Episode 8: Pirate Mother Ship «Hamano Onna»

'Dawson. Dawson, wake up. Jump-out is complete—grasp the control stick or we won’t stabilize!'

Dawson opened his eyes, realizing he had been asleep.

'Apologies. I was asleep.'

'After a long-range artillery engagement, exhaustion is expected. Did you have a good dream?'

'The dream of when we met.'

'Oh, that’s definitely a good dream. Maybe today will be a good one?'

'...Our meeting as a good memory, huh.'

Dawson stretched in the bridge chair, then placed his hands on the control stick.

'Jump-out complete—five, four, three—normal space restored.'

'Spatial return vibration detected—attitude control complete. Hull balance check—no issues.'

Hull integrity nominal. Cocoon intact. All systems green—♪

Now, navigation ahead requires evasive maneuvers.

Dawson increased thrust and guided the *Mandible* forward. Ahead lay a hazardous zone filled with metallic debris and asteroids. There was a purpose in entering this zone.

Optical surveillance is yours. Notify me if any collision trajectory is detected.

Orbit prediction displayed on monitor. Please avoid operational errors.

Who are you talking to? This vessel performs combat maneuvers. Avoiding floating debris is routine.

Dawson entered the zone and maintained half-speed.

Immediately upon entry, asteroids and debris began arriving from above, below, left, right, diagonally, and from behind.

Dawson maneuvered the vessel with precision, avoiding large objects with certainty and deflecting smaller debris with the anti-debris barrier.

Progressing smoothly through the hazardous zone, the space ahead eventually revealed an area free of asteroids and debris.

As the *Mandibular* entered this space, its anomaly became apparent.

This was not a passage through a region containing debris and asteroids. In the very center of a zone filled with debris and asteroids, a gap—cleared by the avoidance of such material—had been formed. The space occupied by this gap was the size of a single artificial habitat satellite.

And floating within this strange space was a massive metallic structure.

It resembled an inverted flask, with fine lines extending outward from its neck to the tip of its mouth—a metallic sea anemone. Its volume was so great that even a million times the size of the *Mandibular* would not suffice.

An anomalous object in this abnormal space—a grotesque metallic sea anemone. Its volume was so great that even a million times the size of the Mandibular would not suffice.

The Mandibular approached the strange object.

At a certain distance, a communication came from the metallic sea anemone to the Mandibular. Dawson authorized the transmission while wearing his black-and-white mask. On the bridge’s physical monitor, a faceless mannequin-like figure appeared.

“This is Hama Nonna. Please display your immunity certificate.”

The figure spoke. No—this presence was not a mannequin. It was an android equipped with an impersonal neural system.

Dawson knew this.

"Yo, Lorelei. This is Dawson from the Heavy Jaw. Sending credential data. Confirm it."

"Data confirmed. Welcome back, Captain Dawson. How many catches today?"

"Two cocoons. As usual."

"Congratulations on reaching maximum cargo capacity. Any plans for disposal?"

"Of course. I'll offload to Hamano Onna. The contents are artworks—expect to be heavily negotiated."

"Understood. I'll initiate automatic appraisal and transfer funds to Captain Dawson's account. Electronic currency, correct?"

"Yes. No room left in the cargo hold. Unlike other pirates, I won't carry metal—would render the vessel immobile."

"Confirmed. Docking space available. Proceed to berth 135. May our cooperation remain favorable in the future."

We’d also like to continue our cooperation for a long time.

The communication ended. The monitor screen went dark.

Dawson manipulated the control stick. The vessel turned toward berth 135, designated on the massive mothership known as the Metal Sea Anemone—Hama no Onna.

Almost immediately, Oine’s voice came through the speaker.

‘Tsuun. Tsuun tsuun!’

She spoke in strange words, angry tone.

“What’s wrong with you?”

‘Dawson, you flirt. You have a proper artificial intelligence like me, yet you get close to some faceless neural network. Tsuun tsuun!’

Dawson interpreted her words as a joke, given her theatrical delivery.

‘Huh. Jealous over someone who only made an operational call? You’re a troublesome lover. Or rather, I’m not the kind of person who falls for a neural network.’

"That's good to hear. So, how about romantic feelings toward artificial intelligence?"

"……No comment."

"Hey, Dawson! You could at least hint at the possibility, even if it's a lie!"

Dawson nodded in agreement, letting the conversation pass, and docked the *Mandible* to the pier extending from the Hama-no-Onna's mouth.

Dawson retrieved the cocoon secured to the pier's arm, confirmed the automatically assessed amount had been credited to his account.

"I'm going to enter the Hama-no-Onna."

"Understood. Checked your suit's seal integrity? Carrying your blaster? Ready to crush any insolent pirate?"

"Are you my child's teacher at the juvenile academy?"

Dawson gave a dry retort to Oine’s joke as he moved toward the airlock of the *Mega Jaw*, dressed in a form-fitting spacesuit. He waited until the inner hatch sealed and the pressure check completed, then opened the outer hatch. A metallic bridge stretched into the void of space.

This was expected. The dock where the *Mega Jaw* was moored was an open-type structure, exposed to the vacuum of space.

A place where one could not exit without a spacesuit—unavoidably inconvenient, but the kind of dock assigned to new recruits like Dawson.

Veteran pirates or those consistently well-paid were granted access to the air-secured docking bay aboard the *Hama-no-Onna*.

Many new recruits expressed dissatisfaction with this arrangement. Dawson had heard complaints aboard the *Hama-no-Onna*—voices demanding entry to the enclosed dock.

Dawson finds the need to change into a spacesuit each time inconvenient, but no more than that. The guide rail runs from the dock to the interior of the Hama-no-Onna, so the inconvenience is not significant.

