The Shift
"Package on the move," Kozuma said into the handheld. At last, he withheld.
The little wisp of smoke liked her long and windy walks. Very rarely did she deign to sit with the rest of humanity on a bus. No reason to complain, though. This is the prime shift. The five-to-three. The morning is cool and the eastern sky alight with pink glow, soft and barren as hard-scrubbed flesh. It was 75 degrees and not nearly so humid as to the cliche in the Post-Impact-World.
He motioned to the rookie next to him. "Open up the A4. Log the time of departure as...06:06 hours. Leaving apartment, southbound toward the A-2. Alone and carrying school satchel." A long sigh whistled out his nose. "Subject once more not skipping along like a right-minded child."
"...you serious? Sir?"
I love new people. "No, kid. Not that last part..."
"Ah."
"You're from where again?" He started the car when the Package took the corner along the A-2 and out of the soiled apartment district. "They tear down all of Hakone to build this city, but they still haven't knocked down these shithole cinderblocks." An errant nod to the row upon row of neglected vacancies.
"Uh, no. Guess they haven't. I'm from Tokyo."
"No shit," Kozuma nodded approval. "A real live Nichi, huh?"
"Yessir." The kid chuckled, a wide, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. "I was ten when the bomb hit. Me and my mom were in Okinawa because she divorced my dad. He stayed, we went to live with her folks. And, yeah. Got lucky."
Kozuma whistled. "Christ, kid."
The rental smoothly took the corner and their charge stood out like a walking mannequin, striding in the shadows of a dozen rusted tin awnings strewn up from the chain-link fence walling off the vestiges of Old Hakone from Tokyo-03.
"There she is."
"They never really told me much about this job beyond the bodyguard angle and benefits package."
"Never do."
"So, I've never seen an albino before. Ever. Not even heard of one with blue hair."
"Got no answers for you, Ikeda. You took the shift, you took the pay, hell, you took the pension plan. You asked no questions. No one does now. Ain't worth it." Kozuma parked the car next to a small flower stand, the proprietor looking up with narrow, sleep-deprived eyes. Seeing their black suits and earbuds, he carefully walked round his cart, and turned on the radio sitting catty-corner on the stand. The Pops Best 10 Hour started belting out one Amuro's newest singles and the old man warded all eye contact with a yellowed newspaper.
"Just me or do people spook easy?"
"Our uniforms are...reminiscent of certain arms of the Ministry of the Interior after the Valentine Conflict." Kozuma shrugged, looking pointedly at the flower man. Uncomfortable shadows suit the past, those still casting themselves on the present, however, was unfortunate.
"Early riser, our girl." Ikdea said.
Yeah. No one likes that topic.
The rich scent of carnations, gardenias and the subtle undertones of greenhouse tea roses wafted in. Pigeons mooched around the sidewalk, looking for all manner of found. The stale scent of ozone. All the contrivances of everlasting summer.
"Yeah, always is. Girl's more machine than human some days. Switch the radio to Tac-7. Call in position to Overwatch." The First carried on down the walk without a care, thinning out like a piece of string pulled away from the eye.
Ikeda called it in. A soft crackle erupted. "Roger, 1-13. Keep eyes open and Morris' detail will take over once she reaches the high school."
"Copy, we're Oscar-Mike." Kozuma repressed a grin and set off from the curb once the First took the steps of the Skyway spanning the A-2 two at a time. A little white sliver on that huge expanse of green steel.
"Keep eyes-on. I have to take a few turns. We have to get a ways ahead of her. Overwatch has got her currently."
"She know we're here?"
"Certainly. I've spoken with her once. Sprained her ankle while jogging track at the school. We stepped in, offered a ride to the first aid station. She refused. Quiet as a ghost. Had to lean in to hear."
"Sounds about right from what I read. Lot of her file is redacted."
"Yeah. All the kids, if more do show up, will have 'em like that. Thick, blacked out, no pasts. Not important for us. We just keep 'em safe."
"From who?"
"I ask myself that often."
"Huh. Fools lead by the blind?"
"That's the job."
Kozuma remembered curious detachment in her eyes. 'I am all right.' Not a twitch of nervousness about the three large men who appeared from seemingly nowhere. Never showed a twitch like all the blank faced kids around her. A survivor, he thought.
Now? After nearly a year of being her morning observer? Survivor nothing. Kozuma figured she just didn't give a flying shit about anything. Not one stimuli in the world entire captivated her, no boy (or girl) caught her interest, the Geo-Front did nothing for her, life was a routine wheel without end. Gallows humor had it if she didn't need some human comforts, she'd be the Buddhist ideal of no attachments, no needs, nothing.
She, Special Agent Inoue postulated once after-shift, only eavesdropped on the world.
"There's no plasticity to her." Kozuma muttered, remembering another part of that rant, parking the car four blocks from the school.
"I'm sorry?"
