VII Battle Spirit
For the first time in a long while, he had the chance to speak with someone from home. But he did not use Japanese. He was angry that he could not convey his thoughts, frustrated that he could no longer express his feelings in his mother tongue. He had forgotten the language of home.
THIRTY-THREE YEARS have passed since unknown alien life-forms opened a hyperspace corridor between Earth and the planet Faery in an attempted invasion of our planet. We still know nothing about them. We don’t even know whether they were the ones who actually created the Passageway. Five years ago, I collected data on how every nation perceived this war and compiled it into a book that was published under the title The Invader.
I was only four years old when the JAM launched their preemptive strike. I remember what the adults, my mother and father, said back then as though it were yesterday.
“It looks like-----happened in-----. The president is sending the-----to-----.” I listened to them in wonder. To this day, I can clearly remember those blank spaces in the conversation, those words that, limited by my child’s vocabulary, I didn’t understand. And at the time, I wondered if I would understand them when I grew up.
As an adult, although I may experience blanks in a conversation, I don’t notice them. I automatically compensate for them by my understanding of the context in which they appear, and the meaning of the sentences flows unhindered. It’s similar to the way that our sight works. We perceive things in our vision as a continuous flow of images, when in reality there are blank spaces in our visual input. However, our brains automatically fill in those gaps, so we don’t notice them.
It’s easier for humans to process things as analog data. We need continuity, the illusion that what we say, see, and think presents an organic whole. In other words, we function in the opposite manner of a digital construct, where data is quantified, discreet, and determinate. The digital world seems to run counter to the very essence of our humanity. Our language as well. Our civilization itself. So what, exactly, are we doing turning over more and more of our existence to computers?
It was the JAM who raised these doubts in me. They are aliens. But to me, they seemed almost more like evil gods, a presence that held up a dark mirror to the meaning of human existence. That was the basis upon which I wrote The Invader.
Most citizens of Earth do not share my view. And that in itself points to the heart of the issue: the very concept of “citizens of Earth” is nonsense in light of the current international situation. There may be humans on Earth, but nowhere is there any group of individuals who regard themselves as inhabitants of Earth first and of their nations second. I think this a foolish and dangerous mindset, but when I say this to others they tell me that I am naïve.
I once told a scientist of my idea that humans lead an analog existence. He laughed and explained to me that our world—that the entire universe—is essentially digital. Objects, atoms, and even time itself are quantum in nature, and nothing works in a completely analog way. Everything from the subatomic world on up is digital. But humans exist on a macroscopic, not a microscopic, scale, I told him. He replied that if I insisted on clinging to that concept, then I could never understand what he was saying.
And so I asked him this in return: Are humans becoming more like machines, and in particular, more like our computers? Are we headed in the direction of digitalization? Yes, that may be, he answered, with an air of possessing some type of mysterious knowledge that I did not.
I became so intrigued by this notion that I began collecting data on the JAM and on the soldiers of the Faery Air Force who battle them on the front lines. Apparently the soldiers are beginning to have doubts about the still-unknown aliens and the war they are fighting with them.
One item in particular that caught my attention was a letter from a major in the Special Air Force. The SAF is the air force’s tactical combat reconnaissance unit, an elite group of highly skilled pilots tasked with a difficult mission. In the letter, Major James Booker speaks with unusual candor.
The JAM are not fighting humans. They’re after our machines. And our machines seem to have acknowledged the JAM as their enemies and are at war with them. So where does that leave us humans? The JAM aren’t fighting to conquer humanity. They’re fighting to control the digital, non-corporeal intelligences of Earth. You think this is absurd? You probably don’t understand. You, who live on Earth, where the JAM have become a fairy tale. Where they fade in significance compared to global competition. Where humans kill each other.
Major Booker’s words are correct. Setting aside the parts where he says the JAM disregard humanity and that humans have forgotten the JAM threat, he is entirely right.
