Takahashi, Mikako

[Bakamono]

After long enough alone in deep space, silence becomes almost tangible. Takahashi lay in her pod meditating, shrouded in the quiet cocoon.

Hours earlier had been maddening, then she let thoughts of what had led to this consume and harry her: a desperate moment. Once she had regained control she estimated perhaps four more days of air were left, enough time for someone to find her, she reasoned. There should have been a larger supply, but someone had removed her extra tanks. Earlier she had frustratedly cursed the deficit, during the stage of anger leading to fear.

Now in the cold centre of herself, there existed no distraction or panic. Makoto appeared, Mikako felt a tremor at the edge of concentration.
“Little Miko-chan, my little one is lost, how did you get here?”
“I was careless, I was betrayed.”
“And has this saboteur won, my daughter? Have you given up?”
“Iia, no, Father. I will survive.” a subtle tone of defiant resolve perfused her otherwise detached voice.
“You are not the little girl you once were.” he stated, without malice.
“Hai father.”
“And what of traitors Mikako?”
“Suffering, Father.”

KNF patrols, largely headed by Ryoma had been scouring tau twenty nine for the past forty-eight hours. Nagata appeared and ran a patrol himself for a while, before stopping at the freeport six to offer his apologies. After announcing it frequently, he ran another search of the system, his ship became just one more of formation sweeps of assigned sectors.

Mikako had been hungry for some time, what little rations she had were now gone – a series of tiny, precious meals, that she now could only re-live through memory. She counted down the air she had left in hours rather than days. Her pod had lost inertia after crashing around the asteroids and eventually succumbed to the gravity of the white sun. Flickers of light in the distance occasionally made her heart rise in hope, but her hope went unanswered as they revealed themselves to be shining pieces of debris or simply disappeared back into the black. Taka saw little alternative, action must be taken.

*******

She began by stripping the pod interior, awkwardly repositioning herself time and again, within the tight confines. With pinches and pushes that peeled and tore the synthetic skin from her naked left hand, She carefully dug out interior panels, and began sorting through wires and piping to assess her workable materials.

Beneath the seat she found a standard issue ballistic pistol, “lucky?” she wondered “or did someone leave this here thinking I would take the easy way out?” she considered this as she inspected the weapon. “Only one round, soka.”

After her destructive looking activities, Mikako sat with her feet braced against the window. She had sealed her flight suit and wrapped herself in whatever insulation she could strip. In one hand she held the pistol, in the other, a reshaped slab of what had been the pods interior covering. She prayed briefly to her ancestors as she carefully gauged the pods turning and telemetry. She held her breath and fired at the canopy.

Instantly a huge rush of whistling air hissed out of the tiny hole, as Mikako was pulled toward it she thrust her makeshift shield before her, her screams of effort to hold it steady were lost in the deafening chaos. Just as quickly as it had begun, the maelstrom stopped: Mikakos patch had worked, the canopy had held.

For now the tiny hole was sealed, and the force of the jet had sent her pod moving once more, if she had calculated correctly, in the right direction. “All that air better be worth it...” Mikako mused over the precious expenditure of what little air she had left.

[Bakamono]

Takahashi was unconscious when they found her.
“Looks dead” the large one said.
“Looks...Sow-ja” said the small one with the funny accent. He picked at the uniform, drawing attention to the Kusari lettering and obvious ancestry of the woman. “Sah-ree”
“Might be dangerous”
“maybeez, maybeez she be reesh! Maybeez we gat reesh!”
“might be someone lookin'”
“see see - maybz wan' t'fine her baad: credtz baad” he whispered his last words, whatever they were.
“O.k, o.k: we tow her with us, not kill her dead.” the larger one concluded.
“Eightz , tyre - now we go quick! 'fore they fine fine” the smaller exclaimed as he crossed to a terminal. His friend carried out his request and tied Mikakos hands together, bound her ankles, then lumbered off.

*****

As the precious gasses once more suffused Mikakos lungs, her metabolic rate had begun to increase. With a sudden gasp she tried to sit and abruptly fell backward again after meeting the limit of her restraints.
“Eetz!” the smaller one turned from his console at the gasp and leapt from his chair. “DOWZ! DOWZ! She bin waykn!”
“Don' gat fighty sowja, we gatz Gunz! Sit tights.”
“Nani-yo!? What?! Wh-”
“Sed Shuts! Shuts! Me tawk – you sit tights!”
“O wonderful!" Takahashi thought sarcastically “I have been rescued by the stellar equivalent of psychotic sheep.”

