Connection

Vash walked briskly through the town, glad that the fading twilight stole the colour from the day. A peculiar disquiet hounded him and he did not look back. The last of the suns had just set and streaked the horizon with fiery yellows and oranges, the high dust clouds glowing like liquid gold. The wind caught at his coat tails, whipping them around his legs. He slowed as he passed a Saloon. Perhaps a round of drinks and a few laughs would help, but as he stepped towards the brightly lit establishment, he recognised two of the engineers who had been on the steamer he had just left. He shifted the movement into an about turn and continued down the road.

The wind that had been teasing before, gained a chill as the gold highlights faded from the clouds. He slowed his walk as he saw the end of the road he travelled. It stretched out into the desert. It was noticeably cooler now, but still comfortable. He liked this time of day, but his heart was too heavy to respond to such subtle delights.

It had been a very long day. It had started very badly. No day should be begun by someone kicking one in the shoulder, especially not the shoulder that carried new stitches from the last fight he had been in. He could not help the cry of pain as he fell sideways and opened his eyes in askance at the treatment. A crowd of gun barrels encircled him, and the expressions on the faces of the people holding them were grim. Vash tried surreptitiously to stop the searing pain his shoulder sent down his arm. It felt like his stitches had torn. He lay on the ground realising that any sudden movements would likely bring more pain than a kick.

"Ow, ow, ow, I was sleeping." He blinked up at the man that had kicked him. "Why, why'd ya wake me like that? It hurt."

"You're Vash the Stampede."

Vash wondered why people insisted on waving the wanted poster in his face each time they found him, as if he would not recognise himself. Or was it perhaps for them to reassure themselves that it was indeed the Vash of the sixty billion double dollars that they had found? He gave no answer, but gazed up at the man hurt, still hoping for an apology.

"It's him alright. Spikey hair, mole on the face there? See. It's hidden. Someone lift him up so we can see."

Vash hastily righted himself he did not want someone to pull on his twice injured arm. The cluster of gun barrels tracked his movements a little unsteadily.

"Hah, so we split the bounty, seven, no nine ways." One man muttered after a quick count.

"Nine? There are fifteen of us here!" A scrawny old man grouched at him.

"What? You're all one family, you get one share?" A second man indicated four scrawny men behind the old man.

"How about you get no share." The old man snapped turned his gun from Vash and pointed it at the man.

Suddenly they were all pointing guns at each other.

"Hey, hey, don't do that." Vash protested, and struggled to his feet.

This turned out to be a mistake, he was taller than his assailants were and they took an exception to this. Someone kicked the back of his knee in and he collapsed onto the ground, but not before knocking his elbow accidently across his assailants head. The man stumbled away, then collapsed, dazed.

"What the hell?" The man's friend tried to assist him and cover Vash at the same time. "You stay down! We've captured you."

That was quite enough of that, Vash decided, and slipped his hand around the straps of his duffle and with a sharp jerk tossed it at the two arguing gunmen. They went down like skittles and the rest only heard two gunshots. Though the pause of sound was the time it took for him to empty his gun, shove the speed loader in place and fire the next six. The next second there was a mad scramble for dropped guns and wails of shock from those with wounded hands.

Vash leaped over them, snatched up his duffle and fled. He found a spot on a service railing near the top deck of the steamer to hide. After checking he was in a secure spot, he had unbuttoned his coat and winced at the bloody bandages on his shoulder. He did not want to risk trying to do anything further while still on the steamer.

His hiding place was good for all of three minutes. He had just buttoned his coat up when he felt a muzzle of a gun against his neck.

"Come nice and quiet, ya hear?" The old man he had felled with his duffle had a very mean look in his eye.

"Comin'." Vash murmured and raised his hands.

.

The service hatch where they had secreted him from the rest of the steamer passengers and crew was sweltering. He tugged at the handcuffs they had clipped his hands together and had used a second pair to link his ankle to a pipe. The pipes were hot, probably from the boiler, so he did not want to risk trying to break the pipe, or he might end up burned as well as captured. They had taken his gun and his bag, and one of the men had thoroughly searched his pockets. He could not find anything with which to pick the locks. He sat trying to work loose one of the screws that secured the pipes to the wall, but the screw was stuck fast through several layers of paint. He kept chipping at it with his fingernails; it gave him something to do.

