Chapter 12: Stage Separation

JUST BEFORE SUNRISE

Two Kilometers outside of the Alnus Settlement

On a hill beyond Alnus, two members of JSGDF Special Operations Team Archer adjusted the focus on their scopes as they watched the robed man leave the settlement.

The robed man was Nariv El Delsus, and he was a coward.

While a few hundred others had marched on the East entry to the JSDF base, Nariv had slipped into a side street and waited to hear of the outcome from a room on the Western side of the Settlement.

What he had heard instead was a flurry of gunfire, shouts, and the screams of the injured drifting through the night. Word came back early the next morning that even though the mob had made it into the base, they hadn't made it particularly far, and every man or woman holding something that could be interpreted as a weapon had been shot.

So he hid, stole a large, bulky robe that covered his face, and planned to make his escape the next morning, before the JSDF figured out that he had been involved.

What he hadn't counted on was the Japanese and their radios. MPs stationed in the settlement had already informed their commanding officers of Nariv's involvement, and the decision had been made to intercept him far outside the city. The civilians in the settlement were already rattled enough from the night's events, and there was no need to make a bad diplomatic situation even worse.

They had debated attacking him at close range, but since they weren't sure if Nariv was a magician or not, they decided that a long-range attack would be safer.

And so, Archer-1 called out the range to Archer-2, who made some final adjustments with his Remington M24 sniper rifle, and, after a small eternity, pulled the trigger.

One could argue that it was ultimately science that killed Nariv El Delsus. The bullet was accelerated from rest by chemical combustion and kept from tumbling through rotational inertia. The shooter accounted for atmospheric effects including air resistance, wind direction, and even the rotation of the planet. Yet, even if these things were considered, the bullet would have passed a few inches over Nariv's head, if not for one important principle.

Indeed, it was Gravity, the same invisible force that the Rondel astronomer had bashed two nights before, that pulled the shot down by the remaining few inches needed for the bullet to blast his head from his shoulders.

Archer-1 keyed his radio. "Target down," he said. "Moving in for cleanup."

TWO HOURS LATER

Alnus FOB HQ, Alnus

Mullan accepted the cup of coffee from Hazama's aide, suppressed a wince at the bitter taste, and said, "Honestly, General, it was a tough call. Your men did what they had to do, and you sustained minimal casualties."

Across the table from him, Lieutenant General Hazama looked exhausted, and took off his reading glasses to rub his eyes. "My commanding officer, General Nomura, said the same," he said. "However, he also warned that the Diet may not see it that way."

"The bottom line is that none of your men died. Yes, you have six in critical condition, but you have the luxury of carting them all back through the Gate to world-class medical facilities. The other dozen injured are recovering well enough, and will probably get sent back as well for general checkups. Both of our nations have fought wars where the commanding officer would have sacrificed an arm to have that as an option for their men."

The General looked up at him. "You are missing the point," he said. "A hundred-thirty sword-armed men and women can still be loosely interpreted as civilians. Only a handful survived. And there were children in the crossfire, you know. With Zorzal's insurgency, it's impossible to know if demihuman children are a threat or not, and so we are burying seventeen young people too."

Mullan nodded. "I can't say that I get it myself, but I've heard enough stories from Hines and Garcia that I have at least a little sense of what you're feeling."

"Oh, so they know what it's like to be responsible for firing on children?"

The Colonel looked down into his coffee cup for a moment, arranging his thoughts, then said, "Lieutenant Garcia was telling me this story a few days ago… so he was stationed at Sather Air Base in Iraq, and one morning he gets a call and goes out to see this seven-year-old Iraqi girl standing a dozen yards beyond one of the base gates. And she's all alone and crying, of course, because she has soldiers yelling at her to stay put and stay back. Anyway, their interpreter finally shows up and tells them that she's saying that her father put her in weird clothes and told her to walk to the American airbase or he would beat her and she wouldn't get supper that night."

He stopped, looked at the General and said, "Do you see where this is going?"

"I'm afraid so, but please continue."

"They bring in an EOD robot, and it doesn't have the dexterity to do anything. By this point, Associated Press has noticed the commotion and there's a camera crew following the drama. So, Garcia's standing there, and he has this decision to make. Do you send in a soldier to try and defuse the bomb and risk two lives? Or maybe you force the girl away and leave her to her fate? And how will both look to the audience at home?"

"And?"

Mullan shrugged. "And, while he sat there trying to figure out what to do, the timer on the explosive vest ran out and sprayed bits of the girl all over the road. Wound up being too gory for Cable news, but the story still got attention in print, and Garcia and his CO caught a lot of flak from people at home.

"What I think I'm trying to say, General, is that we get days where every option is the wrong one. The people at home don't know that because they're not here. They don't care that the other guy doesn't fight with the right morals. They don't care that we work every damn day to keep the philosophers at home happy while we do our jobs. All you can really do is try to make the least-bad decision and move on."

