Little Bird Lost

Izumi Satoru walked onto the bridge and glanced at the computers clustered on either side of the captain's seat and the enormous monitor it faced. Sure enough, his son was sitting in front of one of them, typing rapidly. Since the starship had landed on a dusty, barren planet, most of the crew members were off-duty, so there was much less activity here than usual. His boy was taking advantage of this and getting some work done in rare peace and quiet.

It was a pity to disturb him, but there was something Satoru wanted him to see. "Koushiro," he said gently, coming to a stop a few feet behind his son. The boy swiveled his chair around to face him, smiling when he caught his eye. His son looked almost exactly like him. They both had somewhat unruly hair, colored a phenomenally deep, dark red. Their eyes were deep-set, black, and serious. Each of them had heavy brows that contrasted sharply with their delicate noses and sensual lips. Their skin was pale and their builds were slight and slim, almost scrawny. Satoru smiled fondly as he remembered his wife's jest that she had played no role in forming the boy, despite the obvious evidence to the contrary.

"Yes, sir?" Koushiro folded his hands politely in his lap and looked up at his father. Satoru was the only person who could almost always command his son's full attention. His boy had the awkward habit of preferring his work and studies to the company of others. He came by it honestly; Satoru was also known for his lack of social graces.

Satoru held his hand out to his son, and the boy took it and hopped down from his seat. As usual, Koushiro's left hand was cold to the touch, but that could hardly be helped when the entire arm was made of metal, so Satoru ignored it. "Since we've landed for supplies" he said, rolling his fingers over the cool digits, "I've obtained permission from the captain to purchase some new equipment for our team. I want you to come with me." Koushiro glanced back at the computer and frowned, then rearranged his expression with visible effort. Satoru could tell from the way Koushiro shifted his weight from foot to foot that he wanted to ask for a reprieve, or at least to ask why he was required to go. But his militaristic training won out, and he nodded and took his place by his father's side. Satoru patted his shoulder affectionately, and Koushiro flashed a brief smile. They walked down the hallway that led to the half-circle containing the bridge.

This brought them to a wide, ornate set of stairs, which emptied into a hallway whose walls and floor were all plain, shiny, and gray. The Drifting Reverie, known affectionately as Drift to its crew, was a labyrinth of steel, with identical halls connected in criss-crossing patterns. It was baffling to the uninitiated, but anyone who understood the code labeling each door could navigate easily enough. Satoru used this information to make his way to the airlock. He passed through it, then punched in the commands to lower the entry platform to the dusty, dry ground of the scraggly planet. As soon as the hatch opened and the stairs descended, Satoru raised a hand to his eyes to shield them from the sudden illumination of the sun. Koushiro pressed his whole face into his hands and hissed softly. The boy could count the number of times he had stepped outside of Drift on his digits, and that was why Satoru was taking him along. He wanted him to see bits of the world that he hoped they would be able to reclaim some day, wanted him to see something besides the screens he worked in front of everyday.

Koushiro clung to his hand when they reached the ground. The crowd of people was so dense that it was like walking into a living ocean. Heat, dust, and the stenches of sweat and unwashed bodies hung heavily over the area. Satoru pulled his son closer when the milling throng of pedestrians threatened to break apart their connected hands. Sighing, Satoru lifted Koushiro and sat him on his shoulders. "What do you see?" he asked, tipping his head up. The boy's eye level was now just barely above the head of the average passer-by.

"Food stalls. Many spacecrafts, but none so grand as ours. Tents, market stalls. Are you certain there is equipment worth purchasing here?" Koushiro wrapped his thin arms around Satoru's neck, and the fading coolness of his prosthetic was a welcome relief. The boy positioned his lips near his father's ears so that he could be heard over the din of the crowd.

Ah, now here was the perfect opportunity for a lesson. "Koushiro, things aren't always as they appear. If there's one thing planets are eager to do these days, it's to give the impression of being bleak, defeated, and uninteresting. Now, can you think of why that would be?"

Koushiro threaded his fingers together around his father's neck, stalling for time before he gave his answer. Satoru knew that the child did not need extra time to think of a response. He needed it to steel himself before he spoke the words. "So that they fail to attract the attention of authorities. So that they will not become targets for imperial occupation."