Dawson grips the guide rail and lets his body float forward as the rail moves.

After being transported to the endpoint, he activates the electromagnets in the boots of the spacesuit and docks onto the dock with magnetic force. He then walks toward the Hama-no-Onna airlock.

The airlock at the Hama-no-Onna dock is not a bulkhead-type like the *Mega-Jaw*, but a gel-type utilizing a semi-fluid medium. It is designed for locations where many people pass through, requiring no individual opening and closing for each entry or exit. The drawback is that the semi-fluid medium, which prevents air and pressure loss, requires force to penetrate during passage, and the gel adheres to the spacesuit during transit.

"This resistance during passage might be why some complain about being denied access to the dock."

Dawson presses his body against the semi-fluid medium and pushes forcefully against the floor, entering the gel.

The sensation of sinking into the thick, viscous liquid varies by individual. The viscosity measures three meters in depth, prolonging the experience and intensifying discomfort for some.

Dawson feels no aversion. He moves through the dense layer without resistance. Once past, air jets from above, below, and all sides dislodge the residue clinging to his suit. The fluid is collected, cleaned, and reused in the airlock.

The interior of Hamano Onna, reached after this procedure, displays the grime typical of a pirate base.

At the edge of the gravity-equipped corridor, debris and dust remain, and mysterious stains persist on the walls. Several pirates lie unconscious on the floor, one of them vomiting onto the surface, soiling the material.

To obscure these accumulated marks, vibrant spray paint art covers both walls and floor, forcing a unique aesthetic upon the observer’s vision.

Dawson regards the scene as he always does—unaccustomed and unchanged.

Dawson moves through Hamano Onna without opening his helmet visor—unwilling to inhale the smell of vomit.

After walking for a time, noise becomes audible. A recreational area constructed within Hamano Onna. A district where pirates gather, a bar district.

"Today too, we secured the gains! Thought you pirates could buy safety with mercenaries, but that Interstellar Side Route is our backyard!"

"Sold the cargo from the merchant ships, and the mercenaries' vessels and gear too—good price, old man!"

"Is that so? Good. You lot. It's a rare treat. Drink, eat—enjoy yourselves!"

"Ooh!"

The pirates, having achieved significant success, are buying mountains of alcohol and food, starting a large celebration. All wear civilian clothing—this means they’ve been granted permission to use Hamano Onna’s port, a sign of veteran status.

Some cheer. Others remain silent.

"Damn it. Hit by a stray shot from a mercenary’s weak gun—repair costs wiped out all profits."

"Quit whining. This is the kind of day for this. One hit, and fatigue vanishes completely—this is it."

A vial of high-purity substance—ahh, good. I can see El Dorado.

A group in filthy space suits, injecting suspicious ampoules into their necks, tripping. The ampoules used aboard the mother ship of an illegal organization, the space pirates. Their contents and effects are confirmed not to be legitimate.

This kind of suspicious item is not exclusive to the pirates.

In various corners of the tavern district, people mix blue powder into drinks, inhale fluorescent pink smoke from electronic cigarettes, or press electronic sticks into electrodes implanted in their necks—each indulging in their own pleasure.

Among them, a pair of overly dramatic men and women begin a performance, and suddenly, the surrounding pirates react with sudden interest to the free pornographic feed.

Dawson surveys the scene. He becomes aware, then ceases to care.

Dawson walks through the tavern district and stops at a food stall. The sign reads plainly, 'Noodle.'

He confirms the possession of his ration card, then enters the shop.

The shopkeeper turns a face, half replaced by machinery, toward him without speaking.

No courtesy, but Dawson does not react. This is routine.

'Large noodle, with fried side dish.'

'Ten credits. Place your card.'

Dawson places the ration card on the reader. A chime sounds. The spatial display projector shows a confirmation: ten credits deducted.

'Wait. I'll make it now.'

The shopkeeper, half of whose face was mechanical, withdrew a dull silver bowl. Into it, he placed a block of noodles with the width and thickness of bandages. He poured a pale brown broth over them. Using tongs, he lightly separated the noodles in the broth. Then, three square, fox-colored fried pieces were tossed into the bowl.

"Finish it fast. Then get out."

Dawson accepted the bowl, despite the tone that was unlike a vendor’s.

Dawson opened the visor of his space suit. He wrinkled his nose slightly at the smell of the pirate mother ship’s air. He pressed the switch at the mouth of the mask he wore. The lower half of the pitch-black mask, shaped like a caterpillar’s mouth, split open from a jagged center. Dawson’s own mouth emerged.

Dawson took the built-in fork. He pierced the center of the wide noodles, lifted them from the broth, and immediately brought them to his mouth.

—gag gag gag gag—munch munch munch munch—crunch, gag gag

He bit through the noodles, chewed, took a sip of broth, and added the fried item, chewing further.

The sharp grain scent of synthetic wheat, the umami of brown coloring and chemical seasonings, the crumbly texture masked by edible cultured oil, and cultured chicken meat.

A combination of flavors that could not be called delicious, yet closely resembled the Amato Imperial Japan regional dish known as 'udon'.

Since discovering this restaurant, which reminded Dawson of his hometown taste, he had made it a habit to eat here after work.

He finished in an instant. Dawson returned the mask to its original position and spoke to the shopkeeper.

"Give me five eggs."

The shopkeeper twisted the right side of his face, still bearing living flesh.

"Two is enough. Make it two."

"No. Five. Give me five."

"…Two hundred credits."

Dawson paid with his credential card. The shopkeeper retrieved a paper bag and placed five eggs inside—quail-sized, but their shells still shimmered in mottled rainbow hues.

Dawson took the bag. He lowered his space suit's visor. The shopkeeper shook his head, disappointed. He knew what effect the mottled rainbow eggs had.