Chương 343: 147.Preparations 2

That night, the Yukikaze went quiet for a rare stretch of time. Not completely quiet. This ship is never completely quiet. Even when nobody's talking, there's always something alive in the hull — ventilation, circulation, distant footsteps, the light metal bite of a hatch closing somewhere down a section, and the scrape of someone dragging something across the deck, a friction sound that sounds exactly like civilization barely holding itself together.

Compared to the last twenty-odd hours, though, this counted as quiet. Too quiet. Quiet enough that I couldn't sleep.

I lay on my bunk, staring at the underside of the upper rack for ten minutes, my thoughts running from the memorial venue, to the twelve Skyshield fortresses in Dunan's near orbit, to Hedwig's line — you're standing in front of the entire Federation, refusing to accept the death someone else already wrote for you — until I started to wonder whether I really should be torturing my own sleep with something that philosophical the night before a mission. So I got up.

I didn't open the door all the way — just cracked it. The cabin light stayed off. I pulled on a thin jacket and felt my way to the small observation port, sitting down on the narrow folding chair against the wall — the kind of chair thin enough to feel like a personal insult to anyone's adolescent skeleton. Outside was the starlight of the Capital Ring system's outer edge. Denser than the border. Brighter than deep space. Bright enough to feel slightly unreal.

Watch it long enough, and you get the strange sense that if you just went a little further, you'd actually see the words welcome home hanging off a sign somewhere out there in the universe.... Unfortunately, reality isn't the kind of considerate thing that hangs up road signs for people. I propped my elbows on my knees and let out a long breath.

"Sorry to have kept everyone waiting..." I stopped. Frowned. No. Still sounds too much like a host.

"Federal destroyer Yukikaze, retur—" I rolled my own eyes. Also wrong. Say that, and I'd instantly become the cover of an Academy training manual — no flesh left, just formatting. I raked a hand through my hair, seriously starting to wonder if I should just walk out there and say good evening, everyone, and let Maki kick me off the shuttle live on camera. I was about to throw a third test version at the window glass when a soft sound came from the door behind me. I didn't turn around. Didn't need to.

On the entire Yukikaze, there's really only one person who'd find me at a time like this — and having found me, wouldn't announce herself first just to startle me. Sure enough, a jacket dropped over my shoulders a few seconds later.

"You look like you snuck out in the middle of the night to reflect on your life." Maki's voice came from behind me. Still carrying a bit of that rough edge from sleep. That voice is unfair. Especially coming from the same Maki Kushima who, in daylight hours, holds the whole ship's order to the precision of a protractor. It's hard to fully reconcile the Executive Officer with the woman currently standing at the door in a thin jacket, hair not quite settled, speaking low. Though they do have something in common.

I pulled the jacket up.

"I'm working."

"At two-thirty in the morning, in slippers, sitting here talking to the glass?" Maki walked over slowly and stood beside me.

"Very distinctive job description."

"Then don't interrupt a professional."

"What was the professional just saying?"

"Nothing."

"I heard 'sorry to have kept everyone waiting.'"... Dammit. I turned and glared at her.

"You were eavesdropping."

"You were talking loudly enough that it wasn't eavesdropping," Maki said, calm.

"It was forced participation." I clicked my tongue and turned back to the window. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Maki watched me for a moment, then dragged the other narrow chair over and sat down. She didn't sit too close. Just sat there, legs crossed, elbow resting naturally on her knee, watching the window with me. Moments like this always give me a feeling I can't quite name. She hasn't done anything, really.

Hasn't said anything particularly gentle. But the second she sits down, that thing pressing against my chest — a small stone that's been grinding at me — inexplicably goes a little quieter. It's annoying. Because it makes you more honest.

"Should I really not be the one going first?" I asked, suddenly. Maki didn't answer right away. She's always like that. When a real question comes up, she never rushes to give the kind of pretty answer that just holds a scene together. A few seconds passed before she spoke.

"Are you asking about tactics, or asking whether you're scared?" I was quiet for a moment.

"... Probably both."

"Tactically, you're the right fit," Maki said.

"I know. High recognition value, don't sound like a ghost the second I open my mouth, perfect for the Yukikaze's event key visual." Maki glanced at me sideways.

"You remember all that clearly."

"How could I forget."

"Good," she said, mildly.

"Means the briefing was efficient."... This woman has a real gift for tilting the mood exactly five degrees off, right when someone's finally trying to be serious. I was about to protest, but the corner of my mouth moved anyway. Maki saw the look, didn't push it, and just picked the thread back up.

"As for the other question," she said.

"Being scared is normal." I blinked. Honestly, I'd expected something more textbook-XO — this isn't the time to be scared, or learn to manage your emotions. She didn't say any of that. She just said, very calmly, that being scared was normal. Which left me with nothing to say.

"Shouldn't you be delivering something a little more encouraging right now?"

"Do you need it?"

"..." I thought about it.

"Probably not."

"Then there you go," Maki said.

"Being scared doesn't mean you can't do it. If you weren't scared, I'd actually want to tie you down first — to stop you from going down there and saying something even worse."

"Hey."

