Disclaimer: I don't own Furi Kuri or any of the characters and situations associated with it.
Too True
By LGR
Chapter One
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You'd think I'd be used to them by now. I see them almost everyday, try to ignore them everyday, fail miserably everyday…I don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't think he was a complete dufus wearing those things. I can't even begin to figure out what he thinks their supposed to do for him. Is it like an image thing? Or have they become so much a part of his identity, he can't shuck them even though people break out into epileptic-esque twitching fits just from looking at him?
I know he has to make sure no one can use his N.O. channel and toss a micro-bomb through his head—because that's what it would have to be, something along the lines of a micro-bomb, to fit through his N.O.—but I've got these neural scramblers that stick onto your temples and they work just fine, not to mention aren't really noticeable because the all-over-the-place way my hair is cut, covers it up for the most part.
He just looks so dumb…
Maybe if someone would just have the courage to tell him he looks like a dumb ass with those things on, he'd get rid of them? Maybe if some jerk just went up to him one day and said, "What the fuck is up with your look, dude?" He'd finally take a hint?
Maybe…
"Amarao, those eyebrows make you look like a fuck ass," I tell him.
The older man sitting across from me chokes on his bread stick and then goes on to perform an overly elaborate death sequence that isn't in the least bit believable. I sigh and slouch down into my seat at the Bistro on the corner across from the DII.
People are looking at him funny. This might be a problem if his eyebrows didn't automatically make people look at him funny. I couldn't blame them, he was a funny guy. His jokes sucked, but he sure was funny-looking. And the thrashing on the floor could be construed as humorous. If you overlooked how incredibly random and retarded it was.
The appeal, if there ever was any to begin with, had worn off long ago, however. I don't know how many times I've seen this happen. Quite a lot I'd imagine.
I can't help sighing again, as I stare at the red-haired man with freaky eyebrows in a business suit, pretend-gasping for air on the ground. I groan and sink so low in my chair I can barely see over the damn table.
To think I'd thought insulting him was a good idea. Now that I think about it, I vaguely remember having this thought process before. And acting upon it. Repeatedly.
Oh well. Maybe one day it'll work…
And maybe one day I'll turn into a frog and go live in the underwater kingdom on Tarceros prime…
…Right.
Suddenly, Amarao is back in his seat and pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose self-consciously, saying, "Naota-kun, is that anything to say to your Boss?"
Now that was a funny question. I almost laughed.
I raise my eyebrow and caustically say, "It's not like you're going to fire me."
He gets all huffy and indignant, and his eyebrows do that thing where they start spazzing out. It's hard to describe. It pisses me off, though. Makes me want to rip them right off his face. I bet they're epoxied on.
Amarao's kind of ticked right now, but I hardly notice. "I could fire you if I wanted to!" he argues loudly.
I roll my eyes. "No you couldn't," I say automatically. I think we've had this conversation before, too. It's like my life is an endless series of repeated conversations. Stupid, mundane and pointless conversations…
"I could!" he declares in a whiny, wavering tone that says he's really just trying to convince himself. Because he knows he couldn't. Knows I know that he couldn't. He just has some sort of complex where he always has to be right. Or something. I'm no psychoanalyst. I don't know what the hell kind of syndrome he's got.
He's definitely got one, though.
"Sure, you could Amarao-sempai," I droll moving the croutons on my plate around indolently, trying to arrange them into shapes. I had a nice flower going on in one corner. Or it could have been a sun I guess. Can't really say which I was going for.
"I definitely could…" he mumbles to himself, but I ignore him. I brake up the flower/sun and start making triangles and squares.
Wow this is boring.
I can't help sighing world-wearily, sitting up in my seat enough to lean an elbow on it, as I lay my head in my left hand and let my gaze drop to a spot somewhere to the side, not really looking at anything. Amarao's got his chin on his right hand staring up somewhere at the sky behind his dark shades. He's always staring up at the sky. I asked him why, once, and he said he was just keeping a lookout for alien invasions.
He wasn't kidding, and I didn't laugh.
"When the hell are they going to get here with the rest of our food?" I grumble, even though it hasn't really been that long. It's just something to say.
Eyebrow twitch, "They've got to go kill the cow," he says. I think it was supposed to be a joke.
I frown at him, "It was a Turkey sandwich."
Double eyebrow twitch, "They've got to go kill the Turkey," he corrected himself.
"Yeah, guess so," I say apathetically.
Eyebrow twitch.
I feel my face spasm.
…those eyebrows…
"So, Naota-kun," he begins talking. I hardly notice. I'm too busy trying not to stare at his goddamn eyebrows…
"How's that one girl you were with?" Amarao continues, "What was her name…Samejima Mamimi was it?"
