The Clone Redemption (31 page)

“But you would not be able to tell me if Admiral Brocius gave you a direct order, would you?” Yamashiro asked, then he turned back to Takahashi, and asked, “What kind of orders?”

“Orders to enforce Unified Authority regulations,” said Takahashi. “Orders to do whatever he sees necessary to ensure we accomplish our mission.”

“This is not a Unified Authority ship,” Yamashiro grumbled.

“But the SEALs are on loan from the U.A. Navy.”

“Admiral Brocius is the only officer who would have authority to issue those orders,” said Yamashiro. He turned to Oliver, and yelled, “Did you meet with Admiral Brocius? Tell me.”

“It could have come from the Linear Committee,” Takahashi said. “It might be an executive order.”

“Do you think the orders included assassinating members of my crew?”

“Naturally,” said Takahashi. “They may include assassinating you if necessary.”

Yamashiro sighed, and said, “Maybe so. At ease, Master Chief.” He walked behind his desk. Before he sat down, he asked, “Do you believe I have shown good judgment as a commander, Master Chief?”

“Yes, sir,” said Oliver.

“We did not need those men, I suppose. Hara was a useful officer,” said Yamashiro, then he muttered the words, “bootleggers and extortionists.”

The admiral sat down and asked the SEAL to sit as well. Only when Oliver was seated did Yamashiro begin speaking. He asked, “Master Chief, what do you know about colonizing planets?” There was a notepad on Yamashiro's desk. He picked up the stylus and focused his attention on the small screen.

“They didn't cover colonization in special operations, sir,” said Oliver. “I do have men who specialized in survival training.”

“Survival training?” asked Yamashiro.

“Supplementing limited resources by living off the land, locating and purifying sources of water ... building shelter . . . camouflage. Some of it could be useful.”

“We may need them for protection as well,” said Takahashi.

Yamashiro grunted his agreement, and said, “Master Chief, as you know, we're sending all nonessential personnel down to the planet. We will not need your SEALs to complete our mission. I want to leave them with the colony.”

“Yes, sir. I've thought about that, sir, and I believe that would be a mistake, sir.”

Yamashiro looked up from the notepad for a moment, his eyes on Oliver; but the SEAL did not meet his gaze. “You think I am making a mistake? Just yesterday you recommended sending all nonessential personnel to New Copenhagen.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“Not entirely, sir. I still believe we should establish a colony. I have had second thoughts about the size of the colony.”

“Everyone left aboard this ship will die,” said Yamashiro. “A-361-B will be a Kamikaze mission.”

“Yes, sir,” said the master chief. “Sir, resources are going to be scarce on New Copenhagen. It may take years before the colony becomes self-sufficient. I'm concerned about overpopulating the colony.”

Yamashiro placed the stylus back on the notepad, and said, “Who do you think we should leave on the colony?”

“Not me or my men, sir. I believe we have nothing to contribute to a colony.”

“Master Chief, once we program the broadcast coordinates into the broadcast computer, we can fly that mission with a skeleton crew,” said Takahashi. “We won't need you on this mission.”

“What would we contribute to the colony? If the objective is to preserve life ... to continue humanity, Admiral, we're clones. We're sterile.

“One hundred of my men have been trained in basic survival tactics. They may be useful. They can serve as peacekeepers, they know how to build shelters and purify water. They can contribute. The colony will need farmers, not saboteurs. They didn't teach us farming in SEAL training. We don't belong in your colony.”

Yamashiro sighed and rubbed his eyes. Takahashi made a whistling noise that sounded like a bomb dropping, and said, “You're a cheerful fellow.”

“Do your men agree with your assessment?” asked Yamashiro.

“To a man,” said Oliver.

Yamashiro let a moment pass before asking, “What do you suggest we do?”

“Leave our survival specialists on New Copenhagen.”

“And you think I should take the rest of you to A-361-B?” asked Yamashiro.