"Well said." Satoru patted his son's leg. "And that, son, is the difference between looking and seeing." Koushiro went quiet, and Satoru knew that he was absorbing the message, probably in more ways than he could have hoped or envisioned. Satoru was an incredibly intelligent man, and he was responsible for analyzing information and recommending courses of action for the ship in scenarios varying as greatly as combat, infiltration, and the management of crew members. Additionally, there was no piece of computer equipment that he could not fix, no database or security system he could not hack into. His rank was second only to the captain and equal to the first mate.

But, compared to his son, he was a bloody imbecile. That thought brought him so much joy, so much panic, so much pride, so much fear. It was crucial that Satoru raise him properly, that he teach him about morality and responsibility. Otherwise, with his massive intelligence and computer skills, his son had the potential to become a living horror, perhaps even a new emperor. The trouble was, Koushiro didn't connect to anyone but him. At best, the other children on Drift ignored him. He was too small to participate in physical training, which meant that he was entirely uninteresting to the children who could do so. Other children were jealous of his intellect and of the fact that he already had official responsibilities. And, sadly, there were children who were mean-spirited enough to target him for his slight height and his robotic arm. Koushiro wandered onto the bridge with bruises and black eyes more often than anyone cared to admit. If only there were a child on Drift who truly understood the difference between looking and seeing… Satoru was convinced that such a child would befriend his son immediately.

Satoru shook his head to clear it of those thoughts. He really needed to stop drifting off like that; moments of inattention were luxuries that he could not afford in the open like this. The analyst positioned himself in a part of the crowd that was sweeping towards his destination like a current. Glancing up, Satoru saw that Koushiro was tilting his head all about, trying to see everything. As they moved away from the landing field, stalls and tents gave way to buildings, most of them made of adobe and in states of dreary disrepair. Every once in a while there was a concrete structure, but they were few and far between.

The walk was longer than he remembered, and almost half an hour passed before familiar landmarks surrounding the store he needed appeared. Satoru sighed with relief. He was already exhausted from walking about in the sun and the heat in this crowd, already slightly depressed at the endless stretches of barren land that made up the area. His mouth twisted into a rueful grin as he recalled the captain's suggestion that he participate in physical training more often.

He was in the process of trying to force his way out of the flow of the crowd when the screaming began. Satoru immediately lowered his son so that his head was out of sight. He balanced him on his left hip and pulled his pistol out of its holster. Koushiro tilted his left arm so that the underside was facing him, then input some commands on the small monitor installed there.

"Distress signal sent," he said. His voice was tight and high. Satoru grunted an acknowledgment and shoved his way into a nearby concrete building, paying no mind to the people he knocked over. It was roguish behavior, he knew, but it was paramount that he and his son survive. They served Drift, and Drift was slowly shaping into the best hope of fighting off the empire. The people inside the building hadn't heard the screams yet, so he was able to move quickly through to the back of it, exit the structure, and emerge on the opposite street. He continued to move down the streets in this fashion until he found himself in a residential area far from where they had first heard the screaming.

Satoru paused and glanced over his shoulder. The last line of shops was to his back. Before him stood a forest of adobe dwellings, some towering over others on higher bits of land. He knew for certain that there was something wrong in the area behind him, but, then, there was something wrong here,too. A silence was hanging heavily over the town, and it almost seemed visible and ominous, like a thick fog. No one was moving on the dirt streets between houses. No children were shouting to each other in play. But at least no one was screaming, and that decided him.

Satoru ran across the open space between the last shops and the town, then pressed himself against the first abode house he came to. He glanced carefully around the corner, but his view was mostly cut off by another little dwelling. He wished he had something more adequate than the pistol in his hand. He wished his son were safely at base instead of pressed to his hip in an area that could become a battlefield at any moment. He wished he had more combat training. But, then, who didn't have a bucket full of wishes in this world?

There was nothing moving in his field of vision, so he gave the all clear signal to his son, sat him down, and cautiously stepped forward. He gagged and stepped back when he got a good look at the dirt lane. There were fresh bodies piled up in that open space, dying the dirt red with their blood. The wind shifted, and the scent of gunpowder, voided bowls, and vomit seeped into his mouth, nose, and throat, where it clung like a shirt against a sweaty body. Koushiro gagged beside him, then pressed his hands to his face. Satoru wasn't sure if he did it to block out the stench or to stifle the noise he was making.