He had managed to free his left hand with the hidden gun mechanism and was working on his ankle with his right hand. The handcuff had been put on far too tight and his right hand either throbbed painfully or tingled with pins and needles. That was worrying, but he was almost free if he got rid of the handcuff on his ankle.

He had not been aware of fainting in the heat until he woke to what felt like a rock hit his face. He grunted in pain and blearily opened his eyes. It was not a rock, but a bundle of paper. He shoved himself upright, his right hand now quite numb and his ankle going the same way. He picked it up and stared in disbelief. Someone must have had a disagreement with the mob that had chained him. The scrunch of paper concealed the keys to his shackles. He hastily undid his hand then his ankle and then hid the handcuffs so they would not reuse them. He pushed the door to the service hatch open a crack and found three of the thugs sitting watch. He retreated, puzzled, then looked up. Above him was a long service ladder, but a very narrow climb. He shimmied up the ladder and pushed the hatch into a very hot room, no wonder the service passage had been warm, it was the boiler room. He crawled out, trying to remain unnoticed, then caught sight of the plant. Hah, only the engineers ever went up there. He checked his surroundings and darted across to the gantry ladder and then walked up it as if he had all the right in the world to be there. He tucked himself away between the electricity supply couplings and the output tubes. He leaned back against the glass.

(You are hurt?)

He jumped. He had known his sister was awake, but had not expected her to acknowledge his presence so directly, most were content merely to watch him. He winced and held his shoulder and relaxed against the glass once more.

(It's not bad.) He turned and peered over his shoulder at the plant which had twisted around and turned to stare at him. She reached out a long pale arm.

(You want to sleep.)

(Yes I do.) He placed his hand against hers.

(I will watch your dreams.)

He smiled, he did not know how to explain to her that it was not his dreams he needed watched but any approaching humans. His sisters had no concept of the individual and trying to explain that while one could be harmless, another could be a threat would take patience, and would most likely confuse her rather than help him.

He did not sleep. He watched the engineers come and go and listened to the song of his sister plant as she went about her daily work powering the steamer. In response, he sang her the old tune Rem so loved. Occasionally she spoke directly to him. It seemed that she enjoyed watching the engineers tend the boiler as many of her interruptions to his moody thoughts were to point out the crew that worked there. After the fifth one, he realised she was not doing it idly, but was indicating each of the crew distinctly as if they were important to her. He frowned, by her thoughts she did not see them as separate entities, but emanations of a single unit. He smiled at her vague understanding of human society and carefully began to share his understanding with her. She puzzled over his thoughts then did the mental equivalent of stroking his hair.

(It's okay. We know they are precious.)

Vash turned and gazed up at her, astounded. She might not understand the distinctions and individualistic nature of the humans, but she did know they were to be guarded and protected. Vash placed his hand on the glass and smiled his happiness back at her.

"Hey! Hey, you in the red coat! What are you doing up there?"

Oh man, he was busted.

He walked down the gantry to where the engineers were gathered. Their chief verbally laid into him as soon as he was within two yarz of them.

"No civilians allowed in here, what were you thinking? Do you know what that is? She's lost technology! She's powering this steamer! You could have electrocuted yourself!"

"S-sorry." Vash stammered, but did not miss the pronoun; the chief seemed to have a deeper level of attachment than many engineers did. He felt comforted; she was in good hands then.

"Get out." The chief growled disgustedly at him.

Vash followed them down the stairs from the gantry. At the exit to the boiler room, one of the other engineers grasped his wrist.

"Hey, what's wrong with your arm?"

Vash glanced down. There was dried blood seeped into his coat sleeve.

"Er..." He didn't want to explain the fight.

"Are you a stowaway?"

"N-No!" He protested.

"Where is your ticket?"

So much for keeping his bad luck out of this.

"Some thugs kicked me and stole my bag. They took my wallet too."

"Where's your berth?"

"Steerage. I was sleeping by the amidships port bulkhead when they jumped me and stuffed me in the service hatch there." He pointed.

.

Vash found himself in the small medical bay with a young woman doctor re stitching the mess on his shoulder. Five stitches had pulled out.

"You're a mercenary, aren't you?" She murmured as she worked. "I've only ever seen mercs with as many scars as you."

"Uh, I'm a soldier of peace." Vash said with a proud lift to his chin then clenched his teeth. "Ow!"

"Is that why you didn't fight back? I heard the report the folk in steerage gave, you just let them take you. How are you not dead with that attitude, soldier?"

