Author's Note: Because I wasn't satisfied with it, I had to rewrite this entire chapter, so it took longer to post than I expected. Sorry about the wait.

The End

a Trigun fanfiction

VII. LIST OF DEMANDS.

HOLT CITY. AF0154-07-20. 9:00 AM.

Vash the Stampede had been unconscious for thirteen days, and Chronica was suspicious. The dose of tranquilizer had not been that high; he should have been awake hours after arriving at headquarters. Then again, they had based the tranquilizer off the chemistry of other Independents, and Vash's genetic make-up was slightly different.

Despite his mechanical left arm and the surgical metal grafted onto his skin, it appeared that he had not been altered at all. Most Independents under the Federation had undergone genetic changes to keep the Plants from depleting their power – or using that impossibly dangerous power at all. By the look of it, however, it seemed that Vash was nearly drained. Save for a thin strip of blond above his right temple, his hair was entirely black.

Perhaps this loss of power was the cause for his slow recovery. In any case, all she could do was wait. But she was beginning to lose patience.

He had stirred after the third day, but he did not show any signs of consciousness. Chronica was beginning to wonder if he was feigning sleep, and the thought irritated her. She checked his vitals every six hours, but there were only slight changes. When the technicians in the lab began to give her strange looks, she realized that it might appear that she was obsessed. So instead of hovering around the wing, Chronica retreated to her office to meditate, avoiding the lab every day, waiting to hear word of any changes.

She had just regulated her breathing after a few hours of trying to stay calm when there was a knock at her door. She opened one eye, debating on whether to answer, and sighed.

"Come in."

Lucia opened the door and stuck her head in.

"Um… Miss Chronica?"

Chronica said nothing, keeping her eyes closed, but she did not say she wanted to be left alone, so Lucia continued nervously.

"Um… Miss Chronica, Vash the Stampede is awake."

Chronica sprang to her feet, and Lucia squeaked, jumping back and accidentally closing the door. Chronica moved quickly and wrenched the door open, startling the assistant standing right behind it.

"How long has he been awake?" demanded Chronica, walking at a quick pace toward the medical wing. Now perhaps she would get the answers she needed.

Lucia had to jog to keep up with her. "He stirred about an hour ago," she explained, "but we didn't want to alert you until he was fully awake."

Chronica nodded. A false alarm would have made her even more irritated.

She reached the monitor room overlooking the Independent's holding cell within minutes, and when she looked down into the small room in which he was kept, she saw that he was sitting up on the bed, his legs over the side, just staring straight ahead, his hands folded in his lap. They had taken his belongings, including the large silver gun, his infamous red coat, and the black body armor underneath, and replaced his clothes with white cotton pajamas. She could see his prosthetic left arm, which had caused some problems when he first arrived. They had many IV needles that needed placing, but he only had one arm to hold them. It was rather inconvenient. The left arm also seemed complicated, but they were unable to figure out the arm's function, so they left it.

Chronica took a deep breath and turned toward the monitors, trying to be patient. She did not want to seem too eager to speak to him. It was better to keep him waiting. The Earth Federation did not want to seem desperate. He needed to feel expendable.

"Show me the stats from when he first woke up," she ordered one of the guards sitting at the computers. He pulled up a chart that revealed a spike in blood pressure and brain wave activity.

"How long has he been sitting up?" she asked.

"About ten minutes, ma'am," said the guard.

He could wait a little longer. Besides, if he just woke up, he might not be in any condition to give her answers.

"Tell me if anything changes," she said, and she walked out of the room and went back to her office to meditate.

She could not concentrate at all.


She waited three days before going in. Over those three days, Vash slept and sat. He refused food, but he still had the IVs providing fluids. On the second day, he tried to pick them out, so Chronica sent in some nurses to stop him. He did not protest as they re-taped the needles in place and put handcuffs on him so he could not reach or scratch.

Chronica was a little annoyed at how passively he behaved. She wanted him to lash out, to give any sign that he was conscious. But instead, he just sat there.

"Maybe you gave him too much," said one of the guards quietly as Chronica stood looking down through the high window.

"That's not possible," she said coldly, but she ran through his stats of the last week several times, checking his blood content. The tranquilizer had been flushed out two days after his arrival, and the IVs were doing their work. There should not have been any problems.

