Dancing Very Merry Christmas

by Shouji Gatou

  “Stay out of this, part-timer!” The two screamed in tandem over the radio.

  Sousuke fell quiet.

  《I agree, Sergeant. It would be wise to keep our silence in this case.》

  “Al, I told you—”

  《Forgive me. I’ll stop talking.》

  For just a moment, Sousuke gave serious consideration to killing the AI while he could.

  21 December, 0351 Hours (Local Time)

  250 Meter Depth, West Pacific Ocean

  1st Briefing Room, Tuatha de Danaan

  “So, well...” They were finishing up the debriefing for the pirate stronghold mission, and Melissa Mao was awkwardly explaining how the Arbalest had gotten into a game of chicken with a missile. “In that instant, something bad and something good... basically happened all at once, I guess.”

  “Start with the good,” First Lieutenant Belfangan Clouseau, leader of the SRT ground forces, requested. Up to this point, he’d been listening silently. He was a tall black man in his thirties, dressed in fatigues, with tense eyebrows and a masculine face.

  Mao responded, “The Arbalest’s lambda driver activated, and blocked the ATM’s explosion. Gave us tons of data, too.”

  “That’s excellent. Well done, Sagara, even if it wasn’t quite intentional. Just try to deal with them before they hit you next time,” Clouseau advised. “It’s an unnecessary risk.”

  Sousuke, also in fatigues, sat in his chair and nodded silently.

  “So?” Clouseau asked next, attempting to move things along. “What’s the something bad?”

  “The pirates’ commander was the one who fired the missile, and Kurz blew him away. He unloaded his machine guns’ 12.7mm rounds... um...” Mao looked down at her clipboard. “...54 times in all, leaving no trace behind.”

  “Ahh...” It sounded like he’d seen that coming, and he wasn’t exactly surprised... but Clouseau still closed his eyes, a vein in his forehead throbbing. “Wonderful. So, Weber, how do you propose we interrogate the man you just blasted into a fine red mist?”

  Kurz Weber, sitting in the seat next to Sousuke, laughed hollowly. “We can’t. Well, we could ask an itako from Mt. Osore, maybe. But we’d need one that can speak Chinese.”

  “I was being sarcastic, Sergeant,” Clouseau growled.

  “I’m aware of that, Lieutenant.”

  Clouseau and Kurz glared balefully at each other, and Mao let out a small sigh. The two men really didn’t get along; to say that they’d gotten off on the wrong foot would be a vast understatement. They’d had a few sorties together since their disastrous first encounter, and she was genuinely surprised that Kurz had never “accidentally” shot Clouseau in the back.

  “Ah, excuse me,” Yang Jun-kyu spoke up hesitantly, as if to fill the silence. “If you don’t mind my saying so, it really was the only option at the time. Kurz’s M9 was just at the limit of taser range, and the smoke there was pretty thick, so that probably wouldn’t have worked. There was no guarantee the enemy didn’t have a second shot prepared, so he really had to dispatch him as quickly as possible.” Yang was the traditional mediator in these situations.

  Clouseau took that in, then surveyed the room. “What do the rest of you think?” Everyone present, including Sousuke and Mao, signaled passive agreement, and Clouseau seemed to respect their judgment. “Very well. Maybe it was unavoidable, then. I’ll report this to the major—I think it’s clear that that pirate base has no connection to this Amalgam organization, which means we’re back to square one. We’re no closer to finding their base of operations than we were before.”

  “Anything turn up in the analysis of the Venoms and the Behemoth?” Mao asked. Mithril had recovered a number of remains of Amalgam-made machines from previous battles, including the Behemoth from six whole months earlier. It was expected that if the research and intelligence divisions analyzed them in earnest, they could identify where the parts had been made and any corporations involved in their creation.

  “Most of the core elements from the remains are ‘origin unknown,’” Clouseau answered. “The non-proprietary electronic bits have a variety of origins, including some made in Western Europe, and some in Japan.”

  “No way,” she protested. “There can’t be many factories capable of building specialized machinery like that, can there?”

