by Shouji Gatou
So, what do I do now? Harris asked himself. Let them have their way, then go into hiding once he returned to port? No, that wouldn’t work... It would be difficult for a man acting alone to escape their grasp.
He’d have to make an unquestioned show of loyalty, while bringing them a present important enough to protect him from further sanction. To do that, first, he’d need to make contact. Then, he’d need to activate “them.”
As Harris moved through the cramped space above the ceiling, several times, he heard cautious footsteps approaching from close by; the enemy must be searching for him. When he finally reached the lifeboats, he couldn’t believe that he’d made it without being seen.
Truly, a Christmas miracle. God is watching over me! Harris thought cheerfully. He climbed into a lifeboat on the port-side observation deck, then groped around in the dark until he found its survival kit. Inside the sturdy case was a satellite transceiver. He didn’t have an exclusive secret channel, but he remembered the emergency frequency and code. He manipulated the radio uncertainly, until he got in touch with an Amalgam-backed relay station.
“Emergency message. It’s top priority. Hurry!” Harris hissed.
His direct superior responded shortly. “What is it?” came the executive’s electronically modified voice.
“Mr. Gold, I’m in trouble. Mithril got the drop on me. They took over my ship, and now they’re trying to break into the vault.”
The man on the radio hummed thoughtfully, as if carefully considering this information. Then he said, “So, what’s your plan?”
“W-Well—”
“You’re about to expose important tech and information to an enemy,” Mr. Gold said, cutting Harris off. “You used a dangerous channel to contact me, and you’re wasting my time to report it. Spit it out.”
“T-To capture the girl and escape,” Harris rushed to say. “If you’ll come and retrieve me. Please.”
“Can you do it?” Mr. Gold questioned.
“Yes,” Harris replied. There was no other answer he could give. “I’d also like permission to use the machines we loaded into the pantry the other day. If I can use those to distract the enemy, it will increase my chances of success.” A brief silence followed. To Harris, it felt like forever.
“Very well,” Mr. Gold finally allowed. “This kind of situation is exactly the reason we included them. As for the vault’s contents... there’s nothing to be done. I’ll explain things to the other executives; you focus on your job. I’ll inform you of the process for retrieval later.”
“Th-Thank you. I’ll make it work, I promise. Please know you have my undying loyalty—”
“I know. Hang up already.” The channel was closed before Harris could even respond.
Same Timeframe
Somewhere in East Asia
After Harris’s transmission ended, the various executive holograms attending the conference voiced their disapproval.
“What an absolute fool.”
“Doesn’t he realize the situation he’s put us in?”
“We can safely assume that the message was intercepted.”
“What a useful subordinate he’s been.”
Each of these statements was rife with sarcasm.
Mr. Gold just snorted, his expression unchanging. “I won’t deny that Harris is a fool,” he admitted. “But we can’t be certain that it was the plan that was flawed.”
“Nonsense. It’s clear we should have just abducted her while she was going about her daily life. It’s this roundabout nonsense that—”
“I agree. This has entered the realm of the absurd.”
“Why didn’t you report this plan to us, anyway? This could be taken as a breach of trust, you know.”
“If I’d told you, you’d have been against it,” Mr. Gold said with feigned innocence. “Leaving the girl at large gains us nothing. Don’t you think that the recent incident with Mr. Iron proved that?”
“Iron, eh? That damned traitor...”
“He basically killed Mr. Kalium.”
“That’s right. And there’s something else about this that doesn’t add up: why is it that out of everyone in Mithril, only the West Pacific Battle Group had such strong suspicions about that ship? Even Mithril’s intelligence division, led by General Amit, judged the Pacific Chrysalis a safe haven. Yet the Tuatha de Danaan managed to gain confirmation through their own solo investigation—with sufficient confidence to get them to greenlight a plan as bold as this. How did this happen? The most plausible explanation would be that someone leaked the information directly to them.”