"I'm going in," she said at last. The guard nodded and pressed a few buttons to prepare the doors. Chronica descended the stairs and waited. The light above the metal door turned green, and there was a soft beep as the door unlocked and slid open.

The door slid closed behind her with a click that meant it was locked again, and Chronica walked around to stand in front of him, her hands folded behind her back. Vash looked tired and wary, with bags under his eyes that should not have been there. Chronica would have to check his blood content again.

"Vash the Stampede," she said in a clear voice, "you are being held here under the Earth Federation's jurisdiction. If you answer our questions and cooperate, your sentence may be shortened. Do you understand?"

Instead of meeting her eyes, he was looking straight through her. Chronica felt a bristle of irritation, but she took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Vash the Stampede, I know you can hear me. You have been capable of consciousness for ten days. We have been patient, but now we demand answers. Do you understand?"

She waited, feeling frustration growing hot in her stomach, and she was about to repeat herself when he finally spoke.

"I don't know…" he murmured.

Chronica leaned forward and frowned. "What?"

He looked up at her at last, and his eyes were no longer blank, but searching. He looked straight into her eyes, and she felt like she was being scrutinized.

"I can't figure out what to think of you," he said, forming the words slowly so that she felt like she had to wait several moments for each one. When he finished, she quickly straightened up.

"What do you mean?"

He didn't answer and only stared at her. It made her uncomfortable, but Chronica forced herself not to look away. Finally, he dropped his gaze.

"How could you put them in danger like that?" he murmured at last.

Chronica frowned. "Who?" When he didn't answer, she hazarded a guess. "If you're talking about our sisters, we never put the Plants in danger. We only staged the malfunctions. No one was ever really in danger."

"You're wrong," he said, firmly, and when he looked up, she saw an intensity in his green eyes. Anger. There was anger there. "The people on this planet depend on the Plants for survival," said Vash. "You can't stage malfunctions like that. It scares everyone. You don't know what could have happened."

Chronica crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, nothing happened, did it? We have everything under control."

"I guess you like to think you do."

Chronica bristled. "What do you mean by that? We do."

Vash gave her a hardened glare. "And what exactly is it that the Earth Federation has under control? What are you doing here?"

Chronica squeezed her arm to keep from lashing out at him. He was questioning the Earth Federation's motives. He had no right to do that! Not after what his brother did, not after –

"The Earth Federation works to unite and aid human colonies on all the planets," she answered. "Why do you speak of the Federation with such disdain?"

"You hurt my people," he accused.

"We never harmed the Plants," said Chronica, irritated. "I've already told you that."

Vash shook his head. "No, not the Plants. The humans. The Earth Federation has been oppressing them. Some of your soldiers attacked some citizens in May City."

Chronica was taken aback, but she recovered quickly.

"In order to create peace, some control needs to be maintained," she said. "I'm sure they had good reason. And you are quick to criticize the Federation," she added, "yet Millions Knives hurt many more humans."

Now it was Vash's turn to bristle; his shoulders tensed at the name. Chronica suppressed a smirk. She would finally have the upper hand in this conversation.

"Where is he? Where is Millions Knives?"

Vash looked away, but after a moment, he answered. "He's gone."

Chronica had not really expected him to answer, with all the resistance he was showing up to that point. "Gone?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

"He's dead," said Vash flatly. "So you can stop looking for him."

Chronica frowned. "How can we be sure that you aren't saying that to protect him?"

Vash lifted his head and met her eyes again. He looked very tired. The sudden sadness and confusion clouding his green eyes made her stomach twist. He was telling the truth; and worse, he was upset about it. She did not know much about the two rogue Independents, but it had seemed that they were fighting against one another in Octovern. So why would Vash be upset about his enemy's death?

She felt a pang in her chest. Millions Knives was dead. It should not matter really, but somehow, it did.

"In any case," she continued, "we still have questions about his activities. What was he planning to do with the Plants he absorbed?" The Independent before her looked down and said nothing. "Are you refusing to answer?" she demanded. He remained silent. "Why?"

After a moment, he spoke again. "You work for the Earth Federation," he said slowly.

She waited for an explanation, and then she realized that that was his answer.

"How can you defend him and blame us?" she asked.

"You tried to kill him," accused Vash.