  “Not many Western factories, anyway. They’re still reviewing particulars and commonalities between the designs, but for the Venoms, at least, the pervading theory is that they’re modeled on the Soviets’ next-generation AS.”

  “The Shadow?” Mao questioned. The Zy-98 Shadow was the codename for a next-generation AS made by the Soviets’ Zeya Experimental Design Bureau, the successor to the Rk-92 Savage. Western militaries had only become aware of its existence a month ago, and not even Mithril knew its full particulars, but it was said to have a full electromagnetic propulsion system powered by a miniature high-output palladium reactor, and specs on par with the M9’s.

  In other words, Clouseau was saying that the Venom was a modified Shadow. “We can’t draw conclusions just yet,” he cautioned them. “All we know is that, in terms of basic structure, the Venom is to Zeya’s new model as the Arbalest is to the M9. At any rate, we’re going to focus on that ‘Badam’ keyword that Sagara heard. Although... we still can’t be sure that that wasn’t some nonsense Gauron was spouting just to mess with us.”

  “I’m certain there’s something to it, sir,” Sousuke insisted. Clouseau’s feeling was understandable, but for some reason, Sousuke couldn’t convince himself that what Gauron had told him in Hong Kong meant nothing.

  “I know. Though it could also be a trap... best not to let our guard down, either way,” Clouseau mused in response, then shook his head dismissively. “Well, anyway, our job isn’t information analysis; it’s pest control. On any mission where there’s the slightest possibility of encountering a Venom-type AS, we always have to be on the top of our game. Major Kalinin feels the same way. Remember that.”

  The group voiced a variety of, “rogers” and, “yeah, yeahs.”

  “Now, I want a report from all of you by seven in the morning,” Clouseau instructed. “Weber, you’ll handle the watch over the three pirate lieutenants we captured.” They had brought the prisoners they’d taken on Badamu Island on board, where they were bound and blindfolded. The minute they arrived at Merida Island, the men would be interrogated by operations HQ staff.

  “Huh?! Why do I have to—”

  “That’s an order,” Clouseau said, cutting him off. “Pick PRT members to serve as the watch team and tell them what they need to know. Got it? This is all on you now; I don’t want a repeat of the Perio incident.”

  “Roger,” Kurz responded after a second. He sounded surprisingly earnest about it; perhaps he was remembering what had happened to Clouseau’s predecessor, McAllen.

  “All right, dismissed,” Clouseau finished. “Good work today, everyone.”

  The soldiers stood up and left the briefing room, chatting.

  “Hey, Ben,” Mao said to Clouseau, once the others were gone.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why’d you make Kurz do it?” she wanted to know. “I’d be happy to run the watch.”

  “He needs a little more proper NCO experience. I’m teaching him responsibility.”

  “Oh, I get you.” Mao nodded as if in perfect understanding.

  “And it’s more than that,” Clouseau went on. “I spoke with Major Kalinin and Colonel Testarossa. Now that you’re a lieutenant, we need to promote someone from the SRT to master sergeant: the only options are Sagara, Sandraptor, and Weber. But Sagara is too young and he’s a part-timer, and Sandraptor’s not cut out for command. Plus...”

  “Plus...?”

  “That girl, Chidori Kaname, told me that McAllen’s last words to Nguyen during the Perio incident were ‘Call Weber and the others.’ At the time, the major was off-ship, and you were wounded—I guess the next name that came to mind was Weber’s. I think Senp
ai might’ve seen something in him.”

  Mao remained quiet.

  “I don’t like the man, but he has potential, and he cares about his comrades,” Clouseau admitted. “I thought I’d put him through his paces a while and see how he takes to it.”

  “Hmm...” Mao hummed, her lips curving up into a smile.

  Clouseau answered her pleased expression with a scowl. “What now?” he demanded. Once Clouseau was alone with her, he returned to talking like an NCO.

  “Nothing,” she protested innocently. “I was thinking, ‘you’re so responsible.’”