In the first year or two following the JAM assault, we were nervous. But when we learned that we were only slightly behind them in combat ability, when we established Faery Base on their planet, expanded our presence by constructing the six principal bases and founded the Faery Air Force, there was no longer any need to fear them as a threat to Earth. It’s the same way that one forgets the heat of a burn once it’s healed. The problem is, the heat remains. Just because you can’t feel it anymore doesn’t mean the danger has vanished.
That was the point I was trying to make in The Invader. But people read it as though it were fiction. They bought the book and I became famous. My husband and I separated because he found he was no longer married to his wife, but to the public figure “Lynn Jackson.” We had no children. If we had, well… perhaps I might have written a different, more serious book.
Major Booker ended his letter in this manner.
You need to write a sequel to The Invader. The world needs to know what’s happening now here on Faery. But it may already be too late. Despite all your efforts, the message may not get through to people on Earth. The people who watch footage of actual combat on Faery act like it’s a war movie… One day they may be destroyed by the reality. Regardless, the soldiers of Boomerang Squadron still have to fly their missions. All I can do is pray that they come home alive. So what can you do?
In writing the letter he was trying to convey to me the fear that he felt. His rage, his resentment, his sorrow over the meaningless loss of the soldiers under his command. And he was also asking, “What about you? Do you have someone you care for? A lover? A spouse? A child?” Because the soldiers of his squadron have none of these. Even if the Earth were to vanish tomorrow, they wouldn’t shed a single tear. And that is wrong. They’re becoming machines. Humans need to be human. A soldier in that squadron feels that as he fights the JAM, he’s gradually becoming more and more machinelike. To convince himself that their battle isn’t meaningless, he must believe that he is as much the enemy of the JAM as the computers are. The JAM are dehumanizing humanity.
War will normally bring out the true nature of man. But the war with the JAM is different, Major Booker wrote. This war is not bringing out the basic nature of mankind: it is destroying it. Whatever the JAM’s true objective is, whether or not they pose an immediate physical threat to Earth, that danger has not gone away.
I am not confident I can live up to the major’s expectations. Even so, I think I have to write this book. That soldiers are dying on Faery is a fact. If I pray for anything, it is that their deaths are not in vain.
They are dying to protect the Earth, and what do we do? We forbid them to become self-sufficient. We keep them from becoming independent. Over half the individuals we send to replenish their forces are the stigmatized trash of every nation. It’s ridiculous enough to drive one to tears.
As I write this, I am cruising the freezing waters of the Antarctic Ocean, roughly four hundred kilometers from Scott and McMurdo Bases, and a thousand kilometers from where the Passageway stretches into the sky from the Ross Ice Shelf. The ship I’m aboard is a Japanese Navy attack aircraft carrier with the task force designation Admiral 56.
This carrier is assigned to the United Nations force that patrols the area around the Passageway for any JAM or FAF units that may attempt entry from Faery. Interdiction against the JAM I can understand, but the puzzling part is the FAF. The Earth Defense Force has devised plans to defend against the FAF even though it is part of the very same organization under U.N. command. It is behaving as though the FAF, and not the JAM, were the invaders.
However, the Earth forces normally don’t take such an aggressive stance. Admiral 56 and its group were deployed in response to an unusual dispatch from the FAF.
In preparation for future operations we are sending over a Sylphid fighter in order to test the Phoenix Mk-XI engines and flight control systems in Earth’s atmosphere. We will be conducting analyses to measure their degree of efficiency in alternate conditions. The test plane will be from the Special Air Force 5th Squadron. The pilot will be Lieutenant Rei Fukai. Systems will be monitored by flight officer Major James Booker. The time and date will be…
Since this announcement caused quite a furor on Earth, even I soon learned of it.
Major Booker, I used every professional source and personal contact I had to secure permission to be aboard this carrier and cover the story.
It’s summer in the Antarctic. The skies are very clear. Here on the bridge, Rear Admiral Nagumo is holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes. “Ahead full,” he says.
“Ahead full, aye, sir,” calls back the first officer.
Admiral 56 steams ahead under full power to greet Yukikaze.
