Catch Me On The Ground
four
She said, "Lately, falling's been easy on me
A lot like breathing used to be,
And call me crazy, but I was thinking
Maybe you'd be waiting on the ground
To come and catch me."
—Matt Nathanson, "Wings"
Tokyo, Meiji Cycle 11: Summer
Misao watched the sun set over her ninth day in Tokyo. The planet was still visible in the distance, a blue-green marble in the sky, but the other moons hadn't yet risen. Some of them had been up throughout the day and were setting over other cities, but others—
Well, there was one, just beginning to rise. It was milk-white, a paler coin in a pale violet sky.
Misao watched it, watched dark shapes fly across its face. There were plenty of black silhouettes drifting across the sky, most of them probably ships. A few of them, though, were something else. She watched what looked like scalloped wings and shuddered at the thought.
The new government had done bad things, like completely eradicate old social classes to make a brand new mess. Then there had been the sword ban—a completely ass-brained idea, even Okina had said so more than once, and Okina had been determined never to criticize the new government too loudly.
It had also done good things, like arm all the Anti-Oni Bases with jets, which were legally required to do flyovers and patrol civilized airspace. That had a better shot at keeping the flying oni out of everyone's hair than anything the Shogunate had tried.
She settled onto the engawa, adjusted the wrist ring of her gauntlets. The summer heat had penetrated even the shaded rooms, so she might as well enjoy the sunset with some cool green tea.
Kaoru and Yahiko were going at it in the courtyard. They'd traded in their swords for bokken and were viciously chasing each other through the grass and dust. For all intents and purposes, the Assistant Master of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu wanted to brain her student.
Considering the force of Yahiko's swings, the feeling was entirely mutual.
Megumi tucked herself in beside her. The older woman's pale face was turned toward Kaoru's and Yahiko's attempts to kill each other with mostly nonlethal weapons, but her dark, glistening eyes were watching Misao.
Misao cracked a grin, picked up her chawan in both hands and took a sip. The thin green tea somehow managed to taste just the right side of too bitter and too sweet. "Shouldn't you be torturing your precious Ken-san?"
Megumi cast a glance at him. Her lips were pouty and full. They quirked downward just a tad before the expression smoothed itself away. "There's a reason I'm sitting here and not over there."
"Don't feel like getting beaned in the face with a lead-tipped piece of wood?" Misao raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smile.
Megumi's response was a chilly look. "I want to make sure you aren't with them."
"I'm here because I've got a deal going with..." She looked up, searched the courtyard until she found him, then pointed at Sano. He seemed oblivious to the attention. "That idiot over there. Why are you here?"
"Why, because Ken-san deserves to be in better hands than some sweaty girl's." Megumi covered her mouth with her hand and chuckled.
Misao felt her eyebrow twitch. That sweaty girl was smart, strong, apparently ruthless in a fight, and had yet to kick Megumi's crazy, trouble-making ass out. All in all, she was shaping up to be a better person than Megumi.
She didn't answer immediately, though. Instead, she watched the lead tip of Kaoru's bokken crack into Yahiko's shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon. It thumped against the top of his head in a lovetap, letting him know the fight was over.
Misao looked at Megumi out of the corner of her eye. "Look, maybe you're not from this moon, but around here, sane people would be grateful to Kamiya Kaoru. If you're running from the Oniwabanshuu, you're not going to bring her anything but trouble."
Megumi tossed her head, her eyes narrowing. The amused glint in her eyes changed to an angry gleam. The other woman might have been intentionally blind to common courtesy and the danger she was putting a bunch of people in, but she did, apparently, know how to smolder.
"If you want help so badly, you're going to have to start giving us some answers. But you've been sandbagging us on purpose for seventy-two straight hours."
Megumi looked away.
"If you had your head on straight, I'd be the least of your problems. The thing you need to be worried about is whether Kaoru's going to decide that she doesn't want to get dead and that she wants you out of her dojo. So if I were you, I'd make a little effort."
But Megumi wasn't going to listen. She leaned in a little closer, her lips parting just a little wider than normal. "Just tell me you're not one of them. Not one of their Okashira's little spies."
"I'm not spying for him," Misao said.
So Aoshi-sama was around, she thought. She breathed in deep, tried to throw away the hurt, tried to live in the now. She couldn't do anything about his choices. But did he have to make such an obviously bad one?
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them, the dojo's gate was wide open. Kaoru tossed away her bokken and drew her sword on the man who was coming through the gate.
Hyottoko, she realized. He liked to call himself The Great Hyottoko. She'd mimicked him to his face, once, and he'd simply laughed.
Across the courtyard, Sanosuke was uncurling from his relaxed position. He stood slowly, deliberately. The way he moved into a fighting stance—no movement out of place, no hint of fear—was fitting for a smuggler-gladiator.