Chronica was getting sick of his tone. "That's not an answer. And he was a threat to peace, and if I recall correctly, you were – "

"You had no right!" he said, suddenly vehement. His eyes blazed again. "He was my brother… He was your brother."

Chronica's eyes widened, and she felt suddenly sick. She glared at Vash, who glowered right back. She took a deep breath, and before she could lose control, she turned on her heel and left, the door sliding open and closed for her.


How dare he?

Chronica paced around her office. She tried to meditate, but she could not stop thinking about what Vash had implied. The Earth Federation was doing good on this godforsaken planet – this No-Man's Land – and she was working with them to build a better world. If that meant taking out Millions Knives, then wouldn't that one sacrifice be forgivable?

And to imply that Millions Knives was also her brother –

She shook with rage. That man – her brother? Never. Not after what he had done.

She shook her head, and then sat down at her desk and put her head in her hands, but after a moment, she stood up again. She could not be in her office like this anymore.

She began to walk, and she was not sure where she was going until she was halfway there. She began to walk faster, and when she reached the cold sleep labs, she stopped just outside the door.

This room was different from the other cold sleep labs. It was separated from the others, from the Plants, and it only housed one occupant, who was set in isolated cold sleep.

Chronica automatically reached out. Domina.

She did not expect an answer. She did not get one.

She slid her key card in the door and stepped into the room. It was cold. It was always cold in here, like in all of the Plant rooms, but somehow it always seemed colder. Perhaps this was because it did not have the warmth of life that the Plants had, that even the humans in cold sleep had.

Because Domina was just barely alive.

Chronica walked forward and sat down on the floor in front of the large glass cylinder. It was placed in the center of the room, with thick tubes running into it from the ceiling. The tubes fed cold sleep fluid into the cylindrical holding pod, which glowed with a soft blue light that lit its inhabitant from underneath. It made the dark circles under her eyes more prominent.

Domina floated inside the cylinder, and if Chronica had not known any better, she would have thought that her sister was asleep.

What do I do, sister? asked Chronica. What do I do about Vash the Stampede?

Chronica still had some hope that perhaps someday Domina would be restored. She had the foolish notion that perhaps talking to Domina would stimulate her broken mind, but so far, it was just that – a foolish notion. Nothing had worked.

Because Domina was not asleep. There was no sleep there; there was nothing left to sleep. Her mind had been invaded, corrupted, and then left empty.

Left empty by Millions Knives.

And now he was gone.

"I'm sorry, sister," said Chronica. She put her head in her hands. "I couldn't – I didn't find him in time."

However, she had found Vash the Stampede – that was something, wasn't it? But now that she had him… What could she do with him? The Earth Federation had uses for him, sure, but now that he was in her grasp, she realized that she had been hoping for more. But all she felt was emptiness.

That look in his eyes – I can't figure out what to think of you and the way he looked when he revealed that Millions Knives was dead. What was that? What was he looking for?

And why did she feel so intensely every emotion that passed over his face?

She looked back up at Domina.

You were always the wiser one, said Chronica. Weren't you? What should I do?

But Domina could not answer her. Chronica would have to find the answers for herself.

A knock at the door interrupted her and made her jump slightly. She sat up straight on the ground and rubbed her hand over her eyes self-consciously.

"Come in," she said, her voice hoarse.

The door opened behind her, and Chronica glanced over her shoulder. A man with short dark hair and a thin beard looping around his chin stood in the doorway, looking down at her. He smiled.

"I thought you would be here," he said.

She smiled back, but it was a weary smile. "Hello, Captain."

He stepped into the room, letting the door close behind him, and sat down next to her on the floor. Chronica glanced back up at Domina. Domina, who would never smile again.

"Are you back from the southern regions?" asked Chronica.

The Captain reached out and took her hand, and Chronica jumped at the sudden contact. When she met his eyes, he was still smiling, sadly and kindly.

"It's okay to miss her," he said.

She turned away. "I know it's futile," she said, after a moment of silence, "but sometimes I come to her for advice. I think maybe she might know what to do."

"Even if she did, I think she might defer to you," said the Captain. "She adored you." He squeezed her hand. "We all miss her terribly. There is no shame in visiting her when you need to think. It's nice to be around old friends when something is troubling us."