An AWACS plane is already in the air. The captain has just issued orders to launch interceptors.
YUKIKAZE TOOK OFF from Faery Base. She was fitted with new Phoenix Mk-XI engines; they were somewhat smaller and lighter than the Phoenix Mk-Xs but had greater output.
“It’s hard to believe this is the first time I’ve ever flown with you,” Major Booker said.
“Uh-huh. Don’t pass out on me, old man,” Rei replied.
Engine control systems, normal. Fuel flow rate, check. Fuel transfer system, normal.
“I’m not that old,” the major protested. “I can handle it. I’m still an active-duty pilot, Rei.”
“This isn’t like the fighters you used to fly.”
Yukikaze accelerated, heading in the direction opposite to that of her normal duties, toward the Passageway that would allow them to transit directly to Earth.
In the rear seat, Major Booker struggled to breathe in a regular manner, afflicted by the high Gs they were pulling. He wondered if Rei always flew under this kind of physical stress and renewed his appreciation for just how exhausting being a combat pilot was.
“Thirty seconds to airspace entry,” said Rei.
The target designator appeared on the HUD. They were rapidly approaching the enormous ash-gray column of mist that towered over Faery’s forests. Numbers in the lower righthand corner of the HUD scrolled down, marking their time to contact.
“Let’s go, Jack. Time to pop our cherries. We’re taking a dive to Earth.”
Suddenly, the deedle deedle deedle of the radar warning receiver chimed in the cockpit. Booker started. An enemy symbol appeared on the RWR display.
“A JAM fighter! Where’d he come from? Closing fast.”
“Calm down, Jack.”
The wall of mist around the Passageway’s airspace was now filling the view ahead of them. They were past the point of no return. The numbers on the HUD were reaching the end of the countdown…1…0. The dive-in cue appeared.
Yukikaze shuddered. They were wrapped in ashen darkness. Their radar was non-functional, as were the radar altimeter and external comm equipment. An alarm shrieked, as though Yukikaze were screaming that she’d lost sight of the enemy, and a caution alert blinked on the HUD, warning that their current position was unknown.
Less than two seconds after entering the hyperspace corridor, they emerged on the Earth side. They were flying supersonic, the enormous pillar of mist quickly receding behind them into the distance. Yukikaze’s engine control system immediately measured the ambient atmospheric conditions using a score of sensors, and then began making adjustments to optimize the engines’ operation. The avionics control and barometric altimeter automatically reset to Earth mode. Rei had no time to check the operation of these new systems; he had to trust that they were working correctly.
Master arm switch to ARM. FCS, activated. RDY GUN, RDY AAM-6.
“Where’s the JAM, Jack?”
“Right below us.”
Just as Rei sent Yukikaze into a descending roll the JAM initiated an explosive high-G acceleration burst, separating from Yukikaze like a rocket. Rei immediately launched two high-velocity short-range missiles after it. The enemy responded by launching infrared seeker missiles to neutralize them.
The JAM aircraft was a bit larger and more powerful than Yukikaze. Rei advanced the throttle against its limit and tore after the JAM at maximum power. It dropped its external power boosters and fled.
“What the—? What is it doing?”
“It’s after Admiral 56,” Booker said, his voice tight. “It’s trying to get in range to launch an anti-ship missile. The JAM are trying to completely isolate the FAF from Earth. If they sink Admiral 56, the EDF will blame us. Rei, we have to shoot it down, no matter what.”
“We don’t have enough fuel. We won’t be able to get back.”
“It doesn’t matter. Lieutenant, this is an order. Take that thing out!”
“Understood.”
THE EDF TASK force’s AWACS plane confirmed Yukikaze’s exit from the hyperspace corridor. But within seconds, the symbol being tracked on the radar screen split into two. Yukikaze was operating an Earth-use IFF transponder, but the other blip was negative on the IFF. An unknown. The radar operator hesitated, unsure what to do.
Just then, a message came in from Yukikaze, broadcast on the international emergency frequency: “Unknown aircraft is a JAM.”