What to do, what to do?
There was only one thing she could do. Misao drew her knives, mentally charted the swiftest course to get between Sano and Hyottoko.
"No." Megumi's voice was a bare whisper. "Please no."
Two different instincts warred inside her. She couldn't just walk away from someone who was that scared, that desperate. But she couldn't help her, either.
Misao turned, gave Megumi a little push. "Go inside and put your back to a corner."
Megumi made a strangled noise in her throat, but after a moment she clambered onto the engawa and slid open one of the shoji doors. The door hissed closed behind her.
Misao thrust two of the kunai into her gauntlets and ran. Her braid smacked against her thighs as she ducked and wove, skidding to a stop in front of Sano with her arms in front of her face.
Hyottoko pointed at the door Megumi had gone through, flashing signs almost too quickly for Misao to follow. Apparently, his sign language had grown in her absence. He drew an ending line and then jerked his head in an emphatic nod.
His tired eyes looked alive, for once not drooping closed.
Misao pushed one foot back, steadying into a defensive position.
Sano tilted his head to one side. "Anybody know what he's saying?"
"It's an old wartime sign language," Himura murmured. He slowly moved his hand to his sword's sheath, resting his thumb under the hilt guard. "He's here for Megumi-dono. Yahiko, if you would?"
Misao watched from the corner of her eye as Yahiko headed toward the dojo, stopping to pull a sword out from under the engawa. He drew it even before he headed inside. Kaoru moved to protect her student, standing at the door. She made for a beautiful sentinel, with a drawn blade reflecting sunset in her hands even as the darkening sky cast her half in shadow.
Hyottoko's eyes gleamed. He pointed to Sano, then jerked his fingers in an instantly recognizable gesture: Come here.
"You want me, huh?" She could hear him crack his knuckles behind her.
"Sano, wait, please! I'm supposed to be keeping you out of the hospital!" And out of prison and out of the morgue, but the LEOs wouldn't be showing up anytime soon and Hyottoko wouldn't kill anyone in front of her unless he had to.
Recognition flickered across Hyottoko's face. He lingered over drawing a torch from his belt. His eyes never left hers.
Sano's hand gripped her shoulder. She turned to look up at him.
His expression was almost peaceful. He wasn't smiling, but it was still obvious that he wasn't a gladiator for lack of any other way to leave the moon. He genuinely enjoyed the fight.
"Don't worry. I'm not the one who's going to end up in the hospital." Sano thumbed his nose.
Hyottoko stamped a foot. The ground shook. When they all turned to look at him, he crossed his arms over his chest and inclined his head.
"Men," Misao muttered.
Sano moved forward. He darted around her before she could intercept, fist raised in what would be a hell of a right hook if it connected.
Hyottoko wasn't always particularly nimble. He was faster than his size suggested he would be, but moving all that weight around quickly wasn't easy for him. Especially with the napalm tank he carried on his back.
He made no effort to dodge Sano's blow.
Himura watched them, eyes narrowed. "Why isn't he moving?"
A quick flick of Hyottoko's wrist lit the torch in his hand.
The napalm tank made a hissing sound. Jelly sprayed from his mask, clung to the ground, to blades of grass.
There was no way to get out of the way in time. Sano flung himself to one side, but the napalm clung to his right arm. He hissed in pain, voice going hoarse as he growled words Misao had never heard used so fervently, one bandaged hand slapping at the sticky embers.
Like that was going to work. Misao took one look at him and dashed into the dojo, hauled the little fire extinguisher down from its place by the first aid kit. She sprinted to Sano's side, pulled the extinguisher's tab.
"Don't breathe this in," she said, hosing his arm down with it.
The extinguisher hissed. A powdery white smoke poured from the nose, covering his arm. The embers fizzed and died out and Misao brushed the sticky gobbets of gasoline from his arm.
"Yeeow," Sano hissed. "That burns, that burns!"
The skin was going red, where it wasn't blistered and charred. It was the most revolting smell she'd ever encountered, all smoky and almost sweet.
Even as she wanted to help him, Misao refused to feel any sympathy. "Don't go charging at him again."
Himura tilted his head. He was calculating something, Misao could see. The katana slid free of its sheath even as he moved in front of Hyottoko, dust rising from the ground beneath his feet.
"I will be your opponent." There was an edge in his mild voice. Listening to it was like taking a sip of warm, comforting tea and finding a human finger in the chawan.
Hyottoko tilted his head. The message he signed with a few quick gestures was short, bordered on rude.
"Burns don't worry me in the least, that they do not."
Hyottoko tilted his head as if puzzled, then jerked his finger in that come here gesture again.
Himura didn't move. His gaze slid to Sano, who was gritting his teeth against the pain of the burns on his arm. His grip on his sword tightened for a moment.
