Sky

The strains of the piano drifted through some open window above, and in that first second he raised his head, blinked, frowned, not sure why there would be piano music coming from an aircraft carrier in the middle of the night. He was not musically inclined at all, could count the times he had heard piano playing on one hand, and for a moment he considered sending a runner, telling whoever it was to shut the hell up, but then he was only a lieutenant, and the runner would probably be sent back with a message telling him to shut up and mind his own damn business.

Nights were too long around here, out in the middle of the ocean, the middle of nowhere. Even the stars were strange here.

Lieutenant Kudou…I've got a special assignment for you.

Shin ran one hand through his hair, staring out at the black waves, sighed. Focker had long left, taking his flask of foul-smelling alcohol with him, but Shin was now beginning to wish he had stayed, even drunk, because it was lonely out here on the wide ocean with only the stars for company. He was a pilot, not a sailor.

The piano strains slowed, melancholy and dripping with some unnamed emotion, and he scowled, scuffed his boot along the deck. Behind him, the sounds of metal against metal, welding and pounding, shouts. A mechanic's life, he mused. While the pilots slept, the mechanics were working, day and night, no rest, because a plane had to be ready to fly at all times. He wondered if he'd ever told them how much he appreciated their work, that he had put his life in their hands and they hadn't let him down yet.

He was no mean mechanic himself. The electric generator on the island loomed in his memory; he'd promised to finish it, and he'd gone before he could make good on his promise. He thought of Sara, her sad eyes and the sound of her voice, and then of Mao, her sweet, eager, anxious face, and felt a flash of guilt, because he had said he would save her, and he hadn't done that either. All he had done was run away.

There was something about that island that called him, and he needed to find out what it was.

Her name's Aries Turner. Scientist type. You'll be going on assignment with her back to Mayan.

…Back to Mayan?

Thought you'd be interested, since you've been there before. No?

It was not advisable to say no to Roy Focker, especially when the captain was drunk, but still, Shin had hesitated. Roy hadn't waited for an answer, had laughed to himself, downed some more alcohol, clapped Shin on the back so hard that he felt like his back would break, and told him to be up in the morning for a briefing.

"Special assignment, huh?" he said quietly to himself. The piano played quietly, and someone dropped a wrench on the hangar floor behind him with an echoing clank.

The stars were bright.

Two years ago, he had journeyed to the famous South Ataria City to catch a glimpse of the great ship that had supposedly fallen from the heavens like a fantastical shooting star. He'd gone alone, because he was not one for group trips, and he hated sharing hotel rooms with people. Edgar had volunteered to go with him, but he'd refused.

He'd thought the SDF-1 would be one of those landmarks that grew with the telling, and had prepared himself to be disappointed when he stepped off the plane. It was not until the next day, when he had boarded the bus to the viewing platform, that he realized that it was not a legend at all, that it was in actuality an alien spaceship crashed on Earth, and it was just as enormous and incredible as the pictures and the internet websites had said it would be.

The image of it still lingered in his mind, and he realized now that that was when he had made the vow to himself, vowed that someday, he would go above the clouds, above the sky, to space.

He was a fighter pilot, but in this dawning new age, it was possible for even one lowly fighter pilot to aspire to something more.

Shin flopped against the railing, staring up at the bulk of the aircraft carrier rising above him, the lighted windows on the bridge, the darkened spaces of the crew quarters, the radar antennae high above the height of the ship, quivering against atmospheric breezes that would never pass down here, never stoop so low as to ripple down to where he stood, so tiny and so insignificant and simply human.

Those who had built the SDF-1 would have laughed to see all of this, the tiny humans in their fleet carriers, like ants struggling to cross the ocean on floating pieces of wood.

"Oi! Kudou!"

His VF-0 gleamed bright and silver in the harsh lights of the hangar, and Shin turned his head. It was one of the mechanics, waving a tablet at him.

"One of your rear stabilizers has gone all wrong. Did you feel anything during the exercise yesterday?"

"I had some problems during right turns," he said, thinking through. "But I thought it was just my response time was slow."

The mechanic grinned. "Just checking. We'll have it done in no time. You're not as bad a pilot at Focker makes you out to be, you know."

"Uh…" Shin said. "Thanks?"

"No problem." Frowning slightly. "You listening to music?"

He quirked a smile. "No...I think someone on this ship has musical talent, is all."

"Weird," the mechanic said, disappearing behind some boxes. Shin reached one hand out in his direction, tracing the wings of his fighter with one fingertip, she sleek and beautiful in the white light and he standing here in the blue darkness, like a demon drawn towards heaven.

The chords of the piano broke over him like waves breaking over shore, over the shores of some pristine tropical island where the sun shone on untouched sands, and the pitter patter of children's feet and the echo of children's laughter was all that was important in the world, and there was the sound of wind in the trees and the feel of rough dirt under his fingers and the smell of incense in the air, a flock of white birds scattering into the sapphire sky, and then the face of a girl…

"Weird," Shin mumbled, feeling his smile grow wider for just a moment before his mouth opened in a yawn, and he looked down at his chronometer, realized it was almost 2300 hours, and he should get some sleep because he had to be up at 0430 tomorrow for a mission briefing.

He sighed again, closing his eyes and letting the piano drift across his senses like the smell of the sea, the sea and the wind and…
 

16 February 2004