FLCL: Three Years Later

Chapter 1: Reminiscences

…

Ok, people. This is my second go-round at at "Fooly Cooly" fanfiction, and tends to follow the anime more than the manga, though parts of that will be included. Maybe.

I realize that a large part of the attraction of the show was its sheer craziness; I'll include what I can of that when I can, but this will have a bit more of a serious bent to it than the anime. If that turns you off, sorry. How often I'll be able to update remains to be seen.

I, of course, down own the FLCL franchise. If I did, it would have ended very differently, and that would possibly have lessened it. So I guess it's good I don't.

…

Chapter 1: Reminiscences

In his room, in his house in Mabase, Naota Nandaba lay on his bunk, plucking away at his guitar. He felt bored beyond belief.

The guitar was a Rickenbacker 4001, a vintage model. He'd acquired it from the space pirate / live in maid / amateur nurse, and Personal Bane of His Existence that had blasted into his life three years ago, Haruko Haruhara. He scowled when he thought of her, a feeling of anger kindling in his soul. Thinking of her always did that to him.

She'd used him. She'd pretended to care about him, and, maybe, on some level, she had, but that didn't change anything. She'd straight-up used him, from the get-go.

She'd somehow sensed that he had the potential to create N. O. portals with his mind, and so, to speed that process along, had slammed her guitar—this very guitar in his hands—into his head, causing giant, hostile robots from a would-be galaxy conquering organization known on Earth as Medical Mechanica to spring out of his head. The only thing that had saved them was that other, more heroically inclined, robots had also appeared, and the battle had become a little less one sided. To call it "crazy" would have been an understatement.

The one robot that had been the most helpful, the one they'd named "Canti," for reasons he couldn't quite figure out, was folded up in the corner. It was useful, cleaning the house, and helping in the kitchen, but it hadn't actually communicated with any of them since the bust-up three years ago. It pretty much did what it was told to do, and a few things besides. It seemed to be self-maintaining, which he found to be very convenient, as he really had no idea how to take care of it anyway. It didn't seem to ever need recharging or oiling or anything like that. It just sat there.

Occasionally, he got the feeling it was looking at him, watching him in some way, but then the feeling would pass. He shrugged. So. Let it look all it wanted to. It had been on their side in the battle, and he guessed he owed it for that.

But right now, he didn't even care about that. Sure, everybody was still talking about it, the robots, the battle, and, it seemed like, more than anything, the pink-haired fruitcake, but all he could see, whenever he thought of Haruko, was the word, user. She'd manipulated him, pure and simple, using her sex appeal, her crazy energy, her…her everything, all for personal gain.

She'd said she loved Atomsk, the Pirate King, whose N. O. powers seemed near infinite. But it was fairly obvious that what she really loved was his power.

Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

When he, as Takkun, had somehow acquired that power, she'd totally flipped out, trying to kill him, to get it. That pretty well proved where her love really lay. He had fought back, beating her back, defeating her—only to declare his "love" for her. Now, three years later, he couldn't believe he'd been so naïve.

Before, he had heard other people use the term, "seething," but he'd never really understood it. Now he did, altogether too well.

Another chord. How had he gotten this guitar? He wasn't completely sure. It seemed like he'd found it. There were parts of the last four years that were a kind of blur. Maybe that was for the best.

But the parts that were clearest were the ones he wished were blurred.

Mamimi. She'd left. Just up and left, and he'd heard nothing from her since then. How could she just…go? Haruko he could kinda understand. She was crazy, and an alien, and power-hungry to boot. Good riddance.

But Mamimi…it was like she was his…best friend? Almost girlfriend? Friend-girl? Something? And she just…left. That had really hurt

"It was only a dream, Naota." Yeah, just a dream.

But dreams are for those who sleep. I'm awake now. And I'll stay awake forever.

Several times, at dinner, his father had asked him—somewhat guardedly, it seemed to him-if he'd heard anything from her. "No," he'd always reply, evenly. "I haven't. Why?" But there was never really any answer to that, nor did he expect one.

There'd been no letters, no emails, no texts. Nothing. That he couldn't really understand. Not after all they'd…meant to each other. At least, all he thought they'd meant to each other. Obviously, he'd been wrong. About a lot of things.