Himura was angry, she realized. He was angry, and he wasn't saying a word about it, wasn't blustering or grandstanding. The fight wasn't important because Hyottoko had made it personal or even because he particularly wanted to win.
The fight was important because Sano was hurt, Kaoru and Yahiko were at risk, and Megumi was counting on them.
Hyottoko squared himself against Himura, threw his shoulders back. He was probably adjusting the tank he was carrying.
Fire and jelly spurted from the mask's mouth. It was like some sort of hideously destructive vomit.
Only Himura wasn't in pain. None of the jellied gasoline even touched him. He spun the sword by the very base of its hilt in a clockwise motion, almost too fast for her to see. The movement somehow turned aside the napalm.
Himura could break physics?
No, not quite. Some of the jelly stuck to the katana. She could see the sword heat up in spots. Embers flared, died, fell in a shower of sparks. It was half frightening and half awe-inspiring. Beautiful.
Sano rushed forward again. He dodged around the spurt of fire, swerved around Himura and his amazing flame retardant katana, and struck the tank with his left fist. The metal made an awful crunch, screeching as it gave underneath his gauntlet.
"Oh, not good," she said, was saying just as Sano grabbed the tube in one hand and yanked. He must have pulled hard, or twisted just right, because he managed to get one of the tubes out.
Napalm went everywhere. Neither stupid nor suicidal, Hyottoko immediately snuffed his torch — tossing it far away — and shrugged the tank off, throwing that away from him, too. Without warning, without slowing, he stopped moving at all.
Something was wrong with him. He began pulling at the mask, tugging fiercely. He was making noises that she could hear above the whip-snap of the flames that still burned on the ground. Finally, the mask came free, taking some of the skin near his mouth with it.
He bent at the waist, vomited something thick and black. Napalm, she realized. He was lucky it hadn't been ignited, but still. The noises he made were pure pain, agonized and agonizing to hear.
And he was bleeding from the corner of his jaw, she realized, where the mask had cut him.
The instinct to move forward, to make sure he was all right, rose up like a tidal wave. Every jangling nerve told her to help him. She even took a step toward Hyottoko, unsure what to do but sure she had to do something.
Sano let his breath hiss through his teeth. She whirled, took a step toward him. He was on the ground, clutching his apparently useless right arm. His expression had gone tight from pain.
The dojo door slid open, nudged by someone's toe. There was a long, long moment of silence and watchfulness before Yahiko came out. His sword was naked in his hand, its empty sheath still slung along his back.
Megumi followed him, settling a pair of glasses over her eyes. She was carrying a first aid kit in one hand.
Her expression turned cross. "You used a fire extinguisher on someone in contact with napalm? Genius! Let's add skin irritation to third degree burns, I'm sure—"
She stopped talking when she got closer. Despite the kimono, despite the labcoat, she lunged forward. It wasn't long before she had Sano's arm in her hands.
Her expression changed from worry to frustration to confusion, relief, and back again. "I can fix this. I can fix this."
"Megumi-dono?" Kenshin sheathed his sword and turned to regard them, looking baffled. "You should be inside, I believe you should."
"I know a little first aid," Megumi replied, as if that explained why she'd abandoned the relative safety of the dojo.
"Make it quick. Kenshin's right," Yahiko said. His grip on his sword kept shifting, as if he were on edge.
It wasn't like Misao could blame him. She looked around, listening as closely as she could. Oniwabanshuu didn't fight alone. Where one was, there were sure to be others—especially since Beshimi had failed to drag Megumi back the first time. Beshimi had to be here somewhere, and maybe Shikijou or Hannya.
Megumi opened her first aid kit. "Have you had a nanite inoculation?"
"Yeah, when I was a kid."
"How many years ago?"
Sano gave her a look that was partially dubious and mostly confused. "At least ten?"
"As long as it was within the last twenty years, this should be fine." She was removing a sequence of vials filled with clear fluid and a syringe gun with a needle that might have inoculated a horse.
Himura gave her a hard look. "Nanite therapy?"
Megumi only gave him a passing glance, opting instead to pull an aerosol can from within the bag. Sano hissed at the sting of whatever she was spraying on his arm.
Misao heard footsteps as somebody flung himself forward. She turned around, took a half step toward Yahiko as he moved in front of Megumi, his arms swinging the sword out and up.
One poison dart caught the flat of Yahiko's sword, fell harmlessly to the dirt.
The other sank into flesh with a sick tearing sound.
Yahiko gave a faint cry. It was loud in her ears, impossibly loud against the sudden stillness, the sudden silence everywhere else.
Sano reached up, steadying the boy by placing one splayed hand on his back.
Himura went still. Not the harsh, edgy stiffness of an angry cat, but the smooth, liquid relaxation of the ocean as it dragged a swimmer under. The coiled, curling tension of ocean-folk preparing to strike.
