3: Front Toward Enemy

All the muscles in his body were screaming. This hurts, he thought desperately. I can’t do it. My feet feel like lead. I want to throw up. His mouth hung open. His ribs hurt from breathing. His throat was parched.

The humid air of the jungle made his skin feel sticky. Sweat poured off him, and his jungle boots squished with every step he took. His backpack straps were digging into his shoulders, and the pain was growing unbearable. He wanted to stop, put his hands on his knees, and rest for just thirty seconds. It wasn’t like anyone was watching him. No one would criticize him for slacking off.

But instead, Sousuke gritted his teeth and shook off his doubts. Pathetic, he told himself. It’s only six kilometers, even if it is on a treacherous mountain road. Keep those legs moving; right, left, right, left. He tripped over a large root and staggered towards the edge, close to pitching over, but managed to keep his balance. He considered stopping there, but dug deep and kept moving.

Don’t think, he reminded himself. Run. His heart was pounding so hard that he could hear his pulse in his ears. His vision darkened, and his consciousness turned hazy.

Right, left, right, left.

What are the basics of combat? The basics of being a soldier? Yes, it’s running. Just run. Run. Run.

A soldier who can’t run, can’t win. In the most extreme cases, skill and equipment are irrelevant. Whichever side can run longer earns the Goddess of War’s blessing. When all else is equal, it’s this simple difference that determines the outcome. The only reason I’ve lived as long as I have is because I could always keep running.

Slowly, the distractions began to fade away. Hesitation and doubt left him. All regrets about the past and uncertainty about the future lifted from his shoulders. Keep moving. Forward. Forward. Forward. Sousuke passed a particularly grotesque shrub, which he’d set as a marker. He’d reach ten kilometers soon, surpassing the milestone he’d fallen short of yesterday.

The agony in his body remained. But tomorrow he’d be able to run farther.

“He’s still at it? Heaven’s sake...” Michel Lemon whispered as he watched Sousuke return to camp, run through a few stretches, then head to the athletic field without any kind of break.

They were in the wetlands of northern Florida. It was an area untouched since primordial times, with the closest town, Taylor, dozens of kilometers away. The only people who came here were eccentric hunters and researchers, and even those were limited to a few a year at most.

The area was remote, too. The only way to get there by land was to pass through Taylor, which meant that if anyone was coming after Sousuke, the townspeople could warn Lemon and the others by radio in advance.

The attack on Hiva Oa Island had been a painful lesson to Lemon that Amalgam had compromised even his own state intelligence organization, the DGSE. There was no other way they could have learned Sousuke’s whereabouts. He’d considered bringing him back to France after the attack, but had decided that it would be unsafe to do so. Besides which, the higher-ups would likely take Sousuke away and subject him to agonizing interrogation, which would ultimately make him less likely to cooperate. Lemon didn’t share the belief of some members of his country and organization that Amalgam could be placated: that raid had been an unprovoked hostile action.

It was for those reasons that Lemon instead moved Sousuke elsewhere, taking with them only those subordinates he was sure he could trust. Delecour—his direct superior—was dead, so he had a great deal of personal discretion in the matter, but he knew his decision would put him on thin ice with the higher-ups. He was hiding a valuable information source without approval, after all. In a way, he and his men were on the lam with Sousuke.

Like I care, Lemon thought. The others might not see it that way, but his actions really did stem from his patriotism. Wouldn’t the truest act of treason be to hand Sousuke over to the enemy, or to some stuffed shirt intelligence official back at headquarters? The last few months had shown Lemon just how vulnerable his institutions were; Amalgam was just that dangerous, and their influence ran deep.

His first priority, then, was to get Sousuke’s strength back. Once he’d done that, the kid wouldn’t need their protection anymore. That would free up a lot of possibilities in and of itself, and if he could build up a spirit of camaraderie with Sousuke on top of it, he could get that much closer to Amalgam’s core. He might even be able to divert the enemy threat from his home country. Before they had arrived here at the camp, Lemon had shared these thoughts with Sousuke and requested his cooperation.

Sousuke had thought for a minute, and then nodded. “Very well,” he’d agreed. “But is that all?” He must have felt there was more to Lemon’s obsession with Amalgam than the logical reasoning he’d offered. His doubts were understandable; a typical agent would want to dump such a troublesome VIP onto his superiors and move on as soon as possible.

Lemon’s response was delivered in a distant voice. “Revenge, then? It might sound odd, but it’s how I feel.”

“I see,” Sousuke observed solemnly, “and I understand.” That appeared to have been enough for him, because he never questioned Lemon’s motives again. As for information about Mithril and Amalgam and the reason they were after him, Sousuke had promised to share all of it once he’d sufficiently recovered.

The remaining question was where to lie low in the meantime. Lemon tried a few of his personal connections, but none of their locations seemed safe. While he continued to hit his head against the problem, Sousuke made his own proposal to Lemon.

“I know someone who will help us, I think,” he’d said. That someone turned out to be US Marine John George Courtney, who’d offered them this remote and deserted camp.

Sousuke was still on the field, wordlessly jumping, leaping, climbing, running. Watching silently at Lemon’s side was Courtney himself, a man just entering old age. His face was weather-beaten and wrinkled, but his posture was straight, and his every motion radiated power and confidence. He was clearly a veteran, and seemed perfectly at home in his faded olive fatigues.

“He’s doing pretty well,” Courtney observed.

“Agreed,” said Lemon. “He’s pushing himself too hard, though.”

Courtney sniffed in response to Lemon’s words. “The kid can handle it. He’s got that special something. You know what I’m talking about?”

“The will to fight? A goal?”

“Nah, more simple. Fucking guts,” the old man whispered, running his fingers over his goatee.

“Guts, huh?”

“No. Fucking guts,” Courtney insisted.

“What’s the difference?” Lemon wanted to know.

“Oh, you never heard of it? You must be a fucking idiot, then! Though at least you’re a smart enough fucking Frenchman to learn to speak fucking English!”

“Um,” said Lemon.

Former Lieutenant Colonel Courtney, in addition to being a clear F-bomb enthusiast, was a sixty-year-old-plus American who’d taken part in the Vietnam War. He’d prepared the land and the camp personally, and gone to great lengths to earn the cooperation of Taylor’s population. Apparently, it had once been a facility for training soldiers in jungles and wetland terrain, in order to help deal with the difficult guerrilla combat the US Army and Marines had encountered in Vietnam. An officer known as “Chargin’ Charlie” wanted to give the young soldiers, who were more accustomed to conventional warfare, a taste of the hell awaiting them in Vietnam. It seemed that Courtney had been one of the first to undergo training there.

Conditions at the camp had been harsh: they’d spent their mornings crawling around the fields, battered by bombs and tormented by instructors dressed up like the Viet Cong. Incidentally, that same Charlie had established an armed special forces unit known as Delta Force. That was the pedigree of the camp where Sousuke was doing his rehabilitation.

But Courtney and Sousuke only knew each other from one meeting, which had taken place at a New Year’s party arranged by his superior. Lemon found it suspicious that the old soldier would go through such scrupulous preparations to help someone he barely knew. He’d asked Courtney about it at the very start, and the man had replied, in a lonely whisper, “He’s the chosen one of an old friend’s dear daughter.” It was an evocative thing to say, and there had to be more to the story, but... bugging the man further would just make him harder to deal with, so Lemon stayed away from the subject.

But although Courtney had been the one to set everything up, Lemon couldn’t help but challenge him from time to time. “Courtney-san, there’s such a thing as training theory,” he argued now, bothered by the former lieutenant colonel’s dismissive assertion that guts would be enough. “He’s clearly overtaxing himself. It flies in the face of everything I know about exercise physiology. You can’t build muscle properly this way; you’re more likely to burn yourself out and collapse. Why won’t you tell him that?”