They'd taken him to counselors, psychologists. They'd wanted him to talk to them about "what happened." He told them he didn't really remember much about it, just bits and pieces. And dreams. Dreams? Oh, he never could really remember the dreams. You know how dreams were. He'd never been able to remember any details when he woke up. Just that they'd been about Mamimi. He figured that would be obvious enough. And, of course, they invariably asked him if he'd had thoughts of harming himself or others. Well, he knew the right answer to that, and the wrong answer to that, and he wasn't about to give them the wrong answer, even if it were true, which it wasn't. So that was a stupid question, but he guessed they had to ask it.

Adults, he was finding out, asked a lot of stupid questions.

He'd long ago grown accustomed to the notion of adults asking a lot of stupid questions.

So they'd nodded, smiling, written down something on their progress notes, checking off some things, and told him he could go, that he was doing fine. He wasn't getting into trouble, at least, not any more trouble than most fifteen year old boys did, and that he "just had to work through some things." His grades weren't affected, he didn't use drugs, and he hadn't killed anybody yet. (Though he'd been tempted. One grinning fool of a boy had had the nerve to ask him how his "wife" had been "you know," wink, wink. When he finally understood just what the grinning fool of a boy (with his cohorts chortling in the background) had been asking, said grinning fool of a boy had stopped Naota's fist with his face. His grin didn't look so good with his teeth all over the floor. The others had jumped him, but he'd expected that, and, while he'd taken his share of bruises, they'd gotten more than they'd given. Naota was pretty strong and fast for his size and build. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he'd wondered if maybe absorbing Atomsk's power had had some effect on him. (Nah. Probably not.) So, yeah. Work through some things. Got it.)

Maybe they'd sensed his lie. Maybe that was why they'd "discharged" him: can't work with some lying kid. Can't do anything with somebody who's in denial. If that was gonna be his line, that he didn't remember anything, then so be it.

But the truth was…

He remembered everything. At least, everything about Mamimi. And Haruko, too, but mostly Mamimi.

He remembered when Tatsuku left, how broken up she'd been. He'd tried to comfort her. After all, she'd come pretty close to being his sister-in-law; there was already a relationship there. He'd felt responsible.

Plus…

"Look after her, Naota. She'd gonna need you."

So when it turned out she'd taken to going missing a lot, he'd gone looking for her and found her under the bridge where, as it turned out, she almost always seemed to be. Shigekuni didn't want her in his house. So he'd sought her out and found her there, crying almost non-stop. How was he supposed to deal with that? And she'd kept on crying. And crying. And crying some more. He was twelve freakkin' years old, he didn't know how to deal with things like that! Hell, did grown men know how to deal with things like that? So, hesitantly, acting purely on instinct, he'd started just putting his arm around her, trying to let her know she wasn't alone, to get her to stop crying. After a while…a long, long while…she'd stopped crying, and just held on to him, sniffling. They hadn't said a word the whole time.

But the look she'd given him when he told her he had to go, to get on home, haunted his dreams that night.

He began checking in on her daily, at the bridge. It seemed like she was always there. He knew she was bullied a lot at school, so he guessed it made a decent alternate playground.

(But why didn't she ever go home?)

Except one day a winter storm moved in and it had been raining, coming down in torrents. And it was cold, a cold rain, mixed with snow and sleet. He'd left for school that day, wearing his heaviest jacket and a poncho, high-traction waterproof boots, carrying an umbrella. He'd learned to wear the poncho since a lot of drivers along the road seemed to live for the thrill of splashing passing schoolkids with cold rainwater. He'd actually seen some cars swerve in order to accomplish this. Assholes.

On the way back, going across the bridge, the rain had slackened up a bit…and he'd heard the sound of sobbing coming from under the bridge.

Oh come on. Surely not. Not in this weather.

He slid down the muddy embankment, turned, and there she was: sitting as far up under the bridge as she could, soaking wet and shivering with cold. The "bridge girl," some others at school had come to call her. Without a word, he came up and sat down beside her. Just sat there, as close by her as he could. She glanced up at him, but kept on crying. Could she be that distraught over Tatsuku's leaving?

