Kaname hadn’t slept much these past two days. She sometimes took a nap on the bench set outside the control room, or ate a sandwich one of her underlings brought her, but otherwise she was going entirely without sleep and sustenance. Nobody was forcing her to do it that way; this was what she wanted to do. She enjoyed readying the device to perfection so much that she didn’t even miss sleep.
The TARTAROS was revolutionary. It would free humanity from the ties of time and history that had held it captive for so long and give her control of destiny itself. She was proud to make it a reality, to take on the role of the world’s guiding force. They can just leave it all to me, she thought. I’ll make sure everyone is happy.
She’d been riding a warm cloud of elation since their return from Yamsk-11, always bustling with activity and untroubled by regret. But her physical body was less enthused. She found herself hit by periodic waves of lethargy and occasional gaps in her raging torrents of ideas.
Kaname suddenly realized that she was staring blankly at the ceiling. She’d stopped typing. “Ah... that’s no good,” she said, blinking rapidly, and then slapped her cheeks to reinvigorate herself. This has happened a few times now, she thought. A little nap now might be better for my efficiency as a whole.
That was when she noticed a strange set of words had appeared at the end of the iota wave virtual lens alignment script she’d been working on. It read:
anta ha atasi jya nai
It’s Japanese, she realized. This PC didn’t have Japanese language input, so it was in Latin script. It meant, “You are not me,” which made no sense... Who would do something like this? Kaname wondered. She hadn’t written it herself. Still, she was the only one working with that script...
I must have written them in a sleep-deprived daze, then, she decided. But it still made no sense. The TARTAROS was all she thought about, asleep or awake. So where had these words come from?
‘You are not me’...
“Hm...” A rising fit of irritation and rage caused her to click her tongue. She didn’t quite know where it came from, but she suddenly felt an urge to grab the monitor and throw it on the floor. It’s stupid, she thought next. Just ridiculous. Where did those words come from? I am me! Don’t say things that make no sense, you... you...
Who? Who am I... angry at?
“Ah... what’s going on?” She covered her face in her hands and let out a long groan.
This feeling... This unpleasant feeling, like someone, somewhere, is screaming at me, trying to hold me back at every turn...
That’s right, she realized. This has happened before. The first time was on the plane from Yamsk-11 to Merida Island. That strange feeling washed over me, and I suddenly began crying... those very unpleasant tears... The second, more striking time was when she’d tried to accept Leonard’s proposition.
One month ago, Leonard had paid her a visit while she was relaxing in her room. He’d come by to discuss technical matters, but she had invited him to the sofa and poured him a cup of black tea. He’d been extremely gentlemanly with her since they’d returned from Yamsk-11, not overstepping his bounds even once.
But that night was different. He’d taken her hand, and she hadn’t tried to stop him. It had been the middle of the night.
Perhaps it’s time to reward his devotion, she’d thought. The old me always rejected him without a second thought. But the poor man... I can’t just leave this world behind without giving him something.
“Just one night,” she’d told him, and for some reason his smile had turned sad. But that didn’t mean he’d backed away or hesitated. As he’d surely done to many women before her, he gently embraced her, and put his lips to hers...
Then the feeling had hit her.
It wasn’t self-loathing, or disgust with Leonard. It was more like a sense of... wrongness. A highly unpleasant feeling, like someone was hanging over her shoulder, angry—righteously angry.
She’d averted her eyes from Leonard and, while hiding her confusion, could only say, “I’m sorry, let’s not after all.”
He’d just said, “All right,” and left the room... And that had been that. He’d never tried to lay a hand on her again.
Why do I feel this way? Kaname wondered. I am me. I think for myself and make my own decisions. I’m following my heart. Yet for some reason, a doubt—a feeling of, “No, you aren’t”—kept rising up out of nowhere and needling her.
Forget it, she told herself. I’m just tired. After all, she hadn’t pulled all-nighters like this since the preparations for the school festival. Maybe it was time she got some proper sleep already.
“All right, let’s take that nap,” she decided, then stood up. It feels good to make decisions like that. That’s what it means to be me. There are no issues here at all. I’ll lie down for just an hour or so. It’s probably going to be my last sleep in this world, after all. I should really enjoy it.
She told the security guards outside the control room that she was going to take a nap, and then lay down on the bench.
There were fifty nautical miles left, and the US Navy stood between the Tuatha de Danaan and Merida Island.
The sonar room reported a submarine: bearing 0-8-6; distance eighteen nautical miles; course 2-6-5; speed ten knots. Designation Mike-5. It was so far away that they couldn’t tell the ship name yet, but it was definitely one of the new Los Angeles-classes.
“It’s like they were waiting for us,” Mardukas said.
“Yes,” said Tessa, whispering her agreement. “I expect there to be another three nearby.”
Four West Pacific Fleet submarines, she thought bleakly. There were probably other surface ships waiting nearby as well, and they had all been ordered to sink the Tuatha de Danaan—what they called the ‘Toy Box.’ Tessa had gotten that information from Rear Admiral Thomas Ross, one of the now-retired older officers that had joined them at the banquet a year ago in Guam. He used to command the Pacific Submarine Fleet, and had various connections in Hawaii control.
Through an encrypted channel, Admiral Ross had told Tessa that the office of the current Secretary of Defense had forced through the order to attack the Toy Box. The secretary was believed to be an Amalgam sympathizer, and had apparently used the chaos of the last few weeks of the US—Soviet conflict to push the president to give it the green light.
Command had quietly continued to harbor doubts about this order. They didn’t like having their precious forces diverted to a strategically meaningless area of operations to hunt the Toy Box while the Soviet Navy was mobilizing their Far East Fleet. Still, orders were orders. They wouldn’t be allowed to question them, let alone ignore them.
And so, they’d come to hunt the de Danaan. Despite everything, they’d take the order seriously. Tessa couldn’t expect a hint of mercy from them.