by Shouji Gatou
“Let’s get through the planning meeting for now, Major,” she decided. “You can tell me the rest later.”
They opened the door and entered the meeting room. Pale blue light shone down on a round table; the six heads of the various departments were already seated.
“Now,” Tessa announced, “let us begin.”
The officers nodded and turned to face the screen.
28 April, 2033 Hours (Japan/North Korea Standard Time)
Sunan Airfield, People’s Democratic Republic of Korea
“Turn around. Slowly.”
Sousuke did as he was told.
The man pointing the gun at him was enormous, close to two meters tall. He had a striking appearance—thick, burly arms and narrow, wide-set eyes—and he wore an officer’s uniform. “Are you one of the students from the plane? How did you slip out without my men noticing?” The officer was maintaining a cautious distance, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. He was alone, and Sousuke couldn’t see any other soldiers in the area—perhaps he’d been doing rounds to double-check airfield security. “You were contacting someone, weren’t you? Tell me,” the officer pressed him.
Eventually, Sousuke spoke. “I was contacting—” he began, and then with a natural motion, he threw the transmitter at the man. The officer, who had unconsciously leaned in to listen, found his reaction time just a little bit delayed. When he turned to knock it away, Sousuke used the moment’s distraction to rush the man and kick the gun out of his hand. It hit the wall of the warehouse and fell to the ground, but his opponent wasn’t shaken.
The officer grunted as he reeled back, then lashed out with a full-powered punch. Sousuke blocked it with a hand; the blow was heavy and sharp, and it threw him off balance. Before he could even catch his breath, it was followed by a spin-kick aimed at his head.
Sousuke managed to deflect it, but the man’s combos were merciless. Strike, kick, elbow—a fluid mixture of hard and soft attacks. The man was skilled, and he had power to boot.
“You thought you could beat me if I was unarmed, you brat?!” the officer demanded.
Sousuke didn’t answer, but took a few steps back, jumped off a concrete block and snapped a dropkick right to the man’s jaw. The man grunted, arched back, and toppled; the back of his head hit the asphalt. Sousuke wasted no time. He straddled him, drew his stun gun from his belt and jabbed the man with it.
The man moaned, writhing and convulsing under the electricity. “D-D-Damn... y-y-you...”
Not as effective as I thought... Sousuke tilted his head. Maybe the battery was low?
“Y-Y-You... wh-wh-who are... y-y-you?”
“I’m the trash duty officer,” he answered.
“T-T-Tra...” At last, the man fell silent.
Sousuke carefully bound his arms and legs with wire from the storehouse, then checked to see if his transmitter had survived: the outer shell had broken in the fall, and the innards were exposed. The LCD panel was cracked, too. He pressed the power switch, but it wouldn’t boot up.
“Drat...” He couldn’t contact the de Danaan, now.
Sousuke picked up the man’s gun, checked to make sure there were no more soldiers around, then took out his pocket medical kit. Packed into a box the size of his palm were antidotes, sulfuric acid, aspirin, morphine, syringes, and other tools. Among them was a small bottle, filled with alcohol.
Kaname had been stuck for hours in the stuffy drum thing. She couldn’t move due to her restraints, and her shoulders and butt cried out for relief. She had begged repeatedly for a chance to rest, but the doctor turned a deaf ear to her pleas.
Meaningless images continued to scroll past her. When she tried to close her eyes, the doctor seemed to notice it. She would scold her, telling her to keep looking forward; a refusal to focus would just prolong the tests.
Suddenly, without warning, the parade of images stopped, and the world around Kaname went black. “Are we done?” she asked hesitantly.
“Not yet,” the doctor told her.
Soon, she heard a strange noise. Thump, thu-thump... a low, distant, throbbing. She felt like she was watching a movie with surround sound, and it filled her with a strange anxiety.
“What’s going on?” Kaname cried out. There was no response. Something new was on the screen in front of her now—words, written in English letters. About every two seconds, they changed.
[sea]
[campaniform sensillum]
[tree]
[intrinsic coercivity]
[decagonal phase]
Words that she couldn’t even pronounce, let alone recognize, were mixed in with words that anyone would know. This incomprehensible content flashed before her, on and on, seemingly without end. The pace gradually picked up, until the nonsense words were blinking in and out at a rate of ten per second.
