!" The Chief echoed. The young girl's=
=20
vital signs were the strongest of the three, strong enough for the corpsmen=
=20
time to move her out immediately.
"Are you sure we need to leave this one?" The Lieutenant asked,=20
pointing at Linna's bed.
"We want to be very careful with her withdrawal, Sir," the Chief=20
replied. He wouldn't risk her life moving her out now when a properly=20
trained and equipped trauma team was already on its way.
The officer grunted impatiently. "Sia. Why don't you go and see=
=20
what's holding them up?"
The only female corpsman with the emergency response team=20
stiffened, announced a hearty "aye, aye, Sir," and disappeared from the=20
pod. He turned back to see the Chief and a two other specialists huddling=
=20
around Linna Yatsumi's frigid cryobed, watching in awe at the very=20
preservation of youthful beauty.
Even as the deep, inhuman cold tore away the last vestige of=20
innocence from Linna's dormant anima, all they could do was wait.
* * *
Ophromatos Saidel Orbital Military Hospital
Ophramatos, Polar Orbit
The Castor System
28 May 2165
"Five weeks?!" Ina Konora exclaimed. "Five weeks to get a fucking a=20
neuro-traum?" With dark irony, she drew a long breath of her cigarrette,=20
which her intern so strongly refered to as a "cancer-stick," as she=20
glowered at the three bio-beds that were primarily sustaining her newest=20
patients. From the lobby of Rigel's ER ward, the relatively quiet night=20
allowed her for a brief view of Ophromatos, the timelocked fifth moon of a=
=20
red gas-giant, Ophrodia. The Ophromatos Orbital Hospital had originally=20
been a public medical facility for the colonists below. However, due to=20
Rigel's proximity to the Corron border, it had been converted, like many=20
other orbital facilities within the Periphery, into a DeForce military=20
installation -- without much compensation to her previous charges.
"Sorry, ma'am," the intern replied. "The best Psyche says they=20
can do is provide counseling services when they came to."
"They need a trauma specialist, not a fucking pshrink!" Konora=20
barked angrily, her eyes still fixed on the sandy gold world just beyond=20
the transparency. A neurosurgeon with twenty years frontline experience,=20
Ina Konora had gone into medicine where as her brothers had gone into=20
engineering. Coming onboard as the head of the Neurosurgery Department for=
=20
the Ophromatos Military Hospital, she thought her outsider personality=20
alone could drive through a brick wall. Instead, the bureaucracy her got=20
the better of her at the weekly meetings, frequently testing her=20
patience. "I don't care. Do what you have to do, but I want that transfer=
=20
time cut in half!"
"Personnel is trying as hard as they can " the intern pleaded, but=
=20
her eyes were as weary and heavy as Konora's.
"They've been in hibernation for seventy-five years!" Konora=20
turned from the planetary vista. "You just can't tie their revival time=20
around a schedule. You tell Personnel to get off their asses and start=20
doing their fucking jobs! What the hell ever happened to all that urgency=
=20
the military keeps talking about? Maybe when the VA's up for its=
budget=85fuck!"
"Doctor, there's nothing we can do. We'll just have to wait."
You know she's right, Konora told herself. The intern had tried,=
=20
but the bureacracy had stepped in as usual. Her patients went from top=20
priority to bottom of the barrel in two weeks. After all, the Ophramatos=20
Governor's annual check up tomorrow meant they'd have to close off the=20
hospital to civilian traffic for awhile. The bastard wasn't all the well=20
liked dirt-side and, to be honest, Konora wouldn't mind if somebody managed=
=20
sneak a bomb on his personal shuttle. Maybe then she could get some real=20
work done.
"Let's take a look," Doctor Konora snarled as she started back=20
towards the trauma unit.
The walk to D-wing wasn't that long. The hospital appeared not=20
much larger than even the Pasori MOCC's sickbay, and those Navy pukes=20
probably didn't have half the staffing problems Ophromatos suffered from=20
regularly. The Periphery, by its mere proximity to a hostile, interstellar=
=20
empire, meant most of Navy Medical's resources to the forces patrolling the=
=20
Buffer Zone. Ophramatos, "safely" basking in the warm, Sol-like radiance=20
of 15 Sagittae A -- a yellow, G1 star fifty-four light-years from Earth --=
=20
drew no particular attention from Command. No, only a full-scale invasion=
=20
could scare the fleet back to the Core Worlds, and the Saggitae System=20
station had to deal with Navy Medical's short straw.