At this, Courtney pulled a partly smoked cigar from his breast pocket, struck a match on the starched sleeve of his fatigues, and lit up. While Lemon watched, waiting for an answer, the man lit the end of the cigar, took a few puffs, then let out a luxuriant plume of smoke.

“Excuse me,” Lemon tried again. “Did you hear what I said?”

After a second puff, the old soldier finally looked at him. “Of course, I did. ‘Exercise physiology,’ right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll give him some advice,” Courtney said, taking a step forward. He shouted to Sousuke, who was covered in sweat, crawling over and under large logs lying on the makeshift field. “Sarge!”

“Sir!” Sousuke answered between gasps for breath.

“You’re slowing down! You’re swinging your ass like some whore on the prowl! You trying to seduce me with that ass, Sarge?!”

“No, sir!”

“I think your heart’s not in this!” Courtney bellowed. “I think you’re slacking off!”

“No, sir!”

“Then put your back into it! Move like you wanna stick your prick in some first-rate pussy! Move, move! Move, you maggot!”

“Yes, sir!” Sousuke groaned as he hurled himself over a log.

“That’s right, suffer! You worthless piece of shit!” Colonel Courtney shouted, heaping abuses upon him.

Lemon argued with him with a groan. “Why are you egging him on?! Exercise physiology theory states—”

“Fuck theory!” the old soldier roared, his eyes bulging from his skull. Lemon couldn’t help but recoil from his gaze. The man took another drag from his cigar, then breathed out a stream of smoke so thick, it concealed his face entirely. He spat out a huge wad of phlegm onto the ground. “Listen up, kid,” Courtney went on. “The only people who value science over guts are people who underestimate the human spirit.”

“I—”

“When you’re on a mission, you’re an island!” Courtney interrupted. “You’re surrounded by enemies! You get caught, you die! You’re at the end of your rope! You’ve got no water, no food, no bullets! What do you do?!”

Lemon didn’t respond.

“Well, what do you do?! Do you remember what some teacher somewhere told you and say, ‘Gee, science tells me I’m done, so I’d better give up and let them fill me with lead’?”

“Well—”

“That’s the turning point,” Courtney insisted. “If something amazing is gonna happen, it’s then. God, in his great wisdom, gave Man that little extra, that little fucking supercharger.” Courtney balled up a fist, pressed it to Lemon’s chest and twisted it. “The minute that gets going, cowards turn to heroes, and useless fucking worms turn to super elites. So if you wanna turn a dying man into a proper soldier in a very short time... that’s gotta be how you do it.”

The sheer irresponsibility of that statement made Lemon wince. Carefully regulated exercise, proper rest, balanced meals... Science made it clear that this was the ideal way to build up the body.

“You don’t believe me?” Courtney challenged him.

“I don’t, actually.”

“Then I’ll prove it. Hey, you! Fuckin’ kid! Get over here!” Courtney called to one of the soldiers doing arms maintenance in a corner of the camp, one of the special forces under Lemon’s command. The soldier looked confused, pointed to himself for confirmation, then ran up to them.

Courtney slapped him on the back, pointed to Sousuke, and said, “He needs some motivation. Smack him around a little and knock him on the ground. No mercy, okay? Get to it!”

The burly soldier looked dubiously to Lemon. Lemon thought for a minute, then nodded at him.

“If you insist, sir...” The soldier shrugged and ran up to Sousuke, who was struggling at the center of the field. As the man drew back his fist, they could hear him say, “Nothing personal.”

“Now, watch. You’re about to see a counterattack that’ll set your head spinning.” Courtney chewed on his cigar and folded his arms confidently.

The soldier hit Sousuke. Twice. Three times... Sousuke, already at the limits of exhaustion, staggered helplessly, then fell back into the mud. The soldier inspected the now-immobile Sousuke, then turned back to Lemon and Courtney. “He’s unconscious!” he shouted apologetically.

The two just stood there silently as the soldier quickly began treating Sousuke for his new wounds.

Lemon looked back at Courtney with a sigh, but the man was already puffing out cigar smoke as if nothing had happened. “Well, sometimes you get that too,” the old soldier quipped. “The point is, you can’t go easy on a man.”

“Modern warfare can’t be won with mud and sweat,” Lemon argued.

“Of course not,” said Courtney, dropping his cigar on the ground to stamp out the tip with the heel of his jungle boot. “But kid, what can a man who’s never tasted mud and sweat, or blood and tears, accomplish?”

●

Chidori Kaname spent every morning in a deck chair on a shady terrace, watching the sun rise over the ocean. She even came out on rainy days. Generally speaking, she only went to the beach a few times a year, so this was her first time seeing the same view of the ocean for months at a time.

They’d moved between a few locations since leaving Tokyo, but this estate by the beach had lasted for a while. When Leonard had brought her here, he’d said that she could ask absolutely anything of the staff and do whatever she wanted, as long as she remained within the large grounds.

“Do you think I enjoy being treated like a princess?” Kaname had asked, to which Leonard had just shrugged self-effacingly. The same day he’d arrived, he’d left her to fly off somewhere in a helicopter. His work at Amalgam must have kept him busy, she figured. He would return once a week or so, but otherwise he was always off somewhere or other.

Despite his professions of love, Leonard had never tried to force himself on her again since that first kiss in the rain. He didn’t even try to touch her, let alone embrace her. He didn’t use resonance, either. He just kept her locked away, like a jewel in a treasure box.

This had surprised Kaname. She would have expected a young man in the grips of unrequited love to act more persistently, yet just having her here seemed to be enough for him. He didn’t send her to be poked, prodded, or subjected to more of their strange research, either. Aside from the confinement, Kaname was certainly free, and even treated like a VIP guest at a luxury hotel.

After she’d lived there for several weeks, Leonard gave her a rather old laptop and told her, “If you’re bored, feel free to play with this.” The laptop (which had all network capabilities removed), contained blueprints and live combat data for several of Amalgam’s superweapons. The information was all highly classified, and absolutely invaluable. It included several varieties of lambda driver-mounted AS—the Codarl-type and Behemoth-type—but unfortunately lacked information on Leonard’s Belial.

The live combat data provided for them included several battles with Sousuke’s Arbalest. There were quite a few operators listed for the Codarl-type, but the one who had seemed to make the best of its capabilities had been Gauron, the terrorist Sousuke had fought. Even without the lambda driver, he’d used his near-superhuman instinct and experience to move it in swift and unpredictable ways. Kaname was reminded of the tremendous skill that Sousuke must possess in order to have fought Gauron as an equal.

There was also data on battles with M9s that she intuited to belong to Mao and Kurz. It was unusual to see such minimal losses when a standard AS fought one equipped with an LD; usually, in the situations outlined in the data, one would expect to see the M9s destroyed and their pilots killed. The more she examined the battle data, the more she appreciated their team’s caution and care.

From Amalgam’s side, of course, it reflected a frustrating situation—an inability to eradicate their enemy, despite having vastly superior hardware. Their enemy had somehow continued to resist, using experience, cleverness, flexibility, and animal instinct. They’d exploited any moment of weaknesses and never once missed a chance to strike decisive blows, which was a reflection of superior skill on the part of Mithril’s pilots.

Kaname had known Mao and Kurz and the others as ordinary young people with all of their flaws, but seeing them rendered in objective numbers on her screen, she could tell they were also terrifyingly polished combat machines. The data allowed Kaname to realize what Leonard had meant when he said that Mithril had flown too high—they had indeed become a threat to Amalgam.

She cast a glance through the specs data for the Codarls and Behemoths, too. Kaname had become brilliant enough by now to see all of their problems at a glance, one of which was that, while Leonard had helped with the machines’ basics, most of the real work had been done by ordinary engineers.