Her sobs continued for a few minutes, then she stopped, tapering off and wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve. She was wearing her usual school uniform, no jacket, no wet-weather wear, no umbrella, and her usual short skirt. Her hair hung in strings down her neck, and her uniform was all muddy. The only way she could have possibly been more wet than she already was, would have been if she were underwater, and he wasn't too sure of that. After a moment, he took off his poncho, then his coat. "Here," he'd said, handing her the dry jacket and wet poncho. "Put this on," indicating the poncho, "and take off those wet clothes." Then handed her the coat, "and put this on. I won't look. No," he'd said, seeing the refusal in her expression," don't even think it. Just…just do it, okay? I'm not putting it back on, so one of us should get some good out of it. And it's dry." And he'd resolutely turned his head while she changed. She'd changed while he had his head turned the other way, but he got the distinct impression she didn't care, that she had bigger worries. "Th-thank you, Naota." Her voice had sounded so subdued; he longed to ask her what was so wrong at home that she preferred to spend a rainy, cold afternoon—hell, for all he knew, it might have been more than one day-she certainly wasn't dressed for this weather, and he caught a faint whiff of an unwashed body—underneath a bridge, when she could be in a warm house, with television and indoor heat. But something, that same something as before, told him he didn't really want to know.

They just sat there for a long time, not speaking. He was beginning to get cold himself, but he'd thought to wear a warm-up suit underneath his clothes, so it wasn't so bad. "I have to go," his brother had said, looking around to make sure Shigekuni wasn't around. "But promise me you'll take care of her, Naota. She'll need you. She'll need you a lot."

"I promise, Tatsuku-kun."

Tatsuku had hesitated, as though feeling maybe he shouldn't say any more. But then he'd come to an obvious decision, and drew Naota aside, into their room. "Look, Naota. I'm going to have to go away soon, to the states. And…Mamimi is going to need someone to look after her. I know you're young an' all, but you're pretty mature for your age, and you're going to have to be like a brother to her. You're going to have to, to, take care of her. There's a lot going on with her at home, things I can't tell you about, that are…pretty bad. So…I'm gonna have to depend on you to take care of her for me, while I'm gone."

"But…but what's going on with her, at home? Can't you at least tell me some of that?"

But his brother had only shaken his head. "I can't, Naota. It's just bad. It's part of the reason why she gets picked on so much at school. You know how some people feel about…people who aren't…" He'd looked down the hallway, to make sure Shigekuni wasn't within earshot, "y'know, who are…different. That's stupid, but… Well, some people carry that to…extremes. Extreme extremes. Even in their own families. Sometimes especially in their own families." He wouldn't look Naota in the eyes. "Anyway, that's all I can say about that. So…help her for me, will you? Be there for her. In whatever way you can. You're a big enough boy you can do that, now. And, and….don't tell anyone anything about this, what we talked about. Or about…anything…you may find out. Okay?"

"And here." And he'd pricked his thumb with and old pocketknife he'd had, then pricked Naota's thumb with the same blade. Rubbed the two thumbs together, mingling their blood together. "Now, whenever you need me, call me. I'll be there. Don't ask me how. I just will."

"I will, Tatsuku-kun." He didn't understand that last part, but he idolized his big brother. He'd never lied to him. If Tatsuku said he'd be there, he'd be there. If he had to flap his arms and fly across the ocean, he'd be there.

Under the bridge: For a long time, neither of them said anything. He wanted so badly to ask her what was so wrong at her house that she chose to spend this rainy, cold afternoon under a bridge, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, assuming she'd tell him, anyway. He'd come to the reluctant conclusion it didn't have anything to do with money, or the lack of it. She sniffled again, wiping her nose on her sleeve, still shivering. "You…you shouldn't be seen with me, Naota-kun. I, I'm a bad person. You should keep away from me. Your grandfather is right, about me."

He reached over and took her hand. Just held her hand; nothing special. Then he put his arm around her, like he had so many times before, and drew her onto his shoulder. She was taller than he was, but he sat up higher on the embankment, his hand around her head, holding her close. "You're not a bad person, Mamimi. People haven't been very nice to you, but that's their problem. I think you're a very nice person. As far as I'm concerned, you're practically family, no matter what grandfather says. And no matter what, you're my best friend." She cried a little more after he said that, and he was afraid he'd said the wrong thing, but then she'd hiccupped into silence, and smiled at him. Then she lay with her head on his shoulder, sighing as though in relief. Then he happened to glance over down her back and saw the bruises.

He felt his blood beginning to boil. Mamimi was a girl. There was no excuse for anybody beating on any girl like that. "Mamimi? What are these marks? Who hit you like this?"