"The male?"
"David Yatsumi? Death at two-thirty-seven this morning," the=20
intern yawned out, unaware how insensitive she sounded. Konora spared her=
=20
a dirty look. "Surgeon Lieutenant Gigliciatto made the call, ma'am."
She muttered something under her breath. A little more time,=20
maybe -- better facilities to deal with this unique case. We could have=20
saved him, but why bother? The paralysis of half of his body, and his mind=
=20
had withered into an involuntary nothingness. The medical term for that=20
state was "partial death," a condition as feared as a real deal=20
itself. He'd be nothing more than a living corpse, condemned to an=20
intensive care unit for the rest of his natural life -- which, at best,=20
would've lasted three or four more months. What parts of his body=20
continued to function did so poorly they'd drop off one by one until --=20
like the brain -- the gave up the ghost. The improper hypersleep=20
pre-conditioning failed to set in and shield him fully from the radiation=20
and grav-pockets the escape pod had encountered during its seventy-five=20
year tromp at the edge of the Pasori system, leaving his thinly frozen=20
upper body ravaged with cancers that exploded into action after the Pasori=
=20
team got him out of hypersleep. The malignant tumors ultimately killed him.
"Comotosis fully set in right after freezing," the intern read=20
aloud an autopsy report; Dr. Konora had yet to get caught up on the details=
=20
of David's cryogenic mishap. She'd been working with the two girls first=20
since there chances for survival were best. "The helium attacked his=20
optical cavities almost immediately, completely freezing his left=20
lobe. The rest just gave out, after swelling...profusely. It was quick --=
=20
painless, perhaps. It's almost as if he wanted to die, ma'am. Only fair=20
to let the other half go."
But it wasn't fair. He had saved the life of his sisters, only to=
=20
have fate cheat him through a technical malfunction. It was clear they=20
would never really know the full story of what had happened, at least not=20
for some time.
* * *
Voices.
Kyoko eyes opened to gaze upon blinding, immaculate radiance. Her=
=20
eyes...no, they were still shut. No, she looked upon the universe as her=20
essence perceived. She felt alone, as if everything had passed into=20
oblivion and only she remained. The blinding monotony of it all=20
disheartened her.
All of a sudden, vague silhouettes formed against the brilliance,
She tried to speak, yet as her lips strained to form the words,=20
her voice fell prostrate to the tsunami of silence which enveloped her.
The white light...
She stared into it before shielding her eyes.
Light. Death light. She returned to that fatal moment...the red=
=20
shuttle with the white stripe. Her family=85God, her family!
A shadow darkened the light, and another...
Daddy! She cried out in agonizing despair. Nothing. Nothing but=
=20
a whisper -- the one sound that defied the smothering silence...
whisper...
Daddy! she called again, the fear swelling in her=20
throat. Nothing, or something.
whisper....
Daddy! Her mind shrieked, the silence melding with the deafening=
=20
throes of fear.
For the first time in decades, her eyes opened; the fire within them=20
radiated unimaginable terror. The tortuous nightmare that had plagued her=
=20
soul tore out of her through the momentum of her sheer panic.
For the first time in seventy-five years, the hellish nightmare gorged=20
itself on the total, animate fear inhabiting all of living reality.
A blood-curdling scream ripped from her trembling lips, drawing the=20
attention of the doctor and intern standing behind the distant transparency.
* * *
Earth
Hikaru Yatsumi, ninety-five and showing it, lived his life like a man half=
=20
over his age. In an age where the human lifespan peaked at the century=20
mark and diminished after two, the elderly gentleman found his bones=20
inexplicably aching and his once youthful, vibrant skin now calloused and=20
mellow. Still, his stature radiated confidence and health, and despite the=
=20
lines etched in his face by the cruel hands of time. Even more so, his=20
senses were just as acute as they had been forty years ago. He wished Fate=
=20
-- or God, or whatever he believed in, as not even he knew the answer to=20
that -- had been so fortunate with his wife
Mr. Yatsumi was checking his wrist watch -- 4 PM Station Time --=20
when the rush of debarking passengers caught his attention. The old man=20
smiled inwardly, remembering when he finally realized that life was too=20
short to let a moment pass by in wasteful idleness; businessmen and=20
tourists alike doomed to an endless cycle of haste that time ultimately=20
proved futile. Then, emerging from the faceless deluge of the mob, four=20
silhouettes broke from the crowd and headed in his direction. As they=20
approached, Hikaru Yatsumi rose slowly to his feet. He recognized the two=
=20
Marines from the pictures the Space Transit Authority had showed him. Two=
=20
small, slightly frightened, and thoroughly bewildered young girls huddled=20
closely next to the shorter Marine. As the old man's eyes searched their=20
faces, both relief and distress tore at his mind.
