Federations

Almost as soon as he’d committed, he was through the gap and releasing his four torps. The rear screen display, only “rear” in the sense that his mind identified it as such, showed the fading energy flares that had been Republic attack needles. Initially, he could see that three of the four needles in his flight had survived the defense barrage.

Torp energy lines, seemingly from everywhere, converged on the hollowed-out nickel-iron asteroid that would have been one of two energy fulcrums used to change the stellar dynamics of the F2 sun that dominated one quadrant of his EDI. Then, the entire EDI “screen” flared, before blanking to avoid overloading both the nanotronics of the needle and the brain cells of the pilot.

Ghenji checked his departure vector against the projected track of the Amaterasu. If the giant needle-carrier followed the projected track . . . if . . . then he was home free.

That was all there was to it, in a sense—an approach in which the less maneuvering required, the greater the possibility of success and survival; a window of between nanoseconds and seconds in which to launch torps; and the selection and execution of an escape vector that would take the pilot back to the needle-carrier that had launched him or her. In the end, nanoseconds were all that separated success and failure.

Kay-four lead, kay-four-delta . . . massive damage . . . vectoring on you, open slave link . . . 

Within his armor, Ghenji winced, but immediately activated his slave acquisition system. Then he checked the inputs from the damaged needle. The drives had kicked the needle onto the departure vector before fusing, but outside of the separate slave transmitter, the delta needle was half-junk, and habitability was nil. He could only hope that Kashiwagi’s emergency life-suspension system had functioned as designed.

Ghenji used his steering drives to link with the damaged needle but, even hull-to-hull, could get no feedback.

Another seventeen minutes passed before Ghenji had lock-on with the Amaterasu.

Sunbase control, kay-four lead, approaching from your eight-seven, amber level.

Kay-four lead, interrogative status.

Kay-four lead and beta green, kay-four gamma strike at target. Kay-four delta on slave-link and tow. Status unknown.

Standing by for link-recovery for delta. Couplers ready. Suggest decel in ten.

Sunbase control, affirm decel in ten.

Operations control took Kashiwagi’s needle first, and then the two remaining Kama-four needles, with Ghenji last.

Before he powered down and left the cradle, he linked to ops. Interrogative status, kay-four delta.

Recovery successful, pilot in suspension.

Thank you, Sunbase ops.

He finished the shutdown checklist and then eased himself out of the restrainers and then out of the needle through the flexible umbilical tube.

Later, there would be a complete debrief, after operations correlated all the information, but, once he finished the post-flight and mech report, he checked the mission status. Out of sixty needles launched, seven had been lost, and four had returned with various stages of damage to the needles and their pilots. He nodded—the stats were close to operational norms.

He still had time before the flight leader debrief, and he needed to check on Lieutenant Kashiwagi. The lieutenant was one of his pilots. Tired as Ghenji was, he headed up to the medical section. As he neared the two technicians stationed at the master suspension consoles, he couldn’t help but overhear the quiet words between them.

“Snow-woman got him . . . but he should make it . . . bring ’em back from a block of ice . . . not medically possible . . . she can . . . ”

Snow-woman? Ghenji stepped forward. “Can you tell me about Lieutenant Kashiwagi?”

“Ser!” Both stiffened. Neither spoke for a moment.

Then one finally said, “Dr. Yukionna could best tell you, and it will be a while.”

“I’ll wait.”

He stood there, pacing back and forth, for close to a stan before he saw a flash of short brilliant white hair.

“You’re here because of one of your pilots?” Rokujo’s words were barely a question.

“Kashiwagi . . . Kama-four-delta. Will he make it?”

She offered a faint smile. “It’s likely. He did suffer explosive decompression before life-suspension fully kicked in. That’s in addition to major organ failures. We don’t have the facilities to rebuild him here, but there’s a good chance that we can keep him alive in suspension until we return to Kunitsu . . . ”

“Likely?” That didn’t sound good.

“Most of those who are likely to survive do, and if they survive, the med-systems at Kunitsu orbit station can return almost all to full function.”

That was the best Ghenji could hope for. He nodded.

“Later?” he asked.

“It might be much later, but . . . yes.” The quick smile that burst through the formal frosty exterior was gone almost as soon as it had appeared . . . but Ghenji had seen it.

V

Immediately after the needle recovery, the Amaterasu withdrew and began the maneuvers to move into position for the second attack.

Ghenji had appreciated Rokujo’s company the evening after the first attack . . . but he did not see her again until the evening meal the following ship-day. She was looking for him, though, as she entered the wardroom.

“How is Kashiwagi?” he asked.

“He’s under suspension. There’s no way to tell now, not until they bring him out when we return. How are you?”

“Concerned. Now that I’ve thought about it, there should have been more defenders at the last installation.”

They settled near the end of the second table.

“You think there’ll be more at the next?”

“Maybe they thought we’d attack it first.” He shook his head. “Enough of that. Do you prefer the art of calligraphy, representation, or actuality?” That should spark some discussion, since it had been more than a little controversial on Kunitsu just before they had left, in part because one of the “art-monks” had used a molecular shredder to destroy an entire actuality exhibit at the national museum at Oharano, claiming that the actuality school did not practice art, but merely plagiarized reality.

“I tend toward representation.” She smiled. “Especially when embellished by calligraphy . . . ”

As she talked, occasionally gesturing, turning her hand, in the indirect light of the mess, Ghenji thought he saw the faintest pattern of white on her white skin. White on white, almost diamond-like, or . . . he wasn’t quite certain. He thought there might be the same pattern on her neck as well, but then again . . . 

Much, much later, as they lay there together in Ghenji’s cubicle, he did not wish to think about the next day. He’d never really worried about missions and duty, not before he’d met Rokujo. So he tried to think of something, anything, that would divert her . . . and him.

“You said you were the snow-woman . . . and so did one of the techs . . . ” Ghenji didn’t want to turn his statement into a question.

“That’s because of my billet, and my name. The name is the same as one from an old legend, and . . . you know what I do . . . I’m responsible for bringing people out of suspension, out of the cold . . . or putting them into it,