The building had gun port-like shutters, all raised to allow the breeze to circulate inside, and he heard murmuring within as he approached. All went silent when he stepped on the porch, and an enlisted servant quickly opened the door, then knelt and briskly wiped the dust from his finely crafted boots. Kurokawa ignored the man but waited until he was finished, then strode through the door. The dozen occupants rocketed to instant, rigid attention, staring straight ahead at other men arranged around the conference table. His eyes swept around the long room, inventorying the faces he saw, tight-lipped, intense, some wearing beads of sweat. He continued on to the far side of the room, walking slowly, enjoying the respect. Finally, he halted and turned beside a chair.
“Be seated,” he barked. Only once he began his descent did the others comply. “Everyone seems to be here,” he said, again counting the faces around the table. “This trip may have been… inconvenient for some of you-it certainly was for me-but some of what we must discuss is rather sensitive. We cannot risk writing any of it down, even in Japanese. We had traitors once, and the Grik may have subverted others.” He let that sink in, then proceeded. “I would like to begin by taking direct reports of your activities. Spare me nothing. I know much of what many of you do is for the Grik, but that may not always be the case. I must know exactly what is available for the coming campaign so I will know what I may use and what I may choose to… reserve.” A few eyes flicked at him before resuming their forward stares.
“General of the Sky Muriname?”
Hideki Muriname was a small man, a pilot of the old Type 95 floatplane they’d used to bomb Baalkpan. The aircraft- Amagi’ s last-had been damaged in the raid, and though it was maintained and preserved-on Zanzibar now-he had always claimed it could not be made airworthy for any serious operations. When Esshk had asked about it, Kurokawa reported that its structural integrity had been compromised, and without aluminum to repair it and spare parts for the engine, it remained only a model for their own designs. Esshk finally accepted that, and for a long time only Muriname and Kurokawa knew their report was a lie. They did use it as a model; its structural-assembly techniques helped them design the framework for the great dirigibles that currently constituted the backbone of Grik aviation. Its gauges and instruments provided patterns for more. But here on Zanzibar, they also copied its wing shapes, and even its engine.
“Ca… General of the Sea, aside from our… projects here, we continue to build airships and train crews. As you know, I kept only a few machines back from the raid, for training purposes, but since all were not lost after all, I have the benefit of observations made by some veterans of that attack. There are a number of… difficulties and unforeseen characteristics apparently unique to airship operations. I had no previous experience with the machines myself, so did not know to prepare my aircrews for them.”
“ Your aircrews?”
Muriname gulped. “So I have come to… encourage them to consider themselves, sir. I apologize…”
“No, no, General. Do not apologize for that. I sometimes promote a similar perception of… mutual reliance myself. Most interesting. Tell me, do these flying Grik return any of the… dedication you show them? I have made a study of the phenomenon, you see.”
“I… I believe they do, to a degree.”
“ Most interesting,” Kurokawa murmured. “That may be of use someday.” He shook his head slightly and his eyes narrowed. “But perhaps you go too far.”
“Sir?”
“The emblem, the insignia you paint on your machines, is a perversion of our own sacred flag. What is the meaning of that?”
Muriname had wondered how long it would take for Kurokawa to bring that up. The insignia in question was a representation of the Rising Sun flag, cradled by stylized images of the sickle-shaped Grik sword. The swords-and fewer rays-were the only deviation. “Sir, with my utmost respect to you and our glorious flag, the aircrews are all Grik, and the minor adjustment to the flag… pleased them beyond my expectations. Sir,” he added earnestly, “I can see no disadvantage. Symbols are important things, and the more closely they associate themselves with ours, the more closely they will be bound to us…”
Kurokawa stared away. It was genius, of course, and he’d never even considered it. He must immediately supply his fleet with similar flags. He doubted Esshk or even the Celestial Mother would care. All the inclusive Grik banners of the Celestial House that represented all the Grik were simply red. Sometimes the shapes varied, but it was the color that mattered. Even if anyone noticed, or possibly objected, he would merely excuse it as a design meant to signify that they were all in this together. It was red, after all. In the meantime, the Imperial flag-his flag-would increasingly be associated with unity and authority. He suppressed a smile and looked impatiently back at Muriname.
“You may continue the practice, but you will seek my permission for such things in the future. So. What ‘unforeseen characteristics’ did you neglect?”
“Of course, sir. Ah, most egregiously, though I cautioned them to compensate for the release of their bombs, even I did not expect just how radically and catastrophically the airships would lunge skyward when the full weight was dropped. Some particularly bright, quick-thinking crews managed to stabilize their craft through procedures that have become part of the training curriculum, but quite a few were lost due to that… miscalculation on my part.”
Kurokawa stared at the almost-cringing man who’d demonstrated such brilliant initiative, then not only admitted a failure, but took responsibility for it! His initiative required greater control, and he would have to be punished for his mistake, of course, but not too severely-this time. Kurokawa needed men who could think and learn from their mistakes. He’d talked the Grik out of destroying all their own warriors who turned prey, after all. Even if only a few recovered, it was wasteful of those few. He would have to guard against men like Muriname thinking too much, however. He sensed danger down that path.
“This is a serious matter, and I will deal with you later. But the problem is solved?”
“It is.”
“And production?”
“Still improving. The techniques have reached a perfection of simplicity similar to what you have seen in the conventional shipyards, and since the labor is not as intense, the attrition of trained workers is lower.”
“Excellent. How soon will you replace what we lost?”
“In merely a month and a half, we have already replaced over a third. As efficiency continues to improve, I expect to be back where we started, with one hundred airships and even better-trained crews, within another month.”
“Hmm. And how will they protect themselves from enemy aircraft?”
“For now, imperfectly. As you directed, all efforts toward modern small arms go toward equipping our own people here.” He quickly glanced at another man named Riku, with a brooding mouth and wispy mustache, who was head of Ordnance for the Grik, but covertly served in that same capacity for Kurokawa. “But I understand the production of the matchlocks is quite simple and proceeding at a rapid pace. We will arm the airships with them, as well as with light swivel cannon that can fire blasts of lead balls. It is… dangerous, of course-with only hydrogen for a lifting gas-but the best we can do at present.”