Chapter 2

Hiro sat in his new office on Jupiter Station reviewing the reports from his staff. They were compiling a list of technologies, and evaluating available Confederacy technology with their understanding of Mitsubishi developments to see which ones would offer the most likely benefits. Each department head was diving into a different aspect of ship technology, from energy and propulsion, to sensors, to weapons, communications and other ship’s systems. Within this box of puzzle pieces might emerge the opportunity to leverage some important lessons from Earth’s past.

Japan’s naval history was one of great triumphs and bitter, devastating defeats. While most westerners blandly assumed that their remarkable strings of victory demonstrated superior and infallible innovation and execution, Hiro knew better.

We learn little from victory, much from defeat.

The Japanese had the opportunity to learn much, he thought. “With that, we shall contribute much,” he promised himself.

The station’s AI, which he was calling ‘Suteshonmaindo’, or ‘station mind’, was rather helpful in filling in the technology gaps of this analysis. Other companies had been doing research, or had technologies available which could be quite useful as well. Between the resources of the Confederacy, and the available resources on Earth, there were some interesting possibilities as long as the UN could be kept unaware, and the central authority for the Confederacy could be carefully handled.

Director Yushida had responded to Hiro’s poetry with a creation of his own, and Hiro dedicated some time to contemplating it to ensure he understood the full meaning.

three red flower petals upon a rice cake
joyous among gifts from Rokkasko midwives
beside a long lance.

The three red petals obviously meant Mitsubishi, and “rice cake” was a longstanding cultural reference to the moon. “Midwives” most likely was a reference to a famous poem about the Hiroshima bombing, while the reference to the location of Japan Nuclear Fuels Ltd. stockpile of nuclear waste seemed to confirm this connection. The mention of a “long lance,” the name used by the west to describe a famed torpedo of the Imperial Japanese Navy, suggested a potential delivery system which Hiro had earlier spoken of as a “long spear”. This interpretation of the poem provided a consistency of not only this poem, but the greater, evolving poetic discussion

Nuclear-armed torpedoes would certainly help give their platform punch. But getting nuclear materials from Earth to use elsewhere, as Hiro had learned, was rather difficult. Earth was trying to keep them all for local defense, or so he understood.

“Suteshonmaindo, what is the current status of the nuclear stockpile at Rokkasko”?

<Earth media reports indicate it is being relocated. The new storage location has not been publicly disclosed.>

“Hmm, interesting,” Hiro thought. By his recollection that would mean that many tons of used nuclear fuel, including a substantial quantity of used plutonium were being moved somewhere, and the destination was being kept secret. Certainly, that would mean the UN wasn’t involved, and the Confederacy was largely in the dark as well, otherwise the AI would certainly provide an answer.

After being one of the largest adopters of nuclear technology, the Fukushima incident forced the abrupt shutdown of a massive national industry. That had hurt one of Mitsubishi’s subsidiaries rather hard, one which specialized in “fast breeder reactors” that could reprocess nuclear material. With the demand for nuclear fuel all but halted in Japan, there was a lot of fissile material without a domestic market, and worldwide demand for nuclear fuel had dropped steadily. Mitsubishi FBR at their height produced a significant quantity of processed uranium every year, but hardly anyone in Japan wanted to buy it now.

With the dramatic announcement of the existence of the Confederacy and a galactic war on the near horizon, weapons manufacturers clamored to fulfill the demand for weapons technology and materials. Those with the closest ties to countries having the Confederacy’s favor seized a dominant market share. Those outside of that circle were largely ignored.

The Confederacy had very few dealings with “outside the circle” Japan, and Japan was viewed with disfavor by the United Nations, imposing a largely insular economic environment for the nation’s defense industries. Dual-use and consumer-oriented technologies were still exported in great quantities, but to engage with Japan in military matters invited the outrage of politically-powerful China.