The first hours of her capture had been comparably pleasant: whilst the crew were busy with navigation and sensor forgery & scrambling, they had been too busy to harass their captive. Once the vessel was in the clear however, things quickly worsened.

The small one who could hardly speak sat gloatingly at the head end of the table, he rhythmically tapped a metal pipe into the palm of one hand. “So, nay vee kuseri nay vee, what you do out here? What your plan? Sez! You 'portant nay vee or small time? Where your pretty ride nay vee? Sez!”

She reasoned that this skinny, twitching maniac would only be motivated by profit. She attempted to speak without the usual aid of a translator “atashi no...” her captor quickly struck out with the pipe, which cracked painfully against her left shin. She gritted her teeth and bit down a yowl.
“NO SAHREE! Spik stannard bish stannard!”

Mikako tried again, recalling what she could of liberty – her speech came slowly and staccato “I am not soldier, I work for kishiro – big money – you let me go – big money for you, -big- reward.” without the use of her hands she gestured with her eyes and a fake smile.
The weasely man bit his lip in consideration, obviously tempted by the prospect of profit. From an unseen corridor she heard the larger one – dozer – plod toward them. "Treek? We gotta dock in ten.”
“Look sahree see – sez not miltree – sez tranner – whas doze tink?”
“You said soldier 'member?” he sniffed and walked away “come'n help Treek – we c'n decide on her later.”

Crazed looks crossed the scrawny mans face, from incredulous to enraged in an almost convulsive cascade. The bar struck hard against Mikakos face. Pain blossomed and burned, shooting its roots out across her entire skull – this time she was not able to contain her pain and howled in frustration. Through the bleary mess she heard Treek speak once more “Lie! You lie sahree! Treek maak truey” as he scrambled off after his comrade.

After hours trying to wriggle free Takahashis bruising had discoloured her skin to a mottling of purple blue and yellow. She felt like she'd boxed ten rounds with a gorilla, the slightest movement seemed to renew the pain afresh.
With few options, Mikako winced as she made a detailed survey of her prison in isolation.

They had placed her on top of an oblong crate typical of component freight.
Lying on the floor were carelessly discarded cutting tools: a gas powered torch trailing pipes messily. At the east wall - stacked to form rudimentary tables and chairs - were boxes and crates labelled in different languages. Her sword stood propped amidst the refuse of packaged food and disposable media.
Old pictures and notices had been pasted over the walls in some kind of bizarre, profane collage. Torn and scratched pieces hung peeling from the walls – their messages barely discernible.

Mikako tried her restraints, plasteel cabling was strong but not unbreakable. Her artificial arm strained and pushed against the cold bindings, as the metal began to give - the opposing force sent the wire cutting into and crushing her opposite arm. She bit down a scream and ceased her efforts abruptly. Unfortunately for her – the tensile strength of the wire was too much, a more forceful attempt would damage her severely.

Her captors were brutal, obviously removed from civilisation for some time. There was a slim chance they would consider keeping her alive for profit, but Mikako suspected that there was a higher chance of her death as a result of their unpredictable nature.

After what sounded like docking and departure procedures 'Treek' returned. “So-ja – what you do in Tau soja?” the wicked man maintained eye contact.
“Not looking for you Treek, normal patrol – no trouble for you.”
Treeks face almost vibrated as he seemed to struggle with something internally before lashing out quickly with the bar. “NO! Why lie soja!? You all dressy, we find you far – too far for sahree – too far for any soja.”

Still reeling from the impact Mikako replied woozily "...engagement...lost men – Wan, Jiro – dead” she could hear Treek clanging around amongst piles of junk, he returned moments later with a sparking device – Mikako barely had time to voice her objection before the first electric shock had her back arching in agony. Spasms of pain followed the horse like kick, trampled in a stampede of heavy fire. Treek was shouting something, but she could not hear him over the sound of her own screams. Losing cohesion, her words became hoarse denials until she lost track entirely.

For days the routine became the same, Mikako would try to tell Treek a portion of the truth, he would become enraged and hurt her. At first he seemed satisfied with battery, but after a while the taser became more frequent, and then came the knives. The synth-skin took the edge off: but even that was insufficient in the face of Treeks torturous onslaught. Days stretched into weeks, time lost its meaning in the abyss of despair.