Chronica suppressed the urge to sniffle – it would be so undignified – and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I'm glad you're back," she said quietly.

"Only on business, I'm afraid," said the Captain, sighing. "And I hear you have quite a lot of business here, too."

Chronica gripped her arms tightly around her knees. "Vash the Stampede," she said under her breath. She could not bring herself to look back up at Domina.

The Captain nodded. "Yes. Quite troublesome."

"What would Domina do?"

Suddenly, the Captain laughed shortly. "You can't keep using that as your mantra forever," he said. "Sometimes we have to look inside ourselves for the answer."

He stood up, and Chronica looked up at him. The Captain had always been like this. A friend, a confidant, and somewhat vague about his advice. Look inside? How could she look inside herself when her insides were such a jumble?

"Well, come," said the Captain, holding his hand out to her. "I've actually come to look for you about business."

Chronica bristled. "Why didn't you say so earlier?" she asked, annoyed. She stood up, denying his helping hand, and headed toward the door. She quickly wiped her eyes once more, while he couldn't see her face. "You know business should come first, especially when we're on this planet."

The Captain sighed behind her, but he said nothing, and stepped up to take the lead.


The Captain had not told her what business he needed her for, so when they reached her office and he opened the door, she was surprised to find a man in a crisp military uniform standing inside.

"General," she said, snapping to attention with a salute. "It's good to see you." She glanced sideways at the Captain, who had not told her that the General had returned from the southern rebellions with him.

The General looked around the room casually. "Good afternoon, Chronica," he said in his deep voice. Somehow his voice always reminded Chronica of the recordings of Earth whales' drones. "I received your report," he said, holding up a manila envelope, "about your capture of Vash the Stampede."

"Yes," she confirmed. "He is in a holding cell in the medical wing."

"The medical wing?" The General raised an eyebrow.

Chronica felt herself flush. "Yes, sir. The tranquilizers appear to have been too much. We have been monitoring him for two weeks."

The General crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "But the dose our scientists have recommended shouldn't have affected him that much."

"Yes, sir, but it appears that the Independent Vash the Stampede might have slightly different reactions. I mentioned in my report that his hair has blackened."

The General pulled out a few pages and flipped through them. "Yes, I remember," he murmured. "That means his power has depleted."

"Yes." She remembered that he still had a shock of blond sticking up from his temple. "But he appears to still have some left."

The General looked surprised for the first time, his eyebrows rising and his head tilting slightly. "Is that so? After the great blast in Octovern?"

She was not sure how to respond to that, but apparently, he did not expect a reply. He waved a hand and placed the papers back into the envelope.

"In any case, I would like to see the Independent," he said. "Captain, please make the arrangements for my office," he added to the Captain.

The Captain saluted. "Yes, sir." He nodded to Chronica, turned around, and left the office.

The General turned to Chronica expectantly, and she nodded. "This way, General."

He followed her out of the door and down the stairs. The walk seemed much longer than when she visited the holding cell before. Chronica's heart thumped loudly in her chest, and she tried to keep composed.

"What has he told you so far?" asked the General.

"He has been resistant to interrogation," she admitted. "But he told us that Millions Knives is dead."

"So I have been told," the General said. "Anything else?"

Chronica felt hot shame crawl up her face, and she was glad to be walking in front of the General. The humans. The Earth Federation has been oppressing them. "No. He refuses to speak."

The General harrumphed. "Perhaps he will be more obliging with different interrogation techniques," he mused.

Chronica did not have time to ponder the meaning of this, because they had reached the monitoring station. She pointed out the panels to the General, who did not seem to be interested. He walked over to the viewing window and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring down at the captive. Chronica joined him. Below them, Vash was sleeping, his mouth wide-open and obviously snoring, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed, as comfortable as though he was asleep at home. His hands were still cuffed close together to prevent him from messing with the IV needles, but it seemed that he had tangled the lines anyway.

"Why is he restrained?" asked the General.

"He kept removing the lines, sir," said one of the guards watching the monitors.

The General nodded, a hand on his chin. "He won't need those anymore," he said, "so the hand cuffs are no longer necessary. Remove them."