  “Get off my back. The major isn’t here most of the time,” Clouseau growled back. “Who’s going to do it if I don’t?”

  “Fair enough. We’re all counting on you, Ben.”

  “Darn it...” Tucking his file case under his arm with another scowl, Clouseau left the room.

  After returning to the SRT duty room, Sousuke opened his laptop and began composing his report. Kurz had gone off to run hostage watch (grumbling all the while about unfairness), and that left the room quieter than usual.

  Sousuke was thinking that he would polish off his paperwork, and then, once they surfaced, he’d take a helicopter to Tokyo. There were more than a few members of the crew who didn’t like the idea of an NCO like Sousuke getting this sort of preferential treatment, but he didn’t care. His grades were on the line, and he’d gotten the clause “can charter transport whenever reasonable” added to his contract (though the fuel costs still came out of his paycheck).

  His report was about 80% finished when he felt his stomach rumble. If I go to the mess, he thought, I might find something left over.

  “Where are you going?” Mao, who was fooling around on her laptop as well, asked him as he stood.

  “To eat,” Sousuke answered her shortly.

  “Ahh... gotcha. See you later.”

  “See you.” As Sousuke left the duty room, he caught a glimpse of Mao reaching quickly for the on-board phone, but he didn’t pay it much mind. Instead, he just climbed the nearby stairway and walked down the passage beyond.

  As he made it up to deck two, he ran into the submarine’s captain, Tessa—full name Teletha Testarossa—coming around the corner of an otherwise unoccupied hall.

  “Ah... Sagara-san,” Tessa said. She was a petite, slender girl with ash blonde hair done up in a braid. Tessa was about Sousuke’s age, and wore the rank of colonel on the shoulders of her khaki-colored uniform. For some reason, she sounded out of breath.

  “Colonel.” Normally, Sousuke would come to attention and salute... but he had recently learned that she hated being treated that way, so he just offered her a casual greeting, instead. “Are you taking a break?” he inquired next.

  “Yes, now that we’re underway... I was a little bit hungry, so I left command to Mardukas-san.” Tessa then turned her eyes up to meet his, and said, “Would you like to share a meal with me?”

  “In the galley?”

  “Yes. Escort me, if you would.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he responded. “I was intending to.”

  They walked side-by-side down the corridor and soon arrived at the mess hall, which was pitch black. Nobody was present in the middle of the night, and there didn’t seem to be any food left.

  “Please sit there,” Tessa insisted, running into the galley. “I’ll cook.”

  Sousuke quickly started, “Colonel, please. Let me—” but managed to stop himself mid-protest.

  Tessa was glaring at him reproachfully. “Are you suggesting that I cannot prepare food properly?”

  “No, certainly not.”

  “You always eat what Kaname-san prepares,” she pointed out, and Sousuke fell silent. While he groped around for an answer, Tessa giggled. “It’s all right,” she said. “But please, try my cooking for once.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’d be happy to.” In the past, nerves and awkwardness would have overtaken him, and he’d have said something like, ‘No, I really should make it myself,’ or ‘allow me to assist you, at least,’ but... Well, maybe it’s not so bad, Sousuke decided, and then sat down at a table.

  “It sounds like things were difficult on Badamu Island,” Tessa called out from the galley.

  “Not at all,” Sousuke replied. “It was an easy mission.” He heard the refrigerator door open and close, followed by the sound of cooking tools being pulled out and placed back.

  “But you used the lambda driver, didn’t you?” Tessa wanted to know.

  “My apologies,” he answered. “If I’d been more careful, things wouldn’t have come to that.”

  “All’s well that ends well. Are you growing accustomed to the Arbalest, then?”

  “Yes. But Al’s turned into a chatterbox, and I don’t know what to do about it,” Sousuke admitted ruefully. “He just says one useless thing after another... I’ve never heard of a control system like it.”

  “He’s not a control system,” Tessa clarified.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t I tell you before? The Arbalest is an extension of you,” she explained. “Al... Al is how you might have turned out, if you had been raised in a different environment.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say,” Sousuke objected with a grimace, then heard the chopping on the cutting board suddenly come to a stop.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” she called back, with a note of surprise.

