7 WEEKS AND 5 DAYs AGO.
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PLANET B1-M2 III (Kagome's home-world)
SOMEWHERE IN THE PACIFIC OCEAN...
The container ship had evaded the storm for two days before it finally caught up, 230 nautical miles off the coast of the Kuril Islands. The storm ravaged the surface of the ocean. Mountainous waves rose up and occasionally washed across the deck of the container ship. Rain pelted containers, the "thump-thump" sound ringing across the towering columns of them. The open door on one of the containers, though only slightly ajar in the cramped space between containers, was open widely enough to let rain water drip inside. The container was low enough to the deck that the occasional wave of seawater would find a way to seep some of itself inside. The salt-water was damaging to the bare-metal gas tanks, causing corrosion as the salt reacted with the untreated metal. The ship's seasoned helmsman steered the colossal freighter through the waves, even as Nature herself fought back to inflict inconvenience on the crew. There were a few people among the crew who had eaten breakfast that morning, and now those few were sorry that hunger had ever crossed their seasick minds. The heads (bathrooms) were mostly occupied, and the people that didn't quite make it vomitted on the floor, creating the usual mess that would be cleaned up by the maintenance personnel when the storm passed, in preparation for the next storm, when they would have to clean up all over again.
The galley staff had gone off duty after they had secured all of the pots and pans to whatever shelf-space was still available, though they were not expecting to get any rest while the ship tossed and dipped and rolled with the stormy sea. The Japanese crew were very fortunate that they lived in the present, and not in the day when seawater leaked through the very walls of their home-away-from-home, contaminating the food, and causing the ship to ride lower on the ocean's surface. Visibility was reduced from miles to feet by the foggy mist that blew off the surface, though most crewmen tried to avoid looking out of the portholes (windows) because it would only intensify their nausea and seasickness.
Outside the metal hull, the wind and rain and waves battered the ship. From her bridge, the occasional lightning could be seen, striking the ocean's surface. It was incredible to watch, though the watch officer on duty silently wondered how the fish survived such punishment. Each bolt of lightning could individually deliver several hundred thousand watts of electricity from the sky to the water. Pure water does not actually conduct electricity; rather, it is the metals dissolved in that water that conduct, allowing the incredible voltage to travel until it found a place or object (usually an object) to ground itself The volume of water that would exlplode and vaporize around each strike was no less amazing. This was caused by the sudden expansion of boiling water forcing the water around it to make way as it explosively expanded outward like the shockwave it was.
Storms like this could last for several hours, or even days, and as dangerous as it was to travel through them, it was almost impossible to avoid them. Waterspouts were especially dangerous, capable of capsizing unwary ships, plunging them into the depths of their watery graves. This freighter, however, was destined to make it to San Francisco, where she would complete her ever-so-minor role in igniting the second massive conflict between Japan and the United States.
MEANWHILE.
SOMEWHERE IN JAPAN
YOSHINOBU SPACE-LAUNCH COMPLEX
"Hell of a package," the NASA engineer observed.
"We want to be certain that it can make it into orbit with a heavy payload," the missile engineer replied. The missile in question was an advanced version of an old Russian InterContinental Ballistic Missile. This new design would be made to carry a tactical nuclear payload far enough to be an effective weapon, but the Americans were not supposed to know that. The Japanese missile engineer thought it hilarious that they were testing such a powerful weapon right under the enemy's nose! And the American didn't even realize it!
The launch seemed to be a perfect success- until the third-stage liquid-fuel engine exploded, and the missile plunged into the Pacific Ocean. The engineer swore as the missile plummeted out of the sky. "Are you going to recover it?" the American asked.
"No." But that was a lie.
The American took another look around the factory, looking at fifteen other missiles, each in various stages of construction. "When's the next launch?" he asked.
"Next month," the Japanese engineer answered. "By then, we should have the first three payloads ready."
"You guys don't mess aroud, do you?"
"It's just more efficient," the host replied.
"So the rockets move out of here fully-assembled?"
"That's correct."
"Move 'em out by truck?"
"No. By train."
"What about your payloads?"
"Those are being made in another factory," the host said. "Propriety, I'm afraid."
NOW...
PLANET B1-M2 III TOKYO, JAPAN HOUJO...
History class was one of Houjo's preferred classes, as it tended to grab his interest, somehow.
"Having only one year's worth of crude oil remaining, Emperor Hirohito felt he had only two choices left," the teacher said to the class, as though they needed help reading their textbooks. "Ayumi, name one of the emperor's options."
"He could withdraw and submit to the US's terms," she answered.
"And the other reason?" the teacher asked. "Yes, Houjo?"
"He could go to war, which he did. First, the Japanese attacked the Philipines, and then-"
"You're jumping ahead, Houjo. How did the Japanese let their ambassador to the United States know that they were terminating their diplomatic ties?"
"Telegram!" someone called out.
"Arigatou, Tori, but please don't call out next time." Houjo made a mental note during the interruption to stop by Kagome's house to deliver a copy of his notes. "In that telegram," the teacher continued, "the emperor told his representative..."
MEANWHILE...
PLANET B1-M2 IV SOMEWHERE IN the other JAPAN
The gang was making good time, hiking parallel to the river to the river at the bottom of the gorge. That river had actually eroded the soil away over the centuries, creating this canyon. As the hillside became less steep, Kagome spotted a village... or what used to be a village. "Come on guys! Let's check that out!" And she started running towards it, while Kirara transformed into her larger form, and Sango offered the Starfleeters a ride, forcing Mirouku, Kouga, and everyone else to run in order to keep up.
When they finally arrived, Sango and the Starfleeters dismounted Kirara, who promptly reverted to her little-kitty form, and approached one of the mounds that used to be a hut. There were some people hiding behind it. "What happened here?" Higgins asked. Sango translated for him, if not intentionally, when she asked the same question in her own language.
One person came out, recognizing Sango as a youkai taijiya (demon exterminator) by her katana, and her hiraikotsu. "One month ago, a large, round thing flew from the sky. It made a loud noise as it passed, and it destroyed the village. No one was killed, but you can see what we lost." Indeed, looking around, everyone clearly saw the wreckage. One relatively larger mess nearby must have been some sort of shrine, Sloane observed. Judging by the length of the canyon, she was pretty convinced that this was where they had ditched COLUMBIA's saucer (not that the landing process had done that to the landscape, but they had picked a long, natural trench in which to park).
In her mind, Sloane started formulating a plan for rebuilding the village. When she finished, she walked over to Kagome, and explained her intentions, and Kagome translated for the villagers. Within a matter of hours, work-shifts were organized, and most of the gang, and the villagers had begun sorting through the wreckage to find any salvageable building materials, and then organizing them by length, width, and all the other details. Sango, Kagome, Sloane, and the village leader discussed plans for rebuilding the huts and the shrine. The village's elderly folk who were unable to help with the busy work prepared meals for the working mob.
The sorting part was finished within a matter of eight hours, after which the villagers began setting up the first huts, which were reinforced with lashings and pegs so they would be strong enough to withstand a strong wind, if not a sonic boom. Sloane expected this phase to take no more than thirty-some hours. Then, the real rebuilding would happen.