Oh god. He is not bringing this up…
I stare him straight in the eye, and give him that look that you give people when they just said or asked something stupid or dead obvious. "Amarao-sempai," I begin dryly, "I was never with Mamimi. Besides that was like ten years ago. She's got her own life now. She's a photographer. Making a name for herself and all that crap," I explain. Why the hell was he asking this stuff? Amarao just makes no sense sometimes. Or most of the time.
"How about your brother? How's he doing?" Amarao asks immediately after I finish talking.
I give him a guarded look, but he doesn't make any sort of movement to indicate to me what he's up too. Even his eyebrows are still. Amarao could be a tight-lipped bastard when the situation called for it. He might be a moronic eyebrow-maniac, but he wasn't Commander of the Department of Interstellar Immigration, the DII, for nothing. Every once in a while he even managed to do his job.
Shrugging, I lean back in my seat and cross my arms behind my neck, watching Amarao cautiously, "Tasuku-oniisan came home for Christmas last year with his wife. Having a professional major league baseball player as a brother is kind of nice. Gives expensive presents…"
"I'll bet," he responds almost indifferently, still looking at the sky. He doesn't say anything else for a moment, he seems to be thinking about something, and I let him.
The distant sound of a factory horn echoes across the landscape from the Mabase Medical Mechanica plant across the river, but we've heard it so many times, we're used to it and scarcely acknowledge it. If I bothered to look up, I'd probably see a fountain of steam pour over the earth, shrouding the town in clouds and fog. But I don't look up. Nobody looks up. Because it's just business as usual around here. So common and familiar as to be unimportant.
The organization Medical Mechanica—the technology entrepreneurs who had it in their sights to buy up planetary real-estate, brainwash its inhabitants, and eventually achieve Galactic Domination, was 'unimportant'. Of course we were humans, so it wasn't like it would take that much effort to brainwash us. Call it discrimination against developing-races, but it was the truth.
Medical Mecchanica: their iron-like structures smoothing out the ridges in the universe, slowly but surely removing the ridges that our brains use to think and process information.
It was beneath notice.
I sit up, and this grabs Amarao's attention and he stops gazing at the clouds and turns to me. I'm not really sure who I'm frowning at, Amarao or myself for thinking so depressingly, but I turn to my boss, look him dead in the eye and say "What the hell are you asking me these question for, Amarao-sempai?"
I can't be sure with his sunglasses on, but I think he squinted a little before asking, "What about your dad? And your grandfather? How are they doing?"
I give him a look that says I'll play along but you better get to the point fast, or else I won't be the nicest person to be around…not that I was ever the nicest person to be around.
"Had dinner at the house the other day," I respond, "Dad's still publishing his 'zine. Grandfather's still ecchi. Canti's been upgraded, but other than that not much has changed." Yeah, status quo and all that…
His eyebrows twitch and I try to ignore him. I really don't care if he wants to make a fool out of himself, he does it all the time anyways; it's just that…those eyebrows are just so irritating!
Amarao goes on, apparently without noticing my discomfort, "How about that girl from your old school? The journalist. Ninamori-san."
I'm so busy glaring at his eyebrows, I have to take a second to think and remember what he'd just said before answering, "She still keeps hitting me up for insider info into Medical Mechanica and what the DII is doing, so she tries to arrange to run into me at least once a month or so."
Amarao chuckles, "Sure that's the only reason?" he raises those damn eyebrows suggestively. He's secretly as much a pervert as my grandfather. This is proof.
"Of course," I answer definitively. I've been frowning, but I frown deeper. I think we've had this conversation, too. It's not one I'm fond of. Where does he get this crap?
"Riiiiight…" he says. It's in the same tone I used earlier to say "Sure you could Amarao-sempai". I suddenly realize how patronizing it is, and don't particularly like it being used on me. 'Course I can't really complain. Hell knows I'm still going to use it in regards to him.
"It's not like that," I say one more time, and I start to sound whiny but I can't help it, that's just the way my voice is. And no matter what Amarao says, it's the truth. Besides, it's hardly my fault that he shovels all the PR for our department onto me. Otherwise it would be some other poor shmuck that Ninamori-san got to hound for news statements. She just wouldn't have as much ammo for blackmail, extortion and embarrassing memories from childhood to use against them. Lucky her.
Amarao still doesn't look like he's buying it. I care, but not enough to do anything about it, so I don't keep arguing. He's going to believe what he wants to anyways, he always has.
I sigh melodramatically, lean back in my seat again, letting my neck hang limp over the back of the chair and rub my temples, maneuvering my fingers around the neuro-wave scramblers.
"Why the hell everyone I know is so goddamn perverted…" I sigh without finishing the sentence. They really are perverted. It's true.
Amarao is not paying attention, but that's okay, I didn't really expect an answer anyways. It was rhetorical. Instead he starts talking again. "What about Raharu?" Amarao continues, "You hear from her?"