One of them clicked his tongue. “Iron, I bet. Sounds like something he’d do.”
“He did try to burn down Hong Kong for the fun of it,” someone agreed.
The executives all shifted restlessly in their seats, perhaps imagining the thin, mocking smile of the dead man, Gauron. In retrospect, his Amalgam executive codename had taken on a bitterly ironic twist. Iron couldn’t mix with mercury—in other words, it couldn’t be part of an amalgam.
“So? What do we do now? Those Mithril bandits are going to get away with every scrap of information on that ship.”
“True. The facility doesn’t have much value to us anymore, but... I don’t like the idea of just letting them have their way.”
“You make it sound like you’ve already taken measures.”
“I’ve dispatched three flying craft to the area. Each has a Leviathan inside. They should arrive soon.”
“Going to sink the ship?”
“Of course.”
“What about Chidori Kaname? It’s all for nothing if she dies,” one said, and then they heard a chuckle. The hologram executives that ringed the round table all turned to look at one seat. All the seat contained were white letters that read “audio only.”
“What’s so funny, Mr. Silver?”
“She won’t die,” came the cool, elegant voice of a young man.
“How can you be so sure? Because she’s a Whispered, like you?”
“I’m afraid that’s not one of our powers, no. Let’s just call it... yes, a gut feeling,” Mr. Silver replied.
“Hmm...”
“Still... we do have those machines stored away in the ship’s pantry. Letting Harris activate them will make his job much easier.”
“The anti-personnel autonomous weapons?”
“Yes, twelve Alastors. They’ve been programmed to find, protect, and escape with Chidori Kaname.”
“You think those killer dolls are capable of such high-level judgments?”
“I wouldn’t call it high-level,” Mr. Silver denied. “Their ROEs are excessively simple.”
“What are their ROEs?”
“Why don’t you ask Mr. Gold?” The young man’s voice had a teasing tone, though there was a sliver of ice behind it.
The group turned back to Mr. Gold, who responded, indifferently, “‘Eliminate all obstacles. Kill anyone who gets in your way.’ That’s all.”
24 December, 2136 Hours (Japan Standard Time)
Pacific Chrysalis, Sea near Izu Archipelago
By the time Tessa had regained consciousness, the shooting had stopped. They must have completely shaken them off. She felt a little woozy from the blow to the head, but insisted she could walk on her own, and continued on, pulled along by the ‘rogue element.’ Unfortunately, she seemed to have dropped her radio in the earlier tumult.
While stumbling along, she managed to inquire as to the man’s identity. His name was Sailor, he was an American, and he had come here with one of his subordinates for Christmas break.
“So, honey, what’s your name?” Sailor asked, looking both ways cautiously before turning a dark corner.
“Er... Mantissa. Teletha Mantissa,” she said, giving him a fake name she used from time to time.
“I see. Well, honey, stay close behind me. Don’t worry, I’m a veteran. Those terrorists don’t— hey, where are you going?” Tessa had begun striding in the other direction, but S
ailor grabbed her by the back of the collar.
“W-Well, we had made our introductions, so I thought we might part ways here...” Tessa found it impossible to pry the large man off of her. She thought about calling out, but for some reason, this was one time when there were no allied footsteps drawing near. What she needed to do was get away and report the man’s location to their teams.
“Don’t be stupid!” Sailor growled at her. “Now, come on.”
“Ahh, but... but I don’t think we should go that way...” Tessa protested. Sailor was heading for the shipboard shopping center; it was the block they’d designated as being the most difficult to secure in their pre-mission discussion. The shopping center was large, with a complicated layout that compromised visibility. It had a lot of exits, too, so it would be easy to escape from, and it was loaded with resources that could be used to make traps.
“Why don’t we go that way instead? I think it would be better for both of us...” She pointed towards the gym one deck up. That one was a dead end; her allies would be able to corral Sailor and capture him quickly.
“That’s a dead end,” he told her. “We’d be trapped like rats.”