Amalgam used drugs to enable operation of their lambda driver-mounted ASes. The drugs induced a state of “quiet agitation” in their users, which let their brains create the special electric patterns required. Those patterns were then relayed to the machine through an interface known as TAROS, creating a power that the machine then amplified. She couldn’t be sure with blueprint data alone, but the drugs used by Amalgam’s operators seemed to also play a role in enhancing the power. The instability of Takuma, the Behemoth operator whom she’d met a year ago, wasn’t reflected in the data here, either. Maybe modern Codarl operators didn’t suffer the same emotional impairment that he had.

But then, the principle behind the Codarl’s lambda driver was likely the same as that of the Arbalest, and Sousuke hadn’t taken any drugs. The reason that Sousuke and the Arbalest were able to display such dramatic power from time to time was due to a mental state that drugs couldn’t replicate—probably a kind of focus and will unique to the trained soldier, as well as a certain form of exaltation.

The Arbalest was unreliable, but it could summon up overwhelming power under the right conditions. The Codarls could perform reliably and be mass-produced (within limits), but they couldn’t unleash the same spontaneous power that the Arbalest could. One way to put it would be that the Codarl was designed to annihilate normal ASes, whereas the Arbalest had been designed to fight LD-mounted ASes. That relationship was also reflected in the battle data.

It was a strange way of saying it, but the Codarl and the Behemoth both seemed to her like “realist” machines. This made them more accessible, but it also shackled their potential. Many sacrifices had been made in the name of functionality, without considering that they might have to face enemy machines with lambda drivers of their own. They couldn’t keep barriers up for long periods at a time, so if an enemy knew the lambda driver well, as Tessa and the others did, even a normal AS could destroy them. Just because the force fields seemed otherworldly didn’t mean that they were impregnable.

From what Kaname could see, the power differential between lambda driver-mounted ASes and regular third-generation ASes—assuming equal operator talent—was about eight to one. In other words, eight M9s working together could take out one Codarl. Of course, the M9s would suffer quite a few losses in the process, and in practice, things could vary depending on tactics, but when you boiled it down to fundamentals, that was the rough equation.

An extreme example of a power differential commonly seen in modern combat was that of tanks versus anti-tank helicopters. This was sixteen to one, so by comparison, lambda driver-mounted ASes weren’t really worthy of the awe they inspired. They were impressive from a purely technological standpoint, certainly. But looking back across military history, the birth of artillery, of communications systems, of intercontinental ballistic missiles were all far more impressive leaps.

How many people in the world had realized that? Probably only a handful... him, Tessa, and a few others they knew. Maybe Mao and her comrades, who were experiencing it firsthand in combat themselves, would realize it too someday. Yet Kaname had gotten all that just from looking at the laptop’s data... Perhaps that, too, was by Leonard’s design.

Then, later, he asked her this: “How would you make use of the lambda driver? If it were up to you, how would you fix this machine?” Kaname gave him a design that added two more heat sinks out of the Codarl’s head, braided together and tied with a ribbon. “Your friend is safe,” he’d replied, referring to Tokiwa Kyoko. He’d then said, “Try again,” and returned the data with a smile.

Since then, Kaname ended up submitting whatever popped into her head to one of Leonard’s subordinates. The designs were less like blueprints and more like rough sketches. These were also completely impractical, mere sarcastic jabs meant for Leonard. She intentionally included mathematical errors, or factors that resulted in contradictory specs: clever traps that normal engineers might overlook. She didn’t like having her skills tested, so she’d decided to test his observational prowess in retaliation. Naturally, Leonard would catch all the errors, point them out to her, and then leave with another shrug.

What does he want from me? she wondered. How long do I stay in this mansion, doing this? Leonard hadn’t told her much. She felt like this wasn’t really about his organization, but that he was making preparations for some far greater goal. He would probably leave her here until the time for that came.

Deep in despair, with her life in Tokyo now a distant memory, Kaname didn’t have the heart to inquire any further. “I’ll just let it be,” she thought, and meant it. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to get angry, or to smile. She’d be here in this unfamiliar place forever. She’d grow up, then grow old, and then she’d die.

And that all seemed to be acceptable.

We’re probably in the tropics, she’d reckoned. It had been hot there since February, and all the trees she could see were broad-leafed. There were no towns or houses visible from the grounds. No ships sailed past, and no planes flew by. The only sign of life from the outside world was the occasional helicopter, bringing visitors to the house.

It was a quiet place; quiet and empty, just like her. Every day, as the sun started going down, she would leave the terrace and walk the gardens on the western grounds.

The gardens were well tended. Crimson jacaranda flowers were in bloom, and by the end of the day, they would take on a dusky color in the purple twilight. The salty air that blew in from the calm sea caused the trees to whisper around her.

It was on one such evening, while she was sitting and meditating in a corner of the garden, that she overheard a conversation going on between a man and a woman:

“What then? You lost track of them after LA?” She recognized the voice of the man as belonging to Lee Fowler, who worked under Leonard. He was dark-haired, and attractive enough to make most women swoon. She didn’t know much about him, but she could tell that his gentlemanly demeanor masked the sharp-eyed alertness of a trained soldier. He always showed deference to Leonard, and the utmost civility and politeness to Kaname. Leonard typically had him flying off all around the world, but that particular day, he was visiting the mansion.

“Yes. A pity.” Kaname also recognized the voice of the woman who answered him: this was Sabina Rechnio, another of Leonard’s subordinates. She supervised the mansion itself, and always dressed in dark suits with black-rimmed glasses. She appeared very young, not much older than twenty at the most. She might even be close to Kaname’s own age.

Sabina was always in the mansion, so they saw each other frequently. She seemed to have been instructed to treat Kaname with civility, so she was always deferential in their interactions. But despite her young age, she was far from fragile; not only did she act in the capacity of the mansion’s butler, but she often contacted the outside to issue orders to others in their organization. Behind her well-mannered demeanor hung a certain smell... a certain quiet tension, unique to those who lived their lives on the battlefield.

The mansion’s employees all seemed vaguely afraid of her.

Kaname was in a grove a little ways off the flagstone path, a place unilluminated by the lights of the estate. She had fallen partway into a doze, so perhaps she had unconsciously masked her own presence; Fowler and Sabina didn’t seem to realize she was there.

Now, these two close confidantes of Leonard were whispering to each other in a corner of the garden. They were talking about losing track of someone in LA—Los Angeles—but she didn’t know who.

“Did you tell Leonard-sama about Hiva Oa Island?” Fowler was saying. “That you sent a team of assassins there at your own discretion, that the mission failed, and that you then proceeded to lose track of him entirely?”

“Of course I told him,” Sabina responded in a perfectly even voice. “I wouldn’t bother trying to hide it. He would see through me in a second.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He praised me, in fact.”

“How generous of him,” Fowler observed.

“What does that mean?”

“He would have been within his rights to be furious: that unit was only looking after the operator. But even if they do rebuild that ARX whatever-it-is, the Belial is still invincible. There’s no reason to fear it.”

“I disagree.” There was an implication in Sabina’s words that Kaname found difficult to read.

“You think he could lose?”

“No, he’s invincible, I agree,” said Sabina. “And I believe even my Eligore could beat that system.”

“Then why bother with the assassination?”

“I didn’t see any need to waste time engaging in a fair fight. It’s always better to root out weeds before they sprout.”

Fowler let out a sigh. “Of course. But don’t you realize it may have wounded his pride?”

“You mean, regarding her?” Sabina questioned.

“Yes.”

It took Kaname a little time to realize that she was the “her” in question.

“You’re worrying over nothing,” Sabina insisted. “He means nothing to Leonard-sama now. I went to dispose of a paper napkin he tossed away after a meal—that’s all.”

“I see,” Fowler said thoughtfully. “A truly feminine way of thinking.”

“Is it?”