She immediately pulled away—but nothing could pull away the memory of what he'd seen from his mind. "N—no one!" Pulling her soaking jacket more tightly around her. "I, I fell. Yes, I fell. I'm just...clumsy, is all.

Okay, a fall might produce a bruise or two. But those look like the marks of a rod or stick or something. How can a fall produce that?

Mamimi, who is doing this to you? And why?

Once she got herself under control, he said, "Mamimi. Come with me."

"What? Where…where are we going, Takkun?" Takkun?

"Home."

"I…I can't! Your grandfather…!"

"He went out of town to get supplies for the bakery. He'll be gone for the weekend. And father's in the kitchen about now. He'll be easy to sneak past. I've done it lots. So come on."

"No, Takkun, it's alright, I'm fine, I just…" There she went again, calling him "Takkun," the name she called his brother. Why?

"You're soaking wet, you're cold, you're shivering under a bridge in horrible weather. And you don't even have any pants on. You're not fine. You'll catch your death of cold out here. You could even die of hypothermia or something. And I'm supposed to just go on my merry way and let that happen? Get real. Now come on. Come on." And he led her back to his house.

True to his word, Shigekuni was out, and Kamon was busy in the bakery. It was no great trick to just lead her around the back way upstairs to his room. "Uh, Takkun?" She looked around, fearfully, as though expecting his grandfather to suddenly leap out from behind the chest of drawers or something and call her a bad word, order her out of the house. Gods knew he already had, plenty of times, blaming her for Tatsuku's leaving. "But…but won't your father…I mean, won't he know I'm here?"

"No, he won't. I often play my music pretty loud in here, and he hates it." He smiled a mischievous smile. "That's one reason why I play it so loud. Well, mostly. And there's a loose board just down the hallway, squeaks something terrible. Nobody's ever cared to fix it. I've learned to listen for it."

"But why?" Then a look of understanding crossed her face. After all, he was a boy. "OH! I see!" She giggled. He found he liked hearing her giggle. It was a lot better than hearing her cry.

She'd been crying way too much lately, in his opinion.

"Anyway," he said, fighting down the blush, "You're staying here tonight. You'll have to keep quiet, of course, and you can't smoke. Father or grandfather would smell it for sure. Here." He gave her one of his brother's old baseball jerseys, shoved her towards the bathroom. "You can get cleaned up in there. I'll wash and dry your clothes. Go on." He pushed her towards the half-bath.

Presently she emerged, wearing the jersey. She'd rolled the sleeves up so it didn't come down and cover her hands. It was only a shirt, so it didn't come down very far on her, and, even at twelve, he found he could appreciate a nice pair of legs, and Mamimi did indeed have a nice pair of legs. But he deliberately drew his attention elsewhere. That wasn't what she was here for. She was Tatsuku's girlfriend; it was his job to look after her until his brother got back. "How do I look?"

That was a curious question. Why would she ask that? It was just a shirt. But he guessed girls tended to ask things like that. "You look great. That shirt fits you perfectly." Actually, it was a bit too large, but better too large than too small. She didn't look too convinced, glancing down at herself critically. "Actually, it, uhm, you look kinda cute wearing that." Didn't girls like it when you said things like that? "Here," he motioned to the bottom bunk. "You'll sleep here, tonight. I'll sleep on the top one." The top bunk had been Tatsuku's, and nobody slept there, but, he figured, for once, this time, he could. No harm done. Just this once. Long as it was just him, and nobody else. Plus, he was honest enough with himself to admit, he was a little nervous about watching Mamimi, who was wearing nothing but that shirt, climb the ladder to the top bunk. There would have been way too much temptation to watch… "Now here." He handed her a towel. "Wrap this around your waist, pull up the top part of the shirt, and lie face down on the bunk. I won't look while you do. But I need to rub this ointment into your skin, onto those bruises."

"Takkun, I-*"

"They're painful, aren't they?" She nodded. He got the impression the pain was more than physical. "Then humor me, okay? Here, I'll get some bandages." He rummaged around in Tatsuku's old locker. "Now…" He said, his back turned towards the medicine drawer. "Just lie down on the bunk, face down, and I'll rub it in. This is what I used to do for Tatsuku when he got a really fast ball in the wrong place. I don't know if it'll work on these, but it ought to."

He stayed turned around and waited for her to tell him it was safe. "Okay," she said. And he turned back.