"Yes, sir," said the guard, standing up. He pressed a few buttons and walked down the stairs, pausing before the door so the second guard could open it. The guard walked over briskly to the bed, and the moment he touched the handcuffs to remove them, Vash started from sleep and sat up. The guard took a step back and said something, and Vash allowed him to remove the cuffs. Vash said something, rubbing his wrists, his left hand unconsciously moving to scratch his right forearm. The guard responded, and to Chronica's surprise, Vash glanced up toward the observation window, though he could not possibly know it was there. His eyes met hers, and as she took a step back, he looked away. He said something else to the guard with a smile, his shoulders shaking in apparent laughter. The guard did not reply and left the room quickly.

"He's quite perceptive," murmured the General. He turned toward Chronica. "He sensed you, didn't he?"

She felt her shoulders rise slightly. "I…"

"I will go speak to him," the General announced. "Please come with me, Chronica." He led the way down the stairs and waited for the door to unlock. Chronica followed him numbly. For some reason, her stomach was turning around in her abdomen. She tried to shake the feeling off as the door slid open, but it would not go away.

Vash looked over at the door the moment it slid open, but he did not stand, which Chronica supposed he would not know was convention when a higher rank entered the room. He seemed to be in a good mood, which the General was quick to comment on.

"You seem to be doing well, Vash the Stampede," observed the General.

Vash waved his hands. "They took the cuffs off. I suppose I have you to thank for that," he said with a smile. "They were starting to itch," he added, scratching the back of his neck. He seemed much more lucid and friendly than yesterday.

"What about your arm?" asked the General.

Vash's hand automatically went to his right forearm again. "Just an old wound," he said, his eyes squinted in a nervous smile.

"I meant your left arm."

Vash's smile fell, and he looked taken aback. "Ah… I… Um…"

"Who does your prosthetic work?" asked the General.

Vash glanced at Chronica and looked back toward the wall in front of him.

"Is it the people at the orphanage outside of December?" asked the General.

Vash started and looked back at them with wide eyes, and Chronica felt her stomach turn again.

"Yes, we know about them," said the General. "We know about your contacts in New Oregon, too."

At this, Vash glared, and all of the ease he had about him seconds earlier melted away. "What do you want?" he said, his voice low.

"We want you to answer our questions without resistance," said the General, shrugging as though he had not noticed the change. "If you don't, we will have no choice but to ask the citizens in the orphanage or in New Oregon. I'm sure they will be very helpful."

Vash clenched his teeth, but he still did not stand up, which Chronica thought wise of him now, since it would be perceived as an offensive move. The General turned on his heel and walked back toward the door.

"I will be back tomorrow to discuss the terms of your cooperation," he said, his voice rumbling in the white room.

Chronica began to turn, but she glanced back at Vash. He gave her a pleading look that squeezed her heart. She turned away and followed the General through the door, leaving Vash behind in silence.

"You are too soft with him," said the General suddenly, as they ascended the staircase.

"Sir?" she asked.

"He will open up easily under pressure," he said confidently. "You just have to apply the correct sort of pressure. A man like him hates to see others get hurt."

Chronica secretly agreed, remembering the way he had behaved when he thought others were in danger – the Plants in the facility, the people of No-Man's Land – but she said nothing.

"Continue to interrogate him, in any case," the General continued. "Even if Millions Knives is dead, we still need to know the extent of their power. Find out more about his abilities, and then we will decide what to do with him."

"Yes, sir," said Chronica, feeling miserable, and it only made her feel worse when she could not understand why.

"I will also speak with him after tomorrow. Together we will get to the bottom of the Octovern incident. It is imperative that we know before we proceed with our plan for this planet."

He dismissed her, and she went back to her office. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, suddenly feeling exhausted. This planet, and everything that happened on it, was bad for her nerves.

A lot has happened. Welcome to No-Man's Land.

She shook her head, but that man's words still echoed in her head. Chronica sighed.

No-Man's Land indeed.


She arrived at the holding cell early in the morning the next day with a clipboard full of questions. A small table and two chairs had been set up in the room for his continued interrogation. When she entered the room, he had just finished the exercises he was doing, now that he was no longer hooked up to machines or handcuffed. Now he was sitting on the bed with his eyes closed, apparently meditating.

It was strange to see him sitting there, still and silent, like Chronica herself did on so many mornings. She sat down at the table and waited for him patiently. He did not move, though he knew she was there. She took some deep breaths, trying to stay calm as he sat there, trying her patience. She folded her hands on the table, prepared to out-wait him.

