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    None But Air: Prologue, Episode 1
    None But Air: Prologue, Episode 1
    None But Air: Prologue, Episode 1
    Ebook75 pages49 minutes

    None But Air: Prologue, Episode 1

    By MORI Hiroshi

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    About this ebook

    Everyone called him only by the codename. He was just that special.

    I had been admiring a genius pilot, known and feared as the Teacher, who had shot down numerous enemies already. As I had requested by submitting the application, I was assigned to the elite military flight team stationed in this airbase. Then, I started taking off, with the Teacher, to shoot down enemies, faster than anyone, hunting its prey gracefully like a raptor.

    “In short, you are already the number two pilot here.”

    This novel “None But Air” is the second installment from the masterly “The Sky Crawlers” series (written by Dr. MORI, Hiroshi), and it takes place in the earliest chronological phase of the entire storyline. The dawning of the grand story that will eventually lead to the novel “The Sky Crawlers”, the finale of the series, commences now.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLulu.com
    Release dateJun 29, 2017
    ISBN9781387052264
    None But Air: Prologue, Episode 1

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      Book preview

      None But Air - MORI Hiroshi

      None But Air: Prologue, Episode 1

      None But Air: Prologue, Episode 1

      Originally written in Japanese by MORI, Hiroshi

      Translated by Ryusui Seiryoin

      Cover illustration by mm

      Cover design by mm

      This work was first published in Japan in 2004.

      Japanese edition copyright © 2004 MORI, Hiroshi / Chuokoron-Shinsha

      English edition copyright © 2017 MORI, Hiroshi / The BBB: Breakthrough Bandwagon Books

      All rights reserved.

      ISBN: 978-1-387-05226-4

      Foreword

      Wake up, adults.

      We are the complete form of human beings, whereas children are imperfect.

      Such a logic is equivalent to the insistence that the dead people are the finished figure and the living ones are all imperfect.

      Have you noticed it?

      Being an adult is equal to becoming timid by being aware of your death.

      That is all there is to the value like that.

      That is a silly talk by the adults who are almost dead.

      In the ancient times, people fought while defending and depending on death.

      There was no dignity of their living.

      That was the only thing that the living ones could deal with.

      Have you noticed that the reason for the adults being ugly lies in the fact that their frightened souls never wish to fight for anything?

      None But Air

      Birds are instruments that work according to mathematical laws. Humans can produce instruments to emulate all of birds’ movements. These instruments have anything but the ability to keep the balance, and they are not as sophisticated as birds. Therefore, we can say that these instruments created by humans are equipped with everything except birds’ anima. So, the anima would have to be compensated with those of humans.

      This excerpt is from a manuscript originally written in Italian by Leonardo da Vinci.

      Prologue

      Toward the beautiful sunset, I am now flying.

      The clouds below me are sparkling in their orange colors as if they were taking electrical charges. They are immobile, while looking soft, sweet, and gentle. Why is it that all the gentle things tend to try to stop? Why is it that all the arms that are smiling and spread open wide to welcome me are rendered motionless?

      In contrast, I am always moving.

      Since I move around stealthily, I cannot help but feel strange. Why am I flurried like this? I always wonder. If I stop for only a short moment, I cannot stay here and I will be falling into the clouds ... Rather, if I stop, I will be shot down ... Such fragmented anxieties, which are as worthless as a nut that has been partially munched by a squirrel, are hiding within me. It is like a beaver lodge made of twigs. It must be accumulating inside me, just like that.

      I always look around me, and I can never feel relieved. I make my eyes move the way owls do. Probably, my eyes are bloodshot. If my memory is correct, someone once said, I curse the fact that we have only two eyes. I wonder who that one was ... Although I cannot remember it well, I can still recall the softly purple-dyed roll of the smoke that the aircraft was emitting while going down.

      I squint, and try to smile a little.

      The polycarbonate windshield has been vibrating noisily as if it were sulking. It is the proof that the engine is not working too well. One of the cylinders gives me an impression that it is not quite willing to work with passion. It is a nuisance to have to depend on the system in which I cannot detach such inferior parts. I think it might be the same for groups of humans. They are forced into believing that they would probably be returned the favor someday in the future. Very lukewarm friendship like bunny ears, or the slight touch of wishful thinking. I do not want to make contact with such viscous oil, if possible. I wish I could dump wastes without any hesitation. I want to stay dry and be light. Then, I want to be in the best condition possible for any occasion that I encounter. Only that is my method.

      Like the way wind blows, my enemy always lunges straight at me, no matter where the one is attacking from. Once my hair trembles, I manage the first rudder. That move is nobler than anything. The smoothness of the move decisively affects the results of everything. I am not exaggerating at all. That is exactly true. I was taught this way from the beginning, and then the habit is, by now, deeply ingrained in my nature like oil would seep into me.

      However, unfortunately, I am still far from the ideal.

      Fast, accurate, and sophisticated flow is what I have been dreaming.

      Only that beauty, I can already understand now.

      I have been pursuing it, for a long time.

      In the very near future, I will probably get it.

      There is no way that I will fail to get it, because I have been wishing for it this much.

      Only that is my hope.

      Only that is my goal.

      What is sliding like a stingray a bit above the orange cushion ahead of me is not the shadow of my aircraft. I know it is the one which the Teacher is piloting. Although it is the same model as mine, the smoothness of his flight is beyond description. Even when it is flying straight, I can sense it. The wind, blown almost from the broadside, is fairly

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