The Pulse Plan

1: Ken

The wyvern mecha had just begun to rip apart Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion when we arrived. We’d had already discussed how we were going to draw it away from the hapless civilians who had chosen that particular day to visit Anaheim, but the mecha fled. We had to make a decision to follow it or to help the people who had been injured in the attack; Dr. Nambu told us to stay.

When we finally returned to base, he was waiting for us, and he didn’t look happy. He said nothing, just stabbed a commanding finger at Joe, glanced at me to make sure I understood that I was included, and strode off down the hallway.

Joe shot me a resigned glance and started after him. Foreboding trailing behind me, I followed them both.

Dr. Nambu had recently had an enormous aquarium installed along the length of one office wall, and he stood facing it when we entered, his hands folded tightly behind him. According to Jun, the fish and their serene lives had become a staple of his life at Crescent Coral and G-Town, and he had missed them. Though he didn’t move when we entered, I was sure he could see us reflected in the glass.

“Close the door,” he said. His voice was brittle.

Joe and I exchanged a glance, and then I pushed the door into its frame.

Exotic lemon-colored fish with bodies as large as my palm glided past Nambu; below them, among the gently waving plant fronds, a trio of cobalt fish wove their way through a swarm of tiny flashes of silver.

“You destroyed hundreds of millions of dollars worth of technology and equipment,” Nambu said without preamble. “And we have no way to replace any of it.”

“Good,” Joe said, that one word low but with fierce.

“This is not a joke.”

“No, sir.” At least he sounded deferential. “It was a rash, stupid thing to do, and I’m sorry. But you know why I did it.”

I was mesmerized by the fish, their vivid colors, their simple, placid ignorance of the antagonism that crackled between Nambu and Joe.

“Thank God no one was injured in the blasts,” Nambu said tightly.

“I know what I’m doing, sir. It’s my job to know.”

Nambu lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. I kind of wished I’d gone through detrans, myself. A dull throbbing had started behind my eyes, and for some reason the blue of my visor was making it worse. I tried ignore to the pain by focusing on a delicate-looking angelfish.

“They’ve started an Article 32 investigation,” Nambu said. “They’re going to arraign you, Joe, and this is going to go to a general court-martial. Destruction of the weapons we use to fight Galactor is treason. The prosecution inevitably asks for the death penalty.”

Joe flinched. It was slight, quickly covered, but it was there. Some of the color left his face. “I know, sir.” He squared his shoulders.

“Ken,” Nambu sounded resigned. “You should know that there is some discussion of court-martialing us, as well.”

“Why?” Joe said before I could speak. That one word was filled with as much astonishment as it was anger.

“Because we are held responsible for your actions,” I said. How could he not have thought this through? I thought. And then I mentally kicked myself. Of course he hadn’t. This was Joe.

No, that wasn’t fair. He’d known what he was doing. Joe could be obstinate and taciturn, but beneath the temper, he was as smart as I. He just used what he had differently.

Nambu was silent for a long, long time, and Joe folded his arms tightly across his chest.

Finally, Nambu turned, and I made myself stop watching the angelfish. He looked older than he usually did; I could see strain around his eyes and mouth, and in the set of his shoulders. He faced Joe. “I have to ask you to take off your communicator and give it to me.”

“Dr. Nambu,” I protested.

“Of course,” Joe said stiffly.

I glanced away while he made the change, waiting until the light had faded. He removed the bracelet from his wrist, tossed it on Nambu’s desk, and shoved his hands in his pockets. I gazed at the band of white, virgin skin left around his wrist.

“I told everyone that I wanted to talk with you before they did anything, but by now there will be MPs outside the door. They’ll make the arrest and take you to the quarters in which you’ll be staying.”

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come back here,” Joe said.

Nambu steadily met his eyes. “I know.”

If I had known, I would have found a way to “accidentally” let Joe make his escape. Nambu’s gaze shifted to me. He knew that, too.

“You think Nambu will have me court-martialed?” Joe had said when he showed up on my front stoop, called back from his self-imposed exile to fight the Galactor attack on Disneyland.

“I know he wants to, but you’re our gunner.” I hadn’t told him he wouldn’t be court-martialed, and I hadn’t really believed he would be.

I’d been naïve.

Nambu’s eyes returned to Joe. “I need your shuriken, too.”

Joe swore, a colorful stream of invectives that lifted Nambu’s brows.

“You can give them to me, or the MPs can take them from you.”

“The hell they will.” Joe turned on his heel and seized the door handle.

“Joe,” Nambu said warningly.

Joe threw the door open and shoved the first MP who reached for him. The MP staggered heavily into the wall.

This time I was the one who snapped Joe’s name, and I was already moving toward him. I didn’t want to have to go out there and grab him. I didn’t want to be a part of arresting him.

The second MP shot him. The gun released a little puff of air, and Joe slapped a hand to his neck. He jerked the yellow dart out and stared at it for a long moment before his limbs failed him and he collapsed in the middle of the corridor.

I looked away as the MPs shifted him onto the stretcher they’d brought. What Joe had done was wrong, but what they were going to do to him was -- in some ways -- a lot worse.