“Ohh... I see. Then why don’t you simply throw down your weapon and surrender? I don’t think they’re as villainous as you think they are, Sailor-san,” Tessa suggested.
Sailor’s response was a condescending snort. “You’re naive. They’re like the Devil himself, same as all terrorists. Some civilian maid couldn’t understand. Or what? Have you fought terrorists before?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I have. More times than I’d like to— ow!” Tessa let out a small cry as he bopped her on the head. “What are you doing?!” she challenged him, tears in her eyes.
“Don’t make fun of me, stupid!”
“I’m not!”
“I can tell you’re out of your depth, so just shut up and follow me,” Sailor told her. “Got that?! If you try to run, I’ll shoot you!”
“This is absurd...” Tessa grumbled, while considering her options. Perhaps, at this stage, it would be wiser to stay with him and try to keep the situation under control. She couldn’t get in touch with her allies just yet, but she might still get a chance to use a shipboard telephone.
From what she’d seen, the ground teams had been caught off-guard by the amateur’s rampage. But they weren’t incompetent, and they wouldn’t keep losing forever. Besides, they probably weren’t particularly worried about her, anyway...
“Ah, very well,” Tessa capitulated. “Let’s hide somewhere and wait for our chance.”
“Good, glad you see things my way. Now, let’s go.” Sailor started moving, finally, dragging the stalling Tessa along.
Once he had the despondent Yang and Wu in front of him, Lieutenant Clouseau found he’d lost the will to yell.
“There’s no excuse for how badly we’ve failed...”
“We’ll take any punishment you dish out...”
They were still in the place where the ambush had happened, a corridor in the crew block. Despite standing at full attention like proper soldiers, they seemed terrifyingly deflated.
“Your punishment can wait until after this is over. Go run security on the cargo hold.” At Clouseau’s order, Yang and Wu offered a salute, then ran off.
“He might not be cut out for it after all,” First Lieutenant Castello, who’d accompanied Clouseau, said after they were gone. He was the PRT’s commander, and had the call sign Uruz-3. He was in his mid-30s, of Latin descent, and lanky, with a goatee.
“Yang, you mean?” Clouseau clarified.
“Yeah. Any other SRT member would’ve neutralized that guy, even at the risk of killing him. But he couldn’t do it. It’s more than just a matter of being caught off-guard.”
“I did forbid them from causing casualties,” Clouseau said. “Maybe that’s why.”
“That’s no excuse,” Castello scoffed. “Being part of the SRT means ignoring orders if necessary, even if that gets you a reprimand. Though obviously, we can’t just tell them that...”
Clouseau said nothing in response.
“Yang has skill and experience, but he lacks the mindset needed,” Costello continued to argue. “We should drop him back to the PRT.”
“We’ll need Major Kalinin’s input to decide,” Clouseau told him. “When this operation is over—” Just then, he received a transmission. It was from Sousuke’s team, which was searching for the rogue element.
“Uruz-7 here. Sorry I’m late. Someone’s emptied out a lifeboat. They took a satellite transceiver. Be careful.” The line was staticky, due to an allied helicopter jamming satellite transmissions above.
“Uruz-1, roger. The de Danaan intercepted their message, and we’ve got a Pave Mare jamming appropriate frequencies now. Don’t worry about communications; expand the dragnet and get searching.”
“Roger.”
After Sousuke signed off, Clouseau clicked his tongue. “That’s not good. In hide-and-seek, Harris has the advantage.”
If this had been a normal ship, they’d probably be able to find Harris without much effort. But the Pacific Chrysalis was extremely large; it was effectively a floating city. They didn’t have enough people to cover it all. And until the ship was secured, they’d need to spare most of their forces monitoring “hostages.”
“Don’t panic. From what I can see, the aggressor is a total amateur. He can’t cause too much trouble,” Castello was saying, but just then, they got a call from Mao.