“Yes, sir,” said Oliver.

“You don't want to live?” asked Takahashi.

“Sir, we were created to help ensure the survival of the human species. We want to do what we were created to do, sir,” said Oliver. “You will not need us in your colony, Admiral. Life in your colony does not fit our mission.”

A smile flickered across Yamashiro's lips and vanished while his eyes remained cold and hard. His irises were such a dark shade of brown that they appeared to be black.

“In my colony? It may not have occurred to you, Master Chief, but you are not the only man in this fleet who is willing to go down with this ship. I have no intention of hiding on a planet while my ship is destroyed.”

“You mean my ship,” said Takahashi. “I command the ship; you command the fleet.”

“Which is down to one ship,” snapped Yamashiro. “Captain, the
Sakura
is my fleet.”

“With all due respect, Admiral, there is no fleet,” said Oliver. “There will be a colony, and it will need a governor. You will be needed on New Copenhagen. Any part you would play during the destruction of A-361-B would be insignificant. Your leadership in the colony, on the other hand . . .”

Yamashiro would not have looked more stunned and angered if the SEAL had spit on him. His jaw clenched tight, his eyes narrowed to angry slits, and he said, “I am more than seventy years old. Do not deny an old man the opportunity to die with dignity.”

Takahashi stood and walked over to his father-in-law. He placed a hand on the old man's shoulder, and said, “You are a miserable excuse for a fleet commander. You were a fantastic governor and a masterful politician, but I never liked the way you ran the fleet.”

Yamashiro's shoulder tightened, then sagged. For a brief moment, it looked like he might take a swing at Takahashi, then the strength leaked out of his body. When he looked up, his eyes were moist. He asked, “Was it my fault? Was it my fault that we lost the other ships?”

At some point Takahashi had blamed Yamashiro for their losses. He had sided with the warlike Miyamoto instead of listening to his other captains. Now, though, Takahashi realized the weight of command and forgave. “No,” said Takahashi. “It was nobody's fault.”

Oliver added, “The colony will need a government and laws. It will need a leader, someone who can tell the people not to eat more food than they can grow even though they are hungry.”

“That is not me,” said Yamashiro.

“That can only be you,” said Takahashi.

“What about you?” asked Yamashiro, desperation rising in his voice.

“You were the governor of a planet, I am the captain of this ship, both of our futures have been decided for us. You will lead the colony, and I will protect it.”

“And die a hero,” whispered Yamashiro.

“Sometimes it is easier to die for your beliefs than to live for them,” said Takahashi. “I think my job will be easier than yours.”

Thirty-five stealth infiltration pods hovered in space, ten thousand miles away from the
Sakura
forming a loose blockade around the ship. The technicians controlling the pods kept their field-resonance engines fully charged and on the brink of overcharging. They were like grenades, keys pulled and ready to throw.

Theoretically, the enemy ships only needed to venture within five thousand miles of one of the pods for the trap to work. When your bombs explode with enough force to shatter small planets, marksmanship is not really an issue.

Within an hour of the
Sakura
drifting into place above New Copenhagen, three ships streaked into view. They glowed a brilliant orange gold in the darkness of space, like fireflies flying in formation. They might have broadcasted in millions of miles away or they might have been lying in wait.
Sakura
security never detected their anomalies.

Three anomalies appeared behind the first ships, signaling the arrival of three more ships. Another trio of ships appeared on the opposite side of the
Sakura
.

Watching the nine ships advance, Yamashiro said, “First wave, support wave, third wave to flank, cutting off retreat ... Those must be Unified Authority ships, they are using the same tactics they used against the Mogats.

“Who are they at war with? Why attack us?”

“Are they responding to our signal?” asked Takahashi.

“No, sir.”

“Keep trying,” said Takahashi.

Another few seconds passed, and he asked, “They're still not responding?”

“No, sir.”

“Are they in range of the pods?” asked Takahashi.