"It, it works." Vash said staunchly. "No one likes pain."

She smiled and shook her head indulgently.

"I also hear our plant took quite a shine to you, old Fredrick is curdling his guts in jealousy."

"H-huh?" Vash said blankly.

"The chief engineer." She said with a slight grin. "Carl, who brought you here, says she animated herself enough so that you could see her whole form and she turned and followed your movements as you left. Frederick is the only other person she'd react too, and then it was only a wave. He was so proud of it."

"Uh, really?" Vash laughed and acted innocent for all he was worth. "Wow, you're really good at stitches."

"Thanks, I get all sorts in here which gives me a lot of practice, unfortunately or fortunately whichever way you want to look at it."

She offered to escort him to the security office.

"Oh, naw, I can find my way thanks. I need to make a, er, vist, on the way." He grinned awkwardly at her.

"Okay." She waved him off.

.

He bypassed the gents then avoided the security office all together. If Fredrick the chief engineer had been true to his word, he would have rounded up the gang of thugs. And if one of them chirped his name he'd have the entire steamer crew after him. He slunk silently back along the service ways to steerage. He peered through the door to find most people sitting in small clusters chatting, eating or dozing. He slunk back to another out of the way place this time on the aft of the room.

"Hey mister?"

He glanced up, he had just settled comfortably. Will, a young boy he had spent most of the week play wrestling with crouched down beside him. His friends kept their distance, but were close enough to watch curiously.

"Ya stupid or sommat?"

Vash blinked.

"That's not the way to speak to a grownup."

"Well them grown ups sez ya Vash the Stampede." Will pointed across the room to a cluster of people who had not yet noticed his presence. "And me Ma sez that's what this sez, no?" He held out the crumpled and torn wanted poster. "And mister that there looks mighty like yer face, no?"

"Er..." Vash grinned looking for an excuse.

"Timothy even stole the keys from the ijits that kicked you. You got them din't ya?"

"Timothy threw those keys at me? Where is he?" Vash asked as he searched for the leader of this group of children.

"He went off after this officer came in and arrested people, sez he'll set things right fer ya. So ya really him, hey?"

Vash felt his heart drop. It was not the thought of an eleven-year-old boy defending him, but of what the adults might do to him for that defence.

Will grabbed his coat sleeve.

"You are, aren't you?"

Vash smiled.

"I am, but..." He put his finger across his lips as he got to his feet.

Will repeated the gesture and stared after him with wide eyes, the wanted poster scrunched in his left hand.

Vash found the security office. Outside the closed door, he found Timothy held by the scruff of the neck by a security officer. In his hands the boy clutched the wallet Vash recognised as his own.

"It ain't yours mister, he's a damned thief I tell ya!" Timothy wriggled and lectured the man who Vash recalled had kicked in the back of his knees.

"The brat's a liar and a thief, you saw him pick my pocket. He needs a good thrashing to teach him manners!" The thug ordered the security officer.

"Actually, that is mine."

Vash reached across and slipped it out of Timothy's hands. Timothy gaped at him.

"Run Vash! They want to catch ya!" He yelled at the top of his voice.

Vash dodged the thugs kick and Timothy twisted around and bit the security guard, then made his escape. The boy smacked him in the ribs on the way past, Vash gasped as the boy's fist connected with a collection of bruises.

"Run, you ijit!"

Vash was impressed at Timothy's knowledge of the steamer's less accessible passages. They ended up on a mezzanine floor between levels four and five beside the service hatches in the aft of the ship. Vash stared, there were the four eldest boys from Timothy's gang and his duffle bag.

"What ya'll doing here?" Timothy lectured them in frantic dismay.

"We got Vash's bag back." Will declared defiantly. "When ya ran off all the others followed ya and we nicked his bag."

"And his gun. It's real heavy mister."

"Phil where'd ya find that?" Will said with an anguished expression as if he had wanted the honour.

Vash stared at the children, amazed. He relieved Phil of his gun and holstered it.

"Thank you." He murmured. "But I don't want you getting mixed up in all this."

"Whaaat? That's no what you say to people who watch your back mister!" Timothy lectured him and gave him a shove on his shoulder. Vash winced.

"Aw, sorry!" Timothy looked so contrite that Vash grinned.

"It's okay." Vash reassured him, but as he spoke he caught the sound of foot falls on the stairs. "Someone's coming."