"Nothing. Just thinking aloud. I do that a bit too much."
"Heh, I do too, sometimes. Sometimes."
Both settled in and withdrew into their own thoughts. Kozuma drew out his pen and started the little trick with his fingers. The gold tube of it danced between his fingers, over the knuckles, back down the road again. Time passed with the tapping cane of blind men. It meandered. They sweat downpours. Roll up the windows and deny rising humidity any trespass.
Tap, tap, tap of the old cane.
"'Bout as bad as any TV stakeout, then." The rook said.
"Worse. We're not actually going after anything. Just babysitting. Pays good, though. Always the thing you should remember."
The world outside the glass was unmoving. None of the reflective towers were even upright yet. Dim red rays of light spilled off of their canted bodies like strange aurora. Like the fingers of some great metal hand curling the city into its palm. The pink of sunrise was giving way to amber and that strange umbral shift in shadow of the not-quite-ready-for-primetime Sun. Still, it was hot in these long shadows.
Hell, I can broach first. "Ever have shaved ice?"
"The cones? Yeah, when I was little. Used to get them all the time in Shinjuku at this corner dealer. Had this really weird Pokemon crap scrawled over it. The knockoffs. Freakish little clown-rat thing." Ikeda said, sneering at the memory. "Guy was weird."
"Heh. Tokyo was rather full of freaks. Hell, the West figured that out way before we did, I think."
"Ever been?"
"Before Second Impact? Nah. Kyoto man right here."
"My sympathies. Why'd you ask?"
"Mmm, the heat always reminds me of 'em. I'd like one. But you'll not really find any shaved ice machines in this damn city. Run by a trio of goddamn computers and covered in automation and not one. One. Shaved ice machine to be found. Sacrilege." He smoothed out his salt and pepper goatee with a broad hand.
"I can live without the dolphins, the general sea life, to wit, the depressing dearth of sashimi unless I want to fork out half my salary, blue oceans, women not looking to have a family five seconds after saying hello...but damn. Some shaved ice...too much to ask for?" Kozuma leaned forward and checked the rearview mirror. It was rare he shared this bushido with newbies on their first ride-along. Might as well make it as painless as possible.
The kid was trying not to laugh. He gave him props. Most of the rooks broke out in incredulous laughter. A man must have some fun at work.
"Heh, Inoue, you'll meet him later, once said the King had 'em all."
"The King, sir?"
"Ikari. King-Under-the-Mountain."
"Wh-" A little wisp of white smoke lanterned down the sidewalk under the shade of the tulip poplars buried along the avenue. The First Child. Ayanami Rei looked as bored and marginally put-out as always.
"Radio." Kozuma held out a hand. Then his face copped wry. "Log it. 06:21 hours, halfway point." He keyed the handheld. "2-1, this is 1-13."
A raspy voice crawled over the airwaves, "2-1, go ahead."
"Package will arrive in ten. She'll be all yours."
"Roger that. Ten until hand off."
"10-4.'-he kept his eyes on the Child-'Crank that AC up, it's already getting hot." The dash LCD read 82 degrees. "Fucking summer. We need plainclothes for days like these." A strong wind carried up from the east with a diluted red scent piggybacking. He choked a little. "And those ocean breezes get worse each year." He didn't understand how they could carry inland so far.
"Well, it's typhoon season...always. What do you want? God to clap his hands and say 'no more'?' Ikeda scrawled his face into an exaggerated Noh grimace and clapped his hands.
"Indeed, too bad there isn't one."
The kid's farcical grimace bled away. "Yeah. Yeah..."
He stared at the parking lot across the street. Macadam already greasy with convecting heat. The reflecting towers folded up to their full height, the ground shook just so. Like a train passing through. A few suicidal early morning joggers running amongst the weedy sidewalks. The city was still half a ruin.
"After this let's head in. Get some breakfast."
"Question, sir."
"Speak your mind."
"To beat a dead horse: why are we looking after her?"
"To be frank? Not a fucking clue, my friend. I'll show you around the barracks when we get underground. We're off morning watch for now. And you're driving."
"Huh?" The grunt fell on deaf ears, Kozuma was already walking round the rear of the car coming to claim shotgun.
"Come on, you're top kick for this drive. I'll watch the radio. Time for you to earn that top dollar. I'll direct if you need."
"Okay."
Very soon after, Ikeda put the car into gear, following the never changing route of their charge. Kozuma sat back, monitored the radio and dreamed of shaved ice when summer was still only one of four seasons.
A/N: Yes, yet another drabble series from me. This time about our men in the black suits. Yes, I'm revisiting Section-02. Snapshots mainly, these drabbles. But with a core set of characters, their interactions, their thoughts on the kids and a bit more. I hope it has a sense of realism toward the end. That this is very much a job and these are very much people with lives that don't stop at the whim of whiny teenagers. Cheers once again to Mashadar for pre-reading. You're a lifesaver.