“Almost, sir. They're flying very slowly. They've dropped down under one thousand miles per hour.”

“Maybe they want us to escape,” Yamashiro said. He had already begun the transformation from military leader back to statesman.

“Still no response?” asked Takahashi, now getting nervous. Knowing that destroying the ships could start a war between the Unified Authority and New Copenhagen, Takahashi wanted to avoid bloodshed.

“The first three ships are in range of the pods,” said the weapons officer.

“Still no response?” Takahashi asked one last time.

“Captain, we need to . . .” Yamashiro did not get the chance to finish his sentence.

Takahashi knew his job. He took a deep breath, and said, “Fire the nearest pod.” He spoke in English. It was his bridge now; ceremony and tradition had never interested him. He and his crew spoke Japanese, but they spoke English more fluently.

To the naked eye, it looked like nothing happened. If there was a flash from the explosion, it was so small that nothing showed on the monitors. There was no visible shock wave, no wall of debris. An uninformed observer might have thought that the three glowing ships had simply malfunctioned.

What struck Takahashi was not the destruction of three ships with a single weapon but the completeness of their demise. Torpedoes left holes. Sometimes, they set off chain reactions. Sometimes, small parts of the hull broke off.

That was not what happened to these ships. In the invisible wake of the explosion, the three glowing ships slid sideways like boats caught by a powerful wave. Their bows continued to face toward the
Sakura
as they skittered to the side and began shedding parts. Their shields disappeared, and the armor fell from their hulls in flakes, revealing skeletons of twisted girders. Because they were in space, and there was nothing to stop them, the U.A. ships continued sliding sideways until the
Sakura
's telemetry could no longer track them.

For a moment, the universe seemed to freeze.

This wasn't a naval battle. It was like crushing an insect,
thought Takahashi.

“The other ships are leaving, sir.”

On his tactical display, Takahashi watched six glowing ships disappear into anomalies.

Admiral Yamashiro and Captain Takahashi stood in the control tower of one of the landing bays. Below them, lines of sailors, both men and women, marched onto transports. They wore uniforms and carried duffel bags. They moved slowly onto the transports, heads down, steps short. “It's like watching prisoners on their way to a firing squad,” said Yamashiro. “They think they are the ones who are going to die.”

Takahashi asked, “Is living easier than dying?”

Yamashiro said, “Your crew would mutiny if they knew what you planned. You, Hironobu, you are the brave one. You know where you are going and what you need to do.”

“My mission will end three minutes after it begins. There's no need for bravery,” said Takahashi. He did not look at his father-in-law as he said this. He stared away, watching the lines of sailors boarding the transports.
Lifeboats,
he thought.
These men and women will escape my sinking ship.

For the first time in three years, Yamashiro smiled at his son-in-law. Speaking in Japanese, he said, “You cannot convince me that flying a Kamikaze mission over an alien planet is the act of a coward.”

There is much you do not know,
thought Takahashi. Takahashi Hironobu, who could not return to his wife on Earth and was about to lose his ship, took comfort in the thought of a quick death.

 

For the first time in his short life, Senior Chief Jeff Harmer raised his voice as he asked, “Me? Why do I have to go?”

In his five short years of existence—other military clones were raised in orphanages, but the SEALs “crawled out of the tube” with the bodies and minds of twenty-one-year-old men—Corey Oliver had never seen a SEAL show such insubordination.

They convened in a small room, the ten senior chiefs sitting in a single row of chairs, all looking exactly alike. Each man was short, five feet and two inches tall, with a charcoalcolored tint to his skin and a bald head.
We really do look like shadow demons,
thought Oliver.

“Are you refusing to follow a direct command?” he asked. Just two weeks earlier, he had been a senior chief petty officer as well. Now he was a master chief, the commander of the SEALs, but he was no older or more experienced than the ten remaining senior chiefs. He had not performed his duties better than they had. In his mind, the selection process had been arbitrary, not by merit.