I have to think for a second on who he's talking about, "Raharu? You mean…" Something clicks in my mind and I'm temporarily stunned, I say "You mean Haruko…" without even realizing it.
"Yeah," he pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose again, even though it doesn't need it, "She contact you?"
Contact me? Why the hell would she talk to me? The correct answer is she wouldn't. Besides, if a communiqué came from space we—meaning the DII—would have picked up on it. I wouldn't have been able to receive it without them noticing. Without us noticing. Whatever.
"No," I scrunch my eyebrows (mine. real ones.) together and fix my so-called-superior with a dark, heavy look. "Why? Why would she?" I ask him suspiciously. I get the feeling he's about to accuse me of something. Yeah, I can see it.
Amarao thinks he's going to play it cool with this one. He tries to act all casual; like throwing her name out in a conversation is something we do all the time. You'd think it would be. We both had similar encounters with her. It's a point of mutual interest. Sort of. But no, we didn't talk about her.
"Just wondering…" he trails, looking at a bird pecking at some crumbs on the ground of the table outside the Bistro. For the second time I wonder when our food is going to be here. It kind of is late, now.
"No. You're not just wondering, Amarao-sempai. What the hell's going on?" I ask as seriously as I know how to. If he tries to avoid it again, I'm going to be royally pissed. Amarao is always hiding important shit from everyone in our department. Shit that pops up later to bite us in the ass.
He doesn't look like he's going to cave, and I almost feel sorry for him, because I'm about to turn not-nice. Amarao gives me a your-being-difficult expression, (which is ironic considering the one who's being difficult isn't me but him), before sighing and repeating, "Nothings going o—"
"Damn it, don't lie to me!" I yell, and Amarao jumps in his seat in an exaggerated startle reflex and his sunglasses slip down his nose to reveal him looking at me with wide eyes as I berate him, "Is this about that meeting you had with the Galactic Space Patrol?" I demand to know, "Is it?"
Yeah, you know that thing called anger? This is the stage that comes after that.
"No, no!" Amarao denies it nervously, wearing a grimace, but I can see it in his face. In the way his eyebrows are twitching maniacally. In his stupid dyed-red-hair…
…Actually he looks kind of okay with red-hair, but don't tell him I said that.
"You're lying again…" I growl at him, and I'm right, but a waitress approaches our table so I have to at least be semi-courteous. Or not murderous, at the very least. She sets our food down on the table and we say thank you and I wait till she's out of earshot before continuing with my interrogation.
Amarao is eating this salad with bits of chicken and this weird sweet dressing. Looks awful tasting. This isn't the first time we've been to this restaurant, but I don't remember seeing that thing on the menu. I don't really know much about…bistro, that's Italian right? No, that's not right. Well, whatever. Don't know much about it. My culinary experience mostly revolves around the many flavors of instant curry and soba, and the bread at our bakery, but I guess I can't eat Japanese instant-cooking and baked goods all the time. Gotta branch out on occasion. Leastwise, that's what everyone tells me.
As said before, I have this turkey sandwich-melt-panini-on-chabatta type thing. But I'm paying it no mind; I'm mostly just giving Amarao the evil eye as he tries to avoid looking at me by shoveling salad into his mouth without glancing up from his plate. He feels the scowl, though. He's getting squirmy.
I am Naota, I project to him via my non-existent telepathy, Fear me.
Amarao finally puts his fork down and looks up from his plate. I can see the bastard is about to give in, so I don't say anything as he apparently sifts through his would be explanation, probably trying to figure-out how much he can leave out without getting caught. As you may have noticed, I have no qualms about sticking it to the man. Even the boss-man. Especially the boss-man. Even more especially the boss-man if they are Amarao. And my form of sticking it involves a lot of yelling and name-calling. And the type of language that parents would think twice before allowing their young children to be exposed to. Violence is a big one on my list, as well. I think it's all the paint-balling and air-soft gun fights I used to get into in my wasted youth.
But then again, Kitsurubami is even heavier on the violence than I am. I'll use a punch or kick, and maybe a pistol for intimidation purposes, but she could kick my ass, and I'm definitely not a push over. Plus, her firearm collection is way bigger than mine. She has a flame-thrower, of which I am envious. I've only got a couple handguns, semi-auto and auto, a pump-action shotgun and a long range scope rifle. And some grenades, but they are in a safe, and they are there only for emergencies. That means I can't chuck them around whenever I jolly-well feel like it. It's too bad; they make a satisfying boom-noise, along with the rush of displaced air and projected shrapnel.
Very dangerous.