Had Japan made a public effort to join the “nuclear club” and started making use of this available resource, it would invite at the very least Chinese outrage, and quite possibly hostile action from China or North Korea. Even with the overall threat to the planet, politics still prevented the unity of effort that addressing the Sa’arm threat logically required.

It appeared unlikely to Hiro that anyone outside of Japan had made a deal for Japanese nuclear material, as such would have triggered a Chinese outburst. The AI would certainly be aware of such an inevitably public political squabble, and chances of an international deal happening without China’s knowledge was highly unlikely. They watched every happening in the East very closely.

“Suteshonmaindo, what is the current status of Japan Nuclear Fuel, Ltd.?”

<Japan Nuclear Fuel, Ltd. was acquired two weeks ago by Mitsubishi Heavy Industries. The terms were not made public.>

Three red petals were upon the rice cake. JNFL was now part of Mitsubishi, and the massive stockpile was disappearing from a facility that had been established with considerable effort. Mitsubishi, whose corporate logo might be construed to look like a three-petaled flower, had established a new presence on the moon. Mitsubishi was one of the few companies with the capabilities to reprocess used nuclear materials, and had extensive experience in weapons development, spacecraft technology, and military shipbuilding.

The poetry might be horrible, but the message was wonderful news.

Before Tomozo Onishi came to Mitsubishi USA, he was deeply involved in the revitalization and refit of a Takanami class destroyer of the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force, which made him the natural choice as the integration manager on Hiro’s team. Kinpei Yamaguchi was a spacecraft expert who had moved up to a managerial role, and Kakuji Shima was well-respected senior electronics engineer. Michael Bugyo was a natural for the reactor design and implementation effort, and his previous deputy Tim Akira had strong experience in armored vehicles and weapons development. It was a solid design and development group that drew from many of the strengths of Mitsubishi.

Before that team could get to work on their important project however, Hiro needed to convince BuShips that this is what he should be working on. Managing your subordinates came easy to Hiro Yakazuki. Managing your superiors was a decidedly uncomfortable new challenge.

Hiro walked into the office of his new superior, Commodore Howell, and waited patiently to be recognized.

“Hiro, I’m glad you stopped by. We’ve been giving you what might seem like busy work for your first week, but they really were projects that were way behind on and needed your help. You and your team really did great with them. I’m really impressed.”

“I shall pass along your compliments to my team. They will be most gratified.” Hiro answered.

“We have a design request for updating one of our corvettes, and since you’ve done so well I thought I’d give your team first crack at it. How about you all see what you can come up with?” the Commodore offered with a smile.

“It would be our honor to serve the Confederacy in such a way. My team will begin work immediately,” Hiro promised.

“All the requirements are available with the AI. The project is code-named ‘Prometheus’.”

“We shall do our utmost to provide you with our best efforts, Commodore,” Hiro answered. With that, he departed.

Commodore Howell wasn’t a bad boss, Hiro thought. He had seen better, and worse. Hiro was used to being much more closely supervised than Commodore Howell’s hands-off methods, but that seemed as much a function of western management practice as his personal style. At least that gave him considerable freedom to do what must be done. As long as Hiro’s team delivered, Howell would be pleased. How the team got there didn’t seem to be of much concern to Howell.

“Project Prometheus” was pretty close to what Hiro had been hoping for. It had a set of requirements that were impossibly contradictory, which opened the door to throwing most of them out and claiming that what they wanted to do was the only option the requirements actually allowed them to do. As long as there was good justification for how they departed from the spirit of the design request, Hiro believed the results would likely be acceptable to Commodore Howell.

Hiro quickly penned a note to his friend Chuichi Yushida at Mitsubishi. It was mostly conversational, talking about how the families were doing, how the food was substandard, and other complaints, but how despite the problems they had found useful employment with the Confederacy. A minor aside contained the true purpose of the message, reading:

“My honored colleague, we have been given great new responsibilities that have offered great happiness to Tomozo Onishi who finds himself laboring once again in familiar fields, despite missing the wisdom and advice of his treasured former assistants. We are all encouraged by your enduring friendship, which inspires our important work.”