Hazama sighed, then said, "I wonder what Hardy thinks of this."

"Yanagida and Itami are your soldiers, and it's their report. You'd know better than I."

"True."

"What do you believe that she thinks?"

"Remorse, I'd hope, at her followers marching into a meat grinder…. but if the Gods of Falmart are anything like its people, then I'd have my doubts."

Seeing that the aide was gone, he tapped on the table, "Ah, but that's why our nations have that agreement. Let us hope that we never need to find out"

"Couldn't agree more."

"Really?" Yanagida said. "That's all?"

"That's all that Greta told me before she left," Takagi explained. "Free dormitory living conditions, a stipend equivalent to roughly five and a half million yen, and unlimited health care in exchange for cooperation during medical studies. The Americans are making a concentrated effort to keep their guests comfortable."

The interpreter watched as Yanagida's face crumpled into a confused wince. "No major caveats? No refusal of return?"

"You will recall, sir, that the plan was to target mostly people who had few or zero connections remaining in the Special Region," Takagi went on. "And even then… to move from Falmart to guaranteed comfortable living in a first-world nation? A big part of the reason why the Alnus Settlement continues to attract so many people is its proximity to us and, with us, our modern technology. They may not wish to come back."

The intelligence officer thought this over, then asked, "One more question… did they happen to say why Carol Dawson was carried back to Tokyo on a stretcher last night?"

Takagi thought back over it and decided to give him the same response that Schumer had given her. "She slipped and hit her head on the HML."

Yanagida snorted at that one. "Yes, I imagine that it contains a component that is conducive to head injuries. That will be all, Specialist Takagi. You should know before you leave, however, that when Dr. Dawson returns-if she returns-you should expect her to be more guarded when answering questions."

Across from him, Takagi tilted her head. "Why would she?"

"Because I suspect that the American Government has a vested interest in ensuring that no one else slips."

Washington Dulles International Airport, Virginia, United States

Greta gave a squeak and grabbed onto Carol's shoulder as the rear wheels of the Boeing 747-400 touched down, and another as the aircraft rotated forward, allowing its front landing gear to do the same.

"It's okay," Carol said, giving her a nudge. "We're on the ground again."

"Major Kamikoda makes it look so easy! Looking out the window with all the clouds, and the ground getting closer, and the noises as the wing flaps and landing gear came out… I have no idea how he does it."

"People like Kamikoda and the pilot of this airplane have years of training," Carol said. "They know at a glance what's safe and what isn't, and the pilots have lots of computers and warning messages there to help them if they ever get distracted or make a mistake. You're actually in more danger driving around in a car or truck that you are on here."

As the pilot read out the terminal, local time, and baggage claim instructions, Carol thought back over her meeting with Greta after being released from the hospital.

"What happened to your head?" She'd asked.

"This?" Carol pointed to the bandage on her head where Master Sergeant Jones had hit her with his rifle. "This is what happens when you get too close to the HML. I got too close to the HML."

It wasn't technically a lie, and it made Carol feel a bit better about her response. Greta seemed to accept this answer though, and said, "I was so scared! The airmen had pushed me to the ground, but Schumer showed up and told everyone who I was and they stopped. His Japanese is terrible, but he told me that I also got too close to the HML, and that I should ask a JSDF soldier to borrow a radio next time."

"That was a very long flight," Greta pointed out. "How far away did you say Washington D.C. Was from Tokyo?"

"They're on opposite sides of the planet. I… honestly don't have a good comparison."

"But you say that we've circled half the planet in eighteen hours? That's incredible! And a rocket in orbit can match that?"

"Depends how high the orbit is. Low Earth Orbit takes about an hour and a half. The higher the orbit, the slower you go. At the same time, the lower in the atmosphere you are, the slower you go due to air resistance. That's why the airplane goes as high as it does after leaving the ground; to get the best of both."

Greta nodded, then, thinking it over, said, "I wonder what Teesa thought about her first airplane flight?"

Carol patted her on the shoulder and said, "Tomorrow, you'll be able to ask your sister yourself."

"Are you going to go with me?"

"I'd like to, but the arrangements were for you and you alone. That, and my boss wants me to attend a lecture and conference on Special Region science. Since we'll both be getting out at the same time, I'll take you to the Smithsonian, if you want."

"What's a Smithsonian?"

"It's a bunch of museums-galleries of stuff that America has collected over the years and puts on public display. We have art, cultural items, historical artifacts… even one on airplanes and rockets, if you want to see that."

The plane finally stopped at the gate. For a moment, Carol pondered that last word in her head. Gate to gate to gate. It was a universe of new places, and always new things to experience, but the head on your shoulders and the baggage you carried with you remained the same. She had felt the eyes of an inescapable reality drilling into the back of her head for the entire flight.

"Come on, Greta," she said, standing. "Let's go."

They moved together into the aisle, and the two armed, American Intelligence handlers that were sitting behind them stood and followed.