“Ah, pardon... But either way, there’s no longer any need to assassinate him.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve located the ARX unit that went missing in Tokyo,” Fowler told her. “It doesn’t appear to have been completed yet, but I’ve sent three Codarl-ms to ambush them and retrieve it. It’s time to see what Mr. Kalium can do.”

“You don’t think that will wound Leonard-sama’s pride?” Sabina questioned pointedly.

Fowler sniffed. “That’s why I said ‘retrieve.’ From there, he’s free to do with it as he sees fit. He gave me permission too, you know.”

“I see.”

“Anyway, I’ve had all I can stand from Mithril’s leftovers... Though personally I would prefer to focus on the plan.”

“As would I.”

“I look forward to it.”

With that, Fowler and Sabina left, each heading in a different direction.

Kaname had listened in on the conversation as quietly as she could. She wasn’t actively trying to remain still; she simply blended into the air around her. If she were still the boisterous girl she’d been ages ago, she might have tensed up and begun breathing heavily, and Fowler and Sabina would have noticed her for sure.

Hiva Oa Island; team of assassins; ARX system; the plan—none of these words stirred any feeling in her. But the man they were discussing... it had to be Sousuke, she realized.

Minutes passed in silence after Fowler and Sabina’s departure. Kaname sat there in the darkness of the grove and, at last, whispered only to herself, “That idiot...”

So, he is alive. And... whatever he’s doing, he’s making trouble for Amalgam, as usual...

He’s probably searching for me, she realized. Trying to bring me back to the courtyard of that school. Our lives have been completely destroyed, yet he still refuses to give up or surrender. What does he expect to accomplish?

That idiot...

All to save someone like me... someone who betrayed you... who abandoned you to go off with another man while you lay dying...

That idiot...

Her eyes couldn’t even form tears. Kaname felt disgusted inside and out. Not at him, though—at herself.

What the hell is wrong with me? she wondered. Thinking I’d be content to grow old and die here, in this boring old house... Inert, helpless, harmless... What good would that do anyone? Thinking I’m so accomplished for dishing out a few harsh words, a few hurt feelings...

That idiot...

Just leave me alone. Forget about me. Go make yourself a nice life somewhere else. Why are you so obsessed with me?

That idiot...

Get over here already. Walk up to me and say your usual line... Give me that sullen, sour expression, and tell me everything is “not an issue.”

But no... That’s not even true. There are too many issues to count right now. The best thing to do would be to remain perfectly still, hidden in the darkness behind the trees.

That idiot...

I can’t even stand on my own two feet anymore. I’m a coward. Such a coward...

Kaname remained in place for another half hour or so, wallowing in her self-loathing. Then at last, when the night air began to turn cold against her skin, she stood up. She dragged herself out of the garden, heading towards the mansion to return to her room. Maybe she’d feel better lying in that big bed, emptying her mind, and drifting off to sleep.

But on her way in, she passed the swimming pool. It was an immaculate reservoir, twenty-five meters long, located on the south side of the property. She’d never once used it.

Silently, she stopped and gazed at the pool with indifference. Its surface glittered in the light from the mansion’s windows. A thought rose absently into her mind: Maybe I’ll take a swim.

What she really wanted to do was sink below the surface and disappear forever. But even if she threw herself in, she might not be able to go through with it. And yet, for reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, she found herself walking up to the side. She kicked off her high-heeled sandals and dipped a bare foot into the water.

It’s cold.

Still dressed, Kaname sat down at the water’s edge. She hadn’t felt anything like it in months, and nobody was around to see her, so she kicked her feet around for a while before sliding her whole body into the water.

It’s cold.

She began to tread water, but her dress billowed out around her, and clung to her body with every move she made. Annoyed, she stripped it off, and her body suddenly felt much lighter.

Now dressed only in her underwear, Kaname allowed herself to float, face-up, drifting silently to and fro. The night sky was clear above her, and sparkled with a blanket of stars. At some point, she decided to swim in earnest.

She kicked her legs slowly, propelling herself forward, head raised. Her body moved smoothly through the water. It felt nice, but the chill of the water kept her breathing short and shallow.

Maybe I should swim faster.

She assumed a crawl position, increasing the power of her flutter kicks and scooping her arms through the water, one after the other. Her pace quickened and the sound of her splashing echoed around the deserted pool.

Could I swim even faster? she wondered. She decided to try, and was soon moving faster than she’d expected. Her body pushed farther and farther onwards with every flex of her arms and legs.

I don’t know why, but... this feels really nice...

She was swimming harder now, and the end of the lane was approaching. She touched it and turned, then swam another twenty-five meters. After that, she just kept swimming, no deeper goal in mind. Her form wasn’t perfect, and she wasn’t moving smoothly: Kaname’s swimming was more like a desperate struggle. She kept splashing against the water’s surface, twisting her body violently. She was heaving for breath, but kept swimming regardless.

Onward. Onward.

She swam lap after lap. She wasn’t even sure why she was doing this; she just wanted to swim. To keep her whole body moving forward.

Forward. Forward. Forward.

She tired almost immediately, months of inactivity sapping her strength. She was aching and out of breath, and her muscles cried out in pain. Nevertheless, she kept swimming.

Forward! Forward! Forward!

She kicked through the water in the dim light, groaning softly with each movement. Gasping for air like a drowning animal each time her face left the water, Kaname kept on swimming.

Swim! Swim! Swim!

The water no longer felt cold. Her whole body was on fire. Droplets flew through the air with each strike she made against the water’s surface, and she found a laugh rising inside of her. There was something pleasant about the agony coursing through her body. The ache of it should have made her want to vomit, but as her mind wandered, the pain became distant.

Yes, that’s it... The thought came to her like a long-lost friend. I’ve been overthinking this, she realized. Torturing myself won’t get me anywhere. Okay, so maybe it was a little necessary... but there are more important things to be done right now.

In other words...

Keep swimming, keep running, keep moving forward. Twelve hours from now I might be laid out in exhaustion, but right now, I like swimming.

Forward! Forward!

And Kaname kept swimming. She didn’t know how many laps she’d done in the end, but it wasn’t until she really felt that she might pass out and drown that she finally stopped. As she hauled herself up onto the edge, she felt like steam was rising off her body.

She staggered to her feet, and heard someone address her from behind. “What an unusual sight.” It was Sabina. It was no surprise that someone would find her here, given all the noise she was making.

“Is it?” Kaname looked back at her, shoulders heaving with breath. Her heart was pounding wonderfully. She unceremoniously hiked up the waistband of her panties, which had fallen down almost to her thighs. It was as vulgar a gesture as could be imagined, but Kaname wasn’t thinking about that at all. “The water’s nice. Want to join me?” Kaname’s eyes glinted with an air of challenge, but Sabina just shrugged.

“No, thank you,” she replied. “But I’m glad to see you’re perking up.”

“You are, huh? But I still feel like shit.”

“Do you?” Sabina scrutinized her for a moment, then said, “You overheard, didn’t you?”

Kaname knew immediately what she was referring to: the conversation in the garden. Sabina must have noticed her presence at some point.

But Kaname admitted to it easily enough. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“You are aware, then, that I gave the order to kill the love of your life?”

“Yeah. And?” Kaname sniffed. “Besides, he’s not even the love of my life... and you’re in for a shock if you think you can kill him. Boy, what a bunch of self-involved bit-rate villain crap... ‘Ooh, I’m so sorry, I’m gonna kill someone you care about, look at me, I’m so cool.’ Sheesh, find a better cliche, at least.”

Sabina remained expressionless. “It’s almost time for dinner. Would you accompany me to the dining hall?”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Kaname said bluntly.

“But—”

“I’ll only eat Koshihikari rice grown in Uonuma with hikiwari natto, topped with some dried urume-iwashi. Go on.”