Seventy five years, Hiro. Seventy-five years.
"Mister Hikaru Yatsumi?"
"Yes, Corporal," Mr. Yatsumi answered softly. He took to one=20
knee to get a better look at his nieces.
"Well, well now. Who do we have here?" Inspecting the young=20
girls' quizzical faces, Hikaru Yatsumi couldn't help grinning. His wrinkly=
=20
lips curled into a full smile as Kyoko's elfish face grinned right back,=20
her eyes glittering as she looked past the face's worn features to find the=
=20
man she knew as her uncle -- hiding delightfully in the shell of an old=20
man. The Marine corporal nudged Kyoko's older sister towards her uncle.
"Go on, Miss," he encouraged Linna warmly, but Hiro Yatsumi's=20
oldest daughter held back. The taller Marine, a sergeant, extended=20
his hand in a friendly gesture. "Good luck, Sir. The young one's quite a=
=20
handful."
Mr. Yatsumi returned to his feet, accepting Marine's hand=20
graciously. "Thank you. I'll take them now."
The Marine sergeant nodded as he and his partner turned to walk=20
away. Hikaru kneeled back down to consider Linna and Kyoko. "I'm your=20
uncle, Hikaru."
Twelve year-old Kyoko scrunched her nose. Some things never=20
changed -- Uncle Hikaru had always looked old to her.
* * *
=85Five Years Later=85
Kyoko's problem started the Friday of last week. She had agreed to go to a=
=20
party held later that evening by her current boyfriend, a farmer's son who=
=20
lived about ten minutes by air-car to the south of the school. The=20
following Saturday she was going on a weekend trip to the Macross Island=20
Memorial, located onbard a well-preserved Prometheus-class aircraft carrier=
=20
that marked the part of the Pacific Ocean that famous island used to=20
occupy. However, her mind had drifted away from thoughts about her=20
upcoming plans to a time earlier that day. Her discussion with a Navy=20
recruiters last Friday left her with a lot to mull over.
"Come on in." Kyoko passed by the guidance office. The school had=
=20
kindly ordered and set up a little cubicle for each recruiter and their=20
materials, providing a small desk and two or three chairs each. The Navy=20
cubicle was a bit roomier than the others, much to the chagrin of the other=
=20
service representatives. Kyoko wondered why the recruiter needed so much=20
space in the first place. As far as Kyoko could tell, no one else had=20
visited the Navy cubicle at all; all if its literature was still neatly=20
stacked in their holders, and the chairs were still neatly arranged around=
=20
desk. "Take a seat. What's your name?"
Kyoko hesitated. "Ah=85Kyoko. Kyoko Yatsumi."
The petty officer handed her a blank information card and a book to write=20
on as Kyoko took her seat. She looked it over before pulling a fountain=20
pen out of her book bag. They just wanted some contact information, Kyoko=
=20
noted. She filled it out quickly and handed it back.
The non-com took Kyoko's card, quicky glanced over it, and then=20
filed it into her portable scanner. The optical reader immediately=20
transcribed the information into digital format and stored it on the=20
recruiter's portable computer. Finally, after tapping something one her=20
laptop keyboard, the recruiter turned back to Kyoko -- arms folded on the=20
table. Kyoko could feel the petty officer's eyes looking her over. The=20
long, awkward moment finally passed.
"As you probably know, we're the space-ship end of things," the=20
petty officer began her pitch. We pretty much shuffle all those guys set up=
=20
down the hall way from place to place -- space is pretty damned big, after=
=20
all. But not all we do. Our primary mission is to control the sky above=20
the skies. Orbital space, interplanetary space, and deepspace, the=20
hyperlanes, et cetera. When you look up at night, the Navy is watching=20
over you...yaddy-yaddy-ya-ya.
"Now that all that's out of the way, let me ask you. Why are you=
=20
interested in us?"