“Uruz-2 here. More trouble. We’ve lost Ansuz. We found her things left in the crew kitchen. I think that wannabe John McClane took her.”
Mao was referencing the protagonist of the movie Die Hard, which had been a big hit a while back. It was about a one-man army who fought his way through a building occupied by terrorists.
“We already know she’s with the McClane-wannabe,” Clouseau retorted sharply. “That’s part of our trouble. Why did you let her out of your sight, anyway?”
“Well... ah, I screwed up!” Mao admitted. “The vault was giving me more trouble than I’d anticipated, and I got so tied up working on it...”
This reminder of their other problem prompted Clouseau to ask, “How much longer will it take?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It might all go as scheduled, or we might be three hours late.”
“Fantastic,” Clouseau grumbled. “By that time, the Japanese Coast Guard will have us surrounded.”
“I told you, I’m hurrying. I’m worried about Tessa, though... She really is clumsy and useless on land. Find her quick, okay?” Mao was apparently still working on the vault as they spoke. Her words were brisk... but she also seemed distracted. She probably wanted to join the search herself.
“I know,” Clouseau told her. “Don’t worry about the colonel. Leave it to me and focus.”
“Thank you.”
With the transmission over, Clouseau groaned. His stomach was churning. This had never happened before. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another...”
“That’s just how things are.” Castello shrugged. “I’ve never seen an operation go entirely according to plan.”
Then Clouseau got another call. This time, it was from Kurz Weber. “Uruz-6 here. We’ve got trouble!”
“What is it now?” Clouseau demanded.
“The kids polished off all the food,” Kurz reported. “They’re demanding more to eat. Can I let the cooks into the kitchen?”
“I don’t care, you idiot!” Clouseau shouted, then turned off the radio.
After they entered the shopping center, Sailor made a beeline for the indulgence item section.
“Er, Sailor-san. What are you looking for?” Tessa asked.
The response was immediate. “Booze,” he told her. “Vodka, if they’ve got it.”
“You can’t mean—”
“Yeah, I’m making Molotovs. I’m way under-armed, here.”
“Don’t do that!” Tessa protested. “You could really hurt som
eone!”
“You bet your ass,” Sailor told her. “I’m fighting bad guys, remember? Terrorists screaming and burning and falling into the ocean... yeah, it’ll be a beautiful sight. You get searching too! Go on!”
They ended up finding about ten bottles of Spyritus, a rectified spirit that was about 96% alcohol. They could stick a rag in, light it, and throw it, and end up with a Molotov cocktail.
Sailor got some handkerchiefs and towels from other stalls and started about his work. Tessa didn’t like it, but she eventually decided to help him out.
After finishing three Molotovs, Sailor cursed. “Dammit. I can’t open the stopper. Hand keeps slipping...”
Curious, Tessa peered at the man’s hand in the darkness and was surprised by what she saw; Sailor’s right hand was covered in blood. “That’s awful!” she said. “When did you hurt yourself?”
“During the fight,” he admitted. “Guess I just caught it on something...”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?!” Tessa scolded. “We need to get you to the infirmary!”
“Are you nuts?” Sailor asked incredulously. “They’ve got a dragnet out! Besides, this is nothing!”
“Then take your jacket off,” she demanded. “I want to see the wound.” Tessa had some basic knowledge of first aid, and she’d even sat in on some surgeries to try to build up her nerve.
“It’s none of your business,” Sailor told her. “Besides, you’re a maid, not a nurse. So be a maid, shut up and make Molotov cocktails!”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Tessa argued back. “Just let me see it!”
“H-Hey!”
Tessa forced Sailor’s suit jacket off, then grabbed his burly right arm in her hands. The inside of his dress shirt—mainly the lower half, up to his elbow—was wet with blood. There were about five or six other interlocking cuts there.
“Do you know the place to press to stop the bleeding?” Tessa lectured at him. “It’s here. Press down on it, hard.”