And had to stifle a gasp of horror. Mamimi's back was a mass of bruises, both old and fresh. Oh, 'mimi, what awful person did this to you? But he suspected he already knew the answer. "I'm sorry," she said.

"'Mimi, you're apologizing way too much. Quit doing that. You haven't done anything to be sorry for." He opened the jar of ointment. He didn't know if it would work, but it was all he had-applied some alcohol disinfectant-he didn't think it was necessary, but it couldn't hurt—then lavished on the ointment. It was supposed to work for any sort of bruise or non-open wound, and these were the kings and queens of bruises. "There," he said, "now for the bandages. They'll keep the ointment in place and keep you from rubbing these and making them any worse than they are." He noticed she was crying again, silently. "Mamimi, what's wrong? Did I hurt you, some way?"

"N-no, Takkun. You didn't hurt me. I'm just…never mind me. I'm sorry for being so much trouble."

"There you go apologizing again. You're my friend. What else are friends for?"

She was silent for a while. Then, "Thank you, Takkun."

He'd really have to ask her why she kept doing that. But not now.

He got the bandages and wrapped her up, doing his best not to touch her where he shouldn't. Oddly enough, she didn't act like she seemed to care about where he touched her. She must be in too much pain. Finally, sitting beside her on the lower bunk, he broached the subject that had been pestering him for so long. "Mamimi, what-*"

But she held up a hand. "Please, Takkun, don't, don't ask me that, okay? I mean, just don't. I, I can't tell you some things. This, this is one of them. So just don't ask, okay?" There was a pause. "If you want me to go, I will."

"I don't want you to go. I want you to stay. Tonight, at least. And grandfather will be gone tomorrow, too, so you can stay tomorrow as well. That'll give me the chance to rub some more of that ointment on your back, see how it's doing."
He thought of something. "Your parents won't miss you, will they? I mean, maybe you should call them…."

"No," she said vehemently, "they won't miss me. They certainly won't miss me." She snorted. "I promise you, they definitely won't miss me."

That only confirmed his suspicions.

Later on that night, he was up in the upper bunk texting his brother. It should be daytime there. {{Hey, bro.}}

{{'Sup, little bro?}}

{{What's going on with Mamimi?}}

There was a pause. Then, {{What do you mean?}}

{{I mean she's crying all the time, she stays away from home all she can, and her back's a mess. I put some of that ointment you had on it…}}

{{It won't help much, but it'll be better than nothing. Did you ask her how she got them?}}

{{She said she fell}}

{{Yeah. She 'fell' alright. That's about all you'll get out of her.}}

{{But what happened?}}

{{Naota…she's half-Korean. You know how some people feel about 'hafus'}}

Indeed he did know. He glanced down at the sleeping girl. But beating her was no excuse. {{Where is she now?}}

{{In my room in my bed, asleep. Sorry, but I'm in your bunk.}}

{{Waytago, little bro. Take care of her for me, will you? And, one last word of advice: respect her. And, yes, love her. 'Cause you and I might be the only ones who do.

{{Love ya, little bro.}}

{{Love you, too, big bro.}}

"Takkun?" Mamimi woke up gradually, looking very sleepy. He thought she looked cute like that, with her hair in disarray, and sleep evident on her face.

"Yes, Mamimi?

"Who were you talking to?"

Quick, a lie. "Grandfather. He's staying over an extra day." Which was true. Shigekuni's "supply runs" frequently took him by some of the better casinos in Tokyo. And it didn't hurt that said casinos frequently also were combined with some excellent brothels. He'd occasionally overheard his grandfather talk about some of the goddesses there….and what they'd do for a man. Naota had just shrugged. Adults were so stupid. But hey, he guessed his grandfather was old, not dead. "So you can stay an extra day."

She sat up, kneeling on the bunk. "I, I hate to be such a bother."

"You're so not a bother! Quit saying that."

"Then, Takkun…would you do me a favor?"

"Sure, I guess. What kind of favor?"

"It's a big one."

"Tell me."

"Would…would you sleep with me? Down here, I mean? In this bunk? Just…sleep down here, with me?"

What? "Why, 'mimi?"

"Cause I'm…scared."

Scared? Of what? But…okay. "Sure." The bunk was barely large enough for one person, let alone two. "I'll sleep on one side, and you sleep on the other. No problem." And she made room for him.

It felt very strange, sharing a bed with a girl. Especially Mamimi. But if that was what she needed…but what did she have to be scared of?

