Macross Delta: Pale Shooting Star Sings on the Battlefield - Evidence and Resolve, Confrontation with the White Knight

The smell of disinfectant stung his nose. Even though it was the middle of the night, the air in the corridors of Ragna City General Hospital hung heavy and strangely warm. White walls, white floors, the shadows of IV stands lined up in orderly rows. In the emergency outpatient waiting room, two exhausted-looking citizens sat with their heads bowed. I—Souma Kakeru—moved slowly down the corridor, threading through their blind spots. Every movement sent a sharp pain through his ribs. The sutures on his left shoulder pulled taut, and blood seeped faintly beneath the bandages. It had only been three days since the stitches were removed. The doctor had ordered absolute rest. To hell with that. "[whispers]……Hah." He placed a hand against the wall and let out a small breath. Killing his footsteps, he slipped past the nurse station. One nurse was sipping coffee while glaring at a terminal. She didn't notice him. (*Now or never.*) The end of the corridor. An emergency exit sign glowing green. This was the back entrance to a ward where visiting hours had long since ended. Security was lax. Souma gripped the doorknob with trembling fingers, leaned his weight into it, and slowly pushed it open. The outside air brushed cold against his cheek. Two moons hung in the night sky over Ragna. The faint scent of the tide drifted in from the harbor. He slipped through the hedge surrounding the hospital grounds and exited through the service gate. The back streets, with their sparse streetlights, were submerged in damp darkness. The Chaos Ragna branch base was twelve kilometers away. On foot, it would take two hours. But he had no money for a taxi, and no energy left to contact the military. (*I have to go.*) He started walking. With every step, the wound in his side throbbed sharply. Beneath the bandages, it felt as if the sutures were about to tear open. He clenched his teeth. He could almost hear the sound of his bones creaking from inside his own body. He wasn't a hero returning to the battlefield. He was just a cornered boy, crawling through the city at night. --- By the time he reached the base's perimeter fence, it was just before midnight. Two guards stood at the main gate checkpoint. There was no way he could get through in his current state. Souma walked along the fence and circled around to the supply loading entrance behind the hangar. This was a spot Makina Nakajima had secretly told him about before. It was a back passage used by the maintenance crew as a service corridor, even for non-regular personnel. He slipped his body through a gap in the fence. The impact jolted his wound, making the back of his eyes flash with sparks. When he reached the hangar's rear entrance, Souma felt something was off. A light was on. In the hangar deep at night, a solitary orange glow flickered. He pushed the heavy metal door open just a crack and peered inside. There, spread across a workbench, was a terminal, and a small figure staring at its screen. "[gentle]……You came." The voice spoke without even turning around. It was Makina Nakajima. A deep green bob cut. The tool pins stuck above her ear reflected the work light, glittering like stars. A homemade tool holder on her wrist. Her fingertips were covered in bandages, and as always, the goggles pushed up onto her forehead were fogged with sweat. "[surprised]……Makina-san." His voice was hoarse. She finally turned around and gave Souma's entire body a quick once-over. The blood-soaked bandages. The pale face. The trembling knees. But she said nothing. "No lecture?" "[sarcastic]Not gonna. I knew you'd come." Makina picked up the terminal and placed it in front of Souma. Two cables extended from the terminal, connected to the inspection port of the craft in the back—a VF-31 Siegfried. The machine had been left abandoned, still bearing the scars of fierce combat, a large gash torn at the base of its left wing. "[serious]Some interesting data came up. Take a look." Two logs were displayed side by side on the screen. The first was a coordinate transmission history extracted from the combat records of Chapter Four. Standard tactical commands were automatically transmitted from command system terminals. But this particular guidance order to Bravo-7 had a manual voice override inserted. The sender's signature was— "Hayate Immelmann." Makina stated it flatly. "In the official record, it's been written off as a mis-sent rear support order. But the original data has clear traces of command tampering. Machines are honest, after all. Leave the monster work to the machines." Souma stared at the screen, unable to move. The second log presented an even colder truth. A record of the periodic communication Hayate's craft had transmitted after the battle. The frequency was the cipher band of the Wind Kingdom of Vindermeer. The recipient's identification code was—Supreme Commander of the Vindermeer Aerial Knights. Keith Aero Vindermeer. The timestamp was immediately after that crash. *Elimination complete.* Hayate's voice, mixed into the transmission, echoed in the depths of his ears. "……This is." "[cold]Decisive, right?" Makina's voice was quiet. She wasn't angry. She wasn't excited. She was simply presenting the facts the machine had spat out, matter-of-factly, as a mechanic. But—the empty coffee cans piled up in the corner of the terminal screen told the story of how much time and risk she had spent gathering this data. Souma fell silent for a long time. Before anger, a quiet chill ran through his body. Hayate had tried to kill him. The suspicion had become fact. But more than that—Makina, who had gathered this data, had known about this betrayal for a long time, and had been working alone to secure proof. That realization sank coldly into the depths of his chest. "[whispers]……Thank you." "[gentle]Save the thanks. More importantly—" Makina pulled the cables from the terminal and pressed a small data chip into Souma's palm. "What are you planning to do with