The question caught Kyoko off guard. She didn't think she had=20
expressed any interest beyond sitting down to talk with the=20
recruiter. Hell, the petty officer asked her to come in and talk in the=20
first place.
Before Kyoko could answer, the rating was already speaking. "I=20
get a lot of kids in here nowadays asking me about the Gregori-Markhov=20
Education Order -- that's the Burn Bill to you. Most of 'em are nice kids=
=20
-- good grades, but not big-scholarship material -- who need a solid source=
=20
of financial aid if they want to go off to study. But they're only=20
thinking about the benefits -- ancillary stuff. Not one -- at least not=20
since I've been here -- really cares about what it means to be a Navy=20
astronaut. Some go in and they learn. Some don't. That's just how it=
works."
"Now," the recruiter continued. "I'm not asking you to answer me=
=20
right away, but let me give you a little idea of what you have to go=20
through if you join the Navy. Let's say you sign up right here and=20
now. First, I'll have in for nine weeks of Basic inside of five=20
weeks. You'll do most of that at Port Merrymouth, and you can expect the=20
most vigorous, back breaking physical and mental experience there is. Do=20
you have any idea what Basic is like, kid?"
"No, Ma'am," Kyoko shook her head.
"Petty Officer, if you please," the recruiter corrected. "In any=
=20
case, Basic's no day camp -- that's for damn sure. Don't think for a=20
minute that the Navy is looking for soft, pot-bellied waffles. It's=20
disgusting how many apps come across my desk from kids who want to go into=
=20
the service and spend it playing video games. Miss Yatsumi, the Navy does=
=20
not work that way.
"Let me put it this way. Let's say someone not unlike yourself --=
=20
we'll call her Jane -- decides she wants to see the stars and figures the=20
cheapest way to do so is to sign up. Well, you got Port Merrymouth=20
first. Once she checks in, Jane gets six hours to square away anything she=
=20
has to with the outside world because for the next eight weeks there is no=
=20
outside world. No television, no multi-vid -- absolutely nothing. She'll=
=20
learn to fall into formation ten hours after arriving. She will live, eat,=
=20
sleep and if God has anything to say about it die with her squad. They'll=
=20
get to know each other intimately, and for the first two weeks we give her=
=20
to the hardest, meanest bad-asses we could find in the Corps. They're job=20
is to boil her and her new friends down into the soft jelly that makes us=20
human.
"Reveille is at oh-four-thirty and she will be in formation for=20
physical fitness. No excuses. Ten mile runs every morning and right after=
=20
lunch. In between, she'll handle tight formation training for hours-on-end=
=20
in heat and cold. Most of the time, Jane gets to chomp down on MREs, the=20
most goddamned foolish invention since soap-on-a-rope. That's right,=20
Ma'am. There ain't nothing like half-cooked spam and soggy beans to keep=20
the motor running. When she does get to eat inside, her meal is over as=20
soon as her drill instructor stands up. It won't take him more than=20
one-and-a-half to two minutes to take out a well-balanced meal. Whether=20
she likes it or not, it won't take her more than that either. After Jane's=
=20
afternoon P.T., she'll head back to the barracks for a forty-five minute=20
personal period. That is, of course, if she doesn't screw up and spark the=
=20
D.I.'s plug. Do that, and you'll likely end up jogging around the base=20
from thirteen hundred 'til kingdom come every Sunday. The forty-five=20
minutes of free time she gets each day will not be 'goof-off' time or=20
'socializing time.' Jane will write home to her parents. It's not only=20
encouraged, but the first day it's required if you want to eat dinner. And=
=20
you will eat. The Navy doesn't like anorexics.
"That's just the first week. Each week gets harder and harder. A=
=20
lot of kids burn out after the third week because they can't adjust out of=
=20
their Joe Civvy lifestyles. That's your grace period. Once you get past=20
that, you're in; you either sweat it out or die trying. From that point=20
out the only way you get out of Boot is with your stripe or a discharge;=20
that means you'll either go out as a convicted felon, a cripple, or dead.
"Fourth week: Jane gets shipped out to the Terran Navy. The great=
=20
thing about the wet navy is it's a great place to learn how easily your=20
stomach will chuck up your lunch if you shake it up enough. Jane gets her=
=20
half stripe--spaceman training-recruit, the lowest rung on the rating scale=
=20
-- just to fit in the chain of command. That's not to say Jane actually=20
gets to do any commandings -- the only thing that trickles on Jane will be=
=20
the piss-wrath of a spaceman recruit who pulled the long straw and got=20
stuck babysitting the boot kids. No one gives two cents about what Jane=20
thinks or how she feels, and no one'll think twice of dumping a whole can=20
of shit on her lap and wiping the rest off the deck with her pretty little=
=20
ass.