What followed was a blur of red and white and green, fire-colored hair whipping to one side while a maroon gi flowed the opposite way. Someone small and scaled tried to stream by him.
Against anyone else, it might have worked.
The sword swung out in a river of silver, hard and fast. A crunch echoed and Beshimi faltered, dropping to one knee. The sword flashed again. Flesh and scales gave way under the edge.
Hyottoko made a keening sound low in his throat. He heaved himself to his feet, lumbered forward to clap one large hand against Beshimi's bleeding shoulder wound.
In the distance, something made a thrimming sound. After that, things went chaotic.
Misao caught a glimpse of Megumi sweeping a reeling Yahiko off his feet and toward the house. In the next instant, she saw red hair sweeping toward dull white duraplas while perma-steel claws clashed with a sword.
She planted herself between Sano and the chaos, her kunai crossed in front of her.
But neither combatant went near her or Sano. They were focused entirely on each other.
Himura staggered backward, sliding through sand and grass with one outstretched hand digging into the dirt. The momentum of his fall didn't stop until he was halfway across the courtyard. He didn't cry out, gave no sign that he was in pain save the ginger way he stood and then touched his fingers to his bloodied lip. He gripped his chin in one hand, jerked his wrist one way and turned his head the other. The crack and pop of a joint being forced back into position filled the courtyard.
Hannya took a step back in his surprise. He pulled his hands toward his face, claws forming a defensive position. But the way he moved was stiff, unsteady. After a moment, he bowed and picked Beshimi up by the scruff of his neck.
Misao could hear the faint metallic clicks as Hannya carefully adjusted his grip on the smaller onmitsu.
"The Oniwabanshuu will give you time to tend your dead," Hannya said. The sheen on his mask radiated tension. This was a ceasefire, not a truce.
Himura hadn't said a word, but now his eyes narrowed. "If you're giving up so easily, I wonder what you meant to accomplish, I do."
Hannya said nothing. The texture of his silence was questioning, angrily so.
Sano rose to his feet in one smooth movement that ended only when he was in an offensive stance, cracking the knuckles of his left hand by curling it into a fist and pressing it against his thigh. His right arm stayed limp. "Aw, you can't be leaving just yet! We were just getting—"
How Hyottoko managed to silence Sano with just a single rude gesture—which he immediately downgraded at Hannya's sudden radiating of irritation—Misao wasn't sure, but he stopped talking.
"Explain yourselves," Himura said one last time, his tone dangerously quiet.
"We owe no further courtesy to an enemy."
Hannya looked over to her. Misao sheathed her blades on instinct, her spine going stiff.
In response, Hannya inclined his head, his mask's horns tilting. He gave her a bow that might have been smooth, if she hadn't seen the way he hesitated before straightening. Then he turned away, shifting his grip on Beshimi once more.
As quickly and suddenly as they had arrived, the Edo Castle Oniwabanshuu left.
Himura turned to look at her. His eyes looked hard in the murky shadows and half-light of nightfall, even if the upward curve of his bloodied mouth was gentle.
"I think we need to talk, Misao-dono, that I do," he murmured.
Misao nodded. She wanted to say that she could explain, but how was she supposed to explain that the Edo Castle Oniwabanshuu were her family? Especially when she was onmitsu too?
Inside the dojo, Kaoru and Megumi were clustered around Yahiko. Kaoru was pressing a steaming cloth to his forehead while Megumi tapped a sequence of keys on a small laptop. Lines of code screamed past.
"He'll live," Megumi whispered. "Kaoru, I promise I'll get him through this."
Kaoru swallowed so hard her throat moved.
"Misao-dono." Himura's voice was quiet, but the tone was firm. "Do you know the poison he used?"
"I don't," she said, mentally flashing back to the few lessons on poisons Beshimi had given her, before Aoshi-sama had put a stop to them. "He used to use a habu-venom base, but if he's changed enough to work for Kanryuu, he could have changed his poison."
Himura nodded, reached out and touched Kaoru's shoulder.
Yahiko gave a wet cry. His voice turned sharp, and then shallow. He began to gasp for breath, each hitch of his voice shorter and higher pitched, thick and wet, almost gurgling.
"His lungs! Kaoru, Ken-san, move! He needs space."
Both Kaoru and Himura stepped backward immediately, away from Yahiko but not too close to the door. Kaoru's hands tightened into fists, curled up by her sides. Himura kept his hand on her shoulder.
Megumi lifted Yahiko until he was almost sitting up, leaning against her. She pressed two fingers to his chin, tilting his head and opening his mouth. "It can't be habu-based; habu venom isn't this deadly."
"Add another toxin, Megumi-dono, and it can be lethal. Especially to the young."
Megumi paled for an instant, but then her expression hardened. She rolled up her sleeves. "Kaoru, keep him balanced like this. He needs to clear the water from his lungs. Ken-san, bring me my first aid kit. I need antivenin twelve!"