Satoru glanced into the window of the house he was pressed against and fought down a groan. These were civilians. There was a woman collapsed by the sink, and the loaf of bread she had been kneading was still laying in wait for the press of her knuckles. The motionless form of a child sat in a chair by the table, her tiny hand crumpled over a crude, wooden toy. She was even younger than Koushiro. Bile rose up Satoru's throat, and he pressed it down with a will. He wasn't a soldier or an infiltrator. He had never been closer to this sort of thing than a screen.

"This is the direction the imperial soldiers and their beasts came from, isn't it?" Koushiro whispered. Satoru glanced down at him and nodded.

"Most likely. But to have attacked a village like this… What could they achieve from it, save for bad press?"

Koushiro stared down at the monitor on his left arm and sighed. "I suppose you haven't read those reports yet. I just put them together this morning. There have been whispers that the empire has been searching for Gifted people, particularly children, and that they don't take issue with resorting to violence." His eyes were streaming with silent tears, and his voice was shaking, but the boy was keeping it together for now, as he had been taught.

Satoru took a deep breath and cautiously walked into the open. He took a good, hard look at the bodies spread about, forcing himself to see. It soon became clear that the only people who had been shot were the ones who took up arms. The other bodies had bled out from savage bite wounds from beasts, which meant that the soldiers had released them on the remaining individuals when they had gotten whatever they came for. That was one of the downsides of fighting with beasts. Once their instincts were excited by battle, their blood lust became nearly insatiable, and it had to be settled before they could be calmed by their handlers. To make matters worse, they had a strong preference for live prey.

"We need to find a good evacuation spot," Satoru said heavily as he tore his eyes away from the carnage. "They'll have dispatched a shuttle to the beacon in your arm. High vantage points are helpful, because they are easier for the shuttle to reach." Koushiro nodded and glanced in the direction of the highest house. Satoru assessed the area and picked out the fastest route to that point that provided the most cover, then led the way, darting from one house to the next. They were nearly there when his son came to a halt.

Satoru turned and frowned, glancing about for any signs of movement. They were in the open. "Koushiro, they'll be here any minute. We need to make sure we're in place when they arrive. What's wrong?"

"Don't you hear it?" Koushiro asked, tilting his head towards the roof of an adobe house near the top of the tallest hill. "It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard!" Satoru strained his ears, and he did faintly pick up on a high-pitched sound, but he would much rather observe it from the safety of cover.

"Keep moving!" Satoru ordered. Koushiro blinked and trotted back to him, but he kept staring at the house. As they moved closer, Satoru began to hear the sound with greater clarity. He shuddered when he identified it as the lilting, sweet tones of a singing child. The voice was pure and bird-like, but there was a deep, desolate pain there, a pain that spoke of horror, suffering, and, above all else, loneliness. Although he was a man of science to the core, Satoru found himself wondering if he was hearing the ghost of a child. It seemed impossible for that sound to be coming from a living thing, especially here.

"What should we do?" Koushiro asked. Satoru felt his teeth start to grind. If it really was a child, he needed to do what he could to help, but he had no way of knowing if it was some sort of trap. But there really wasn't a choice; if they were going to climb to the roof of the highest house, they would be looking down on the singer.

"Stay silent. Move silently. We'll take a look from the evac point." Satoru continued on his planned course. Once they reached the highest house, they climbed the stairs built into the outer wall that led to the roof. He glanced to the side and saw that the shuttle, a small helicopter meant for moving crew members when they were planetside, was approaching far off in the distance. Drift and her crew were doubtlessly preparing to leave the planet, given the disturbance so close to the landing field. Picking them up was probably one of the last tasks before retreating. Satoru had to decide what to do about the singer before the shuttle reached them, as he could not afford to delay the departure of Drift.