Which is why they have a safe. (The guns have a safe too, but you can't use a gun if they're in a safe. And you do use your gun more than you'd expect in this job. Way more. And besides, no kids living in my apartment; no one but me, in fact. And my security system is very good, so no one is going to stumble in, pick them up and decide to play Russian-Roulette.) Grenades aren't nearly as dangerous as missile launchers, however. And Kitsurubami has one in her office closet. Very convenient thing to have laying around if your fellow staff-member is being a jerk.
Of course, I've never seen her half as mad as I seem to be on a regular basis. And if she beats you up it's usually because you're an alien and she's about to deport your ass. If I beat you up there's that chance that you're an illegal alien, but more likely it's probably just because you're being a slacker, an asshole or you're Amarao.
Actually those three conditions are so similar as to be identical. Forget I mentioned it.
Yeah, I'm sort of the office bogey-man. If you're slacking or generally being a pain in the ass, people threaten them with me. I'll sic Lieutenant Nandaba on you, they say. Said slacker or irritant will usually pale and straighten up. It's actually pretty entertaining. If they don't straighten up, well…I'm sure you can imagine. I sure as hell don't need a megaphone to project my voice, the DII issued Baretta 93R isn't just for decoration, and the headlock maneuver is your friend. Or mine, anyway. When I'm the one performing it, that is.
This being so, Amarao would definitely think twice before he said anything: If I didn't like the answer, there would be hell to pay.
"Naota-kun…" he began cautiously, "Do you…remember much about the situation with Raharu?"
I blink. Very slowly. The kind of blink you give someone who just said something really stupid. The blink I give Amarao nine times out of ten when he addresses me.
"That is a really vague question," I inform him, "Not to mention a retarded one."
Of course I remembered. How could anyone forget someone like Haruko, especially when they turned your life around as much as she'd done to mine? There wasn't a day gone by that something didn't remind me of her or something we'd done together. She was the main reason I'd even taken this job.
Originally I'd been into science and technology, being part of the Dept. of Interstellar Immigration hadn't even been a wayward thought of mine. I knew the DII were keeping an eye on me. Kitsurubami and Amarao even showed up in person to talk to me every once in a while, not that I was ever very cooperative. Our conversations usually consisted of them trying to ask me about my life and what I had been doing lately while I just named off the types of bread we sold, treating them like particularly picky and stupid customers until they got tired of it and they just left.
Even if the incident with Medical Mechanica hadn't taken place, they still would have monitored me if they'd ever realized that he had a strong N.O. channel. Since I both knew somewhat-sensitive info and was a potentially dangerous way for an alien to instantaneously transport itself or, say, a giant death-bot, or a starship loaded with weaponry or even a teaspoon of neutronium that was dense enough to go straight through the earth's core and out the other side, thus destroying our planet, well, obviously they aren't just going to forget about me.
Like, I'd mentioned earlier, I'd been into science and I knew a lot about alien tech. After college I was expecting to do something like lab work or maybe get hired on at a university, when Kitsurubami approached me about working for the DII I hadn't wanted to hear about it all. For one thing, I didn't know why they would want Nandaba Naota working for an organization that was mostly about Police/Military work when I was a geek and not really the first guy you think of to take on the alien invaders, if there ever were such a thing to begin with. For another, Kitsurubami and Amarao would be there everyday, and Amarao's extremely annoying personality and appearance aside, they both reminded me of Haruko, who was someone I was trying to pass of as a good dream, but nothing more.
I really didn't want the job. The salary made me consider it.
Yes, it's good. Very good. There is a reason that Amarao can afford to wear a different suit every day of the week.
But don't think I did it for the money. Because at that point I still wasn't going to do it. But Kitsurubami is more manipulative than people realize, and she conned me into trying it out. Mostly by saying how there was always that chance that I'd see Haruko.
I don't know why that did it. I'd been trying to forget about her, even if I was sucking at it. But it did work, and I kept thinking that I wasn't any different from Amarao. I was still trying to hold on to someone who I had never had in the first place. The only difference was that I was actively fighting her memory, even if I was failing miserably, and Amarao was doing nothing of the kind. He idolized her, and it bordered on pathetic.
So, the next day I showed up at the DII building and followed Kitsurubami in with whispers trailing behind about how I wouldn't last a week. That was pretty much a unanimous guess by the entire staff. It was still up in the air, however, whether I'd quit first or Amarao would fire me. It didn't really bother me and I wasn't nervous; I think I was still hoping/expecting that I wouldn't have to take this job, that I'd get fired within the first day.
I think everyone, including me, realized by the end of the afternoon that I was here to stay.
I didn't even ask about Amarao's eyebrows, I filled out the paperwork correctly on the first try; I was called in to give the tech dept. a lecture on alien technology, told Amarao to get his own damn soda, and felt no remorse whatsoever at talking back to my boss.
By the next day, everyone was already coming to me with their many problems, sometimes technical, other times social. It irritated me, but considering it was sort of my job to fix those problems, I did, and they generally stayed fixed which, according to just about everyone, hadn't been the case until I was hired. I found this very pathetic.
