YUKIKAZE (29 page)
“Their landing guidance system is different from what we use,” Booker observed. “Sure you can do it?”
“I can handle it. I’m an active-duty pilot, Jack.”
Booker smiled and shook his head. “Brat.”
Rei switched Yukikaze’s downlook radar to sea mode and jacked up the output to full power, scrambling Admiral 56’s guidance beam. The high output goofed the ship’s radar, filling the display screens with snow and cutting off communication with the chase planes.
Admiral Nagumo glanced around at all the operations specialists frantically trying to restore their systems and exhaled heavily, willing himself to stay calm. “What is that thing? That’s a mainline FAF fighter? It’s like—”
“That’s a Sylphid, Admiral. A Super Sylph. I doubt there are any weapons on Earth that could fight her. That alone should tell us, sir, how formidable an enemy the JAM are. They’re not just phantoms…”
Yukikaze passed through Admiral 56’s airspace at supersonic speed. The chase planes couldn’t keep up with her. She turned, unloading Gs, and overflew Admiral 56’s landing deck at a lower airspeed. She turned once again, banking into her final approach. Landing gear, down and locked. Flaps, down. Arresting hook, down.
Rei guided Yukikaze in on manual approach.
I won’t let you land without me,
he thought with a hint of amusement.
These aren’t Faery skies.
Auto-throttle, off. Anti-skid brake controller, off. Speed brake, extended.
“I’m bringing her down.”
The landing signal officer aboard Admiral 56 kept his eyes glued to this strange plane that had never before been seen on Earth. She was a monstrous bird, the size of a fighter-bomber, but she held level easily and landed in an almost delicate manner. She increased her engine output to vent, then throttled back through idle to cutoff.
The canopy rose, revealing two figures in black helmet visors and masks.
They look like spacemen,
thought Admiral Nagumo.
Checking to see that everything she’d need for an interview was stowed in her favorite shoulder bag, Lynn Jackson hurried down from the bridge.
I WATCH THEM hauling Yukikaze with a spotting dolly toward the fueling station on the flight deck, the operation carefully supervised by six aircraft directors. The fuels personnel look up at Yukikaze wordlessly. Not long ago had been the first time any of them had witnessed an FAF plane battle a JAM. Now this is their first time seeing a Super Sylph, the FAF’s mightiest fighter, in real life.
On the outward-facing surfaces of its twin vertical stabilizers is a boomerang insignia, the blades as sharp as a grim reaper’s scythe. On the interior-facing surfaces is a depiction of a voluptuous, winged fairy, a creature of a far sexier sort than Tinkerbell but painted in curiously neutral colors. Beneath the cockpit canopy sill are small, white Japanese characters that spell out the plane’s name: Yukikaze. Following the characters is the stenciled information of the pilot’s name and the unit the plane is attached to. And that’s all. Recently, FAF planes have stopped carrying the FAF insignia. Visual identification is enabled by electroluminescent lights, while all other identification is handled by electronic systems. The fighter bears no insignia of any nation of Earth. It’s impossible to tell by sight if it is friend or foe. The implicit message is that everything outside of the FAF is an enemy.
As I approach Yukikaze I am stopped by a safety control officer. I ask him to tell Major Booker that I’m here. He refuses. I raise my arm and wave broadly at Yukikaze. The major recognizes me. He must know what I look like or else has deduced who I am; in my fur coat I must stand out in the swarm of colorful uniform shirts. Slipping off his oxygen mask and raising his helmet visor, he climbs down Yukikaze’s ladder and steps onto the flight deck. The pilot stays in the cockpit, presumably to see to the plane, but I catch a glance of an air force-issue automatic pistol in his hand: he’s protecting the safety of his plane and of the major.
The soldiers of Boomerang Squadron trust only each other and their planes. If they didn’t, they couldn’t survive on Faery.
“You’re Lynn Jackson?” says Major Booker, propping his helmet under his arm. “Why’re you here?”
“I came to gather material on Earth’s response to the FAF’s message,” I reply. “But I never dreamed I’d get to see you here. Or that I would witness a battle with the JAM. It’s an honor to meet you.”
I offer him my hand. It’s enveloped by his large, strong one.
“The JAM are tough. That one got through by sticking to Yukikaze’s belly like a remora. Never expected it. I’m Major Booker, by the way.”