Himura dashed from the room, yet again a blur of red. Kaoru settled in behind Yahiko, letting him brace his weight against her.
Misao watched as Himura returned with a thick white case. His hands were steady as he sifted through the snakebite supplies, sorting vial after vial. The set of his jaw belay the outward calm appearance. It didn't take an onmitsu to see he was angry.
Antivenin twelve was a clear liquid. Megumi drew it carefully, her eyes clearly on the measurements, and then injected it into the vein on Yahiko's other arm.
"Go," Megumi murmured. "He needs to breathe, and I need to work."
Himura looked from Yahiko to Megumi and back again. He stood to leave, clasping one hand on Kaoru's shoulder. His expression softened even as she turned to look up at him.
"He'll make it," Himura told her. "He's stronger than the Oniwabanshuu credit him."
The line of Kaoru's jaw trembled, even as she smoothed one hand along the side of Yahiko's face. Her high-angled cheekbones looked fragile in the low buzz of the sensor lights. Her fingers shook.
"I'm not leaving him."
Megumi's expression softened, but then she turned back to the laptop. More code flew by on the tiny screen. Megumi tapped a few more keys, watched ones and zeroes while keeping an eye on Yahiko.
A monitor beeped, long and loud, uninterrupted rather than a measured heartbeat rhythm.
Kaoru's face whitened, the line of her jaw tightening.
Megumi ripped herself away from the keyboard, pressing her ear to Yahiko's chest. "Lay him flat," she snapped, adjusting his neck and opening his mouth as soon as Kaoru had done so.
Megumi pressed two fingers to his sternum, then lay one hand next to her fingers. She threaded her other hand above the one on his chest and began to push down.
"Kaoru! Pair of wands in my medikit; I need them," she said, before murmuring, "Thirteen... fourteen... fifteen—"
Kaoru was up and digging through the kit within seconds. She pulled vials and bandages out and set them aside almost at random. Every motion was jerky, disjointed, hurried.
Megumi bent to breathe into Yahiko's mouth, pinching his nose shut. She gave two deep breaths as quickly as she could and returned to the compressions. Her expression bordered on frantic as she counted again, gave him two more breaths, and then went back to the compressions.
All the while, despite her efforts, the machine continued its flatline tone.
Megumi breathed into his open mouth a third time. When she straightened, she hissed, "Misao! You breathe, I count."
Misao planted herself by Yahiko's head. "Until his chest rises?"
"Yes! Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—"
Misao didn't bother checking for a pulse. That horrible flat tone was still sounding, ringing in her ears. She watched his chest rise.
Megumi continued to push down on his ribs, counting under her breath.
Bare skin slapped against wood, loud, in a tumbling, harum-scarum rhythm.
Misao looked up. Kaoru had the pair of wands in her hands, was wordlessly offering them to Megumi.
The other woman took them, flipped them in her hands, and pulled a pair of plastic-wrapped syringes from their lower ends. She ripped the syringes from their plastic bags, popped the caps, and then jabbed Yahiko, one immediately after the other.
Then she pushed in on his chest again, still counting in a low, repetitive murmur.
The laptop blipped. Just a quick note, nothing to prove that his heart had started to beat again. Then another, and another, slow at first but steadying into a more natural-sounding rhythm.
"The epinephrine is letting him breathe, for now," Megumi said, even as she reached out for the bag.
Kaoru went to get it, handed it to her. "For now?"
Megumi didn't answer. Instead, she dug through the bag, eventually pulling out a pair of vials full of clear fluid.
No, not quite clear. Sparkling flecks of red drifted through. She pulled an empty syringe from a pocket in her medikit, placed it in her lap, and then withdrew a programming gun from the bag.
Her movements as she filled the syringe with the drug, then loaded it into the programming gun and connected the gun to her laptop were quick, efficient. Experienced.
Her fingers clicked against the keys. She adjusted her glasses and then inspected whatever code she'd written.
Misao could only watch as Kaoru opened her mouth to speak and then went silent.
She closed her eyes for a moment when Megumi slid the needle into a vein on Yahiko's arm.
Seconds blurred by, slurred themselves into minutes that stretched, lazily, into hours. Her time sense went syrupy, as slow as the sweat that dripped along Yahiko's brow. She only knew that she startled when Yahiko cried out, and that Kaoru took it even worse. The other woman flinched every time.
Megumi always kept one eye on Yahiko and one eye on the laptop, on the lines of nanotherapy code scrolling down.
At last, Yahiko's breaths seemed to come a little easier. Sweat stopped beading along his temples.
"I've gotten him past the worst of it," Megumi said. "He'll need regular rounds of nanotherapy for a few weeks, but he should make a full recovery."
