Well, it’s too soon to reach any conclusions, thought Rei as he pushed the headset he was wearing down onto his neck and, after yanking the plug from the comm systems, climbed down from Yukikaze’s cockpit. The major had been very specific about him showing up on time. He wouldn’t know where the lunch meeting would take place unless he came to the office. The details of the meeting would be given there.
Neither the SAF nor the FAF in general had anything like a fancy restaurant on base—at best, this meeting would have to be taking place in a field officer’s private dining room. Even so, it’s so human of Major Booker to adopt such an air of importance about this, thought Rei. He didn’t attach any distaste to the notion. He’d known the major long enough to realize that he wouldn’t be making such a big deal about this unless there was good reason to. If anybody else had copped an attitude like Booker’s Rei would have chalked it up to simple vanity. In the end, similar human attitudes would inspire entirely different emotional responses from Rei, depending on how well he knew the person. It must have been the same regarding Yukikaze. He still didn’t know her at all.
Other SAF planes were lined up in the hangar bay. Like Yukikaze, they had cables like umbilical cords dangling from their undersides. The cables supplied them with power and connected them to the SAF’s vast data network. They were like fetuses. No, that’s not right, Rei thought. They were more like cattle grazing in a field. Having wriggled out of danger once again and sharing the information they’d gathered, they were now back here, calmly ruminating. Only the cud they chewed was data, not grass.
He admired the planes all lined up in their rows as he walked by. They’re like living things, Rei thought. Living, growing creatures who absorbed information and then changed as they made it a part of themselves. And what would they grow into? That, no man could say. The fighters’ computers, sitting side by side, probably didn’t know either. Even as they stood next to each other, Rei didn’t sense that they perceived themselves as a group.
Along the way, he noticed the flight crew of Unit 3 at work aboard their plane. Their attitude told him that they were preparing for a single-fighter mission.
Rei didn’t call out to them. Shouting hello when he had no reason to would just make him a bother. It wasn’t like the members of his squadron didn’t share information with each other, but while they were well attuned to gathering data they tended to be indifferent to the very existence of other people. The members of the SAF might have been a unit, but they weren’t an actual group. The SAF didn’t function as one. They were founded on the idea of flying missions independently, without any expectation of backup from headquarters, even in combat. In a fight, all they had to depend on was their own skill, and so there were no “leaders” or “subordinates” here. The only people they trusted were themselves, and putting yourself first was a trait to be admired. Those were the sort of people who comprised the Special Air Force.
And, like the humans who operated them and whose actions they continually learned from, so too behaved the central computers of their fighter planes. It was possible, Rei thought, that the computers work together with the humans at a level we can’t comprehend to form a sort of synthetic machine intelligence. But if you accepted that premise, you could argue further that they and the human members of the squadron also formed a group consciousness that comprised the SAF, which was why the fighter planes’ computers couldn’t be said to operate in a group. Each SAF computer operated individually, with none assuming a leadership position. They wouldn’t interfere with one another’s work, similar to the machine intelligence in the tactical computer at SAF headquarters. Rei had made sure that the other fighter intelligences wouldn’t interfere with Yukikaze, but they couldn’t interfere even if they wanted to. The system had been constructed to prevent it.
The SAF’s computers had been given the strongest level of self-preservation functionality in order to prevent outside interference by the JAM. Even if something considered an ally tried to forcibly move against an SAF computer, it would select a method to counter the attack. If its autonomy could not be maintained, it would self-destruct. In short, the computers of the SAF, like its human personnel, did not operate as a group. Noninterference meant not expecting any backup from anywhere else. Within the FAF, these machine intelligences formed a unit that was truly “special.”
As Rei drew near the hangar bay exit, now musing that the planes had the appearance of giant cats, listening to each other in a silent assembly, a warning siren sounded inside. The same sort of siren that warned when a plane was about to leave.
Unit 7, having taxied to the central area of the bay, was being towed by an unmanned spotting dolly over to the three-sided central elevator. The plane was a Super Sylph. Aboard her was a pilot and his flight officer.
“Hey, Captain Fukai.” The pilot aboard the plane leaned forward as he called out to Rei. This was extremely unusual. The pilot’s name was Vincent Bruys, and he held the rank of first lieutenant.
“What’s up, Lieutenant,” Rei called back. “Am I in your way?”
“Just wanted to warn you to be careful not to get shot by Llanfabon.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Llanfabon was the name of Lieutenant Bruys’s fighter, Unit 7.
“This lunch meeting you’ve been invited to,” replied Lieutenant Bruys. “I’ve been assigned escort and surveillance duty for it.”
“The meeting’s going to be in-flight, you mean?”
“The details are being kept top secret. They’re not even entered into the computers in HQ. Looks like it’s a special mission. You’ll find out what it is when you go. Major Booker must be afraid that the JAM might slip into the meeting. If you turn out to be a JAM, I’m shooting you down. That’s all there is to it.”
“Do you want to shoot me? Then what are you doing talking to me? If the mission’s top secret, then shut up about it.”
“While I was checking out Llanfabon before, I saw Yukikaze making repeated requests for direct access. You must have known that Llanfabon is on this special mission. It’s supposed to be a secret, so I was wondering how you found out.”
“I didn’t know about it,” Rei replied. “You’re saying Yukikaze was trying to access Llanfabon?”
“Are you saying you weren’t having her do it, Captain Fukai?”
“Nope, wasn’t me.”
“If I were to believe you, that would mean that Yukikaze herself wanted to know about the details of this mission. A special mission whose details weren’t even entered into the tactical computer at headquarters. If Yukikaze wanted to know the details of Llanfabon’s mission, she’d have to ask me directly. That’s real interesting behavior on her part. After this mission’s done, I’ll be reporting it to Major Booker. This mission’s already begun. If you are a JAM, then I hope you either get killed by Yukikaze or that this lunch today will be your last. See you.”
Rei checked his watch; a little over three minutes had passed since the alarm had sounded. He quickly returned to Yukikaze’s cockpit and flipped the main switch on for the display cluster. As he had before, he set the main display to monitor mode to show the operation of the plane’s central computer, selected DISPLAY EXTERNAL COMMUNICATIONS from the menu, then hit the execute button. The response came quickly:
Watch on B-7/mission unknown/request contents… STC.
So Yukikaze had been interested in this secret lunch meeting.