Sabina, who didn’t know much about Japanese eating customs, couldn’t even repeat the names of the ingredients back to her. She simply retreated to the house, leaving Kaname there in her underwear.

There really are still issues, too many to count. But they won’t necessarily go on forever.

For now, keep going forward, Kaname told herself. Forward. Forward...

●

The ambush hit Gavin Hunter, former head of the Hong Kong branch of Mithril intelligence, on the road sixty kilometers out of Cantwell. They’d beat a quick retreat from the machine’s assembly point in Anchorage, en route to a new factory they’d arranged in advance.

Dawn was breaking after a rainy night, and they were surrounded by conifers. Even in June, early mornings in Alaska remained cold, and the road they were on was generally free of traffic outside of the occasional late night convoy. The machine had been split between two trailers, and Hunter was dozing in the leading truck’s passenger seat.

And that was when the trap sprung.

A giant appeared in the middle of the road amidst a shower of blue sparks—it was an arm slave. But it wasn’t just the one—another had appeared behind their trucks, and a third atop a tall hill to the left about three hundred meters up. They were slender, with diamond-shaped heads; Codarl-types. Even if they’d had a tank company as an escort, it wouldn’t have been enough to mount a resistance.

The Codarl before them spread its arms, telling them to stop.

“Do it. Stop,” Hunter said to the driver, who was stunned by the ASes’ sudden appearance. The driver was an outsider, a local hire, so of course, he didn’t know about their cargo.

Once the two trailers had come to a stop, a voice emerged from the Codarl’s external speakers: “Shut down the engine and come out with your hands up. If you resist, we will shoot you.”

They did as they were told, and five or six men sprang from the brush on the side of the road. They grabbed Hunter and the others by the necks and lined them up next to the trailer. They were dressed in plain clothes but carried suppressor-armed submachine guns, and their movements were perfectly in sync. Their positioning was perfect; if they had to start shooting in the face of resistance, there would be no friendly fire. These men were obviously professionals.

The drivers were terrified. Hunter regretted dragging them into this, but this was also the reason he’d hired them. He didn’t want to put his skilled, experienced subordinates in the line of fire if he could help it—in other words, in his mind, hired drivers were more expendable.

In that case, why had he come himself? There were a few logical reasons: firstly, they might not even want to kill him, and if he was captured, he’d know how to escape. Secondly, even if he was killed, nobody would really be bothered by his loss; his relationship with his beloved wife in Hong Kong had deteriorated quickly after Mithril’s fall, and they were now separated. Well, forget that stuck-up ex-model, he’d told himself. The only reason she married a dumpy little man like me was to get herself a Grand Cinq ring.

But the main reason he’d come was because it was the only way to make sure the enemy bought their ruse.

“Gavin Hunter?” one of his assailants asked, keeping a gun carefully trained on him. Realizing there was no point in denying it, Hunter affirmed his identity, but their enemies remained cautious. “Your mother’s name and her birthday,” one of them demanded, apparently worried he might be a stand-in.

It took a little remembering—his mother had died twenty years ago—but he answered, “Debbie. June 4th.”

“All right. Now, I want to see your cargo,” their captor said. “Go unlock the truck.”

Hunter wasn’t sure whether to protest or not. Should he look slightly worried as he went? No, that would be an even greater cause for suspicion. After reconsidering, he calmly replied, “All right,” and began walking towards the back of the trailer with his hands up. Two of the armed men followed.

He knew that resistance would be pointless. These were well-trained fighters armed with automatic firearms, with three lambda driver-armed ASes standing watch. Everything Hunter could see suggested they were both talented and dedicated. Not even the operations division’s storied West Pacific Battle Group would be able to break out of a situation like this.

Hunter released the rear door’s padlock and turned the thick metal latch with a clack. Then he threw open the double doors to reveal the cargo inside: stacks of large cardboard boxes.

“Smoked salmon,” Hunter said. “I got a good price from a dealer. I was planning to carry it through Canada to Utah—” Ignoring his explanation, the men climbed into the trailer and began rummaging through the boxes. As he watched vacuum packs of smoked salmon spill out of the back of the truck, Hunter couldn’t help but crave a beer.

“Keep looking,” their captor demanded. After pushing aside a few more boxes, his subordinates eventually exposed part of a large machine, which was clad in curved armor plates. Anyone with military experience would recognize it immediately as being the head of a third-generation AS.

“More smoked salmon?” the man snickered and put a call into his digital transceiver. “Blue-1 here. Tango-1 located. Executing procedure alpha. Tango-4 is neutralized. Requesting orders...” after a moment had passed, he simply replied, “Blue-1, roger.”

The man finished his communique and ordered the other assailants to withdraw. Two large, ECS-equipped helicopters immediately appeared, hovering ten meters above, and dropped a set of sturdy-looking wire hooks. The men below quickly went about affixing the wires to the two trailers.

One other small helicopter was approaching over the treetops, an old-fashioned Gazelle. It flew in low, then touched down about thirty meters from the trailers, at which point a large man in civilian clothing got out. He removed his headset and tossed it into the seat, then approached swiftly. He had a military bearing, but the shadows from the trees made it hard to see his face. His coat flapped in the breeze, gray, to match his hair.

A member of the attack team ran up to the “gray man,” leaning in close to make sure his report could be heard over the helicopter’s roar. This man must be their commander.

The gray man responded with a clipped order before approaching Hunter slowly. He was close to 190 centimeters tall and looked to be around fifty years old, maybe older.

Hunter scrutinized the man questioningly as he stopped a few steps in front of him. He recognized the face. The face of the last man he expected to see here. “Impossible,” he spluttered. “You’re...”

“It’s not so surprising, in our line of work,” said the man—Andrey Kalinin—as Hunter looked on in shock.

“But...” Hunter wasn’t surprised by much in life, but he felt happy making an exception in this case. Mistaken identity? he wondered at first. But no, there stood the former operations commander of Mithril’s West Pacific Battle Group, the Russian Andrey Kalinin, who was dishing out orders to one of Amalgam’s squadrons.

Kalinin passed by Hunter to check the interior of the trailer. “This is the machine in question?”

Hunter made no reply.

“Building this won’t change anything, you know,” Kalinin told him gently. “You’ve wasted a lot of effort.”

Hunter found his fists clenching. “Mr. Kalinin, I never thought I’d hear those words from you,” he told the other man coldly. “I know we were never particularly close, and that we only ran a handful of missions together. But the man I pegged you for would never say something like that. Isn’t that why those brilliant young people put their trust in you?”

“Their trust was misplaced,” Kalinin said carelessly.

“Hundreds of your allies were killed! Doesn’t that matter to you?!” Hunter shouted.

But Kalinin didn’t even blink. He just gave a command to his nearby subordinate: “Withdraw.”

“Wait, Mr. Kalinin. Are you really—” Hunter tried to say more, but Kalinin just drew his pistol and fired. Hunter felt the impact in his gut, and then burning pain ran through his body. With a silent cry, he clasped his hands to the location of the awful sensation, and found them stained with blood. A memory of being stabbed during a fight as a poor boy growing up in Glasgow surfaced in his mind.

Hunter fell to his knees, then collapsed forward. All he could see in a corner of his darkening vision was the wet road and Kalinin’s leather shoes.

“A person can’t survive losing 35% of their blood,” Kalinin said. “At the rate you’re bleeding, you’ll need first aid within thirty minutes. The closest hospital is sixty-three kilometers away. We’re leaving soon, but it’s doubtful that a car will happen by, then be willing to pick you up, move at full speed, and make it in time. But I do have a medical kit in my helicopter that could save you.”

Hunter listened quietly.

“So tell me, Mr. Hunter. Who put together this machine, the ARX-8? Where are they now?”

Hunter spat at Kalinin’s shoe, saliva mixed with blood. It fell short of its goal. “Eat shit,” he said.