Kaoru stood, then, placed one hand on Megumi's shoulder. Her jaw unclenched, eyes dancing with a mixture of hope, of gratitude, of relief.
"Thank you," she said.
Megumi placed one hand over Kaoru's, but then folded her hands in her lap and looked down. "It's my fault he was hurt."
Kaoru was quiet for a little while, before her expression hardened into determination. "It isn't anybody's fault, Megumi."
Megumi only shook her head and brushed Kaoru's hand away from her shoulder. "He needs to rest. I'll keep an eye on him."
Kaoru made a soft sigh low in her throat and looked from Yahiko, back to Megumi, and back again. After a moment of thought, she nodded.
"Then keep watch a little longer." Her voice broke on the last word. "I'll... go tell Kenshin."
She slipped the door open and vanished into the dark courtyard. Her tabi clattered on the engawa, and then went silent in a rush of air. Misao pictured her falling.
The night shivered, drew taut as a strangling wire, around Kaoru's, "It's Yahiko—!"
Himura and Sanosuke soon appeared, looking half out of breath and all worriedly disbelieving. Something warmed inside her to watch their faces turn from blatant fear to relief.
"Yahiko is..." Himura lapsed into silence, then smiled wryly. "You gave us quite a scare, Kaoru-dono, that you did."
Sano rubbed the back of his neck, as if awkward, but his voice was disgruntled. "Don't know if I'm ever gonna forgive you for that one, Jou-chan."
Megumi turned her gaze back to Yahiko, apparently weighing pros and cons in her head. Finally she looked up and informed them all, "He's just come through a serious trauma to his central nervous system. He needs rest and space to breathe."
"Don't think you're going to get out of explaining just how the hell you're mixed up with Kanryuu, fox woman," Sano said.
At the same time Himura turned a mild-as-milk gaze on her. "Yahiko-kun needs space, and I think we should hear your story in full, Misao-dono. The Oniwabanshuu seemed to know you quite well."
"You already know they're clan relatives of mine. What else is there to tell you?"
"Simple clan relatives would not have been so thorough in avoiding attacking you, they would not." He paused, and in the darkness his eyes gleamed almost like bronze. "Have you ever heard the term 'stalking horse,' Misao-dono?"
"You think I'm here... what, so I can draw Megumi-san into their reach? I'm not. I'm not even the same cell as these Oniwabanshuu."
He didn't say anything. Sano glared at her a moment, but then the empty vial of nanite serum drew his eye. Kaoru looked from Himura, back to her, and back.
"They're my family. I grew up with them," Misao said, at last. "That doesn't mean I think they're right. I'm not going to betray you to them."
Not that Aoshi-sama would have asked her to. Probably. Even if he'd changed enough to work for Kanryuu, he wouldn't, right?
Misao, Himura, Sano, and Kaoru were ensconced in one of the main dining rooms when footsteps clattered on the engawa and the door slid open. Kaoru half jumped in her seat, while Sano looked up from the wall he was leaning against before narrowing his eyes and pointedly looking away. Himura looked up from his tea as if he had known she was coming all along; considering the precog weirdness he'd shown, he probably had.
"I hope you are ready to shed light on certain matters, Megumi-dono, that I do."
Megumi knelt across from Himura. She seemed to fold gracefully, hair drifting around her. Her lab coat and kimono moved in perfect, picturesque patterns as she sat.
Sano shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He rubbed one of the unburnt spots on his arm. "You know your way around medical nanotech if you just whipped up an antidote like that."
"And I should," Megumi replied. Her voice was so soft that it sounded less like a boast and more like she hated herself. "I was studying to be a doctor."
Sano's breath hissed through his teeth. They all looked his way, but he clenched his jaw and shook his head once. Himura tilted his head for a moment, as if confused or attempting to read Sano's mind, before he looked back to Megumi.
Himura nodded once. "Carrying on the family tradition, then, I see."
That drew a startled look from Kaoru. She dropped her bee pendant onto the table, where it skittered along the synthwood. "Family tradition?"
Himura didn't say anything. Maybe he was waiting for Megumi to tell them herself. But she didn't say anything either, only watched Kaoru push the stinging clasp around the table.
Finally, she sighed and said, "My clan is all doctors. We have been for generations."
"Kanryuu doesn't sound like the kind of person to bother with a family of doctors." Kaoru reached out with one arm, stopping the bee's progress along the table with a finger.
"My advisor in Tokyo University was involved with him. Gambling debts, I think."
Things from the newslinks flashed back, fitted together. "The med student. You're the med student. And the charity doctor — I'm gonna guess he was your advisor?"
"Are you saying she's the girl the newslinks are talking about?" Kaoru shot a worried look Misao's way, before turning back to study Megumi. "I thought that was just a rumor."