Eventually the simple English words were phased out, replaced almost completely by specialist jargon—chemical formulas and numerical expressions. At some point, Kaname found herself enraptured.
What’s going on? she wondered. Then, it occurred to her: I know this. I’ve... seen this before? She knew what these words meant. She hadn’t really seen them before, yet she understood them well... better than anyone in the world, better than the greatest scientists...
2D quasicrystal-structured alloy, something in her head told her.
rgon and ninickel∩titaQtanium. ノ“naαframe’s Ｉth structural material. partpar stabilizing zingzirconia リヤ2 magnetic anisotropy 8in rare earth ion directionaΓity in toskna nonlinear キA deviatEK. prasiodymium, terbium, dyspδrosium. NOチteY polyΦpolyalamide gel and mfome, flexRGze sechC flexible naficial musclcle—
On and on, her mind raced. ΔD-TfeDfeGPfpalla palladididium reactor YP sealed at GsectiontGフ cubebical lattice triple hydrogen℃ JHI—electromagnetic hologramam camouflage. 130 one thir tee ＩIIIＸ□MGOｅ maximum magnetic energy compres essionP stage KイW former partial derivative BB ラ—barium titanate, perovskyte-type tyRpe, reversible phase transmission. carboKKδUn composite armor, naNANnonanocompoWPCJζ. dome sensasation-based pressKaure detectionR bium, dysp. halt elemnt in 1O0 sqsqsquare mete—
Knowledge burst into her head like an erupting volcano, setting her consciousness aflame. She had never heard any of this before. Yet she knew it—she understood it. It was like someone was there in the back of her mind, whispering it to her. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
“Ah... ah...” she moaned.
Then, the deluge cut off as abruptly as it started. The display went black and the strange, low throbbing stopped. The drum lifted off her head, and the platform on which she was lying slid out of the device.
She felt exhausted. Her face was on fire. She struggled for breath. What was it she’d been looking at? Had it all been a dream? She felt like she’d been thinking about something extremely complex...
“How do you feel?” The doctor removed her head-mounted display and peered into her face.
Kaname found herself squinting against the ceiling lights. “Like shit,” she said at last.
“I see. Well, I’m sorry to say this, but we aren’t finished,” the woman said, without the slightest hint of sympathy.
“Please, just let me go,” Kaname pleaded. “I don’t wanna do this sleep-learning stuff...”
“Learning? Ridiculous... You’ve known all of this since before you were born,” the woman said cryptically, then pulled out a syringe...
28 April, 2205 Hours (Japan/North Korea Standard Time)
1st Briefing Room, Tuatha de Danaan, Periscope Depth, Yellow Sea
“We need to act quickly,” Major Kalinin said, turning away from the screen. “We need to regain the initiative before things get any worse.”
The briefing room was nearly at capacity, with over 30 personnel present: AS operators, helicopter and VTOL pilots, and infantry, all comprising a variety of races, ethnicities, ages, and sexes. Melissa Mao and Kurz Weber were there, too; they’d rushed back to the de Dan
aan when they heard about the hijacking.
“Mithril typically prefers to avoid incidents so in the public eye, but the unfortunate truth is that we failed to prevent this. We are responsible. Therefore...” The major paused to look out over the group. “The Tuatha de Danaan will now run a rescue operation. I will explain how things are to proceed.”
The large screen now displayed a satellite view of Sunan. It was their most recent image, taken at 1530 hours that day. It was overlaid with symbols and letters providing detailed information about the placement of enemy forces, as well as the hostages’ jumbo jet.
“We’ll deploy a six-AS team, to be preceded by air support: attack helicopters, transport helicopters, and VTOLs, in that order. First...” Kalinin went on to describe the operation in great detail: where the helicopters were to land, how the ASes were to deploy; the timetable he gave went down to the second. “The ASes will employ XL-2 emergency deployment boosters to launch directly from this submarine. If any of our operators have imbibed alcohol in the past eight hours, tell me now.”