“I see,” Kalinin remarked, showing no sign of disappointment. “Then enjoy your last thirty minutes of life.” And with that, Andrey Kalinin walked away from the fallen Hunter. His subordinates began to withdraw as well, leaving behind the drivers, both of whom were kneeling in place.

The turboshaft engines of the helicopters above began to roar. Then they ascended, carrying the two trailers beneath them. After tilting for a minute to gather strength, they accelerated toward the sunrise. Kalinin’s small helicopter took off as well and was soon out of sight.

The three Codarls watched them go, then lowered the weapons they were holding, activated their ECSes, and also departed. The three machines vanished into blue sparks in the morning air.

“How could this have happened?” Hunter whispered, face to the ground, as silence returned. The drivers ran up to him, shouting in concern, but he couldn’t even hear them anymore.

Friends of the West Pacific Battle Group, he thought. You’re about to face something far more terrifying than lambda driver-mounted ASes...

●

They certainly know the fundamentals, was Sousuke’s evaluation of his combat opponents by the second day of the exercise. He was referring, naturally, to Lemon’s men.

They seemed to have all the necessities—route planning, camp building, river crossing, tracking—as well as live combat experience. Their problem was their inexperience in tropical environments. They’d drenched themselves in bug repellent to keep off mosquitoes and ants, but it would wash off in the periodic squalls and then show up in puddles. Such signs of artificial materials were rare in a tropical region like this, so even if they avoided leaving footprints and disturbing spider webs, their trails were as clear as day.

They seemed to have split up into two teams to pursue him, but they had strayed too far, given the local terrain. If one team ended up in combat, support would come too late. If he managed to clear up one group of four, he could easily set up a trap for the reinforcements.

Let’s see how they perform under stress, he decided.

Sousuke chose to attack at the time of day when their concentration would be at its nadir. They’d arrived at the base of a large tree where he’d intentionally left the remains of his meal, and just as their pointman was noticing this, he’d snuck up to the last man in line from their left flank. He wondered if he’d made the trap too obvious... but he still approached the last man in line, silently restrained him, and put a knife to his neck.

“You’re dead,” he whispered into his ear, and laid him down on the spot.

The remaining enemies shouldn’t be more than eight meters away, but the heavy brush kept them from sight. What came next would be the hard part.

Rather than moving straight forward, Sousuke had approached from their left flank. Since it was impossible to kill a trained opponent in perfect silence, the enemy would have sensed the “death.” They would now be on the alert, and calling to their allies.

With that in mind, he sheathed his knife and readied his submachine gun before charging at the enemy. Knocking aside a leaf the size of a sheet of tabloid paper, he sighted his opponent just a few steps ahead. The other man was pointing a gun back at him, but Sousuke shot first, and the sound rang out through the jungle. Paintballs ejected from the weak cartridge hit his opponent in the chest and the head. It still must have hurt, though, because his opponent let out a rather pathetic scream. “Oh... owie!”

“Lie down, dead man,” said Sousuke, immediately proceeding forward again. He could hear his remaining two enemies already opening fire in reaction to the gunshot and the scream. If these had been live rifle rounds, they might have pierced through the leaves, and Sousuke would be dead. Unfortunately, the paintballs didn’t have the power to do that. Furthermore, the opponent had weak footing, which slowed their movements. By contrast, Sousuke had spent most of last night walking around the area, familiarizing himself with the local terrain well enough to run it with his eyes shut.

Despite feeling a little like he’d cheated, he skillfully cleaned up the last two. This earned him understandable complaints from all four, but he told them to “play dead already,” and promptly embarked upon setting his trap.

Twenty minutes after the first gunshot, the other four man team arrived, guns blazing. Five minutes later, all four were “dead,” and Sousuke got a new round of complaints about unfairness.

Once the training was over, they all returned to the cabin, where Lemon and Courtney were playing chess in front of a fan and arguing.

“I told you, I’m not cheating!”

“Oh, you’re a fucking cheat! My pawn wasn’t there before! You moved it when I went to take a shit! Fucking cheater!”

“Listen,” Lemon said in an exasperated tone, “I have an IQ of 150 and I graduated from the Sorbonne. Someone as young and intelligent as me would never lose to an obstinate old man like you! Now, stop making accusations!”

“The mouth on you!” Courtney retorted. “My grandpappy died on Omaha Beach, saving you sissy Frenchies from fucking Hitler!”

“Hah! My ancestor died two hundred years ago delivering weapons to your sad little ancestors in the New World!”

“Liar! That’s a damned lie!”

“Then so is yours!”

“The hell you say?!” Courtney demanded. “Fine, I’ll prove it! I got a picture from those days back home in Arizona—you sit tight! I’ll go back and get it! Be back tomorrow!” Courtney stood up, appearing genuinely intent on traveling 2500 kilometers to Arizona. That’s when they noticed Sousuke and the others. “Hmm,” he said, quickly switching gears. “Whadda you assholes want?”

“We finished the exercise. He took us all out,” said the team leader, a warrant officer.

Courtney’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, it was really something. I like to think we know what we’re doing, but Sagara got us good.”

“Well, in a real fight I probably would’ve only gotten three of you. I’m still not at my best,” Sousuke said modestly, removing his belt kit and starting up maintenance on his magazines and transceiver.

“Very confident of you,” Lemon whispered as he watched Sousuke line up his equipment and check it over with practiced hands. “So you could have taken out all eight in a real fight if you were at your best?”

“Affirmative. I couldn’t fight Amalgam otherwise,” Sousuke responded casually enough.

“I wouldn’t doubt it. But you might not have time to get there.”

Sousuke looked back, questioning.

“Niquelo, right? That’s one of the places you named. That really helped us narrow things down. Here.” Lemon opened a laptop on the plain table, and pulled up a few images. They were satellite photos of a region of coastline near a small city called Niquelo, on the outskirts of Pochutla in the south of Mexico. It appeared to be completely uninhabited at first glance; the only thing there was a large mansion facing the sea.

“These were taken twenty hours ago,” Lemon told them. “I got them from hacking a NATO military satellite—sadly, not one with the best resolution.”

“Hmm. Well, aren’t you clever?” Courtney grumbled, peering at the screen from the side.

“I told you I was. It’s why I don’t need to cheat to beat you at chess.”

“Shut up! It’s not the same thing!”

Courtney was about to smack Lemon on the head, but Sousuke interrupted to ask, “So, what’s that building?”

“It belongs to Mendoza—a wealthy Mexican IT entrepreneur frequently featured in the Wall Street Journal—but he hardly ever uses it. This chart shows how the money flows around it: here’s last year’s numbers... deposits and withdrawals from contractors, agents, bank transfers...” Lemon proceeded to embark upon a highly detailed explanation of the various spreadsheets. Sousuke didn’t know much about the financial or legal concepts he was explaining, so it went in one ear and out the other.

“So?” everyone besides Lemon, none of whom knew anything about money either, said in unison.

Lemon, knocked out of his smug explanation, replied in despondency, “So... in practice, the estate is actually being used by some unknown entity.”

“You think it’s connected to Amalgam?”

“It’s being looked after in a very similar manner to that ‘VIP box’ building on the outskirts of Namsac. I could say with 90% certainty that it’s them.”

“Could be a gang or a drug cartel,” Sousuke pointed out.

“It isn’t. Security’s too tight for a gang. Let me blow up the satellite photo.” Lemon zoomed in to a high enough resolution that they could see blurry figures walking along the estate’s garden path. Everyone nodded in agreement this time.

“I see. That’s very serious,” Sousuke agreed. There seemed to be at least sixteen soldiers on foot, patrolling the grounds with automatic rifles. There were also several large men who appeared empty-handed, and four light armored cars equipped with heavy machine gun turrets.

