The Clone Redemption

something to contribute. Or we could be practical. We can save everyone on one of the continents, maybe even an entire hemisphere.”

“Get specked,” I snarled, though I knew the son of a bitch was right. He was also an asshole. He had come to the right decision but I doubted he had made that decision out of a sense of duty or propriety. Liotta and Wallace were bastards first and officers afterward. They would abandon the people on Solomon because it was easy to abandon them, not because it was necessary. That was my take.

Having made the tough call, neither Liotta nor Wallace showed interest in debating their decision. For once they were in agreement.

“We need to warn those people, we owe them that much,” I said.

“You warned Terraneau,” Wallace pointed out. “How did it work out?”

“Solomon is a lost cause, General,” said Admiral Liotta. “It’s time you accept that.”

Maybe he was right, but I specialized in lost causes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Earthdate: November 25, A.D. 2517

Location: Solar System A-361

Galactic Position: Solar System A-361

Astronomic Location: Bode’s Galaxy

It was as if every man on the bridge had forgotten to breathe.

Takahashi felt it. Looking over at Yamashiro, he saw that his father-in-law felt it, too.

Reentering the solar system felt like climbing into an open grave. They were tempting fate. The aliens had destroyed three battleships in this solar system, melting them from the inside out.

“I’ve located the transports, sir,” said the communications officer.

That was a relief. Takahashi had half-expected to find the melted shells of the two transports floating lost in space. “Tell the pilots we are on our way,” he said.

The Sakura had reentered the minefield, and every sailor knew it. No one spoke unless there was an official reason. Takahashi had never seen a bridge so quiet for so long.

“I want the broadcast engines charged and ready,” he told Suzuki. He spoke in a whisper though he had no idea why. It was as if he suspected that the aliens might be eavesdropping on them.

“Yes, sir. It’s already begun.”

The Sakura did not have room for two more transports in her landing bays. Takahashi planned to create room for the stealth birds by jettisoning two standard-issue transports. He needed stealth transports for an experiment.

When the aliens had destroyed the Onoda and her sister ships, they did not attack the transports. Maybe the aliens could not see through the transports’ stealth shields. To test the theory, Takahashi planned to purge the oxygen from a stealth transport and send her out as a drone. If he could sneak stealth transports past the aliens, maybe he could send them to their planet for an old-fashioned bombing run. Maybe.

Moments after entering the solar system, Takahashi learned that the mission would fail.

His chief navigator approached the table where he stood with Admiral Yamashiro and Commander Suzuki. All three men turned to look at him, but the navigator spoke directly to the captain.

“Captain, sir, the aliens have placed an ion shield around their planet,” said the navigator.

He pointed to a display showing a planet that looked like a ball bearing. Instead of clouds and continents, the planet’s surface appeared to be sheathed in a white gold sleeve.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all,” Takahashi said. He tried to appear unconcerned even as he felt his heart sinking.

“Yes, sir,” said the navigator. He saluted, turned, and walked back to his post.

Deafening silence followed.

Takahashi looked back at the image of the planet, a gleaming white gold ball surrounded by the luxuriant darkness of space. It looked like a gem, or possibly the eye of a demon. It looked both beautiful and evil.

“They’ve sleeved themselves,” said Yamashiro. “Just like they sleeved Shin Nippon.”

Frustrated beyond words, Takahashi looked down and shook his head. He felt a momentary urge to shout, but he swallowed down his emotion, just as he had swallowed down every other emotion over the last three years of his life. “The dice never break our way,” he said.

“Captain, sir, we still need to rescue those pilots,” said Suzuki.

“Rescue our pilots and fire our bombs,” Takahashi told Commander Suzuki. “We proceed with our mission as we planned it.”

He looked to his father-in-law for approval. Grim-faced as ever, Yamashiro met his gaze and gave him a single nod.

* * *

When the Japanese Fleet had first left for Bode’s Galaxy, Yamashiro considered the SEALs expendable, maybe even disposable. He also believed he could locate the aliens and destroy their planet without needing the SEALs’ services. After seeing three of his battleships destroyed, the admiral no longer held either belief.

Sitting in his stateroom, the lights dimmed so low he could not read from paper, he rubbed his temples, stared into a dark corner, and thought about the honored dead. He pictured Captain Miyamoto Genyo, whom he had come to regard as the last of the Samurai. Yamashiro had admired Miyamoto more than any man he had ever known. He revered Miyamoto above even his own father. When the aliens had destroyed the Onoda, they destroyed a portion of Yamashiro’s soul. With the burning of the Onoda, much of Yamashiro’s strength melted as well. He had leaned on Miyamoto’s resolve throughout the mission.

Yamashiro believed he was different than other men. Other men joked about having angels and devils on their shoulders; his voices came from fear and aggression. An angel and a devil would have been easier to deal with. The devil might have been persuasive, but you always knew it was lying to you. Unable to ignore fear or aggression, Yamashiro found himself performing a balancing act. Sometimes, despite instincts telling him to wait, he needed to pull the trigger and finish the job. Sometimes it went the other way.

Now that Miyamoto was gone, Yamashiro Yoshi had to divine his own philosophy of war. Under Miyamoto’s tutelage, the admiral had come to equate honor with death in battle. Now, having seen three battleships melt, he’d come to realize that there was no honor in a pointless death. He was not afraid of dying in battle, doing his duty even when it might cost him his life. Having a chance to succeed, that changed the landscape of Yamashiro’s mortality. He did not mind dying during the invasion of the alien home world. Dying during the destruction of an abandoned base on a forgotten moon, though, that was pointless.

Yamashiro did not mind laying down his life invading the Avatari. By extension, he would willingly ask every man and woman under his command to make the same sacrifice …if they had a chance of accomplishing their mission.

If death took on meaning in battle, Yamashiro realized he had dishonored the noble dead by assigning every dangerous detail to the SEALs. He admired the SEALs. He respected their courage. He would not deny the SEALs their chance to die with honor; nor would he deny his sailors that opportunity, men and women alike.

The flashing light on Yamashiro’s communications console interrupted the darkness and his thoughts alike. He knew who was calling and why, his assistant had already warned him. Though he did not feel like having the discussion at that time, Yamashiro answered the call.

“Moshi Moshi,” he said.

“Admiral.”

“What do you need, Captain?”

“The master chief of the SEALs came to see me.”