“Emergency deployment boosters” were a one-way, expendable launch system that could propel a single AS up to 40 kilometers. They were used to rapidly deploy an AS into a theater to catch the enemy off guard.
At the mention of alcohol, Mao and Kurz exchanged a glance. Kurz whispered, “That was ten hours ago. We’re safe.”
Kalinin fixed his eyes on them a moment, but continued on with his explanation; “Our greatest issue is this large explosive device.” The screen switched to a transparent CGI rendering of a Boeing 747; the location of the giant bomb that Sousuke had mentioned was highlighted in red. “We expect it to employ a remote detonator with a VHF band frequency. After your initial assault, you’ll need to regroup quickly, then disable this bomb before the terrorists can trigger it.”
“How do we do that?” one of the attack helicopter pilots asked. Kalinin gave a rough outline of how the bomb would be dealt with, at which point the soldiers exchanged glances; some grinning, others nervous.
“But that’ll mean Flight 903 is grounded,” one protested.
“Correct. But it’s out of fuel regardless, and refueling during a firefight is out of the question. The solution is to move the hostages to another craft, but that raises another issue: the sheer number of them.”
The passenger and crew manifest scrolled across the screen: four hundred and twenty people, the largest hostage count in modern terror history.
“Even if we sent every transport helicopter we have, we wouldn’t be able to carry them all,” Kalinin explained. “That’s why we have two C-17 transport aircraft from the Merida Island Base in the air right now. They’re already en route, and they’ll have a midair refueling over the Yellow Sea just before the operation begins.”
“Don’t those have a recommended seating of 150?” one of the squad asked.
“‘Recommended’ is the key. We’re not running a pleasure cruise,” Kalinin deadpanned, then resumed the briefing. “The second the operation begins, those transports need to hit the runway. You have five minutes to transfer the hostages, then take off.”
“Five minutes? That’ll be tight,” the corporal tasked with directing the hostages grumbled.
Nearby, Kurz spat out, “It’ll feel like forever to the people guarding the damned things...”
“There’s a reason for the tight timeframe,” Kalinin said as he pulled up a map of the base’s surroundings. “Sunan Airfield is adjacent to a highway, and it’s close to their capital, Pyongyang. We can expect a prompt arrival of enemy reinforcements. The capital guard are well-trained, and we need to avoid engaging them. The de Danaan will be laying smart mines along the road, but that won’t hold them off for long.”
“What if one of the transports is destroyed on the runway?” Mao asked. “Or it’s prevented from taking off?”
“Then get the other off the ground, empty seats or no,” the major said coldly. “Pack as many of the remaining hostages as you can onto the transport helicopters. Abandon the ASes if you have to—but if you do, make sure they’re destroyed first. This is a crucial detail that takes priority even over your lives... though, of course, we hope that it won’t come to that.”
The room fell into heavy silence.
An operator from the 2nd AS platoon raised his hand. “Any word from Sergeant Sagara?”
“No. That’s another reason we need to hurry. The longer we take to execute our plan, the more likely it is that circumstances will turn on us. Weather, intelligence, enemy readiness, the safety of the hostages—there are countless elements at play. We don’t have time to do a dry run.” Kalinin explained further the details of the operation, how the withdrawal should proceed, and other issues they could expect to encounter. Then he turned the screen off and began the wrap-up. “As you may have realized, this plan contains very little redundancy; the slightest slip-up could be fatal. But if there’s any team in the world who could make it work, it’s ours. I have faith in your abilities.” He looked over the room. “Any other questions?”
The soldiers of Mithril said nothing.
“Then start getting ready,” he ordered. “Noise regulations are in effect. Dismissed.”
The group stood up, all at once.
28 April, 2229 Hours (Japan/North Korea Standard Time)
Sunan Airfield, People’s Democratic Republic of Korea
Hidden behind a rusty container, Sousuke surveyed the vehicles parked on the apron: a high-powered generator truck and two large trailers. Is that it? he wondered.