“When was this taken?”

“Just past 1700 hours. There might be more at night—maybe a whole platoon. I think we could take them if we’re clever, though.”

“I disagree,” Sousuke put in. “You see those large men in trench coats standing guard here and there? Those aren’t people. They’re miniature autonomous ASes.”

“Those ‘Alastor’ robots you mentioned, huh?” said Lemon. Sousuke had told him and the others in detail about Amalgam’s equipment—and his experience fighting them—during his time in the camp. The only thing he hadn’t told them about was Kaname.

“You need specialized bullets or rounds greater than .50-caliber to beat them,” said Sousuke. “And even if you do, they might self-destruct and release ball bearings. They gave my unit a lot of trouble in the past.”

“Hmm... But that confirms it’s an Amalgam facility, right?”

“Affirmative. And there’s another issue.” Sousuke indicated a few locations on the satellite photo. “I see six containers scattered around the grounds. They look like storage units, but they’re actually camouflaged AS hangars.”

“What’d you say?”

“Sagara’s right.” Courtney nodded. “I saw ’em at a weapons show in Nevada. They open up on top.”

“That’s correct, Colonel,” Sousuke agreed. “Given the need for equipment and ammunition storage, there’s probably one AS for every two containers. In other words, three of them.”

“Hmm...” Lemon scratched his temple. “What’s the model? Savages?”

“If this is an important Amalgam facility? It’s likely to be Codarl-types.”

“The ones with lambda drivers?”

“I doubt we can fight them,” Sousuke decided. “Even multiple M9s with skilled operators have struggled to take out a single one... And even that tends to come with casualties.”

A heavy silence fell across the room.

“Boy,” said Courtney. “And we need to fight three of the damned things.”

“It wouldn’t be hard to beat them, if I had him...”

“‘Him’?”

“Al,” Sousuke clarified. “Mithril’s only lambda driver-equipped AS.”

“The ARX-7, right? Al the First?” Lemon’s eyes narrowed. He must have been thinking back on the white Savage, Al II, who’d been destroyed back in Namsac.

Now that his strength had returned and he could think more clearly, Sousuke felt even more sure that the Arbalest was the reason he’d been attacked on Hiva Oa Island. It had been damaged beyond repair back in Tokyo, but there was a chance that the lambda driver system—the core unit that included its AI—had survived, and if so, Sousuke was the only person in the world who could activate it. That was the only reason he could think of that an organization like Amalgam would go out of their way to put down a stray dog like him.

The revenge idea didn’t add up. To be sure, he’d killed his share of Amalgam executives—Gauron and Kurama for starters—but it wouldn’t be worth risking the ire of the DGSE with such a frankly slapdash attack.

There might be other reasons, as well. Maybe they didn’t want him giving information to Lemon and the others, or there was a crossed signal in the chain of command, or Leonard Testarossa did it on a whim, or the families of Kurama and Gauron demanded it... Or it could be something more complicated, incorporating several of these reasons at once. There was no end to the speculations he could mount, but his connection to Al remained the most logical idea out of all of them.

“Well, regardless, what’s gone is gone... Let’s think up a more practical plan,” Sousuke said, shaking off his thoughts.

Lemon sighed. “I can’t think of how to mount an effective attack with what we have on hand, let alone capture an executive or a VIP like you’re talking about. The subordinates I’ve brought here are important to me, and I’m not going to send them on a suicide mission.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Sousuke agreed. “I plan to do this all by myself.”

“This again? Enough with the lone wolf act already!” Lemon shouted.

Colonel Courtney scowled. “Listen to you two,” he interrupted. “Going at each other like a bunch clucking hens...”

“We are not—”

“Shut up, cheater!”

“You—”

“Let me get this straight,” Courtney put in. “You just need to stop those fucking lamb-whatever ASes, right?”

“And I’m telling you, it’s not possible!”

“Hah! No matter how great the machine, it means jack fucking shit without an operator, right? Run an AS ambush and fuck ’em up with 40mm rounds before they even get moving,” Courtney proclaimed with a curious confidence.

“An AS ambush, huh?” Lemon mused thoughtfully. “But I don’t have any organizational support at the moment. I couldn’t even commission one standard AS.”

“But one is all he needs, right?”

“Yes. But it needs to be a proper AS, not some scrap heap you’d find running around Namsac or the South American countryside.”

“All right. Sergeant, what’s your read?” Courtney asked, turning to Sousuke.

“To run an AS ambush, I’d at least need a second-generation model, quiet-running and agile,” Sousuke replied. “It would need to have a fire control and communications system at least on par with what’s on the battlefields right now. The Savage might be the easiest model to get, but it wouldn’t have the needed specs.”

The man had asked, so he’d answered, but he knew there was no way to get that kind of an AS in their current situation. He might have to infiltrate on foot from the ocean, and plant C4 on the Codarls. It would be exceedingly difficult, and their chances of success were low, but...

But Courtney just nodded. “Gotcha. I think I can make that happen.”

Sousuke tilted his head curiously.

Just then, they heard a strange sound in the distance: a muffled engine noise, the sound of irregular chopping through the air. It was an aircraft—a helicopter—and it was nearing the camp.

“Perfect timing,” Courtney said, with the others watching him dubiously. Then he led them out of their spartan barracks. The helicopter’s noise continued to grow louder, until a powerful wind began to bend the trees around the camp.

“Courtney-san. What in the world are you—”

“Just look,” Courtney ordered.

The jungle around the camp and the trees to the south were swaying hard in the powerful wind. Foliage swept into the sky above as a large helicopter appeared over the treeline.

It was a boxy machine, painted gray, resembling a modified CH-53. It was a transport helicopter from one generation prior to the MH-67 Pave Mares that Sousuke and the others used. Beneath that large helicopter dangled an arm slave with a stocky silhouette. Thick, sturdy limbs and dark gray armor... It looked like a stubby-legged man in a down jacket.

It was an M6 Bushnell—specifically a Dark Bushnell, the latest A3 model, specialized for spec ops. It wasn’t as good as its descendant, the M9, but it was extremely agile, and it had a generator that could run extremely quietly for short periods of time.

It would have been difficult enough to get the original version of the machine. To get a specialized version like this...

“Hah, it was easy,” Courtney boasted as Lemon stared in disbelief.

“Wait,” said Lemon incredulously. “Were you really going to go back to Arizona when you had something like this on the way?!”

“Who said I was going back to Arizona?” replied Courtney.

A figure leaned out of the helicopter hatch and waved at them. This was another old man, Colonel Roy Sears, an old friend of Courtney’s who had also been at the dinner where he’d met Sousuke. He had apparently once been a big name in the Navy SEALs, and was still a man of considerable influence, but Sousuke mainly remembered his quiet attempts to hit on Tessa.

The helicopter dropped the AS and landed. Sears ran straight toward them, completely ignoring Sousuke, Lemon, and the others as he craned his neck all around the camp, and then shouted at Courtney, “I forged all the documentation and brought it right in! Now, where’s Tessa?!”

“She’s not here,” Courtney told him calmly.

Sears toppled, mid-goggle. “What?! You said she’d be here! You said if I brought the M6A3, she’d give me a little TLC in a classic Nightingale nurse outfit!”

“Sorry,” Courtney admitted. “I lied.”

●

The main topics of the online conference were adjustments to the military and economic balance in the Middle East, Central Asia, and the Far East. Most parties wanted to maintain the current situation in the Middle East, while agreeing to more terrorist incidents over the allocation of mining resources in Central Asia. They also wanted to maintain current tensions in the Far East, in combination with an increase in each individual country’s military spending.

Figures were given about estimated damage costs and the human casualties of each plan, paired with a report about the long-term advantages they would offer. Each man looked these reports over, and showed aggressive or passive approval as suited his objectives.

The world was already conquered.