When it seemed she could no longer remember any other existence , Mikako became dimly aware of her fathers ghostly form, his face a translucent picture of misery. “Do you remember when you were young Mikako – and you would watch the Orcas harry whales?”
“Hai father, and I would ask why they were so cruel – and you would tell me of their necessary hunger.”
“Hai Mikako, the orcas cannot afford mercy. And do you remember what happened to the last one we saw together?”
“Hai father, she swam on tirelessly – until the orca could no longer follow: she survived.”

[Bakamono]

When Mikako regained consciousness she was sitting roughly upright, slumped against a wall, her hands and feet remained bound. Every fibre ached as if she had been tenderized like raw meat. A unfamiliar man sat opposite her, peering intently before turning away - “She's awake!” he shouted to unseen crew. Turning back to her he proffered a bottle and a shallow dish of some gruel like sludge. “Food, water – you eat.” she registered a brief moment of shock, as she caught the image of her father standing just behind the stranger.

Nodding slowly she reached out her hands carefully, half expecting to be struck. The water was flat but was ambrosia to Mikako, the grey food was bland and textureless – but eagerly welcomed by the starving woman. The stranger watched her painfully eat, obviously assessing her with some curiosity. She had a moment to check her surroundings, the crates were arranged differently, some were new, her sword was nowhere to be seen.

The image of her father spoke “Mikako – it is time.” she nodded curtly in acknowledgement – afraid to give away his presence to the guard.

Treek scuttled into view and nodded to the stranger, who disappeared down a corridor. “'Joy food sahree?” the twisted man sneered sarcastically “we feed nice – you now tell” he unfurled a stained system chart. “You tell - where sahree look here? – where you go? What plans here? Where galks?”

“Anyone can see – we go lanes with Shinkaku – samura place...”
Treek quickly lashed out with a knife, slicing one cheek superficially.

“What say Treek!? No say Sahree! Stannard!” the man turned to place the knife down as he mumbled to himself “You no unnerstan knife, maybz taze see you right...”

In a desperate surge she rushed upon Treek, her ruined hands reaching for his throat. Treek raised the weapon in defence, but Mikako made contact as the shock struck, the amps tore through the pair who fell heavily. Treek spasmed - dropping the device, his eyes wide as his situation dawned on him. Two bodies scrambled on the floor in desperation to obtain advantage, neither in a state fit for combat: limbs flailed awkwardly, short punches glanced, grips slipped.

Mikakos desire for survival was stronger - she twisted and writhed, swinging to Treeks rear, raising her hands in unison, her bonds pulled tight against Treeks neck. Her grip closed tighter as she envisioned pulling right through her torturers neck. Strangled chokes escaped his lips as his legs kicked in panic to gain purchase, she clung onto his throat and felt his efforts weaken, then ebb, then cease. Her father nodded in grave assent.

She released her grip and detected no breath from the body. Hurriedly she retrieved the taser and anything else she could salvage easily. She found a bar of something sweet on Treek, which she awkwardly consumed before crossing to the cutting torch.

Standing ready at the door – Mikako knocked four times as she had seen Treek do. The door was opened by a shabby looking man, his gun hanging by his side, his face slack as though bored by mundane procedure. He had time to open his mouth before Mikako shoved the taser into his throat. He Dropped to the ground in a gargled whimper, Mikako maintained contact to ensure incapacitation and waited, straining to hear the approach of any other guards. Her father walked to each doorway, poking his head through each and signalling “all clear”.

Satisfied she frisked the downed stranger, resulting in a keycard, a lighter and a pistol. She stripped the man, tied him with his own clothes, and threw him in with Treek before retrieving the cutting torch and hauling it with her.

“And now my daughter, are you like the whale?”
“No father”
“the orca then?”
“No father: I am Takahashi, and I am death to my enemies.”

Minutes stretched into hours as Mikako searched endlessly through the corridors of the huge, unfamiliar ship. Free of her bonds at last, her wrists and ankles still hurt and bore deep impressions left by the ligatures.

Creeping from point to point, her journey consisted of observing guards and waiting. Her father would stand by silently – using navy hand signals to warn her and offer advice. Sometimes she would have to shock, tie and hide a man – until the taser ran out of power.

Both she and the guard looked down at the device surprised as the charge fizzled out, he grinned as he raised his rifle and Mikako tackled. Burning energy from the rifle swamped her left arm even as she drove the man into the wall. The high pitched noise of an old blaster sounded, she cursed as her location was betrayed.

Fire burned on her forearm for moments as she frustratedly knocked the weapon away. Synthetic skin bubbled and peeled as she drove her fist into the mans head. He crumpled slowly, blood trickling from his nose as his skull collapsed inward.