The officer Sousuke had captured had told him that Kaname was in the trailer with all the power cables running to it. He had injected the man with enough alcohol to intoxicate, and then talked the location out of him (not the most reliable form of interrogation, he knew, but it seemed to have yielded results in this case). Then, once he was done with the officer, he’d knocked him unconscious and thrown him into a nearby manhole, still bound in wire; he wouldn’t be found for some time.
The area was brightly lit by mercury-vapor lamps, and Sousuke had a clear view of everything. Security was three men with submachine guns; there was a man resting in the trailer’s cabin, too. They were all wearing suits or casual clothes, which suggested that they weren’t part of the airfield staff.
He looked at his watch: 2230 hours. It was past the time he was supposed to contact the de Danaan. What should I do? Sousuke thought.
The safest thing would be to stay here and lie low; then, when the rescue plan kicked off, he could storm the trailer and save Kaname. That would give them the best chance of meeting up with the others.
But what’s going on in that trailer? he wondered. He thought back to the girl he’d saved in Siberia two weeks before. They’d pumped her with drugs full of alkaloids and other dangerous chemicals; substances often used in truth serums. Sousuke knew the kinds of scars they could leave on a person’s mind.
He thought of Kaname’s face, her brow furrowed in anger. Her disgusted look, her disappointed look, her thoughtful look... and that smile she’d shown him on the station platform. That smile, like a cloudless blue sky, now crushed to bits, never to return... In its place, sunken eyes, a slack jaw, unattended drool and snot... Tormented by hallucinations, she’ll gnaw her own skin raw. They might not kill her, but they will tear her very being to shreds...
Sousuke felt a burning impatience rising up inside of him; the urge to rush to her rescue. He couldn’t remember feeling anything so strongly before. It surprised him, and confused him.
Calm down, he told himself. Your priority is the safety of the hostage group. Kaname is a secondary mission objective. Besides... those men might be monsters, but they’ve gone to great lengths to get her here. They won’t destroy her in just one night. They’ll experiment on Kaname, but they won’t destroy her. It will be more like... a slow strangulation with a silk cord...
“Dammit...” he found himself whispering. Just then, he was drawn out of his thoughts by a sound from the tr
ailer—a gunshot, from a medium caliber handgun.
You want to jump out now, but that’s not necessarily the right move, his instincts as a professional soldier reminded him. Your interference now will make things worse. You don’t know when the operation is scheduled to start. You don’t even know if the rescue will happen. Just grit your teeth and watch for now. Don’t sabotage your comrades’ plan. Remember your mission priorities.
That’s right, he reminded himself. Only a fool and an amateur would leap out now. That isn’t who I am. But. But...
But what if Kaname was just shot inside that trailer? Sousuke found himself wondering. What if she’s badly hurt? If I go in and treat her now, she could still pull through. I must know more first aid than whatever quacks they have here... His thoughts began to spiral. And what if those terrorists plan to shoot her a second time?! What if she’s in that trailer right now, crawling along the floor. What if Gauron points a gun at her head and—
“Kaname would... She’d...” A feeling he’d long forgotten began to coil around his heart. He’d left it behind so long ago that he’d almost forgotten its name.
What Sousuke felt in that moment... was fear.
Still, you can’t just run out there. You’ll just get yourself killed. Don’t forget your mission, his reason commanded him. But...
A second gunshot came, and the next thing he knew, Sousuke was flying out from behind the container; he wasn’t even thinking. For the first time in his life, he was ignoring his mission priorities.
Two minutes earlier...
Kaname kicked and screamed inside the stuffy drum.
“Settle down! Open your eyes and look at the screen!” The doctor called to her, but Kaname continued to writhe, flapping her arms and legs and jerking her head against its restraint. She was drenched in sweat, her breathing was ragged, and her ears were ringing.
“Shut up! Let me out of here!” Kaname hadn’t lost her mind; she was simply enraged. She still didn’t know what was going on... but did they really think she was going to lie there, trapped in this nightmare, hopped up on strange drugs, following orders forever?! She was sick of being trapped in her thoughts. She was sick of being docile. If she didn’t get to cry out, move her body, and vent, she really was going to go insane. “Put me back with the others!” she screamed. “Do it before I break your stupid machine!” She was struggling so violently that the goggle display slid off of her head.