The operator, confronted with a JAM threat for the first time, panicked. “Shoot it down!” the young man shouted. “It’s the FAF!”
The captain of Admiral 56 did not panic. He gave the order to launch interceptors and then murmured to himself “Goddamn FAF, bringing the JAM here with them…”
Admiral 56’s eight interceptors acquired the JAM and immediately moved to engage it. However, they had never faced one of the alien fighters before. The JAM simply flew into their attack without trying to evade, as if it were sneering at them. It launched eight missiles. Admiral 56’s interceptors were destroyed within seconds. With the obstacles eliminated, the alien craft resumed its flight toward its target.
The ship’s captain couldn’t believe what was happening. That’s what the JAM are capable of?! he thought in consternation. An alarm sounded from the CIC, warning that the JAM fighter was closing.
“Ready point-defense weapon system. Ready antiaircraft defenses. Hard to port.”
“Hard to port, aye, sir.”
Admiral 56 began to swing to the left.
Rear Admiral Nagumo was about to give the order to launch all remaining interceptors, but it was already too late.
However, the interceptor squadron deaths hadn’t been in vain. While the JAM was engaging the ship’s fighters, Yukikaze had closed the distance between them. The alien aircraft skimmed the ocean’s surface, seeming to slice it in two with its shock wave, on a straight-line course for Admiral 56.
“Target acquired,” called out Major Booker. “Range six-seven, crossing in front of us. We’re only gonna get one chance at this. Don’t miss.”
“Miss or not, this isn’t my duty. The EDF guys should be shooting down any JAM that make it to Earth.”
Flying on the deck, Yukikaze initiated a ninety-degree beam attack sequence. Arcing up into a power climb, she fired four high-velocity missiles simultaneously and then went into a high-G turn, breaking away at maximum power. Major Booker blacked out momentarily, in G-induced loss of consciousness.
The JAM aircraft was shot down three seconds from impact with Admiral 56. There was a flash, followed by a large explosion. Sixty kilometers away, the carrier was rocked by the shock wave but otherwise unharmed. The crew rushed to begin the nuclear decontamination procedure, washing the ship down with large quantities of seawater.
“Looks like it wasn’t carrying a nuke, thank god. Had me in a cold sweat there for a sec.”
“Jack, we’re almost bingo on fuel. It’s not like we can call for a tanker. And don’t tell me you expect me to ditch.”
“Don’t worry, we’ve got a place to land,” Booker said. “A place with plenty of fuel.”
“On the carrier? No way. You think they’d roll out the red carpet for us?”
“I’m not expecting them to, but they can’t refuse a request from the FAF. They’re obliged to obey international Earth Defense law. I’m contacting them now.”
Aboard the ship, Admiral Nagumo listened to Yukikaze’s request for fuel with a surge of irritation. The fighter’s crew had some balls to make that request right after they’d drawn a JAM to his ship. True, they’d shot the thing down, but it was their duty to do so. And thanks to them, he’d lost eight planes, which would be a major blot on his service record.
“You’re going to give them clearance to land, right, Admiral?” He looked down to see the journalist Lynn Jackson standing right next to him. “If I’m not mistaken, you have to grant any reasonable requests from the FAF. And I’d like to meet them—to meet Major Booker, I mean.”
I knew this woman was going to be trouble when I took her aboard, the admiral thought. As long as she was here, he’d have to watch how he handled himself.
“Grant them landing clearance,” he ordered.
Two fighters were launched to guide Yukikaze in. Or, more accurately, to keep an eye on her.
Admiral 56 came into Yukikaze’s visual range. The two planes from the ship closed in, settling high and to the rear.
“Their landing guidance system is different from what we use,” Booker observed. “Sure you can do it?”
“I can handle it. I’m an active-duty pilot, Jack.”
Booker smiled and shook his head. “Brat.”
Rei switched Yukikaze’s downlook radar to sea mode and jacked up the output to full power, scrambling Admiral 56’s guidance beam. The high output goofed the ship’s radar, filling the display screens with snow and cutting off communication with the chase planes.