“Yes, I know. I received your letter.”
“So it did get through to you. Didn’t think you’d read it… Anyway, there’s no place to get coffee around here, is there?”
“I’m afraid not. I doubt they’d let you into the ship.”
“Huh. We’re ghosts here. Yukikaze, too.”
Major Booker regards me with a bit of awkwardness and embarrassment. He speaks with a slight British accent, but the language is that of the FAF. It’s essentially English, but stripped of adjectives and any extraneous words. What can be omitted is omitted, detail sacrificed for brevity. It’s logical, but impersonal. Listening to it is like hearing a machine speak.
I speak to the major slowly, as though reciting a poem, as though I were a professor trying to teach her student how to speak proper English.
“You brought down that JAM magnificently, Major Booker. Admiral 56’s weaponry couldn’t defend against that. If it hadn’t been for Yukikaze…”
“If it hadn’t been for Yukikaze, I doubt the JAM would’ve targeted the ship. But she’s a good plane. And he’s a good man.”
Major Booker glances back toward Yukikaze’s pilot.
“I don’t suppose I could interview him, could I?”
“I can guess what his response would be. You better ask me your questions instead.”
“Was your mission here successful?”
“No engine trouble. The new Phoenix worked better than we expected.”
“And your confrontation with the JAM?”
“The JAM weren’t after Yukikaze. So no problem. Or that’s what Rei—what the pilot would say, I’ll bet. But… I had the sensation that we weren’t going to make it.”
“Sensation…?”
“Seems the EDF objected to Yukikaze’s test—” Major Booker halts his rapid-fire speech and looks at me with a start. “Did I just say ‘sensation’?”
“Is something wrong with that?”
“It’s just so…nostalgic.” As though finally remembering his mother tongue, he now speaks in a more normal cadence.
“I haven’t been home in over five years. Being in the FAF is changing even the way I speak, and I never really noticed… It’s unsettling. I really am on Earth now…”
I put my micro recorder away in my bag and smile at him.
“The FAF is what protects Earth. You people. No one could blame you for the JAM attack that just occurred. At least any reasonable citizen of Earth couldn’t.”
“A ‘citizen of Earth,’ huh? And where would you find such a person?”
“They’re me and others who think the way I do, Major.”
“That was one of the things you said in your book. Which soldiers in the FAF are reading.”
“With greater enthusiasm than people on Earth?”
“Yes. We can believe the contents more than anyone. It’s the work of a first-class journalist. Are you freelance?”
“I was a reporter for a newspaper when I wrote it. After the book’s success I grew dissatisfied with my salary, my bosses, and my company. I thought I was worth more. I wanted to do something big, and—Are you cold?” An almost imperceptible shiver has passed through the major’s tall frame.
“I can smell the sea… It’s full of life, full of the smell of life. The smell of blood. The lifeblood of the Earth. There are seas on Faery, but they’re lighter and…they smell sharp. Or thin, somehow… Dammit, I can’t find the words. Thanks to the JAM, even my feelings have become dulled.”
“Faery truly must be a place where the air carries the scent of battle spirits, not of humans. Of the mechanical, not of the organic.”
“You’re right. Humans and machines there are converging, and it scares the hell out of me.”
“And you think there’s no such thing as a common human identity on Earth?”
“Yeah. Take this carrier, for instance. It’s part of a U.N. force, but its purpose—the reason it was built—is to kill people in other countries, right? How is that an Earth military?”
“I’m in the minority, Major, but I do believe that there are many people like me who believe in a common humanity.”
“Then where are they? Why hasn’t there been any move to establish an Earth-wide federation?”
I shrug apologetically. There are so many reasons I don’t know what to say. The major tilts his head to the side, the skepticism on his face plain to see.
“I believe that the FAF is also part of that common humanity,” I tell him.
Major Booker regards me silently for a bit, then suddenly turns away and looks back at Yukikaze.
“Yeah, you could say that,” he replies, “if only because we’re fighting to save Earth. And it’s a nice idea, but…you don’t know the JAM, what it takes to fight them. The FAF’s chief strength isn’t our people: it’s our mechatronics, like Yukikaze. The battle spirits… Maybe that’s the real humanity. But then, where does that leave us?”