Makoto spoke “You know they will be coming...”
“Hai”
“The time for mercy has passed Mikako”
Her reply was barely a whisper “Hai father.” Grabbing what she could – Takahashi retreated into the maze, anticipating the search party.

Using the walls for aid, Mikako hauled herself through the humming corridors – longing for respite. She sighed in satisfaction at spying the scratched medical markings on the door before her and dragged herself through.

The 'med-bay' was in actuality little more than frame bed and a series of sheet metal cabinets filled with rudimentary medical supplies. Carelessly tossing through the contents Mikako quickly found some sedatives, stims and slap-patches and a container of spray-bandage. This last she used immediately, thanking the small gods that it was not empty.

From what she could tell the room did not get many visitors, she judged the bloody smudges on the floor to be over a week old – nevertheless she left quickly: if they discovered her injury – they would surely be closing in on her soon.

At the primary relay from the reactor, Mikako readied the torch to sever the main line. She was almost surprised by the engineer who happened upon her, without sufficient time for anything else – she twisted the torches valve and turned it on her attacker. A terrible chaotic plume of fire filled the space between them, bellowing against the ceiling as it cavorted upon itself. Mikako fell backwards as the flames bloomed, the man flailed and shrieked as a trapped beast. Mikako hurried for the pistol to grant the man some mercy, a single round silenced his terrible screams.

As his burning body toppled she noted her families sword wreathed in the unnatural conflagration. She worked as she waited to retrieve her blade from the damp, smouldering cinders. She had to hurry, there would not be enough time to cut reliably now - she sabotaged the torch, propped the rifle against it, set the charge to overload and disappeared once more into the bowels of the smugglers ship.

Minutes later she felt the concussion as the explosion did its work, lights flickered sporadically before dying. Darkness filled the ship along with an eerie silence in absence of the usual electric hum.

Distant voices echoed weakly in surprise – perhaps two hundred yards away. She crept toward them, her cold will to survive guiding her to further murder.

She heard the next man before she saw him, he had just reported his status over the radio “Zim – looks o.k 'ere – on me way to kitchen, over.”

“Alright zim – take it easy – we all know you how you have a hard time with women, ” the operator laughed “over”.

“That's not what ya mam says over”

“Bastich! my mom is saint, over and out”

Her father stood at a corner and signalled her to wait – then made the gesture to approach.

Zim laughed to himself as she heard the crinkling of him unwrapping a food bar. She crept from her cover to see her target with his back turned at fifteen paces. Her sword already unsheathed, she padded toward the undisciplined Zim.

Her fake hand covered the mans mouth even as she punched the blade into his back and through his heart. He struggled to look down as the point emerged from his chest, life left him quickly. She guided his body to the ground as she slid the blade free.

[Bakamono]

Two more lay dead at her feet, she had not relished their deaths. She displaced and awaited the third.

Identified way before his arrival, like his friends, the third bore a lamp which bobbed haphazardly as its wearer ran.
“Jim? ….Guys? O crap...”

Mikako heard his rifle charge as a suppressed squeal, his nervous approach was marked as he fired at inconsequential movements of his mechanical environment. Broken conduits, bundles of wires - and tubing fell from the breaches he created. She allowed herself a small, wicked grin at the mans fear whilst she tracked his tentative approach. She made her way up behind him, ready to sever his head, quickly and cleanly. The stray end of a dangling pipe caught her artificial arm, sounding a dull clink.

Spinning in alarm the panicked man fired, Mikako lunged desperately in an attempt to strike first but she was too late. Pain erupted in her left fibula, the shock of injury sending a tremor of primal warning throughout her being. A scream leapt from her throat as agony lanced its way through like malevolent electricity.

Her lunge became an awkward fall forwards – her tattered left hand gripped and steadied the naked blade as it punched awkwardly through the mans rifle. The pair fell under Mikakos momentum, the blade reached further still, through to the mans chest – pinning the fizzling firearm to his torso. It was not a clean strike, the man spasmed for moments, trapped beneath the woman and the useless rifle. His eyes wide, his face incredulous in denial as his life ebbed painfully.

She did not wait to watch him die, with dire need she rolled off the dying man, fumbling for a slap-patch. She peripherally noticed her victim weakly feed the sword out from his chest with difficulty, before his gurgling death-rattle sounded.