"The Navy is not a free ride. It's not a hideout or a social=20
club. It's not a free ticket to see the universe. You will see a lot of=20
grey and white bulkheads, and if you're into that sort of thing then by all=
=20
means sign up. The key word, Ms. Yatsumi, is service. Jane serves, I=20
serve, and if you can't deal with the idea of serving -- and sacrificing --=
=20
then you're wasting both yours and my time.
"So, I'll ask you again. Why are you interested in us?"
Kyoko was perfectly stunned, unable to blink, think, or say=20
anything as she struggled to bring herself out of her paralysis. She=20
stuttered for a moment, but caught herself and let the next few moments=20
pass by in tense silence.
"Well, spit it out."
With that, Kyoko took out her piloting license and handed it over=
=20
to the recruiter. Why it had suddenly occurred to her to do so baffled her=
=20
completely. Looking back, Kyoko could never quite figure out what sort of=
=20
mental defect made her do it. True, she'd always toyed around with the=20
idea of flying fighter planes, but never seriously. Still, could it have=20
been simply that all this time...
...had she set off down this road simply because she loved flying?
"I want to fly."
So, Kyoko's expression almost exactly mimicked that of the Navy=20
petty officer's astonished gaze. The recruited examined the license,=20
paying special attention to Kyoko's flight rating and logged hours. After=
=20
looking it over, the petty officer slid it back over to Kyoko.
"How long have you been flying?"
"Eight years, Petty Officer."
"Veritechs?"
"A trainer, a few times when I was thirteen." Her license=20
specifically noted that she had passed the difficult Veritech piloting test=
=20
for civilians. News corporations and other shipping businesses had=20
purchased civilian models of the VA-4 Nightstalker, a tandem-seated attack=
=20
Veritech. However, Kyoko had logged hours in an old VCF-1T Logan on which=
=20
a friendly airshow promoter had been kind enough to train her.
"Would you mind waiting here a second, Miss...er...Yatsumi?"
"No problem, Ma -- I mean Petty Officer."
The recruiter stood up, walked around her desk and past Kyoko, and=
=20
quickly exited the cubicle. Looking over her shoulder, Kyoko could see a=20
Terran another petty officer -- this time a third class -- accompanying=20
hand off a cellular commlink to the recruiter.
The senior petty officer came back a few minutes later. Kyoko was=
=20
realy late for her nineth period class, but she didn't dare leave now=20
before finding out what was up. The recruiter walked back in with a=20
plastic portfolio and what looked like a hard copy of an official school=20
transcript. She was still talking on the commlink as she took her=20
seat. "So, can I do this? Well, ask him! Wait, just put him on. Chief,=
=20
this is Bosun Izo. Did Miller explain the situation? Oh, he did? Well,=
=20
I'm looking over her transcript right now. Chief, mind if I call back=20
in=85call it ten minutes? I'll be ready by then. Yeah, Chief. Thanks."
Kyoko simply sat, thoroughly puzzled, throughout this entire=20
exchange; clueless to what was happening. As far as she knew, her piloting=
=20
license had sparked the recruiter's interest for some obscure reason. If=20
it was about flying, Kyoko could forget it. She didn't want to go through=
=20
Basic knowing that most enlisted ratings would never --
Then, it all made sense.
"Kyoko," the recruiter spoke softly this time. "I'm looking at=20
your transcript here. Do you know that the Navy and the Aerospace Force=20
co-sponsor Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps programs in Naha. Theres=
=20
a summer program starting up in July?"
"No, I didn't," Kyoko cocked her head to the side, a little=20
confused but frightfully aware as to wear this conversation was going.
"Would you be interested?"
"Ma'am?"
"Listen to me, Kyoko," the petty officer pressed on. "What I said=
=20
before, about basic training and all that. It's not the end of the world,=
=20
although it's the damned closest thing to it you'll ever=20
experience. However, there are other options besides swabbing the deck,=20
something I hope you'll seriously consider. When you walked into this=20
room, I knew immediately there was something about you. At first, I=20
figured maybe you were thinking about enlisting, maybe looking for a=20
career. I didn't expect you to just pull out a pilot's license and say you=
=20
want to fly."