At last, he sighed and opened his eyes, and when he looked over at her, he smiled.

"Good morning," he said.

Chronica suppressed a scoff, wondering at his change in attitude. She tapped her pen on the clipboard. "Shall we get started?"

He did not move from the bed. "Actually, I would rather talk candidly."

"Vash the Stampede, I am not here for pleasantries," said Chronica, finally meeting his eyes with a hard glare. "Please take your situation seriously."

"Vash."

"What?"

"Just call me Vash. The title 'the Stampede' is beyond me." He smiled at her again. "And I am taking this seriously," he added.

Chronica frowned. He seemed too pleasant to be taking this seriously, especially after what the General had threatened the day before. What was his strategy here?

"Well, Vash," began Chronica, "depending on how much you help us, you may be released. So it would be to your benefit to cooperate and answer my questions."

He shrugged and stood up, stretching. He cracked some joints as he walked over and sat down opposite her. She pushed a glass of water toward him, but he did not take it.

"I'll bite," he said. "What are your questions?" He folded his hands on the table, the forearm of his mechanical arm clanging dully on the metal table.

Chronica looked down at the clipboard, which just had a list of general questions she needed to cover for the report.

"I would like to continue our conversation from before. I believe I left off with asking what Millions Knives's plan was for the power he gathered from the Plants." She looked up expectantly and found him looking at something behind her. She turned slightly, but there was nothing there; just the metal door leading into the chamber. She turned back, annoyed. "Answer the question, Vash," she demanded.

"Pass," he said, still looking over her shoulder.

She growled. "There is no pass. Why was Millions Knives collecting the Plants?"

"I don't want to talk about Knives," mumbled Vash, looking down at his hands. Chronica saw that his fingers had turned white from gripping his left hand too tightly. Was he still mourning the death of his brother, despite their – literally – explosive relationship?

"I don't understand," she said. "Why not?"

He did not answer, looking instead past her, his green eyes sad, and Chronica felt something heavy in her heart that she could not explain and moved on.

"Well, let's talk about you, then," she said, scanning the next questions. "How did you get to this planet?"

Vash finally looked at her. "The same way everyone else did," he said, looking puzzled. "The SEEDS ships crash landed."

Chronica nodded, looking down at her clipboard. "Right, the 'Great Fall,' as the people call it. But what I meant," she continued, "was how was it that you were on the SEEDS in the first place?"

He hesitated. "I don't know. I was born on it."

Chronica looked up at him, her brow furrowed. "What? How?"

Vash frowned. "I don't know," he said. "A woman found us and raised us."

"Who was she? A crewmember?"

"Yes."

"Did she ever tell you where and how she found you?"

Vash blinked. "Um… Not really. She said she found us… in a Plant, I guess." He frowned. "I really can't explain why or how Knives and I were born. We never had access to any knowledge about Plants at all."

"What about the woman?" asked Chronica. "What did she know about Plants?"

He hesitated, apparently considering, and a painful look passed briefly over his face. "Not much," he said at last, his expression clear again.

Chronica did not stop to wonder what it meant; it did not seem relevant.

Chronica tapped her pen on the clipboard. "So you don't know who your creator is?"

Vash blinked. "Creator?"

"Yes. Independent Plants are created from Plants, with modifications."

Vash frowned, and something dark flashed across his face before it was replaced with a benign smile. Chronica felt her breath catch in her chest, and she was not sure why.

"I don't think I have a 'creator,'" he said.

Chronica nodded. No, of course not. "What was the number of the ship and its captain's name?" she continued.

Vash snorted. "I don't know. Why would I know that?" He paused. "It was an Icarus X9 model, I think," he added thoughtfully.

That did not sound familiar at all – maybe it was an older model. An older model…

Wait, he had crash landed on the planet with the ships during the Great Fall?

"How long ago was the Great Fall?" she asked, frowning.

Vash thought for a moment. "About one hundred fifty-five years ago," he said at last.

Chronica started. "W-what?" she stuttered. She collected herself. "Well, that's…" She blushed and looked down on her clipboard. He was so old! She knew that they lived a long time, but she had not expected that he was that old.

