The Clone Redemption

“I won’t carry that weight for long,” said Takahashi. “No more than three minutes once we are under way.”

They reached the crowded corridors of the bottom deck. With their compound stripped empty and most of the crew off the ship, the SEALs milled about in the halls.

Yamashiro looked up and down the hall. In the muted light, the SEALs looked more like shadows than people. Groups of SEALs stood in dark corners speaking quietly among themselves. When they recognized the admiral, they snapped to attention.

Seeing them in their lines, as unmoving as statues, Yamashiro remembered the words kage no yasha and dismissed them quickly.

“Admiral, sir, Master Chief Oliver was looking for you,” said one of the SEALs.

“I would like to speak with him,” said Yamashiro.

The SEAL, a lowly petty officer third class, saluted and walked off in search of the master chief. In his dark suit, with his dark skin, the clone disappeared into his surroundings as he hurried down the hall. A moment later, two shadows appeared in the distance.

Both men stopped and saluted.

Takahashi and Yamashiro returned the salute, then Yamashiro said, “Master Chief, I wish you …success.”

“It’s been an honor, sir,” said Oliver.

Yamashiro took a deep breath, held it in his lungs for seconds, then slowly released the air. He searched the hallway, taking in every detail. This was the last time any of these sights would be seen by surviving eyes. From this moment on, everything that happens on this ship will be a secret that the dead will take with them.

Yamashiro wanted to say something. He wanted to tell the SEAL how much he admired his courage. He wanted to thank all of these men; but his throat and tongue felt swollen, and he found himself struggling to breathe.

“Admiral, may I make one last request on behalf of my men?” asked Oliver.

“Anything,” said Yamashiro.

“Sir, the men and I were wondering …”

As Oliver spoke, the hatch behind him opened and light spilled out. Looking over the SEAL’s shoulder, Yamashiro saw thousands of men standing at attention in rows. The master chief stopped speaking, and Yamashiro stepped around him to look in the doorway.

Wearing dress uniforms, the SEALs all faced a dais upon which ten men waited at attention. On that dais stood a barrel, and on that barrel sat a ceramic bottle of sake and a line of thimble-sized cups.

“Sir, if you would give us a proper send-off,” said Master Chief Oliver.

Yamashiro Yoshi bowed to the SEAL clone and marched into the room without saying a word. He had already transmogrified from an officer into a politician; but now he struggled against the tide of his instincts and forced himself to behave like an admiral. He scowled at the men as he stalked past them, neither smiling nor showing his pain.

And so the retired admiral climbed the steps of the dais, took his place behind the barrel, and, barking out orders in Japanese, told the ten senior chiefs and the master chief to step forward. He poured sake into the twelve ochoko and stood at attention as the men met his gaze. At his order, the men took their cups, and he took his. He toasted them; and then, at his order, they drank their wine, and replaced the cups on the barrel. The SEALs saluted him.

Yamashiro, standing at attention, extended his return salute as he looked up and down the rows of men. Struggling to hide his emotions, he dismissed the senior chiefs. Then he turned to the master chief, and said, “I must return to the colony.”

Oliver saluted one last time, and Yamashiro left the Sakura.

Yamashiro Yoshi felt overwhelmed by emotion. He walked quickly to the landing bay and wasted no time entering the transport that would take him to New Copenhagen. At the base of the ramp, he turned to his son-in- law.

Takahashi stood erect and saluted. His shoulders trembled, and Yamashiro knew the younger man was scared. He did not return the salute; instead, he embraced Takahashi Hironobu, the husband of his daughter, Yoko. “You’re a fine officer, Hiro,” he said. “I wish my daughter could see the man she has married.”

Yamashiro stepped onto the ramp, returned the salute, and forced himself to enter the transport without looking back.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Captain Takahashi Hironobu watched as the sled pulled the transport toward the first atmospheric lock. Low and squat, with tiny wings that looked like an engineering afterthought, the transport rolled past the blast doors and stopped to wait as the lock closed behind it. The metal blast doors closed slowly, taking fifteen seconds to slide into place.

How will they remember us? Takahashi asked himself. When their batteries run dry and their generators break and the technology that launched them does not survive to the next generation, will they believe in space travel or write us off as a myth? Will they see us as martyrs or saviors? Will the parents of some future generation teach their children that gods placed them on this planet and promised to return?

Takahashi thought about his wife and how much he missed her. He missed the children, too, of course. If the Morgan Atkins Believers had never declared their civil war, and the aliens had not invaded the galaxy, the Takahashi family would have remained on Ezer Kri. He would have grown old watching his children mature into adults and start families of their own.

If the Broadcast Network had not been destroyed, he could contact them. Even from New Copenhagen, light- years away, he could have told his wife that he loved her and seen how his children had grown. He wanted to see his family again, just once before he died; but Earth was at war again, and he could not approach the planet without risking everything.

Takahashi was not alone in the landing bay. SEALs and a handful of technicians had come to prepare infiltration pods for the attack. He watched as one Japanese technician and three SEALs carried a pod to a computer station. A SEAL attached a line from the computer to the S.I.P. as the tech typed on the screen.

Takahashi approached the technician, and asked, “Ensign, how many pods do we have?”

The man grunted without looking back to see who had asked the question. He casually looked up from his work, then snapped to attention. Fear showing on his face, he saluted.

Takahashi returned the salute and repeated his question, “How many pods are left?”

“Sir, I have not checked the inventory, sir,” said the technician.

Doing a credible imitation of his father-in-law, Takahashi growled, “Go check.”

The man saluted and ran.

Be polite, Takahashi reminded himself. This man will die in a few minutes preserving the colony.

Takahashi wondered if the man would mutiny if he knew the turn that his life was about to take. The captain had complete confidence in the SEALs, though. They knew what was coming.

The captain returned their salutes, studied their faces, then grunted, “As you were.”

The SEALs quietly went back to preparing the S.I.P.s. The bombs. They were preparing the very bombs that would end their lives. They were digging their own graves.

“Captain Takahashi, sir, we have 1,118 pods, sir,” the ensign said as he returned.

Ten of these should be enough to destroy a planet. We might be able to collapse a star with twenty of them, he thought. “Prepare one hundred pods,” he told the ensign. “I want them in place and charged within the next five minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. He saluted again and relayed the order to the other teams. There was something