"Let's see," The recruiter -- she called herself Izo over the commlink --=
=20
continued. "You're an honor student, 3.9 grade-point-average. Global=20
Standardized Test Score in the ninety-seventh percentile, and at least=20
three secondary school citations for excellence. If you're serious about=20
entering the service, then you should really try out a JROTC program. You=
=20
already have the academics for it. You also don't seem to be in any danger=
=20
of falling short on the physical training side either.
"If you wanna fly combat, you get three choices. First, you can=20
enlist and wait seven years to go to the Non-Commissioned Officers Aviation=
=20
School. Nobody really does that anymore, so I don't think that's a viable=
=20
option. Second, you can leave now and forget we ever talked.
"Third and last, you could try Junior ROTC and then pursue=20
something like ROTC in a college or -- better yet -- apply for an=20
appointment to a Naval Academy somewhere. JROTC is nice because enrollment=
=20
means you're already in line for scholarships at civilian institutions and=
=20
stand a good chance at winning an appointment. After that, you get to be=20
an officer, leading a gang of rates like me. What do you think?"
The two continued to discuss the opportunities and sacrifices of=20
service, feeling each other out in a game that played to fill quotas as=20
well as select for people with competence and character. After a few more=
=20
minutes, Kyoko finally excused her self and headed off for class -- armed=20
with a late pass.
The next Monday, Kyoko took her lunch outside the cafeteria to sit=
=20
in the shade of a slightly deformed palm tree. While her friends and=20
classmates chatted amongst themselves about the weekend's most happening=20
parties, guys, and upcoming assignments, Kyoko quietly removed a small=20
holo-vid from her back pack. Snapping it into her portable video headset,=
=20
she snapped it over her eyes and ears and pressed play. A three=20
dimensional image jumped to life in front of her eyes. The spinning text=20
read JROTC - Preparing the Best. For the next fifteen minutes, she watched=
=20
the infomercial as she had many times since leaving the Guidance Office=20
last Friday.
About half way through the video, Kyoko finally made her decision.
The 2167-68 school year eventually came to a close. Soon after=20
finals week concluded, Kyoko mailed in a registration form to the Navy=20
JROTC office in Nahas. Without once consulting her uncle or aunt, Kyoko=20
went ahead and planned out her senior year schedule, making sure the=20
science and mathematics courses she needed were on the list and that=20
several humanities courses -- particularly college-level Confederation=20
History -- would be available to her next year. Finally, she called up=20
Petty Officer Izo. They met at Kyoko's coastal home, and Izo personally=20
introduced a senior chief petty officer working for the senior grade=20
captain in charge of the Navy JROTC program in Naha. A week later, Kyoko=20
reported to the Naha to complete her registration. By August, she was=20
training with other prospective officer candidates and beginning the=20
application process. While not nearly as strenuous as Basic at Port=20
Merrymouth, the Junior ROTC experience would build Kyoko up to the level of=
=20
fitness and training expected of any candidate applying for admission to=20
the Academy. In the meantime, she sent letters out to MIT, Harvard, Osaka,=
=20
and Copehagen. Still, her heart went with one application and a=20
Congresswoman's recommendation to the Martian UPC Naval Academy.
Her senior year passed by so quickly she couldn't believe how well=
=20
she'd kept her uncle and aunt in the dark about her JROTC activities. Both=
=20
Uncle Hikaru and Aunt Kazumi were veterans of wars against the Corron=20
Empire. Neither one of them strongly encouraged the girls to look at the=20
military for a career. Linna's increasingly discordian activities at the=20
University -- a source of tension between Uncle Hikaru and herself -- made=
=20
it unlike that the eldest Yatsumi sister would pursue a life of service to=
=20
any body of authority.
It was the first Thursday in July, a very humid and hot day for=20
even tropical Okinawa. Kyoko stood in a two-piece ensamble, looking down=20
from the sunbathing deck of Uncle Hikaru's cliff-side homes. She long=20
since styled her hair, somewhat rusty and brown but lush with highlights,=20
into a bun with two long tresses dangling over her temples. Looking over=20
the banister, she watched from behind her sunglasses as her older sister=20
Linna looked up and waved. "Summer vacation" for Linna was over, she had=20
signed up for summer session at Bard University. Probably to get away from=
=20
Uncle Hikaru, Kyoko noted sadly to herself.