Sadly enough, I also became the guy you went to if you wanted Amarao to do something but didn't have the balls to interact with him directly yourself. You wanted Amarao to do that paperwork you gave him last week? Talk to Naota-kun. You wanted Amarao to stop bitching at 120 decibels in the hallway? Talk to Naota-kun. You're late at handing in your work? Give it to Naota-kun instead.
(And since I am one of the few people in the department in their early twenties, they just had to tack on that –kun. I don't bother getting irritated anymore, it isn't worth it.)
Course, that last one wasn't a sure bet anymore. I get just as mad as Amarao does, if you don't finish your work on time. It's hard to say which of us is scarier. Lately I haven't been getting many late-work-turn-ins, and have been getting more shut-up-Amaraos, so I think most people have started opting for braving Amarao instead of me. I'm rather proud of this, actually.
And my boss doesn't even bother getting mad at anything I say anymore. He's realizing it isn't worth it, and we both know I'm not going to be fired. He generally listens to me when I tell him to shut up or stop acting stupid. I feel like I'm slowly but surly training Amarao into being able to behave properly in public. I think everyone was the most surprised at this.
Amarao quirks an eyebrow at me, smiling to himself behind his sunshades as if I was amusing him somehow, but I'm not really sure what he's finding funny about this situation. It's not funny at all. I frown at him to make sure he knows it.
"What I mean to say is…" he finally began, sighing, taking of his sunglasses, and folding them up, hooking it on his shirt, "Something has happened that pertained to that incident."
"Uh-huh…" Truth is, I'd kind of guessed that from the earlier question. Didn't make me any less curious, though.
"You know what Raharu was, right? You know why she was here?"
I frown, "She was a Galactic Space Patrol Secret Agent and her mission was to break out ol' Atomsk the Pirate King from Medical Mechanica's greedy clutches, what of it?"
"Do you know why she in particular was sent?"
This is stupid. I had asked because I'd wanted answers, not so I could play twenty questions with this big-browed freak.
"I thought I was supposed to be quizzing you, not the other way around…" I mumbled, looking away in irritation.
Amarao snuffed, looking kind of offended, "Well, I guess you don't want me to tell you anything then…"
"—Because she can manipulate N.O. channels, and they needed the use of an N.O. channel to bust Atomsk out semi-discreetly," I hurriedly answer. Considering Amarao hadn't planned on telling me anything to begin with he was entirely likely to stop at any time for any reason. What a jerk.
"And she was Atomsk's partner," he added with a shrug, "But otherwise, yes. Now, the reason they needed to do it discreetly was because…"
Why was he asking all these questions? A lot of these answers I hadn't figured out until I was older and started paying attention to the Stellar News. I'd sort of pieced it together from what I remembered and a little of what Amarao told me. And I hadn't really done it on purpose, I've actually been trying to pay as little amount of attention as I can on outer space and still be well informed, I don't want to hear anything about Haruko. It's a delicate balance.
"Was because…" I think about it, but I really haven't a clue. "Was because I-don't-know," I finally tell him.
"Okay, let me explain. You see, Medical Mechanica is the owner of vast amounts of Galactic real-estate. They own whole countries, whole planets. They govern just about anything not belonging to the Stellar Coalition, (or not anything that has enough power or influence to want to bother them, anyways). Well, not being a part of the Stellar Coalition, obviously they don't necessarily follow the same laws that the SC instills in its member-governments.
"As to why Atomsk was there in the first place," Amarao said "Atomsk used to be a criminal but the GSP caught up to him and granted him a pardon if he helped them out and became a GSP agent: using his power for the side of good, so to speak. The alternative was a death sentence. He's not stupid, he took the job.
"Now, the SC was very aware of Atomsk's movements. They had to be: he was an extremely powerful N.O. field emitter. He was dangerous. He could steal whole planets using his N.O. channel. The very fact that he was monitored so closely was probably what kept Medical Mechanica from jumping him and shuffling him off to one of their facilities at first; the GSP would know about it and spread it around. As Medical Mechanica is trying to set itself up as this beloved Organization of the future with safety and security and honesty and all that bullshit, obviously it doesn't want something like that getting around; they want everyone to think they're the good guys. It's part of their draw. Part of their big plan to brainwash the universe into thinking it should be their government.
"Getting back to the Pirate King. Once Atomsk was a part of the GSP, he was sent on missions to spy and steal technology and information, and this actually put him in a situation where they could legitimately take him. They caught him stealing sensitive information, therefore he had violated a law, and he was at their mercy. So they took him, and legally the SC couldn't do anything about it unless they wanted to start a war, which would make them look like the bad guys, not to mention kill like a bijillion amount of people. Aliens. Whatever. Not that they really cared about that, anyways.