"Like 'the deceased have arrived in person,' for instance."

"That one had real impact."

"Which is exactly why it's banned." I laughed. Quietly. But for real, this time. Maki heard it and didn't comment. She just reached over and tugged the jacket a little higher on my shoulder. That motion was natural too. Natural enough to feel like something she'd just always do. Natural enough that it made me realize — over these past few days, whether on the bridge, near the Princess, or grinding through all those brain-melting prep sessions, Maki had never actually been very far from me.

Sometimes standing in front. Sometimes right beside me. Sometimes just a "sit down," or a hand pulling me back. But always there. Thinking about that, I suddenly felt a little stubborn.

"By the way," I said, still looking out the window, "I still remember that 'ship's asset' line from earlier." Maki made a small sound.

"Good that you remember."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I know."

"You made me sound like a piece of equipment."

"Not equipment," Maki said.

"Then what?" This time, she actually thought about it. Not a filler pause. A real one. Finally, she said:"Something that runs off on its own, talks back, gets loud sometimes, but that I can't just leave alone." I turned to look at her immediately.

"Is that supposed to be an upgrade?" Maki finally smiled. Very faint. Very brief. But somehow, that one smile came out softer than her usual cold little victory smirks, or the I knew it look she wears when I embarrass myself.

"I think so," she said.

"It isn't."

"Better than equipment, at least."

"Barely." I said that. My ears heated up anyway.... Pathetic. At a moment like this, and my heart still skips half a beat over a line like that. Human stress tolerance the night before the Capital Ring system, apparently, has hard limits. Maki looked at me and asked:"Have you figured out the first line yet?" I turned back to the window. Honestly, no. Or rather — I had a rough shape of it in my head, but I didn't want to say it out loud too soon. Saying it would feel like stamping the moment before it happened.

We were still some distance from Dunan, further still from the memorial itself. I didn't want to nail myself to a sentence this early. So I just shook my head.

"Not completely."

"Then don't force it."

"But—""Shimo," Maki cut me off.

"You're not an emcee. You're not a spokesperson." I looked up at her. Maki's eyes were steady.

"When the time comes, all you have to do is stand there and let them know you're alive. That's enough."... It was a simple thing to say. Simple enough that it barely sounded like impressive comfort. But that's exactly the kind of thing that lands where it counts. I suddenly realized that the small stone which had been pressing into my chest since earlier had actually gotten a little smaller.

"Why are you talking like a normal person tonight?" I said quietly. Maki's brow twitched.

"Are you saying I'm not normal most of the time?"

"You don't usually make me almost cry in the middle of the night."

"Are you now?"

"... No."

"Good."

"You're annoying again, you know." Maki didn't answer. She just leaned in, very lightly, and let her shoulder bump against mine. Not a hug. Not anything dramatic. Just that. Like she was saying: I'm here. And also: if you really can't hold it together right now, you can at least lean this way first. I stared at the glass in front of us for a few seconds, and finally said, quietly:"Maki."

"Mm."

"If I screw up the line tomorrow—""You won't."

"I mean if."

"Then I'll be right behind you to clean it up," Maki said. She answered too fast. Fast enough that it didn't sound like she'd thought about it at all. Or maybe she'd simply decided long ago that it was a given. Hearing that, I didn't know what to say for a moment. Because some promises, when delivered like they're simply obvious, end up carrying more weight than any carefully wrapped, pretty words ever could. In the end, I deliberately roughed up my own tone, just so I wouldn't look too pathetic.

"Saying it like that makes me want to screw it up on purpose."

"Don't you dare."

"See, that's the Executive Officer I know."

"Is it?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

"The one from a minute ago felt more like a bootleg." This time, Maki actually laughed. Shallow. Gone almost as soon as it appeared. But it was there. I saw it. After a while, she stood.

"Go get some sleep."

"You go first."

"Why?"

"I want to sit a little longer." Maki looked down at me for a moment. I'd expected her to add something like that's an order, go now, the way she usually would. She didn't. She just reached over and ruffled my hair. Very brief. And completely out of line. I froze on the spot.

"... Hey."

"Good night, Shimo."

"That's cheating."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Maki said, and turned to walk away. I stayed where I was, watching her back disappear through the doorway. It took several seconds before it occurred to me, belatedly, to reach up and touch my own hair. Dammit. Does this woman have any idea what doing that to an underage crewmate the night before an operation does to their heart rate and judgment?... Whatever. She probably knows. And did it on purpose, too. I looked back out the window.

The Capital Ring system's traffic lights were still there, indifferent in the particular way rules are — never dimming for anyone's personal feelings. But somehow, I wasn't wound so tight anymore. Not that I wasn't scared. Not that I'd suddenly turned brave. Just that I knew — when that shuttle hatch opened tomorrow and I actually walked down — someone would be watching from behind. And if I really did screw up the line, someone would actually be there to clean it up. That was enough.

I let out a low breath and said quietly to the reflection in the glass — the one who'd been looking less and less like an ordinary first-year lately:"... Then stand up straight." This time, the person in the glass finally didn't look quite so much like she was about to be dragged along by the world.