Admiral Nagumo glanced around at all the operations specialists frantically trying to restore their systems and exhaled heavily, willing himself to stay calm. “What is that thing? That’s a mainline FAF fighter? It’s like—”
“That’s a Sylphid, Admiral. A Super Sylph. I doubt there are any weapons on Earth that could fight her. That alone should tell us, sir, how formidable an enemy the JAM are. They’re not just phantoms…”
Yukikaze passed through Admiral 56’s airspace at supersonic speed. The chase planes couldn’t keep up with her. She turned, unloading Gs, and overflew Admiral 56’s landing deck at a lower airspeed. She turned once again, banking into her final approach. Landing gear, down and locked. Flaps, down. Arresting hook, down.
Rei guided Yukikaze in on manual approach. I won’t let you land without me, he thought with a hint of amusement. These aren’t Faery skies.
Auto-throttle, off. Anti-skid brake controller, off. Speed brake, extended.
“I’m bringing her down.”
The landing signal officer aboard Admiral 56 kept his eyes glued to this strange plane that had never before been seen on Earth. She was a monstrous bird, the size of a fighter-bomber, but she held level easily and landed in an almost delicate manner. She increased her engine output to vent, then throttled back through idle to cutoff.
The canopy rose, revealing two figures in black helmet visors and masks.
They look like spacemen, thought Admiral Nagumo.
Checking to see that everything she’d need for an interview was stowed in her favorite shoulder bag, Lynn Jackson hurried down from the bridge.
I WATCH THEM hauling Yukikaze with a spotting dolly toward the fueling station on the flight deck, the operation carefully supervised by six aircraft directors. The fuels personnel look up at Yukikaze wordlessly. Not long ago had been the first time any of them had witnessed an FAF plane battle a JAM. Now this is their first time seeing a Super Sylph, the FAF’s mightiest fighter, in real life.
On the outward-facing surfaces of its twin vertical stabilizers is a boomerang insignia, the blades as sharp as a grim reaper’s scythe. On the interior-facing surfaces is a depiction of a voluptuous, winged fairy, a creature of a far sexier sort than Tinkerbell but painted in curiously neutral colors. Beneath the cockpit canopy sill are small, white Japanese characters that spell out the plane’s name: Yukikaze. Following the characters is the stenciled information of the pilot’s name and the unit the plane is attached to. And that’s all. Recently, FAF planes have stopped carrying the FAF insignia. Visual identification is enabled by electroluminescent lights, while all other identification is handled by electronic systems. The fighter bears no insignia of any nation of Earth. It’s impossible to tell by sight if it is friend or foe. The implicit message is that everything outside of the FAF is an enemy.
As I approach Yukikaze I am stopped by a safety control officer. I ask him to tell Major Booker that I’m here. He refuses. I raise my arm and wave broadly at Yukikaze. The major recognizes me. He must know what I look like or else has deduced who I am; in my fur coat I must stand out in the swarm of colorful uniform shirts. Slipping off his oxygen mask and raising his helmet visor, he climbs down Yukikaze’s ladder and steps onto the flight deck. The pilot stays in the cockpit, presumably to see to the plane, but I catch a glance of an air force-issue automatic pistol in his hand: he’s protecting the safety of his plane and of the major.
The soldiers of Boomerang Squadron trust only each other and their planes. If they didn’t, they couldn’t survive on Faery.
“You’re Lynn Jackson?” says Major Booker, propping his helmet under his arm. “Why’re you here?”
“I came to gather material on Earth’s response to the FAF’s message,” I reply. “But I never dreamed I’d get to see you here. Or that I would witness a battle with the JAM. It’s an honor to meet you.”
I offer him my hand. It’s enveloped by his large, strong one.
“The JAM are tough. That one got through by sticking to Yukikaze’s belly like a remora. Never expected it. I’m Major Booker, by the way.”
“Yes, I know. I received your letter.”