"What Medical Mechanica wanted with Atomsk still isn't very clear, although the GSP assumes they wanted to take advantage of his N.O. channel in some way, which is the obvious conclusion. They pretty much tried to brainwash Atomsk into being part of their happy Neo-Universe of love and peace and shit movement first, before they were going to divulge anything important, which is smart on their part but sucks for us; Atomsk doesn't know anything."
It was a lot to take in. On some level I'd known most of it, but still, having it plastered in front of my face was a little intimidating. After a moment of processing all of this, I realized something.
I give Amarao a 'come on, dude', look.
"Did you even answer the original question?" I ask him shaking my head, knowing already that the answer was no.
Amarao thought about it, his eyes squinted looking off somewhere, "Umm…I don't remember. What was the original question?"
"Why the GSP needed to get Atomsk out discreetly." I remind him.
"Oh, well, so it didn't get out to the general public that one of the GSP's people had been caught doing something naughty, obviously. It would really encourage doubt in the SC, conversely making Medical Mechanica look really good. Good enough, maybe, for some to change sides.
"Equally so Medical Mechanica doesn't want the populace to know about the giant death-robots that they've got lying around, ready to demolish the Stellar Coalition or whoever at their whim. It would really put a kink in the whole Kumbaya-shtick they're trying to sell. It's a Mutually Assured Destruction sort of thing. The information each has could destroy the other, but if one of them uses theirs, the other will release their own info, so in order for it not to get out, they're both holding back."
At this point I'm just about tired of the little trip down memory lane, not to mention the lesson in political bullshit. "Thanks for the info, Amarao," I say, "But can we hurry up and skip to the part where you start making sense? What does this have to do with the present?"
We really needed to speed this along if we were going to be back at the DII before lunch was over. Considering I was with the boss, I wouldn't get in trouble, but I always felt uncomfortable when I knew I should be working and wasn't. No one else at the DII seems to have this problem by the way. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one concerned about our productivity rate.
Meh, I probably am.
Amarao just nods and continues with his diatribe, "Well, as you know, the Earth is considered an underdeveloped society, evolution and technology wise, but we're very quickly reaching a point where we can function in galactic politics and economics. When this occurs, and we're officially inducted into the Stellar Coalition, we'll be the only SC-member planet with peaceful relations between ourselves and Medical Mechanica, which is unheard of and creates an awkward situation. It's like we are both part of Medical Mechanica's Empire and the Stellar Coalition. Earth is one of the very, very few neutrality zones. It's been suggested that Earth might be a good place to set up some sort of permanent outpost to keep a watch on them—"
"—so their starting early," I realize, "They're going to start setting up a GSP station."
"You got it," Amarao confirms.
I frown at him, "I don't see why you're all worked up about this…" I tell him.
The truth is, the GSP does its own thing, pretty much whether we like it or not, and it's got space stations all of the damn solar system already. They are always butting in on our jurisdiction when it's least wanted, and putting their hands up saying 'not mine' when we actually need them around. A station on Earth won't really change much. Except maybe make it easier for them to hear us grumble about everything.
Amarao stared me down, "They want us, the Department of Interstellar Immigration, to sort of fuse with them. So we'd be GSP special agents, and our jurisdiction would be Earth, the Sol System, maybe Epsilon Eridani and the Space Station orbiting Sirius, and practically anything Medical Mechanica related."
…wow. That was big news. Not to mention a little random.
I snuff, "And these are the same guys who kept referring us to primitive primates…but as soon as we're useful we're all of a sudden their best buds." I sigh, "They just don't want to have to invest money and resources into training their own people."
My Boss nods, "Yeah, the abrupt change of heart kind of pisses me off too, but that's just how the SC is."
"Fucking bureaucracy…"
Amarao shrugged, "Them's the breaks."
I chuckle slightly; Amarao doesn't typically use fun phrases like that. That's usually my department.
"Too true." I agree, slight but sincere smile gracing my face for probably the first time today, "So now what's really bugging you?"
Amarao looks startled; he hadn't thought I'd realize this wasn't all that was going on. He'd been hoping I'd be particularly stupid today or something. Hah—request denied!
"What?" he asks, trying to look innocent. I give him a 'heh, yeah, I'm not stupid' look.
"Don't play dumb," I tel him to reinforce the look, "You aren't as stupid as you seem," I screw up my face, as if thinking about something, then admit, "Well, most of the time, anyway."
Sometimes he really is as stupid as he looks. I know it's hard to believe, but Amarao manages it. He's just that talented, I guess.
He frowns at me . "Gee, Naota-kun, thanks. It's good to know you have so much respect for your boss," he says, voice just dripping with sarcasm.