Yushida would recognize the significance of mentioning Onishi’s previous experience in warship design: the plan was in motion. Now Hiro needed information about integrating Mitsubishi’s research and development efforts into his Confederacy efforts.

Hiro called the team together to discuss the requirements of Project Prometheus. Predictably they expressed polite consternation at how you could not simultaneously install more firepower into a smaller ship, provide more acceleration to a ship that was limited in engineering space, and yet make it more survivable in combat. Poor design requirements were not entirely unusual. In Japan, they would be returned to the executive in charge of them, and he would lose face.

One opportunity, one encounter.

The team set itself to the task of evaluating the design requirements, taking each one in turn. If the requirement imposed a solution, such as “the ship shall be a corvette” the requirement was noted as being inappropriate, as a proper requirement should express a need, not dictate a constraint. If a need was not adequately defined, the team suggested useful refinements. If a need was ambiguous, the team suggested clarifications. If requirements that should be present were missing, the team suggested them.

The result more tripled the length of the original requirements definition, but started to look much more like the kind of requirements definition that Hiro was familiar with. It was now time to present this to Commodore Howell without doing so in a way that would have him lose face. Or perhaps discover that the improved definition differed considerably than the original.

“Honored Commodore, my team has reviewed the requirements definition and encountered several issues. We have prepared a report for your review so we may improve the opportunity of success with this project,” Hiro advised.

“Oh, there were problems with the requirements? That’s unusual. What sorts of problems?”

“We found much imprecision. If we are not given clear direction, it is possible that our efforts will not result in a suitable solution. It is our belief that this project may not succeed without many improvements at this stage,” he responded.

“So how bad can it be?” Howell asked with deep concern.

“We anticipated that the refinements must be extensive and such effort may put at risk our delivery schedule. To facilitate those improvements the team has offered suggestions which may greatly ease the burden of this additional work. It is our utmost wish to assist our colleagues in this important effort.”

Howell pulled out his data pad and pulled up the document that Hiro’s team had produced.

“Dear God, there’s markups everywhere!” he exclaimed.

Hiro patiently waited.

“What’s this about not basing the design on an Ainsworth?”

Hiro responded. “Sir, a proper requirement should not impose a design constraint without demonstrating why the constraint is necessary, otherwise it can introduce a design flaw.”

“Oh,” Howell vaguely commented. He continued examining the document. “You think these substitute requirements for that item would be an improvement?”

“Very much so, Commodore. If we instead describe the function of this ship, we have the ability to select a hull that may provide more suitable capabilities.”

“That makes sense. How about...”

The discussion went on for about another ten minutes, with Hiro patiently explaining what a proper requirement was without making the Commodore feel like he was being lectured to. Howell accepted each modification in turn until it seemed to him the remainder of the exercise would yield the same consistent result. Even though they’d only gotten through perhaps a tenth of the document, it seemed to Howell that going through this line-by-line was going to be a waste of time.

“Colonel, given what I’ve seen of this I’m just going to go ahead and approve the rest of these changes. I’ll forward this on to the requirements team so maybe they can learn something here.”

“Yes, sir. I am gratified to see that our work has met with your approval.”

As Hiro was dismissed his well-practiced discipline of keeping his emotions in check served him well. It would not have been fortunate to have Commodore Howell understand Hiro’s thoughts as this proceeded.

A dance then commenced, solely for the benefit of the ever-present AI, performed by players who instinctively understood their roles.

“Chimu, we may be well served to consider design platforms that may solve some of these problems by looking back on our unique history. If we make possible long-range, significant firepower in a small platform the priority, what has successfully done so in the past?” Hiro asked the men.

They quietly considered the question for a moment.

“Shimakaze,” Tomozo Onishi offered.