“So it did get through to you. Didn’t think you’d read it… Anyway, there’s no place to get coffee around here, is there?”
“I’m afraid not. I doubt they’d let you into the ship.”
“Huh. We’re ghosts here. Yukikaze, too.”
Major Booker regards me with a bit of awkwardness and embarrassment. He speaks with a slight British accent, but the language is that of the FAF. It’s essentially English, but stripped of adjectives and any extraneous words. What can be omitted is omitted, detail sacrificed for brevity. It’s logical, but impersonal. Listening to it is like hearing a machine speak.
I speak to the major slowly, as though reciting a poem, as though I were a professor trying to teach her student how to speak proper English.
“You brought down that JAM magnificently, Major Booker. Admiral 56’s weaponry couldn’t defend against that. If it hadn’t been for Yukikaze…”
“If it hadn’t been for Yukikaze, I doubt the JAM would’ve targeted the ship. But she’s a good plane. And he’s a good man.”
Major Booker glances back toward Yukikaze’s pilot.
“I don’t suppose I could interview him, could I?”
“I can guess what his response would be. You better ask me your questions instead.”
“Was your mission here successful?”
“No engine trouble. The new Phoenix worked better than we expected.”
“And your confrontation with the JAM?”
“The JAM weren’t after Yukikaze. So no problem. Or that’s what Rei—what the pilot would say, I’ll bet. But… I had the sensation that we weren’t going to make it.”
“Sensation…?”
“Seems the EDF objected to Yukikaze’s test—” Major Booker halts his rapid-fire speech and looks at me with a start. “Did I just say ‘sensation’?”
“Is something wrong with that?”
“It’s just so…nostalgic.” As though finally remembering his mother tongue, he now speaks in a more normal cadence.
“I haven’t been home in over five years. Being in the FAF is changing even the way I speak, and I never really noticed… It’s unsettling. I really am on Earth now…”
I put my micro recorder away in my bag and smile at him.
“The FAF is what protects Earth. You people. No one could blame you for the JAM attack that just occurred. At least any reasonable citizen of Earth couldn’t.”
“A ‘citizen of Earth,’ huh? And where would you find such a person?”
“They’re me and others who think the way I do, Major.”
“That was one of the things you said in your book. Which soldiers in the FAF are reading.”
“With greater enthusiasm than people on Earth?”
“Yes. We can believe the contents more than anyone. It’s the work of a first-class journalist. Are you freelance?”
“I was a reporter for a newspaper when I wrote it. After the book’s success I grew dissatisfied with my salary, my bosses, and my company. I thought I was worth more. I wanted to do something big, and—Are you cold?” An almost imperceptible shiver has passed through the major’s tall frame.
“I can smell the sea… It’s full of life, full of the smell of life. The smell of blood. The lifeblood of the Earth. There are seas on Faery, but they’re lighter and…they smell sharp. Or thin, somehow… Dammit, I can’t find the words. Thanks to the JAM, even my feelings have become dulled.”
“Faery truly must be a place where the air carries the scent of battle spirits, not of humans. Of the mechanical, not of the organic.”
“You’re right. Humans and machines there are converging, and it scares the hell out of me.”
“And you think there’s no such thing as a common human identity on Earth?”
“Yeah. Take this carrier, for instance. It’s part of a U.N. force, but its purpose—the reason it was built—is to kill people in other countries, right? How is that an Earth military?”
“I’m in the minority, Major, but I do believe that there are many people like me who believe in a common humanity.”
“Then where are they? Why hasn’t there been any move to establish an Earth-wide federation?”
I shrug apologetically. There are so many reasons I don’t know what to say. The major tilts his head to the side, the skepticism on his face plain to see.
“I believe that the FAF is also part of that common humanity,” I tell him.
Major Booker regards me silently for a bit, then suddenly turns away and looks back at Yukikaze.