As he neared the point where his head would be visible over the top of the roof, Satoru held a hand out to his son, signaling him to stay on the stairs. Then he cautiously looked over the edge, hissing in frustration when he saw that the roof was just a flat surface with no cover. He slipped onto his stomach and edged himself forward with his elbows until he had a clear view of the surrounding rooftops. His hands began to shake when he found the singer.

It was indeed a child, sitting on a roof with its knees pulled up against its chest. The tiny body was trembling and shaking. The roof was covered with a pool of blood, and still bodies surrounded the child's swaying form. Even as he looked the figure on, the puddle slowly grew outward. Soon it would be dripping down the sides of the house like some ghastly facsimile of a waterfall. From this distance, all he knew for sure was that the child had a length of dark brown hair. A girl, then, most likely.

Satoru didn't make a sound, but the girl's head snapped up suddenly, and her eyes locked unerringly on his. He gasped and pulled back when he saw her face. Her eyes were wide, and her pupils were so small in the bright sunlight that they seemed nonexistent. That and the tight pull of her facial muscles over her skull gave her the overwhelming appearance of madness. Her singing broke off when she saw him, and she threw herself on her feet, then lifted something out of the red pool. Satoru gasped and pulled back when her trembling arm raised up, pointing a pistol at his face.

"Y-you can't hurt me," she stammered. "You can't take me. No one can." Then she recoiled and twirled slightly to her left, pointing the gun at a new target. Satoru tilted his head just enough to get a peripheral view of whatever was behind him. He exclaimed when he saw his son advancing, standing up, with his palms held up and outward. Suddenly his own heartbeat was painful, as if a hand was gripping it like a vice, but his son looked calmer than he had ever seen him. He was smiling gently at the girl, and Satoru wished he had the luxury of boggling at him. That look of tenderness and compassion was something he had never seen on Koushiro's face.

"Won't you please sing again?" Koushiro asked, moving further onto the roof. "You're like a little bird. Your voice is enchanting." Something about what he said surprised the girl so greatly that she gasped and pressed her hands to her cheeks, dropping the gun. Satoru sagged against the hot adobe beneath him, unable to suppress a sigh of relief. Then the girl's eyes moved beyond both of them, and Satoru realized that the whoosing sound of the propeller blades was becoming audible. She covered her ears with her hands and stepped back, and something about the jerkiness of her motions seemed to imply a high probability of flight. "Wait!" Koushiro shouted. "That shuttle is with us! It's safe."

The girl froze and breathed so heavily that her whole body moved with the force of it. She looked like a fawn in danger, torn between freezing and fleeing. She gulped and spoke, and each word seemed to be a separate, exquisite effort. "And you're taking me with you?"

Satoru stared at her with his brow raised. What was it about what his son's words that had so radically changed her attitude? "Yes," he said, fighting to add a soothing layer to his voice. Drift often picked up people whose lives had been shattered by the empire and helped them get somewhere they could find help. Most children like this one ended up at orphanages, but something about the way his son was interacting with her was striking up his interest and pulling at his instincts.

A few moments later, the shuttle was abreast the rooftop, and Satoru lifted his son into the opening when a crew member hauled back the large door. He gestured towards the child and hopped into the shuttle, and it flew over to her position. The girl edged back and whimpered at the approach of the loud, large helicopter, and she seemed to be looking everywhere at once, as if to find some method of escape. Satoru jumped out of the vehicle and onto the roof, then held a hand out to her. She worried her lower lip with her teeth and moved backwards as he approached, kicking up tiny ripples in the blood. Satoru delicately stepped over the body of a boy who looked remarkably like the only surviving child, and she bristled and bared her teeth. Satoru froze, trying to find the reason for her sudden change from fear to aggression.

"Father," Koushiro called from the shuttle. Satoru put his foot on the pistol, whose grip was protruding from the dark pool, before he turned away from the girl. His son was gesturing for him to come back, so Satoru kicked the weapon off the side of the house and went to the shuttle, ignoring the gasp from the girl. Koushiro lifted his arms, and Satoru picked him up. He didn't want to set him in the blood, but Koushiro stared at the surface of the roof pointedly, so he sighed and put him down. "Please stay here," Koushiro said softly. Then he began to move towards the girl, holding his hands out. The posture sharply reminded Satoru of a painting in the tiny chapel on Drift. It featured an angel advancing on the viewer, shining radiance and benevolence down on the room. Satoru had always seen the chapel and its decorations as wishful thinking, but he suddenly wondered if he had been a touch too harsh in his opinions.