Most people didn’t realize this. There was no need for them to know, of course; their organization efficiently used funds, technology, and violence to make sure power was distributed in ways that satisfied most.

The world was already conquered.

There was no need for them to monopolize the wealth. Carnivores in the Savannah couldn’t eat the grass, and herbivores couldn’t grow too rare or too plentiful. What was needed was balance.

The world was already conquered.

This flow they’d set in motion couldn’t be changed, not even by them. No one could even see the entire river; they just had to avoid rocking the boat... and always, always read the flow.

Ah, such nonsense.

The world was already—

“Mr. Silver, are you listening?” one of the executives said to Leonard, irritation in his voice, as the conference neared its end.

Of course, he’d been listening, but he paused before responding as if he hadn’t. “What is it?”

“About the project. Given the scale of the issue at hand, we’ll be requiring the cooperation of everyone involved.” Mr. Gold was the one prompting him. The rule was that they never use each other’s names, but Leonard knew this particular man’s name, as well as his country of origin.

“You’re absolutely correct,” Leonard answered. “I came here to offer all the information in my power to disclose, of course.”

“Then how long do you intend to leave the girl on her own?” Mr. Gold demanded. “You think you can just tell us she’s ‘under investigation’ yet again, and expect us to accept that?”

“I beg your forgiveness. It’s just, I feel there may be elements that our... previous approach has failed to uncover.”

“More of your ‘organic farming’ theory?” Gold said sarcastically.

Several of the other men laughed, but Leonard just smiled calmly through it.

“We want new black technology, as well. Not abstract concepts like the omnisphere. Real results,” Gold pressed him.

“I’m sure you do,” Leonard responded. “But I’ve given you plenty of real results, haven’t I?”

“I suppose.” Gold, speaking on a voice-only channel, let out a sniff. Then, as if changing the subject, he said, “I also have some information. I can’t be certain, but I think some organization may have tracked your girlfriend’s location. It may not be safe for much longer.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it,” said Leonard. “I’ll need to increase security.” Of course, he was lying; he knew that someone—someone who knew the system well—had hacked into a NATO military satellite from within, and taken shots of the Niquelo estate in the highest resolution available. They’d investigated his money laundering, too. He didn’t know who’d done it, only that they were a first-rate hacker. He knew that it was someone involved with France’s DGSE, too, but he hadn’t tracked them down just yet.

But that wasn’t all. There was another “someone” watching this all go down online and stealing all the acquired data right off the hacker’s plate. This second one wasn’t human; it was a massive and brilliant artificial intelligence. It had to be the submarine’s computer, Dana, who likely didn’t know the identity or whereabouts of the original hacker. Nevertheless, she had surely gotten what they needed. Gold was right; the estate was no longer safe.

Mr. Gold spoke up again. “We’ll gladly augment your security. We already have three 1502s and three 1059s en route.”

“I appreciate it,” said Leonard. “They did so well at Merida Island, after all.” Several men laughed at his sarcasm. But inside, Leonard was thinking, He’s finally making his move. How annoying, and clicked his tongue inaudibly.

The online conference covered a few more topics before coming to a close. Afterwards, Leonard left the conference room, which had been set up in the estate’s basement. Once outside, he found Sabina Rechnio, his Polish subordinate, waiting for him.

“They’ve brought the machine in question,” she told him.

“The ARX-8, was it?”

“Yes. Mr. Kalium is with it.”

“Kalinin, eh? Let’s go,” Leonard decided, emerging from the basement and passing through the estate’s corridors. He arrived at the heliport and saw a pallet of AS parts beside it, in front of which stood Andrey Kalinin. The man was dressed lightly in an undershirt, but a gray coat hung over his right arm. He must have come here straight from Alaska.

“Any thoughts about your first mission?” Leonard asked Kalinin.

“Not especially,” said Kalinin, entirely unruffled. “Would you like to see the machine?”

“Hmm... I believe I would.”

A waterproof tarp obscured the huge pallet’s contents, and it took several men working together to reveal the AS beneath. There’d been a few slight alterations to the armor and other minor features, but otherwise it had few differences from Mithril’s third-generation AS, the M9 Gernsback.

How unimaginative.

“This is their trump card?” Leonard asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Kalinin responded without expression. “It looks different from the Arbalest because they recycled parts from the prototype XM9. But overall, it’s most like an M9 E-series.” He paused. “Do you wish to see the lambda driver’s core unit?”

“Yes, let’s have a look.”

Kalinin nodded, cueing nearby subordinates with a glance. The armor on the back was opened up, and several men worked together to remove the hip armor and expose the AS’s internal systems. Just below the cockpit, in the place where you’d find the generator and electronic warfare systems in an M9, sat a unit about the size of a refrigerator.

Leonard swiftly climbed the AS’s frame, opening the unit to gaze inside. There was a reinforced glass cylinder, held in place with shock absorbers, filled with a fluid that shone with the metallic luster of structural coloration.

This cylinder was the core circuit of the lambda driver. When turned on, this “fluid logic element” would activate and emit a rainbow light like a DVD. Such devices could be found in their Codarls and Behemoths too, but this liquid processor had many times the capacity of Amalgam’s version.

“Are you certain this is it?” Kalinin asked.

Leonard placed a hand on the surface of the cylinder and considered. The main circuit, the shock absorber system, the cooling unit, the fiber-optic cables coming out of both sides... It all seemed completely as expected.

But... No. Why should he care? Even giving it this much consideration meant wasting valuable brain cells on that man and his machine. The face of Bani Morauta flashed for a moment in his mind, and Leonard smiled self-reproachingly. “It is,” he finally affirmed. “Now, destroy it.”

“Yes, sir,” Kalinin responded, and gave the order to his subordinates. It took about half an hour, but they eventually disconnected the stolen machine’s power source, torched off the hip and shoulder joints, and dumped it all in a corner of the grounds. In a car, this would be akin to having severed the chassis and removing the engine.

Then they removed the cylindrical unit from the machine and smashed it in front of everyone. Fluid came spilling out, and the remains of the machine’s “soul” were swiftly washed away with a bucket and a mop.

While they worked, Kalinin glanced up at the third-floor window of the estate. He’d expected to see her here, but... the girl, Chidori Kaname, was indeed there behind the glass, white as a sheet. She was watching the arm slave being dissected... and also watching Kalinin, the man supervising the operation. He couldn’t see her clearly from this distance, but the moment their eyes met, she withdrew into her room.

Clouds hung in the southwestern sky, and thunder rolled in the distance. A storm is coming... With that sense of foreboding rising inside him, Kalinin turned his thoughts to the upcoming fight.

●

The low pressure system shook the transport plane mercilessly; up and down, left and right. How long will this go on? Sousuke wondered. He thought he’d gotten used to this kind of awful weather, but couldn’t keep his stomach from lurching.

The passengers moaned like dying men each time they opened their mouths. A crew member in the cargo bay, clearly holding back a desire to puke, screamed as hard as he could into his headset. “One minute!!”

The landing point was approaching.

Sousuke manipulated the control sticks in the cockpit and ran his final checks. No issue with the parachutes. Fire control? Check. Communications? Check. Navigation? Check. Movement control? Check. All systems green. Time to go, then...

The large cargo hatch at the back of the transport began to open slowly, and a raging wind roared into the hangar. The M6A3 Dark Bushnell, which was mounted on the launch rail, activated its generator and steadied itself for the difficult battle to come.

Sousuke took a deep breath and addressed the transport’s crew. “Uruz-7 here,” he said tersely. “Ready to descend to mission site. Thanks for seeing me off. This is call sign Uruz-7... Ready to begin descent.”

“Roger!” the captain called over his radio. “Good luck to you, Uruz-7!” Sparks flew. The rail locks released, and then Sousuke’s M6 was thrown free into the sky.