It's just funny to see Amarao trying to pull off an 'I'm a cynical loner with a bad attitude' routine. He just doesn't have the hair for it or something. I don't know. All I know is, that you look at him, and you can tell his mind is full of rainbows, sunshine and little bunny rabbits. For some reason it's only SC, GSP or Medical Mechanica crap that can chase of the sunglow for any length of time. But damn do they, kill his mood. I don't really get it.
Either way, his 'I'm a cynical loner with a bad attitude' act needs work. He should just stick with his, 'I'm your crazy, temperamental boss who's about to rain all over your ass'. It works well, really. I'm pretty much the only one at the office that can do the former properly.
If he'd have been doing his lunatic-boss routine, I might be a little scared, even though it wouldn't have stopped me. But he wasn't, so I didn't feel like I was feeding myself to the sharks when I said, "It's hardly my fault if you act like an idiot more often than not."
"Well…" he said, but apparently couldn't think of anything to say, "Okay you got me there."
Yay!
"I-win…" I say sing-song-ly as I grin. I like winning. Who doesn't?
"Yeah, well, nothing's bothering me."
I roll my eyes, "Sure, Amarao. And that's why you drank five energy drinks, with like two thousand five hundred milligrams of sugar each this morning."
"Exactly," he says and even sounds realistic when he tells me, "I knew you would understand, Naota."
I nod skeptically, "Uh-huh."
I give him one last chance to say something before I pull out my trump card. After a moment I can verify that he won't volunteer the info. Oh well. Blackmail was always more fun, anyway.
I shrug absently, "Well, if you won't spill, than you get to pay for lunch today."
He gapes, "But it's your turn! I didn't bring my wallet!"
Mentally, I'm grinning a little too maliciously than I'm probably allowed for something as arbitrary as this, as I think, Hehe, I know.
"Not my problem," I tell him loftily, but entirely seriously. I don't joke. Leastwise, not when I'm interrogating Amarao. Oh, did I say interrogating? I meant having a nice chat with my boss. Right.
I could just burst out laughing right now.
"I'll get up and run away from the table first," Amarao tells me, angrily.
"We already established the last time that I run faster than you." I counter.
"You cheated! My shoes were untied!"
I roll my eyes, "Were not…"
They so weren't…
"Well, I'm not paying this time. I paid the last time," he states definitively, his arms crossed, voice huffy with indignation.
"Then tell me what's going on."
He is really tense, I can tell. Amarao looks away without saying anything, like he's going to ignore me into submission, into forgetting about it. But I don't forget. You'd think he'd know that by now. I never let up. Never give in.
"Come on…" I growl at him.
"…they plan on sending two or their agents in tomorrow," he divulges.
"That's pretty quick," I say absently.
"Yeah," he says, and relaxes again. He thinks he's in the clear; that I'll let up on him now. Oh how wrong he is…
"Who are they?" I ask.
He tenses up again. "I dunno."
"Liar."
"How do you always know?" He askes, more to himself that anything else.
I'm psychic, I think jokingly. No, it was actually just that he was that easy to read for someone who had worked with him for about a year. Not to mention I was just cool like that.
"I'm just that skillful."
"Liar." Amarao reciprocated. I almost laugh.
I shrug, "Think what you want. So who is it?"
He's silent for a moment, and tension builds. Like I know what he's going to say. I think no. No. It can't be. It isn't…
"…Raharu and Atomsk."
Damnit.
"…"
That was me being stunned into silence, by the way.
"Yeah." he agrees. I don't know how you can agree to silence, but there it is. Right there. It happened, ladies and gentlemen.
"Haruko's…coming back?" I choke out and I'm rather proud of myself. I sound almost normal, except for the weird pause.
"Uh-huh," Amarao confirms, and he looks like a lost man, just sitting there staring at the table.
Haruko…Back…I can't help but think.
Shit. I push everything away. Back to business.
"So who's going to be in charge?" I ask, because it's a major concern, job-wise, "You, still, right?" Cuz, yeah, he's the commander.
"Theoretically." Amaro says, and doesn't sound very excited. I can think of a couple reasons why.
"Do they, like, get an office and everything?"
"Uh-huh."
"We can't give her a gun…" I trail.
Amarao frowns at me, "The GSP's trying to take over our department, and all you care about is whether or not to give Haruko a gun…"
I know that not what he's actually mad about. He's mad that I can think objectively at all when we both know that Haruko is going to be around very soon. Haruko, the girl that changed both of our lives.
I play along though. Because, I'm not quite that mean. Or actually I don't know which is meaner. Whatever. This is the one I have a snappy come back for.
I snuff, "It's not a matter of will she or won't she be issued a gun. That's not an argument at all. She is not going to be given a weapon. She's fucking crazy."
Amarao growls, "Why do I pay you again?"
Hah, that's not even a question.
I smirk, "Don't be ridiculous. The lovely tax payers and the government pay me, not you."
Gotcha.