Misao shrugged. "Newslinks all the way over in Kyoto were talking about it, so maybe? Rumor from Tokyo doesn't make it all the way out there unless it's really juicy or there's something to it." Or at least, that was what Okina said.
"I believe there is some element of truth to that story, that I do." She would have expected Himura to be watching Megumi, but his eyes were on Sano. As if Sano was the one they needed to be worried about now.
"Tch. Whether she's some kidnapped med student or not, she's mixed up with Takeda and being targeted by the Oniwabanshuu."
Sano pushed himself away from the wall.
Kaoru looked to Himura. They all looked to Himura, except Sano, who was looking at Megumi. He jabbed his finger in her direction.
"And I want to know why Takeda would have some med student working for him. What did he want you to do?"
"I ran a clinic for his thugs, of course." She lifted her chin. "Fairly basic first aid."
"Bullshit. Nano-inoculating a kid and using it to cure habu poisoning, on the fly, is not basic first aid."
He was right. And Takeda Kanryuu wasn't the type to care if his dumb muscle got hurt. Even if he did, he wouldn't send the Oniwabanshuu — the best of the best — to get the doctor back. He'd just blackmail a new one. So what was Megumi really doing for him?
"Megumi-dono will tell us when she is ready, she will."
"She'd better be ready soon, Kenshin. This is getting too dumb, even for me." Sano slid the door to the engawa open again and stepped through.
Misao stood in a rush, reaching for her knives out of habit. "Wait! Where are you going?"
"Gensai's clinic," came the reply from beyond the door, and then the darkness of the unlit courtyard by the time she reached the engawa. "You know, a doctor we can trust."
For once, Aoshi entered Takeda's office through the door. He locked the door behind him, half out of caution and half to give Takeda a moment to cut off the ever-playing holovid.
But Takeda didn't bother, and the accented crooning continued. From the flimsy spread over his desk, he was balancing accounts, or maybe balancing what his accountants told him with his own raw data. Most likely he was attempting to reconcile the two; Aoshi spent a vain moment hoping Takeda didn't give up and decide the correct response was to shoot his accountants and have his hired elites clean up the mess.
It wasn't really a question of whether the accountants would die. It was a question of whether they would die before his contract dissolved.
Takeda looked up for an instant, then went back to his numbers. "You failed to break her, failed to keep her here, and now you've failed to bring her back."
"A temporary delay," he said, as if Takeda's censure had any effect on him.
"Are you at least going to punish them?"
"Oniwabanshuu matters are my concern."
Takeda looked up from his accounts. His eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he looked back down. "Do you have a plan to get her back?"
"Several."
"I suppose that's a start. You know, I'd begun to wonder what I pay you for."
Aoshi didn't bother with a reply. Why waste the effort on this employer? If he was lucky, every word would go in one ear and out the other.
The silence between them continued until Takeda gestured with his stylus, minimizing all open windows and muting his recording. He looked up again, this time fixing Aoshi with a stare that might have been piercing.
"You're not going to tell me any of those plans?"
"No."
"And why not?" Takeda raised an eyebrow, as if he didn't understand perfectly well.
"Oniwabanshuu matters are my concern."
Takeda's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "You could stand to be a bit more cooperative, you know."
"The point stands."
"So it does! Now, tell me: if Megumi came back on her own, would those dojo people try to steal her back?"
"That depends on circumstances."
Takeda paused for a moment to mull over whatever idea he had in his head. Aoshi waited.
"What if I spoke to her, and convinced her to come back? Personal leverage, and all that."
"If they didn't know she was returning here, they would have little reason to seek her out."
Takeda smiled. "Then I think I have our plan."
"Understood. The Oniwabanshuu will arrange contact."
Aoshi moved toward the window, readying himself to locate his men and reassign them. There had to be a way to contact Takani without alarming the Kamiya dojo. The problem lay in attracting Takani's attention and overcoming her caution while simultaneously maintaining a low profile.
"Oh, and Aoshi?"
He turned toward Takeda, away from the window.
"If you hate me so much, why are you my whore?"
Aoshi sealed the Oniwabanshuu quarters, locking out Takeda himself and any of his emissaries. He pressed the keys harder than strictly necessary, but applying force to something Takeda owned felt... good. Better than he'd felt when he shut Takeda's office window behind him.
"Okashira?"
"Hannya. Our client wishes to establish one-on-one contact with Takani."
If Hannya sensed his anger, he declined to mention. But he stood, bowed, and murmured, "I will make the arrangements, Aoshi-sama."
And then he was gone. For him to flee so quickly meant he had noticed Aoshi's ire. And thought Aoshi might direct it at him.
"Beshimi," Aoshi said.
The little reptite waved his uninjured arm and forced himself to sit up. "My humblest apologies, Aoshi-sama. I know I failed you."
"Yes." He said nothing more.
