“We have comm intercept available, Chu-sa,” De Molay announced in an offhand way.
Hadeishi’s command chair rotated to face her with an audible whine. Apparently the Khaid refit had failed to properly seal the gimbals, and fire suppression foam was eating away at the mechanism. The Nisei officer shifted restlessly. “We’re synched into their battlecast? Is the translator running?”
“Such as it is.” De Molay shrugged, her thin shoulders swallowed by the expedition jacket. “Channel eleven.”
Mitsuharu pressed a finger to his earbug, jumping channels until the hissing growl of the enemy flooded in, making him wince. Dialing down the volume, he found the jury-rigged translator circuit could use a great deal of improvement-about every fourth word of Khadesh echoed back in Nihongo on channel two. He grimaced, feeling a truly staggering migraine coming on, before settling back with his eyes closed, trying to parse some kind of meaning from the staticky roaring.
After thirty minutes, he wrenched the earbug free and stared cross-eyed at Lovelace and De Molay. Hadeishi said nothing for a moment, keying his med-band to dispense as much painkiller as it would allow.
“This won’t work. Your efforts are tremendous, but the shipnet comps just can’t keep up with all of the cross-conversations. Have you been recording all of this traffic?”
The Sho-i nodded vigorously. “We have sixteen hours in the can, Chu-sa.”
“Can we translate that, if the comp has time to grind away?”
“ Hai, Chu-sa.”
Mitsuharu shook his head slowly, beginning to despair. “Without following the ’cast in real time, there’s no way we can insert ourselves into the formation… we’d trip ourselves up the first time someone commed to discuss the weather!”
De Molay spread her hands. “Then we give up and go home. No loss.”
Her nonchalant expression sparked a flare of anger in the Nisei officer. He glowered at the freighter captain, which drew an amused snort from the old woman, and then he sat back in the uncomfortable chair again, thinking furiously.
The youngest of the Seven Sisters pressed her forehead to the straw matting covering the floor of Musashi’s hut. “Please, sensei,” she begged earnestly, “none of us can defeat Mongke; he is a monster, gifted with inhuman powers, surrounded by an army of tens of thousands of men. Osaka castle itself is a maze of fortifications, towers, moats… We’ve tried sneaking in, but he’s suborned the ninja clans as well, and they watch by night while his archers watch by day.”
“He only has one weakness,” Eldest said, kneeling beside her irrepressible sibling. “He believes himself the finest swordsman in all of Asia-not just Nippon-and if you challenge him, then he will come forth to meet you in single combat, for his pride will admit no other rival.”
“I no longer travel the sword-saint’s road,” Musashi croaked, his voice raspy from disuse. He indicated a small stone statue of the Buddha with a seated bow. “I no longer seek conflict in the world of men. Ieyasu and I strove to overthrow the Yuan seven years ago, and failed utterly. Now he is dead and I have found sanctuary here on Mount Iwato. Only the Dokkodo remains.” He gestured to a series of scrolls sitting on a small side table.
Eldest glanced sidelong at Squeaker’s twin, who was standing in the doorway, keeping watch.
“What if the Emperor summoned you, called you forth to do battle with the invaders? Would you deny him, foreswear your duty to all Nippon?”
Musashi shook his head sadly. “The last Emperor fell at Nara generations ago.”
“Not so.” The third Sister turned in the doorway. “The Imperial line is sustained even today. Would the plea of the Son of Heaven move you to action?”
The hermit fell silent, eyes downcast, for a long time. When he looked up, at last, the sunset was gilding the rough-hewn timbers of his hut. “It would.”
The third Sister extended his hand. “Then stir yourself, Musashi Miyamoto, Nippon calls you.”
“Attention the bridge,” Hadeishi announced, standing up. The low murmur in the circular room died away. The regular watch had swollen to include the leaders of the various ships’ crews rescued from the abyss. Mitsuharu looked about slowly, considering each man and woman as though seeing them for the first time. He stepped to the center of the bridge, where Lovelace had rigged up a holocast projection in place of the old-fashioned plotting display which had formerly served the Kader. It’s no threatwell, Hadeishi thought, but will do for now. He marked off the area of interest with his stylus. A series of vector tracks appeared in the ’cast.
“The surtu, as the Khaiden name their hunting pack, has dispersed over the last forty-eight hours.” Mitsuharu’s tone was crisp. “Four of their Hayalet -class battleships remain at the entrance to the Pinhole. They are supported by six destroyers, several tenders, and what seems from message traffic to be a troop ship. It is difficult to keep track of their movements under the current conditions, but I would hazard they are making a serious attempt to chart the outlines of the aperture. The other surviving ships have scattered to police the battleground, and to search along the periphery of the Barrier for another way through.” The corners of his eyes tightened minutely. “One of their prey-an Imperial battle-cruiser of the Provincial -class-has escaped the battle by navigating through the Barrier itself.”
“How?” An officer from the Mace blurted without thinking. “Our sensors can’t even…”
“We do not know how,” Hadeishi said quietly. “But the telemetry we’ve deciphered from this ship indicates they did so. It is also possible that the battle-cruiser took aboard at least one evac capsule from the super-dreadnaught which was destroyed in the Pinhole itself-”
“Surely your Prince Xochitl left the field of battle in haste, then!” De Molay said loudly, drawing a round of glares from the Imperials seated or standing around her.
Hadeishi continued, unperturbed. “Speculating about who may have lived or died is useless.
“And we are not concerned with the Prince.” The stylus in his hand circumscribed a constellation of glowing dots on the plotting board. “There are sixteen evac capsules from the Tlemitl hiding in the sensor-shadow of the dreadnaught’s hulk. We are going to go in and get them out.” A smile lit his face for a moment. “And if some Khaiden ships fall afoul of our passage, well then-all the better.”
“Impossible,” breathed an ensign, now the sole officer remaining from the Gladius. “We haven’t a third the weight of a single Hayalet ! We’ll be shot to bits within moments of our initial missile salvo!”
“Therefore,” Hadeishi said, turning and surveying them all, “we will not attack until it is too late for them to respond. And preferably, we will not attack at all while achieving our goal.”
The Imperial officers stared at him in confusion. Then there was a babble of questions.
“Show us,” De Molay said loudly. That quieted the group. Her seamed old face showed skepticism, but Hadeishi saw that her eyes were merry with anticipation. “Show us what you plan to do, Chu-sa.”