He frowns deeper, "Fine. Why do I put up with you again?"
"Because I catch the bad guys almost as well as Kitsurubami, I'm more competent with stellar technology than most of our specialists, people actually do what I tell them to do, I have a sense of humor, I have an N.O. field, I'm not insane, I have a lot of experience with Alien species, I can look at your face and usually not laugh…"
"Okay, fine there are a lot of reasons," he admits, "Did you really have to say that last one?"
I nod, "I think it's a very unique quality of mine that is worth mentioning. Just be happy I didn't bring up the last three underlings you fired and sent to therapy once Kitsurubami made Field Commander and you had to find someone else to bitch at. They were gone in less than a month and I've been here for, what, a year now? I think that says something about how super-special-awesome I am."
Yup, I'm cool.
He looks at me confusedly, "Um…okay?"
"Okay."
"Oh. Kay," He agrees. I don't think he knows what he's agreeing to though. Neither do I actually.
"So, you said they're going to be here tomorrow?" I ask him for clarification purposes.
"Uh-huh."
"What time?"
"Regular work time."
"You seen her yet?"
"No."
"You nervous?"
"Yes."
I'm impressed, "Straight answer. Wow," I say. Straight answers are a rare thing with Amarao.
He shrugs. I think he's given up hiding things from me for today. I think if I asked him for the recipe of his superspecial cookies, he'd give it to me, at this point.
"You already knew…" he says by way of an explanation. Truth is I did already know he was nervous. Why did I even bother asking? I don't remember.
"So?" I ask, "Since when has that ever stopped you?" Nothing ever stops Amarao from doing stupid things like that. Nothing.
"Point taken." He says, but I don't think it is. He finally works himself up to ask, "Aren't you nervous?"
Yeah, knew that was coming.
I shrug, "I dunno…I don't think it's sunk in yet. I expect about tonight I'll start freaking out."
And I'm not exaggerating about the freaking out part. I go into panic attacks, a very bad habit of mine, when I'm worrying about something. Or maybe it's not a habit. Can a panic attack be a habit? Or is it something…I don't know, psychologically predisposed to? Well, I freak out. Almost as creatively as Amarao. I usually keep mine from happening in public, though. Because it's less disruptive that way. I'm I've pretty much trained myself into not worrying about things much anymore. I sort of had to. It was that or be committed. Or look like Amarao. Between a rock and a hard place, those last two are. Decisions, decisions…
"Aww…you couldn't start now?" Amarao pretends to be disappointed. He's seen me freak out before, I act like a spluttering idiot and make wild accusations and babble on about nothing. I turn into the proverbial emo-kid.
"I don't get to make fun of you that often," He says and it's a fact; I arranged it that way. "It would make me feel better."
Oh, he wants me to make him feel better.
Aha-haha-ha!
"Contrary to your philosophy," I say, "'making the commander feel better' isn't part of my job description."
What can I say? It really isn't in my contract.
"Contrary to your philosophy, 'making the commander's life a living hell' isn't part of your job description either."
That's not even true. His life is so not a living hell. If he thinks it is, than he's exhibiting less imagination than I know he's capable of. There are literally, hundreds of ways I can make life suck for him. Thousands, even.
I shrug, "What can I say? I'm just an overachiever; I go above and beyond the call of duty. I should get a medal. Or better yet, a pay raise."
"Aha-ha-ha—no."
That was actually pretty well done. I almost felt hurt.
I snap my fingers jokingly, "Damn. Was worth a shot."
A phone rings.
Amarao searches about his person, managing to knock his sunglasses onto the ground before realizing he doesn't even have his cell. He always leaves it at the office by accident, which is why I always bring mine.
I snap it open, and say simply "Yeah," as Amarao looks embarrassed. He was the boss, he was supposed to have the phone.
It's Kitsurubami.
"We've got a situation." She says nervously, the voice dimming as if she pulled away from the phone to look behind her at something.
"Yeah, what is it?" I ask. Me and Amarao are already picking up our coats getting ready to leave and I'm throwing money and a tip on the table. I hadn't gotten a chance to finish my sandwich, I realize irritated.
"Haruko and Atomsk just—just suddenly showed up! What do I do!" she sounded frantic. She was good on the military and management end, but much else was a little beyond her and she knew it.
"Fuck." I swear. I really don't have the time to do much else. It was either that or sit in the fetal position in my closet rocking back and fort, repeating 'this isn't happening. This isn't happening…' over and over. Since I had a job to do, I unfortunately had to resort to cursing.
"What, what is it?" Amarao asked me.
"Haruko and Atomsk just decided that fashionably late is overrate. I guess early is the new 'in' thing."
"Shit." Amarao's got a job to do to. He can't sit in the closet and cry either. Sucks for us.
Definitely a panic attack, tonight. Definitely.