Vash furrowed his brow in confusion. "What is it?"

"You're so old," she choked out.

"Hey! I'm not old!" he protested indignantly. "I'm one hundred fifty-five years young!"

She stifled a laugh, surprising herself. It was almost like Domina was still around.

"Why? How old are you?" he demanded, breaking her from her thoughts.

She stiffened. I take it back… He's not at all like Domina… "You're not supposed to ask a lady that," she scolded.

He flushed. "W-well, you asked me," he argued, "so it's only fair…"

She sighed and looked away. "I'm forty-seven," she muttered.

"Whoa!" He slapped his hands on the table. "You look good for forty-seven," he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

She growled at him again. "Shut up. And you look terrible for one hundred fifty-five," she retorted.

He pouted at her. "That's not very nice."

"Where did you get all those scars?" asked Chronica, pointing at him with her pen. "And why don't you just use your healing abilities to heal them?"

"I don't like to," he mumbled from behind his hands.

"You don't like to?" she asked, incredulous. "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to depend on it," he said.

"On what? The Plant power?" She paused. "The power of your Angel Arm?"

"I don't want that power," he said abruptly. He looked up at her fiercely. "I never wanted that power."

"Vash, you aren't human," she pointed out. "You can't live like a human."

"It's not living as a human, it's living with the humans that is important to me," he said.

Chronica was taken aback. She had not expected that. Living with the humans. Domina had once said the same thing.

"Well, in any case," she began again, "what can you tell me about the powers that you possess?"

"I don't know about any of that," he said, "but Knives always said we were genetic anomalies. He knew more about Plants than I did."

"That's unfortunate," Chronica muttered to herself, looking down. The Federation had hoped to find out more about the rogue Independents' powers, but it appeared that Vash did not know much about his powers himself. That was very inconvenient. They needed to know how powerful he was, and how and why he was made so powerful. She did not know if a "genetic anomaly" explained that.

"Hey, I have a question for you," said Vash suddenly.

Chronica frowned. "I'm afraid you don't get to ask the questions here, Vash."

"Why did the Earth Federation cover up what happened with the Plants in Octovern?" he asked, apparently ignoring her.

"That's – " But she stopped. She was about to tell him it was none of his business, but then again, she supposed it was actually his business. They were his sisters, too, after all.

The Earth Federation had suppressed word of what had happened in Octovern. Most of the citizens on that side of the planet experienced the same thing: the feathers falling from the sky, making them aware of the Plant angels' existence. But everything was so chaotic that the Federation did not want word to spread, in the fear that it would cause even more chaos.

"To keep the peace," explained Chronica. "In the aftermath of what happened, the Federation deemed it necessary to suppress knowledge of the existence of the Plant angels. The people might… overreact."

They had seen it on other planets. Plant-worshipping cults popped up all over the planet, alongside the traditional religions. The Plants became something that God sent. It gave the humans something to war over, and the Independent Plants often became rather egotistical. One Independent had basically made herself queen on one planet. That had been a mistake.

Now Independents were kept under restrictions, usually recruited to the Earth Federation as soon as they were born so their powers would not spiral out of control. Like the Independents on this planet – this No-Man's Land.

So the Federation decided to keep the existence of the Plants secret on this planet, at least for now. In the cities that did remember what happened, that did receive the memories of the Plants, people were much more careful about their Plants. There was nothing close to worship going on.

Those cities also seemed more united, which is why the Federation was concentrated in those areas. The Federation had to maintain control until they were sure that the citizens of No-Man's Land could govern themselves. It was imperative to suppress any trouble.

After they were able to control the dangerous Independents that were accidentally sent to this planet, then they could begin to order the government so the planet could sustain itself. After they captured the rogue Independents, then it would be safe to reveal the truth about the Plants.

Right?

"I don't know if they would," said Vash thoughtfully. "The humans care a lot about the Plants." He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and smiled. "I think you should trust us."

Trust us. That man had said that, too. The man who had stopped her from dealing the killing blow – the man with the tattoo on his face – had told her to trust them. A lot has happened, so you really just need to trust him… Trust us… You won't regret it. Welcome to No-Man's Land.

For some reason, his words had come back to her throughout the Federation's entire campaign to hide the truth. What did it matter if more people knew the truth about the Plants?