Mikako inspected her wounded leg – the blast had messily torn away clothing and flesh, leaving a deep red wound which exposed bone. The pain threatened to overwhelm her: hastily tearing away stray threads of trouser, she applied the patch to her exposed skin and gasped with relief as the drugs were administered. Crawling to the body she repeated her scavenging, retrieved her sword and began looking for something suitable to use as a splint. Slithering her way through the darkness.

Finally limping into the bridge of her shadowy prison, Takahashi found Dozer alone with a co-pilot: both frustratedly juggling console operations to regain navigation. Emergency lighting pulsed rhythmic and slow, alternately revealing and obscuring the scene.

Without a word she shot the navigator who sprawled backwards in his chair, his chest smoking from a three inch cauterized breach. With surprising speed, the giant Dozer rolled from his seat as shots raked across it and the surrounding consoles. The rifle issued its empty tone and was tossed aside as Mikako drew the pistol.

Like a charging bull, dozer advanced – crossing the distance quickly with massive strides – his grotesquely muscled arms lashed out even as Taka fired. The smell of singed flesh caught the air as the giant yowled and punched haphazardly, wild with rage. Mikako was caught by the assault, her body flung sideways onto flickering readout desks – their screens cracked with the impact. Her makeshift crutch clattered away along with the pistol.

Rising slowly, Mikako listened for the giants approach. His heavy footfalls quickened, she gauged his distance and carefully drew the knife.
Timing her manoeuvre, she rolled at the last instant: Dozer crashed into the monitors noisily. Dragging herself upright, Mikako had a moment to take aim with the knife before she threw. The giant turned on her, the blade left her hand spinning end-over-end, Dozer howled as the blade point struck his head, burying itself in his left eye socket. The brutes howl extended into a scream as he thrashed impotently in anguish.

Though dying: the hulking Dozer advanced upon his once-captive as she drew her sword. Narrow squirts of blood erupted erratically from his wound, stumbling on his final steps became weaker: almost collapsing into a fast crawl, he reached for Mikako.

As she watched Dozer struggle in vain, she noted her own grudging admiration for his tenacity – never had she faced anything like him. As the brute fell lower, she threw momentum into a spin, forcing her body to obey her will.

Dozer passed behind her briefly, the long blade came around with her full weight behind it, before meeting the giants head in a terrible ripping slice. Her momentum sent her stumbling sideways as she watched the top of the giants skull separate in a thin explosion of crimson blood.

With most of the crew dead and no power, Mikako sat for a moment – collapsing into the captains chair with exhaustion. She regarded her uniform, remarking how marred it had become, what was left of her sleeves had stiffened with blood, dried thick and black. Still clutching her sword, she noted its tainted sheen, it's delicate filigree invisible beneath liquid ichor.

The inertia of this hulk would carry her for a while, but without main power the ship would not get far. Wearily she looked over to her father, sitting near a flickering nav console, his face dimly lit by the eerie yellow light. “I do not recognise these coordinates, but we have a bearing for this systems star - one point abaft the starboard beam”

“Arigatou helm...” she glanced across the line of arrayed readouts “do we have any manoeuvring capability?”
“Hai, jets seem intact”
“Alright see if you can bring us about slowly, I do not want sacrifice too much of our speed.”
“No response: looks like the relay might be damaged.”
“Hai...of course” Mikako snorted at the absurdity of her situation.
“I suppose someone should see to that.” She rose awkwardly, staggering briefly before crossing to a console to get a schematic of her current abode. The prospect of another term adrift was not appealing.

She tapped at a series of controls on the chair before lifting her gaze to a distant screen – which intermittently displayed areas of the ship in cross section. With some vexing readjustment she managed to scan through the ships schematics to locate the thruster relays: once patched she could turn the ship, ride it closer to the sun and launch a pod for a better chance at being found.

*****

She had picked through every likely holding space she could find within the smugglers bizarre ship – resulting in a few days extra oxygen, paste and water. She ripped the scrubbers from another pod and made sure it was obviously disabled, before supplying her own – newly acquired pod. The smugglers escape pods were dusty and cheap compared to those she was used to, but at least the one she had selected did not contain bio-matter.

During her time in the labyrinth the same thoughts occurred to Takahashi again and again...
Could it have been simply a random alien-attack? Would they deign to interrupt the meeting with the Marechal?
Perhaps: though I doubt they would consider ~me~ noteworthy. I doubt they would even care who gave the order to assault the Arch.

Perhaps being here has made me paranoid, but the timing was just too convenient: the single round in the pistol and the missing supplies all point to a conspiracy. Someone must have either used or, more likely, colluded with the aliens.

Father agrees, but then he would: since he is a construct of my own mind.