The Shimakaze class, of which only one had been built during World War Two, was a naval legend that never had the opportunity to prove itself. It could launch a stunning total of fifteen torpedoes at once that could run beyond twenty kilometers, move at a breathtaking speed of fifty knots, and they packed a devastating punch. Powered by an oxygen reaction rather than steam, they were nearly undetectable as they ran. Early on in the war, Americans who had suffered under the withering barrages of these weapons refused to even consider the possibility that they’d been attacked from such long range, by ships they couldn’t see, and instead attributed the attacks to mysteriously undetected nearby submarines. The Shimakaze was the ultimate, yet unvetted platform for these well-proven and deadly weapons.

Given the constraints of the discussion, Hiro fully expected this answer. That’s the reason he asked the question, after all.

The requirements for the project had been carefully nudged in a specific direction. Any requirements that supported Hiro’s intent were strengthened, and any that opposed it were gently weakened. Now anyone looking at the extensive list of requirements would arrive at a single conclusion, were they actually paying attention.

Now that obvious conclusion must be explained for those who might not understand this way of thinking.

“What an excellent observation, Onishi-kun,” Hiro complimented. “What are your thoughts on this?”

Tomozo was pleased by the unexpected familiar honorific Hiro had used and launched into his understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of the Imperial Japanese Navy during that great war. “Although we revere the Yamoto and other great battleships of that age, they contributed rather little to the war. Japanese cruisers were well respected, but were not dramatically different than their American counterparts in most cases, and the carriers were not better than the Americans. No, it was Japanese ingenuity with destroyers that was the achievement of that age’s naval history. Japan chose a different path than others with many of the designs, and with them they accomplished much. This is something worthy of exploration.”

Kakuji Shima followed after a moment of contemplation. “We must have a torpedo of similar effect in this environment as our torpedo of that time did, however. The current weapons inventory of the Confederacy is not adequate to make a re-imagined Shimakaze of great usefulness. Perhaps a lack of vision has impaired the Confederacy’s development of such a valuable capability.”

Heads nodded. Then Kinpei Yamaguchi spoke up. “A long-range nuclear torpedo would be ideal. They could be made small enough to escape detection, but still cause great damage. If we are limited to a conventional warhead the torpedo would be much larger, making it easier to spot and it would not be as effective.”

“Suteshonmaindo, is it possible to obtain a small nuclear warhead for a torpedo from Confederacy sources?” Hiro asked.

<CENTCOM is devoting their full production of nuclear weapons for defense in the Earthat system. Such weapons are under strict control and only provided to ships stationed in Earthat space or on stationary platforms within that system. On occasion they have permitted obsolete or surplus warheads not produced by CENTCOM to be used elsewhere.>

“Are any further surplus warheads available?”

<I am not aware of any remaining sources. Earth governments have refused all requests for assistance in this regard.>

“This is most unhelpful,” Kinpei observed. “A ship tied to only one port is of limited usefulness in a war.”

“A wise observation,” Hiro noted. “We must help all, not just those in this important system. The war is not won against such an enemy in only one decisive battle, but in many.”

All considered this idea for a while.

“Perhaps we must explore other alternatives,” Hiro relented.

“Our former company may be of assistance. I shall consult with them to see how they may help us. Until I receive word from them, continue to evaluate how these ideas we have discussed may fulfill the task we have been assigned. Until we learn more, proceed as if we may be able to obtain the necessary weapons with which to arm them. If they cannot be found elsewhere, we may be able to fashion them ourselves.”

Hiro’s subordinates gave their enthusiastic assent and quickly left to carry out their assigned tasks.

Kabuki may be hard for outsiders to fathom, but the intensely deliberate, methodical and measured structure of the art form is distinctly meaningful to the Japanese.

The AI expressed neither disapproval nor appreciation for the performance, or the important part that had been reserved for it.

Now that Hiro had established justification for the unusual contact between a Japanese company and the Confederacy, he was free to make an inquiry to Mistubishi without resorting to poetic contrivances. While his message was plain, the medium provided yet another avenue to insert hidden meanings within the rich language and cultural traditions of Japan. Hiro took full advantage.