"This way!" Timothy ran.

They all followed, slipping into the service hatch in time to avoid a search through the ship.

They emerged from the hot passages out into the engineering room again. It was humming.

"Cor, look at the plant angel." Phil whispered, awed.

They all stared down, the plant was directly below them, and the angel turned slowly and looked directly up at Vash. He waved frantically to tell her to retreat; the last thing he wanted was for her to give their location away. She completely misunderstood and waved slowly back. The children waved in response. Not surprisingly, the engineers noticed them.

"There, on the upper gantry."

They hurried out another exit and made their way through the maze of passages that was the service access to the working ship. Vash heard the whistle blowing and called to the children.

"We're nearly at Smithstown. You'd best get back to your parents or they'll worry."

Timothy scowled.

"Yez gonna vanish, ain't ya?"

Vash crouched down and grinned at him.

"You know the stories."

The children glanced at each other and even the youngest nodded.

"It's better than being caught, eh?"

"I s'pose." Will mumbled.

"Ya really goin'?" Phil said with a pout.

"Sorry." Vash smiled.

He was not prepared for the way Phil launched himself at him and flung his arms around his neck.

"I love you. So does my brothers. You mustn't get caught again."

He patted the child on the head, blinking away tears. It had been a very long time since anyone had said something like that to him and meant it with all their heart.

"Phil, why ya have to be a sissy girl now?" Will dragged his hand down his face in embarrassment.

"You're a girl?" Vash lightly lifted the youngster off him and set her on her feet.

"Yep." She said stubbornly staring up at him. "And them's three of my brothers, I have eight and I'm the only girl." She wrinkled her nose.

"You're all one family?" Vash said, astonished.

They all grinned up at him.

"Thanks for helping me." He fluffed Phil's hair.

There was a brief silence, which constituted a farewell. Timothy turned away waving the others after him.

"D'ya have any brothers?" Phil asked.

"One." Vash found himself answering.

"Is he a pain?"

"Phil!" Timothy stepped back and she dodged out of his grasp.

Vash laughed, fixing the smile on his face as the pain lanced through him.

"Sometimes."

Phil rolled her eyes in a very knowing manner.

"Try hugging him, they don't like that." She added in a stage whisper and darted out of her brother's reach then chased ahead.

"Sorry sir." Timothy said awkwardly. "Girls are a bit weird."

Vash grinned all too emphatically in agreement with that statement.

"I don't know." He said with a wink at Timothy, in a few years the boy would regret those words. "Hugs aren't all that bad an idea."

"Grownups." Timothy shook his head as if he knew better. "C'mon Will, Jack's going to get lost if we let Phil lead."

Vash moved through the deepening darkness with the town lights behind him and peered up at the stars. It had been a long time since he had thought of his brother as a companion, and an even longer time since he'd last hugged him. He pondered his old memories as his boots crunched over the gritty sand lying in swaths over the road and felt a peculiar painful loneliness. He missed his brother, and all that he had been. They had had a connection unlike any he had ever had since, and even in the painful times where he'd had to confront Knives over murders and devastation, there had still been that connection between them. No matter how twisted Knives became, they had a level of oneness that they could share with no other.

He came to a halt outside a house the last one before the desert and gazed at its decrepit state. Long ago it had been boarded up, but it had been left to ruin and only three walls were standing, the fourth facing the desert having succumbed to the prevailing winds. He sat down on the broken wall and let the tears fall, the night breeze chilling his face. He had searched so hard, yet his brother eluded him. He hated his brother's actions, but somehow, could never quite manage to hate Knives utterly. His brother was part of him, even when he was gone and they never saw each other for years. The child's hug had been a searing reminder of how deep that bond went. He had all but forgotten it, dulled as it had been by time and anguish. Vash put his head in his hands and felt the tears run down his wrists, irritating and warm in the cold night air.

"Rem. What, what must I do?" He whispered in a shaking voice. He turned his face up to the stars, searching them for the answer. He wiped his eyes clear but the tears still fell. Full night had come and the chill was beginning to settle in to freeze the bones. Vash wiped his eyes again and clenched his fist. How was it, after all this time, after all Knives had done to him and the world, that he still deeply and irrevocably loved his brother? He sniffed again and smiled exhaustedly through his tears, that was his answer. Love pursued, hoped and never gave up, on anyone. And neither, he realised, could he.