“Yeah, you could say that,” he replies, “if only because we’re fighting to save Earth. And it’s a nice idea, but…you don’t know the JAM, what it takes to fight them. The FAF’s chief strength isn’t our people: it’s our mechatronics, like Yukikaze. The battle spirits… Maybe that’s the real humanity. But then, where does that leave us?”
I look into the major’s anguished eyes and words fail me. Once again, the thought floats up in my mind: in this world, in this universe, perhaps humans really are a singular life-form. Major Booker had written in his letter that the JAM were more like computers than humans. If we had no computers, perhaps the JAM never would have attacked us.
I’m jerked out of my thoughts by Yukikaze’s pilot, Lieutenant Rei Fukai, yelling “Shit! No, not like that!” He’s quickly barking instructions in the FAF argot to the deckhands from his own country, but they can’t follow his digital, machinelike speech. Major Booker had written that to survive in the FAF one needs to become like a machine in every way. When I had read this, I thought it was mere rhetoric, words of no great import calculated to get my attention. But having met him in person, and now hearing how Lieutenant Fukai is unable to communicate with his own people, I realize that it’s true. It’s as if Yukikaze’s pilot has forgotten his mother tongue. It couldn’t be that hard for him to use, could it? Or perhaps he’s afraid of becoming human again…
“Yukikaze is the only thing he has faith in. He can’t stand to see her even get scratched. In his own way, he’s trying to speak for her and protect her.”
The weather is shifting, and the seas steadily have been growing rougher. However, stabilizers dampen the movement of the massive ship so that the flight deck barely shifts. I look out over the frigid waters and ask Major Booker the one question I desperately want answered.
“What do you think the JAM really are?”
The major’s cheek, which bears the scar of a terrible gash, twitches slightly. “I don’t know what they are,” he answers and falls silent. Just when I think he’s not going to say anything more, he continues.
“But I know what I want them to be. Humanity’s enemy.” He gives me a sharp look. “Do you think that’s crazy? But if the JAM aren’t our enemy, then the men and women in the FAF are dying for nothing. And that would be truly unforgivable.”
“What if the war became completely automated?”
“The moment we give the fight over to the machines is when we start running the risk that they’ll challenge humanity. Actually, don’t you think they’re already doing that here on Earth? Computers keep getting more and more advanced. We’ve developed AIs that possess consciousness. They wouldn’t have to kill humans directly. All they’d have to do is make our automated control systems go haywire. What could we do if this carrier started moving of its own free will?”
YUKIKAZE’S REFUELING IS complete. Admiral Nagumo wants the Sylph off his ship as soon as possible, seeming to regard it as an ill omen, as an angel of death. And so, without even so much as a cup of coffee from their hosts, the soldiers of the FAF depart from Admiral 56.
“Be careful, Ms. Jackson,” Major Booker warns me as he climbs into Yukikaze’s cockpit. “Keep an eye on the computerized systems that surround you. The JAM may already be in control of them.”
Yukikaze’s canopy lowers and locks. I return to the bridge and watch as the fighter is locked to the catapult and then hurled into the Antarctic sky. The afterburner flames of the Phoenix Mk-XI engines glow as the plane climbs quickly. It turns, its wingtips etching white vapor trails in the sky. It makes another wide turn, accelerates, and then, as if menacing Admiral 56, practically scrapes the top of the bridge as it flies over us at supersonic speed. There’s a terrific boom and the ship’s superstructure shakes, as though it’s been hit by lightning. Admiral Nagumo sees Yukikaze off with a flurry of profanity.
The Sylph’s silhouette shrinks for a few seconds, and then vanishes from view. Silence returns. In barely fifteen minutes, it is gone from the radar display as well. They’ve returned. To the skies of Faery. To battle.
Perhaps what I had witnessed really was a spirit of the air. If so, what enormous size it had, what awful power it bore.
I take out my favorite notebook and pen from my bag. I begin writing down what Major Booker had said, intermittently looking out at the sea. I wish I’d brought a portable wordcom with me…and then I suddenly remember Major Booker’s warning and shake my head.
If I had written this on a wordcom, the contents probably would have been changed.