But after one hundred years on this desert planet, the people of No-Man's Land had not managed to create and maintain peace. How could she trust them?

Domina would know what to do, what to think, about Vash the Stampede and the Plants. Would she suggest that the Federation let the knowledge of the Plants become widespread? She always seemed to favor that choice on other planets.

Ah, let them know, she said once, on a planet in the Virgo cluster. It'll be fun. We want everyone to coexist in peace, after all. How can we live together if we don't even know about each other?

But it was not Chronica's choice to make, really. She could suggest it, but the Independents on No-Man's Land made the Federation a little nervous about the Plants on the planet. Even with Chronica's status as an Independent, a status that would usually afford her say in anything concerning the Plants, they might hesitate.

"I'm not sure I can trust you," she said aloud. "How can a planet that is so at war with itself create and maintain peace?"

"I'm not so sure it is at war with itself," mused Vash. "And even if it was, I think we could probably figure it out eventually." He grinned at her.

Chronica frowned, but before she could reply, he spoke again.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "For yesterday. It wasn't fair to get angry with you. You probably have your reasons for doing things."

She very nearly told him, right then, about Domina, but she stopped herself.

"What I want does not matter here," she said. "The Earth Federation needs to keep records on all Independents in the Milky Way Galaxy. That's what we're here for. And we need to know more about Millions Knives," she added, in case he forgot that she still wanted to cover that topic. She had let him talk about other things, but the bottom line was, they needed to know Millions Knives had been planning.

Vash looked up at her at last, frowning, his brow wrinkled in confusion. "If what you want doesn't matter, then why are you taking my answers so personally?"

Chronica stiffened. "Excuse me?" She flipped another page, but it slipped in her flustered fingers. "I'm not – "

"Then why are you so interested in Knives?"

Her eyes widened, and she nearly dropped the clipboard. As it was, her hands were shaking badly.

"I'm not – "

"The Federation has no reason to ask about Knives anymore. He's – he's dead. But you keep going back to him. It was the first thing you asked me, back in the Plant facility. Why do you care?"

"He killed her!" she blurted. "He killed her, and I won't rest until he answers for it!" She clapped a hand over her mouth and stood up. She turned away and walked quickly toward the door, but Vash's hand wrapped around her wrist suddenly, yanking her back.

"Who?" he asked, his expression dark. "He killed who?"

She wrenched her wrist out of his grasp. "Your brother," she spat, "killed Domina. He killed my sister. My best friend…" She turned away from him, fighting tears.

So yes, it was personal. She tried to bury the feeling, but she was still angry with Millions Knives for absorbing her sister and taking her away. And now he was dead, so where could all these feelings go? How could she avenge Domina now?

"I told myself I wouldn't rest until I found Millions Knives and made him answer for his crimes," she told Vash, her voice low and cold. "And now he's dead."

She jumped when she felt Vash's hand grip her own. She whirled around and had to fight back the tears again when she saw the kind expression in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, sister," he said. "I know how this feels. I've lost a lot of people that were important to me, most of them to him. But…" He paused, his eyes full of sadness, and when he looked back up at her, they were full of determination. "I think in the end, he was sorry, too. He realized that he'd hurt all of those Plants. I'm sure he didn't mean to, but he was hurting, too. And that's no excuse," he added quickly, "but – " He stopped again and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Chronica did not know what to say. She was afraid that if she tried to speak while looking at those sad eyes that seemed to carry the weight of all of his one hundred fifty-five years, she would break.

"Brother, I – " she began, but stopped when she realized what she had said. She pulled her hand away from his and turned toward the door again, trying to collect herself. Damn, she thought. Damn.

"You're right," she said at last, when she thought she might be able to speak. "It is no excuse. And I'm not going to forgive him."

"That's all right," Vash said softly. "In some ways, I don't think I've forgiven him yet, either."

Chronica rushed to the door before she could break and it slid open for her. Before stepping through, she paused.

"You are going to be moved to the interrogation cells tomorrow," she said, her back to him, "for the General's questions."

"I don't want to see him."

Chronica pursed her lips and stepped through the door. "Do you think you have a choice?"


Note: This chapter was particularly tricky… I'm sorry the quality is not as… er… good. Chronica is still difficult to write. Let me know if she's convincing.

2012-08-20