"Goodbye, Sir," she had said tersely the night before. Linna had=
=20
always called him sir, and always with that cold and impassive inflection=20
that merely sharpened the rebellious edge in her tone. No matter how many=
=20
times or how far Uncle Hikaru tried to reach out, Linna wanted nothing to=20
do with him. Today, Aunt Kazumi stood alone with Linna, a rather worried=20
look etched on her face. From the deck, Kyoko could almost feel the=20
narrowing eyes behind Linna's sunglasses as the older sister boarded the=20
air-bus, waving one last time at her little sister as if nothing were wrong=
=20
or ever was. As the bus maneuvered away and eventually took the sky, Kyoko=
=20
heard her uncle mutter something under his breath and walk back into the=
house.
"Uncle?" Kyoko said later that night at the dinner table. Aunt=20
Kazumi had laid out a wonderful feast, hoping Linna would at least stay for=
=20
dinner. Either way, Kyoko and Uncle Hikaru greedily wolfed down her famous=
=20
ox-tail stew, greens and fried noodles. The old man looked up from his=20
empty bowl to the young woman on his left.
"Yes?"
"You know that scholarship offer I got to go to UCLA?"
"Yeah, we're very proud of you," Hikaru smiled, dipping into his=20
stew again. "What about it?"
"I know that I've often I was=85well -- interested in engineering,=
=20
right?"
"Well, there's always MIT and Carnegie -- "
"No, Uncle," Kyoko cut him off, surprising the both of=20
them. She'd never before interrupted her Uncle when he was speaking. Her=
=20
eyes dropped to the table. "That's not what I'm talking about."
"What is it, dear?" Kazumi set down her spoon, her expression one=
=20
of motherly concern. She looked at her goddaughter, then at her husband,=20
then back again. "You want to go on to college, right?"
"Yes, Aunt Kasumi, I do" she lowered her head, breaking eye=20
contact. Breathing deeply, she snapped up and removed something from under=
=20
her seating pillow. "Uncle. What I'm trying to say is...."
The words faltered, as she dipped her head again, searching for a=
=20
better explanation. How could she break this to them. All those years=20
they thought she was excelling in the molecular structure of titanium=20
alloy, when she was in fact --
Sighing heavily, she stood up, much to her guardians'=20
surprise. She picked up the brochure she'd hidden on her during dinner and=
=20
placed it on the table.
"This is an application for the Martian Naval Academy," she=20
announced in one quick splurt. "I mailed them my school reports and=20
they=85uh -- they sent it to me."
Kyoko explained everything, how she talked to the recruiter last=20
year and joined the JROTC unit in Nara and how she'd forged Uncle Hikaru's=
=20
signature on the consent form -- afraid of what her uncle and aunt would=20
think about her newfound interest in the naval service. She told him how=20
hard it was to share this with them, and how she came to understand she=20
needed their blessing before taking this last step. Her head sank into her=
=20
shoulders as she looked down at her twiddling thumbs, only occasionally=20
looking up to see the expressions on her guardians' faces. Aunt Kazumi's=20
eyes betrayed a wave of sadness, a look Kyoko recognized whenever Uncle=20
Hikaru and Linna got in one of their long arguments. Kyoko couldn't tell=20
if it was the news or something else that disturbed Aunt Kazumi, but=20
Kyoko's godmother didn't say anything to ease the anxiety. Hikaru's=20
expression was utterly blank, betraying nothing at all. Kyoko breathed=20
heavily before pressing the point.
"Uncle, I can fly. You know I've got talent, and the Navy -- "
"No!" Kazumi's eyes widened, her broken voice pleading to her=20
husband as she laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hikaru! You just can't let=20
her -- "
Hikaru lifted his hand -- his wife hushed up instantly. The=20
painful look on her face turned into a scowl before she looked=20
away. Slamming her palm on the table, she got up and stomped off.
Kyoko nervously adjusted her the left strap of her tank-top. Her=
=20
uncle cleared his throat as if about to speak, but hesitated.
"Just because you can and want to fly doesn't mean your ready for=
=20
that kind of commitment." Kyoko was almost taken back by the measure of=20
calm in his voice. Uncle Hikaru wasn't a man moved easily to anger, but=20
Kyoko remembered the fiercesome bouts he had with Linna when she lied or=20
tried hiding something from her guardians. The one thing that truly scared=
=20
Kyoko was angering her uncle. She loved the sweet, old man dearly and=20
dreaded disappointing him. Tonight, Kyoko couldn't help but feel that=20
she'd somehow betrayed his trust.