His agent had been far outclassed. If the swordsmen in that dojo could bring down Hyottoko and Hannya, then Beshimi would never have stood a chance.
Frankly, he was lucky Kamiya's red-headed visitor hadn't killed any of his agents outright. Death by a simple sword might be temporary, but resurrection could be an expensive process. And far worse now, without Takani to ply her nanite formulas.
His silence drilled in the extent of Beshimi's failure. He let it continue until Beshimi lowered his head, eyes drifting closed.
"Your actions have injured another operative." He paused, allowed his eyes to narrow behind his glasses. "Do not fail again."
"I won't, Aoshi-sama."
He nodded. And then he turned away. Hyottoko was in intensive care for severe burns. Not to mention blood poisoning from unlit napalm making its way into the open mouth-wound.
He had much to do, and was down half his team.
At precisely six the next morning, Aoshi unlocked the doors to Takeda's bedroom with a few swipes of his thumb. He left them hissing open and closed behind him.
"Wake up."
Takeda did. Instantly. To his credit, he was silent as he brought the laser pistol to bear. No teeth chattering, no pleas, just a simple act of preparation.
"You wished to speak to Takani. You may do so now."
Takeda didn't reply until he'd dressed with shaking hands. "This couldn't have waited an hour?"
"No."
They said nothing more to each other until Aoshi opened the doors to Takeda's office. He swept pieces of flimsy out of his way, accessing the desk's keyboard. There, after a few more command strings — connecting to a proxy router via another proxy router and encrypting the connection — Aoshi entered the contact number Hannya had given him.
He had to repeat the connection process twice before Takani finally picked up.
"Who is this?"
She had whispered the words. Aoshi could almost imagine her cradling the receiver between cheek and shoulder as she sank to her knees. Perhaps she was trying to hide herself from view in some out-of-the-way part of the house.
Takeda laughed. He threw his arms open wide, expansively. "Why, Megumi! Don't you remember your host?"
"Kanryuu," Takani hissed.
A small icon began to blink on Takeda's holo-screen. Aoshi tapped it, then watched as a blueprint of the dojo — the Kamiya household — appeared onscreen. Security cameras activated and began to broadcast, view flickering from one room to the next. Kamiya, asleep, with her sword not far from her hand. Myoujin, sleeping on his back and surrounded by monitors. Sagara, sprawled on the floor in a tea room and idly toying with a bandage. Himura, who woke and stared at the camera a moment, then went back to sleep.
"Haven't you missed me, my dear?"
"No," said Takani, and there was no sound of running water in the background, so which woman with long dark hair was in the shower?
The camera routine finally cycled on the kitchen. Takani had taken the call in there. Aoshi tapped the key sequence that would finalize the broadcast.
"Such a shame," said Takani. "Because I've missed you."
"I'm not coming back."
"Brave of you," Takeda said. He clucked a few times. "Poor, brave, silly girl. What does that world hold for you?"
On the screen, Takani reached for a kitchen knife. "What are you talking about?"
"You seem to think you're in a whole new world now. You haven't left mine yet."
"I have," she whispered. Aoshi watched her fingers tighten on the knife and then let his gaze flicker to Takeda.
Takeda curved his lips downward into an exaggerated pout. "Do you really think you can get clean of what you did? Who would you even run to, hm?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." But she did, or thought she did; she wouldn't have stiffened her spine and inclined her head, otherwise.
"Your family heal people. They wouldn't have you. No one with any decency at all would shelter you, Megumi. How many people have your drugs killed? And how many of the rest ruined themselves?"
"No, you're twisting the truth—I won't let you—"
"Hundreds? Thousands? How many of those could have lived, if you'd only had the courage to die? And how many more will die when the rest of the underworld finds out what you can make for them?"
The knife slipped from nerveless fingers. "Th-that's not true! You're wrong, completely wrong!"
"No, dear. I'm right. You just don't want to admit it."
Takani clenched her fists, knuckles whitening. She collapsed, bending over the counter with shoulders shaking.
"Hurry home, Megumi. Mine are the only open arms you'll ever see again."
Takeda reached out and closed the connection himself. He smiled up at Aoshi.
"I think that went quite well, don't you?"
Aoshi looked to the desk, the open line notification. The camera had begun its cycle again: Kamiya, Myoujin, Himura, Sagara, the woman in the shower — she'd stepped out and was wringing her hair dry — and then Takani, who was still sobbing in the kitchen. Sobbing quietly, now.
"Yes," he said. "She should return shortly."
"Put one of your men on look-out, then. I'm going back to sleep." Takeda's eyes narrowed. "Don't wake me unless I oversleep my nine o'clock holo-conference."
"Understood," Aoshi said, and looked back to the screen for a moment. Hannya cut the camera feed; the glimpse into the Kamiya household evaporated into snow, and then NO SIGNAL.