this?" Souma looked down at the data chip. His fingertips were trembling. "……I'm going to the enemy's forward base. Alvheim Valley." Makina's eyes widened slightly. "[serious]Are you insane? In that body?" "If I don't go, no one will." Makina started to say something, then stopped. Instead, she pulled a small handgun from the workbench drawer and silently handed it to Souma. Her eyes said it was for self-defense. --- Alvheim Valley was two hours from Ragna via fold navigation. The highlands of Planet Vindermeer, at an altitude of 1,800 meters. Every time the constant gale swept through the valley, a low, moaning resonance echoed up from the depths. The ruins of an ancient Protoculture civilization—half-destroyed stone pillars and crumbling arches—rose up white, illuminated by the moonlight. Souma descended the narrow animal trail along the cliff. With every step, the wound in his left leg ached. Every time he put weight on it, the sutures strained beneath the bandages. As he neared the valley floor, the air grew cold and damp. A faint resonance of fold waves prickled against his skin. A temporary base had been set up in the central plaza of the ruins. Three makeshift tents covered in white cloth. Supply containers were stacked haphazardly around them, and the faint hum of a generator could be heard from the gaps. Two guards standing at the front entrance spotted Souma and raised their guns. "[cold]Halt." The runes on their heads glowed faintly, charged with killing intent. But—that was all. When the guards saw the data chip Souma held out, they opened the way as if it had all been arranged. "Pass." Souma stepped inside. Passing through the tent entrance, he found himself in a simple command post. A tactical map covered one entire wall. Communication terminals blinked. A bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling cast a cold light over the entire room. And there, in a simple chair at the center—sat a man. Long white hair reaching to his waist was tied back, and blood-red eyes slowly fixed upon Souma. Two runes, adorned with gold ornamentation, flowed elegantly from his head. Vermilion makeup accentuated only the outer corner of his left eye. His white military uniform was spotless, without a single stain. Keith Aero Vindermeer. Crown Prince of the Wind Kingdom, and the White Knight. "[calm]So you came." His voice was as quiet as ice. No anger, no surprise. Just words devoid of inflection, merely confirming a fact. "[cold]For an insect, you have some nerve." Keith rose from his chair and slowly approached Souma. His footsteps were nothing but the dry sound of polished boots striking the stone floor. As his 188-centimeter frame loomed over him, Souma felt, for the first time—like an insect. "[cold]The evidence you hold. Hayate's betrayal. Including the fact that I ordered it—it is all true." He admitted it so easily. Keith's mouth twisted ever so slightly. It wasn't even a sneer. It was an expression that seemed to say this was nothing more than a confirmation of facts. "[cold]That man is a useful pawn. He has talent, but is easily moved by jealousy and possessiveness. To secure Freyja as an intelligence source for Walküre, you were an obstacle. So I ordered your elimination. That is all there is to it." Souma's fists clenched. His wound throbbed. "[cold]Hayate obeyed the order. Normally, I would grant him a reward, but—" Keith took a step back and turned his gaze to a large monitor mounted on the wall. The screen displayed footage of a dark underground prison. A solitary cell carved out of bedrock. In one corner, a small, huddled figure was visible. Silver hair, just like Freyja's. "[cold]Freyja's younger sister." Souma's breath stopped. "[cold]I kept her alive until now only because that woman was useful. However—" Keith turned around and directed his red eyes straight at Souma. "[cold]Freyja has begun to prioritize emotion over her mission. She is siding with you. Her value as a hostage has already expired." Souma took a step forward. "[angry]Stop—!" In that instant, countless footsteps echoed from behind. Two guard knights who had burst in from outside the tent thrust their gun muzzles at Souma from both sides. Cold metal pressed against his temple, over the bandages. "Do not shoot." Keith raised a hand, restraining the knights. His expression remained unchanged. As if he had known everything would unfold this way from the very beginning. "[cold]The execution will be carried out in twenty-four hours." His voice was utterly calm. "[cold]Regrets? I have none. To me, this is merely a change in operational strategy. But—" Keith turned on his heel and began walking toward the back of the tent. His long white hair swayed, reflecting the light of the bare bulb. "[cold]I will let you test whether you can make it in time. Struggle, little insect." The footsteps faded away. The guard knights kept their guns aimed for a while, but eventually, they slowly lowered their stances and exited the tent, one by one. Souma was left alone. He hadn't been killed. He hadn't been imprisoned. He had simply been—dismissed. To Keith, the existence known as Souma Kakeru wasn't even a threat. Nor was he an object of pity. From the very beginning, he wasn't even an opponent worth considering. (*—He's looking down on me.*) Blood dripped from between the fingers of his clenched fist. His own nails had dug in, tearing the skin. The pain brought him back to his senses. He planted his unsteady feet firmly and stepped outside the tent. The cold wind struck his sweat-drenched face. --- When he returned to the base, the sky was beginning to lighten. Makina was still in the hangar. Without having changed her posture, she was sipping coffee in front of the terminal. The moment she saw Souma's face, she stood up and silently walked toward the back of the hangar. "[gentle]……Over here." The maintenance space a

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Episode 6

Name: Macross Delta: Pale Shooting Star Sings on the Battlefield
Author: Novelia

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