  Sousuke cringed, realizing he’d said something rude in the heat of the moment. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s all right,” Tessa said reassuringly. “After all, you were speaking to me like you would to Melissa and Weber-san.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes. I found that rather pleasing.” She giggled.

  “It feels... strange, for me,” Sousuke admitted.

  “And for me as well. Very strange.” Regardless, Tessa sounded delighted.

  The food preparation went on for a while. Sousuke heard something get mixed together in a bowl, something boiled in a pot, something fried up in a pan...

  This had been the tone of their interactions for about six months now. Tessa, who had once seemed like an otherworldly being, was now someone Sousuke felt quite close to. He couldn’t claim he didn’t enjoy her attentions, either—Tessa was a very appealing girl, and he liked that she was willing to engage him this way. And in moments like these, with her eyes pointed down studiously as she focused on her cooking, Tessa reminded him of Kaname.

  “It’s finished.” Tessa came out of the kitchen, carrying a large dish of pasta. “It’s spaghetti carbonara,” she explained. “I frequently make it for myself after work.” Tessa piled the pasta onto a small dish using a fork and spoon. The steaming dish was coated in thick cheese and cream sauce, and fragrant with pepper and garlic.

  “It’s quite easy to make,” she went on. “I find it easier than Kalinin-san’s borscht, at least... I’m sure you’ll like it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Sousuke said pointlessly, before bringing a forkful of pasta to his mouth. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide. It really is... “Very good.”

  The moment he’d said so, Tessa scrunched up her shoulders and flashed a V-sign. “Ah... all my training paid off. Now Kaname-san’s lost her sneaky advantage...” she whispered to no one in particular.

  Sousuke stared up at her suspiciously. “What?”

  “Oh, nothing... Go on, eat up!”

  “Ahh...” Though still dubious, Sousuke continued downing the pasta. His empty stomach helped.

  Tessa watched him eat for a while, enraptured. Then she said, “Sagara-san, would you like more?”

  “Please.” Sousuke typically didn’t stuff himself, but he found himself holding the dish out for more.

  If they had had a mission coming up, he might have refrained. They weren’t supposed to fight on a full stomach; it slowed your reaction times, and raised the chances that a bullet to the gut would prove fatal. But they were currently on board their submarine, so that was pr
obably unlikely. As long as Kurz doesn’t make some stupid mistake on watch duty, at least...

  “Is it very good?” Tessa asked again, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Yes,” he told her. “It’s... very good.”

  “I’m so glad!” Tessa grinned.

  Is that what people mean when they say, ‘a radiant smile’? Sousuke wondered idly. He felt warmed by the sight, and at the same time, slightly guilty.

  “Hey... did you know that next week is Christmas?” she asked hesitantly, changing the subject.

  “I’m unfamiliar with the specifics,” Sousuke answered. “But it does appear that way.”

  “Do you know what the 24th is?” she asked curiously.

  “I’ve heard it’s a custom known as Christmas Eve.” Sousuke knew that Christmas was a Christian custom, but as someone who had fought with an Islamic mujahideen, it had little meaning to him. He was actually much more conscious of Ramadan, which was beginning three days before it this year. To Sousuke, Christmas was primarily a period when the alertness of his enemy in his Afghani days, the Soviets, was reduced... and nothing more.

  Why is she bringing up Christmas? Sousuke wondered, and found himself tensing up a bit. He was fairly certain that Tessa was a Catholic, and while he didn’t think that she was about to engage him in a religious debate, the topic still made him vaguely uneasy.

  “I see. You really don’t know...” she mused.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Well, Sagara-san...” Tessa said hesitantly.

  “Yes?”

  “On the 24th... the squadron is going to hold a party together, you know? And I was going to hold a smaller, secondary celebration in my room afterwards, with Melissa and some of the others. Would you like to join us?” Tessa’s eyes, brimming with sincerity, now gazed into his.

  “On the 24th?” he clarified.