At first, the girl shrank back more than ever, and a faint growling seemed to be slipping from between her clenched teeth. Koushiro paused when he passed the boy who looked so much like her, then bent over the body and placed his right hand, his living hand, on its face. The girl snarled and leapt towards him, but halted when he spoke. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I honestly don't know what will happen to him now, or if anyone will hear this, but… For what it's worth… Goddess take him in her mercy." Koushiro shifted his attention from the dead boy to the girl, and Satoru suddenly realized that they were siblings. Pity, sorrow, and rage hit him all at once, like a brutal kick to the stomach. Satoru watched, somewhat awed, as Koushiro lowered his hand, and the glazed eyes were covered with pale, slightly purple lids. Moisture began to form in the girl's large, dark eyes, and she swayed on the balls of her feet and whimpered.

His son stepped away from the corpse and held his right arm out formally to the girl. Despite his shock over his son's behavior, Satoru felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Koushiro had been taught the etiquette of escorting and dancing for children in preparation for holiday festivities aboard Drift. He had complained in his polite, uncertain manner about it being an awkward waste of time, but it apparently had its uses after all.

"Little bird, you can still sing and fly. Please…" The girl stared at his arm, and Satoru shook his head. A girl who had spent all of her life in this village could hardly be expected to understand that gesture. Koushiro must have realized it too, because he crossed the small space that remained between them and gently took her hand. He pressed it against the inside of his forearm, then tugged her towards the shuttle. She followed sheepishly, shooting the occasional suspicious glare at Satoru. When they reached the shuttle, Satoru approached and lifted each of them into it, ignoring the girl's rough whine of protest. Then he accepted help up from the crew member inside the shuttle and watched him close the door behind him.

Koushiro took a seat on the bench pushed against the back of the interior of the small craft, then smiled at the girl and patted the spot next to him. She came over shyly and sat, and the aide sighed at the blood they were trailing. Satoru knew he wasn't looking forward to cleaning that up, and he could hardly blame him. He pressed his back against the wall furthest from the children, knowing that the girl distrusted adults at the moment.

"My name is Izumi Koushiro," his son said to the girl. She nodded, lifted her knees, and wrapped her arms around them, but she remained silent. Her tiny body began to tremble as the shuttle turned and began moving back towards Drift. She had probably never been in a vehicle of any kind before, so she would have been nervous even under normal circumstances. Satoru couldn't begin to imagine how she felt now. Just walking through that village had made him sick and desperately heart sore, and he hadn't grown up with those people. This girl had just violently, horrifically lost everything she had ever known, and was in the company of strangers whose intent had to seem dubious and uncertain to her. Satoru wondered once more why she had shifted from pointing a weapon at them to begrudgingly accepting them.

"What's your name?" Koushiro asked at last. He put a hand on the girl's shoulder, and she leaned into the touch, then pressed her body against his. She was filthy, covered with dust and dirt raised up in battle and caked with blood, but Koushiro opened his arms for her, and she threw herself into them. Her chest and diaphragm expanded with a sob, and her voice raised into a piercing, deafening keen that went on and on until they reached Drift.

Satoru placed a hand on his face and let his burning tears escape. He looked away from the children, unable to bear the girl's suffering, and wondering all the while where his son had found this mysterious strength and compassion.

Author's Note

I wrote this chapter about 2-3 weeks ago, but given what happened this Friday, I had a very difficult time posting anything that had violence in it. I really do want to express my sympathy, pain, and shock over the school shooting, and to give my condolences to anyone who was in any way hurt by it. It's just... like a gaping hole in my heart, even as someone who isn't connected to it in any way, save for the faint threads that connect all humans to each other.

On a story related note, you probably noticed that I'm implying that Satoru is Koushiro's birth father in this story. He is. So, really, Koushiro's last name should not be Izumi, since that name came from his adopted parents in the show. However, since some of the characters will be calling him Izzy, I couldn't change his last name, which is where the nickname comes from. So... Hopefully that clears up any confusion!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, please R&R :)