He got in beside her, hitching over as far as he could, to give her the room she needed, turning his back to her. "Now go to sleep. I'll be right here—"he was on the outside—"and if you need to get up in the night, just let me know. Or climb over me, one of the two."

"Okay, Takkun. I will." Abruptly, she reached over and kissed him on the cheek, just a quick peck. "Thank you, Takkun, for taking such good care of me."

He didn't really know what to say to that. "You're welcome" sounded like such a stock answer.

It had been a long day, not just physically, but emotionally, as well. He hadn't realized just how needy she was, or how emotionally exhausting it could be. But whatever the case, he'd made a promise, and, anyway, if Mamimi needed him, he'd do whatever it took. So he turned over away from her, and promptly fell asleep.

He was awakened during the night by her shifting in her sleep, arms and legs moving spasmodically, as though she were trying to run. "No, no!" she was saying, "I haven't done anything! Please!"

Nightmares? Maybe this was what she was scared of. "Mamimi, wake up. It's all right, it-*" But she suddenly came bolt upright, looking around with a wild expression that frightened him a little. She looked like an animal caught in a trap. "Mamimi, it's alright, you're okay, you're safe."

Abruptly, she started to cry again. Didn't the girl ever run out of tears? But he was beginning to see what Tatsuku meant about her needing someone.

He pulled her back down in the bed, and she suddenly turned towards him, clutching him, as though he were a life-raft in a storm at sea. Which, he guessed, he kinda was.

He just held her, making soothing sounds, trying not to touch the bruised area on her back, even though he knew he couldn't possibly hurt her any worse than she already had been.

The present: Naota had spent another hour in detention, again for fighting. The school counselors said something about "anger issues" resulting from "childhood trauma," but they hadn't really done anything besides recommend some "good" inpatient treatment facilities." And medication. Seemed they loved to recommend medication. He wouldn't have taken it on a bet. No way he was gonna mess his head up worse.

Boys were so stupid. He'd heard the remarks that they thought he hadn't overheard, and, once again, was a simmering mass of anger. Well, maybe he did have "anger issues"—with stupid people. Why were all these dumb boys so obsessed with his supposed sex life?

Probably because they didn't have one of their own, he answered himself.

Not that he did. But what Naota didn't realize was that he was something of a legend there at the school. None of the other kids saw what had happened to him as "molestation." They saw him as the boy who, in their words, "got some," and at twelve, to boot. He rolled his eyes every time he heard that. He hadn't "gotten" what they all thought he had, but of course, there was no point in denying it.

And the girls were even worse. Some of them actually acted like they were afraid of him, like he was gonna turn into a Mr. Hyde or something and, and…he didn't really know what they thought he'd do. Rape them? Hah! No! Freakkin'! Way! Girls were stupid, too.

The one thing that wasn't stupid was his guitar. He guessed he'd earned it. It was his by right of conquest, or something. And it was a good guitar. He was sure any ordinary guitar, Rickenbacker or not, would never have stood up to the usage he'd seen Haruko put it to, not just slamming it into his head, but into practically everything he could think of, robots' metal bodies included. And it had never needed a tuning. Which was good, because he had no idea how to tune one.

And his father and grandfather, at home, weren't much better. Several times his grandfather, a worshipper of the bat and ball club, had asked him if he'd try out for the team. His automatic response of "hell, no," didn't sound very polite, so he transmogrified it into "no, thanks." That was usually the end of that. Baseball? No way. Baseball had taken his brother away.

Not that he blamed his brother. Mabase was a dump, and he wasn't long for it anyway. He planned on studying hard, keeping his grades up, and getting into a good college somewhere. Preferably somewhere far away, Tokyo, maybe. He'd heard Tokyo was the greatest city on Earth, and he believed it. After all, how cool would it be to live in the city that got routinely attacked by Godzilla? (Well, of course, it didn't, but he could dream, couldn't he?)

…..

"Commander? Sir? I think you should see this." The watch officer indicated his radar screen. "See? That blip wasn't there a few minutes ago." The blip in question was on a course for Earth.

"What area is this covering?"

"Deep space. Around Earth's moon. But that's on the wrong trajectory to be any asteroid we know of."

"What's its vector?"

"Looks like it's heading for Japan, sir. But no worries; at that velocity, it'll burn up in the atmosphere."

…..

To be continued….