"Uncle. I'm ready." Kyoko herself felt surprised by the defiance=
=20
in her tone. Uncle Hikaru, on the other hand, wasn't phased at all. She=20
could not tell what he was thinking behind those calm, expressionless eyes.
"Do you really think that you can handle this?"
From the dining room doorway, Kazumi glared at both of them, as if=
=20
Uncle Hikaru and Kyoko had pulled some cruel prank on her. "Husband, you=20
know what it's like out there. What if a war starts? Why does she have to=
=20
be part of it?"
Hikaru remained silent, his attention entirely focused on his=20
niece, the youngest child of his long dead brother. For a whole minute he=
=20
stayed that way; neither Kyoko or Kazumi dared to speak up. Finally, Uncle=
=20
Hikaru himself broke the uneasy calm and cleared his throat.
"Ki-chan. This thing you want to do -- well, your aunt and I feel=
=20
you can do better=85"
Kyoko nodded, and held back the tears that were in her eyes. She=
=20
wanted this more than the world, more than anything. But if she couldn't=20
get her guardians' blessings, how could she bring her self to disobey --
"...but, you're old enough to make your own choices," Hikaru=20
finished.
Kyoko's jaw dropped as she took a minute to let it sink in. When it=20
finally did, she leaped from her table and threw her arms around this=20
beloved old man, nearly knocking the wind out of him as she squeezed him as=
=20
hard as she could -- planting sloppy, childish kisses on his left cheek.
"Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" With the tears=
=20
streaming down her cheeks, Kyoko had no idea how hard she was embracing her=
=20
uncle until he started gasping outloud. Loosening her grip, she pulled one=
=20
arm away to wipe clean her tearing eyes. "Oh! I'm sorry, Uncle! My bad."
"Please don't kill my husband, baby," Kasumi tried to smile, but=20
her tone betrayed her deep discomfort with Hikaru's tacit approval. Kyoko=
=20
felt the guilt flooding back into her.
"Auntie=85" she began, but Kazumi raised a hand and cut her=20
off. Finally, she managed a warm, inviting grin. Kyoko saw at once her=20
aunt trying to accept it, trying to understand her niece's once secret=20
dream. It was hard, but Kyoko at once knew the love and trust between them=
=20
meant her aunt couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for her baby girl's=
=20
decision.
"He's mine, and I still need him in one piece." Aunt Kazumi forced=
=20
the laugh. "Listen, Ki. Just be careful out there. Please?"
"I will=85Mom," she said, surprised at how easy it accept Kazumi in=
=20
the role her very own mother once filled -- it had always been that=20
way. Kazumi and Hikaru Yatsumi had stepped in when Catherine and Hiro=20
passed on. They'd given the later years of their lives with love and=20
kindness to the children Kyoko's deceased parents left behind. They=20
understood more than anyone else that at some point you had to let kids=20
find their own way in the world, for better or for worse.
* * *
* * *
<REMIX and Platinum Playaz>---------------------------------------->
<Rev Prez aka Scriptchya the Seventh Disciple aka Deez Nutz>------->
<"...they come heavier from nigga to whore - Kool G Rap>
< Be a predator, dead in the morgue, a spread in the log... " >
<Personal>-----------------------<"It's The Militia" - Freddie Foxx>
<revprez@mit.edu>--------<http://web.mit.edu/revprez/www/resume.pdf>
<"I mobb deep, in cherry Cherokees I forever be - Shyheim>
> on some thug shit, runnin wild through New York City" >
<410 Memorial Drive, Cambridge, MA 02139>-----------<(617) 225 8420>
"Nickels and dimes...coke, crack and marijuana - Johnny Blanco
livin the life, sex, money and drama..."
<ThE fLoW>---------------------------------------------------------->
Platinum Playa Productions-------------------<Site Comin Soon, dunnz>
"TGR v.3"-----<http://web.mit.edu/revprez/www/mp3/revprez-trg-v3.mp3>
"TGR v.4"-----<http://web.mit.edu/revprez/www/mp3/revprez-trg-v4.mp3>
"Tight"--------<http://web.mit.edu/revprez/www/mp3/revprez-tight.mp3>
<-----------REMIX and the Central Region Freestylin Alliance-------->
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