I look into the major’s anguished eyes and words fail me. Once again, the thought floats up in my mind: in this world, in this universe, perhaps humans really are a singular life-form. Major Booker had written in his letter that the JAM were more like computers than humans. If we had no computers, perhaps the JAM never would have attacked us.
I’m jerked out of my thoughts by Yukikaze’s pilot, Lieutenant Rei Fukai, yelling “Shit! No, not like that!” He’s quickly barking instructions in the FAF argot to the deckhands from his own country, but they can’t follow his digital, machinelike speech. Major Booker had written that to survive in the FAF one needs to become like a machine in every way. When I had read this, I thought it was mere rhetoric, words of no great import calculated to get my attention. But having met him in person, and now hearing how Lieutenant Fukai is unable to communicate with his own people, I realize that it’s true. It’s as if Yukikaze’s pilot has forgotten his mother tongue. It couldn’t be that hard for him to use, could it? Or perhaps he’s afraid of becoming human again…
“Yukikaze is the only thing he has faith in. He can’t stand to see her even get scratched. In his own way, he’s trying to speak for her and protect her.”
The weather is shifting, and the seas steadily have been growing rougher. However, stabilizers dampen the movement of the massive ship so that the flight deck barely shifts. I look out over the frigid waters and ask Major Booker the one question I desperately want answered.
“What do you think the JAM really are?”
The major’s cheek, which bears the scar of a terrible gash, twitches slightly. “I don’t know what they are,” he answers and falls silent. Just when I think he’s not going to say anything more, he continues.
“But I know what I want them to be. Humanity’s enemy.” He gives me a sharp look. “Do you think that’s crazy? But if the JAM aren’t our enemy, then the men and women in the FAF are dying for nothing. And that would be truly unforgivable.”
“What if the war became completely automated?”
“The moment we give the fight over to the machines is when we start running the risk that they’ll challenge humanity. Actually, don’t you think they’re already doing that here on Earth? Computers keep getting more and more advanced. We’ve developed AIs that possess consciousness. They wouldn’t have to kill humans directly. All they’d have to do is make our automated control systems go haywire. What could we do if this carrier started moving of its own free will?”
YUKIKAZE’S REFUELING IS complete. Admiral Nagumo wants the Sylph off his ship as soon as possible, seeming to regard it as an ill omen, as an angel of death. And so, without even so much as a cup of coffee from their hosts, the soldiers of the FAF depart from Admiral 56.
“Be careful, Ms. Jackson,” Major Booker warns me as he climbs into Yukikaze’s cockpit. “Keep an eye on the computerized systems that surround you. The JAM may already be in control of them.”
Yukikaze’s canopy lowers and locks. I return to the bridge and watch as the fighter is locked to the catapult and then hurled into the Antarctic sky. The afterburner flames of the Phoenix Mk-XI engines glow as the plane climbs quickly. It turns, its wingtips etching white vapor trails in the sky. It makes another wide turn, accelerates, and then, as if menacing Admiral 56, practically scrapes the top of the bridge as it flies over us at supersonic speed. There’s a terrific boom and the ship’s superstructure shakes, as though it’s been hit by lightning. Admiral Nagumo sees Yukikaze off with a flurry of profanity.
The Sylph’s silhouette shrinks for a few seconds, and then vanishes from view. Silence returns. In barely fifteen minutes, it is gone from the radar display as well. They’ve returned. To the skies of Faery. To battle.
Perhaps what I had witnessed really was a spirit of the air. If so, what enormous size it had, what awful power it bore.
I take out my favorite notebook and pen from my bag. I begin writing down what Major Booker had said, intermittently looking out at the sea. I wish I’d brought a portable wordcom with me…and then I suddenly remember Major Booker’s warning and shake my head.
If I had written this on a wordcom, the contents probably would have been changed.
The JAM had never attacked humans directly. Yet when they changed their strategy, Yukikaze did not protect him. In that moment he knew the truth. She was a weapon, but one that defended neither him nor humanity. She abandoned her burning body and rose from the flames like a phoenix, reborn and free.
MAJOR BOOKER WAS analyzing the recent state of the JAM’s tactical weaponry development in comparison to the FAF’s, desperately searching for a weakness.
The FAF Systems Corps’ Technology Development Center had been putting in strenuous efforts to create effective counters to the JAM’s various assault aircraft and armaments. For decades now, both sides had been locked in a game of technological one-upmanship, but recently the pace had escalated rapidly.
