Chapter Nine: Mana, or, A New Perspective


21/12/1973, 8:33 a.m.

It is a cloudy day in New Edo.

The grey water laps weakly at the exposed rock of the former hillside. A light easterly breeze rustles the wild grass and scraggly bushes that are all that grow here. Once, you could observe the slums of Tokyo from these hills. Now you could go fishing here, if you wanted.

Not that you would catch anything.

Today the waters' edge bustles with activity. An American destroyer is moored a few hundred metres offshore, and more ships are visible on the horizon. One can just make out a cargo ship from the top of the hill here; it sticks to the deeper waters southeast of the city and is no doubt making its way to the city's artificial harbour. Another convoy of lorries rumbles down the coast road. They are towing guns – artillery. It's a curious sight. The trucks are a Japanese make; they bear the white-and-red flag of the rising sun, but the guns themselves are Soviet made. The self-propelled artillery pieces waiting for them by the shore are also Soviet models.

The trio of attack helicopters flying by them are American, and they are but one formation of many crowding the sky. The faint scream of jet engines is audible as the aeroplanes circle overhead.

The centrepiece of the action is a surprisingly human figure. 'Surprisingly' on account of its size. It is a hundred metres tall, perhaps. It crouches on one knee, hands planted firmly on – no, into – the ground, facing northeast and out to sea. The dim light of the morning sun gleams ever so faintly off the unpainted metal of its gauntlets, its helmet, and myriad other pieces of armour. It looks like something from the times of Nobunaga or Cao Cao. A cable trails from its spine to the strange vehicle which occupies the pair of railway tracks behind it. A train-spotter, anorak or no, might notice that the gauge of the rails is wider than one would expect in Japan. The design bureau or the construction team could tell you that building the damn thing was more than just a simple question of packing earth and laying tracks, though that was part of it.

A pair of trains screeches to a halt behind the twin-engine curiosity which sits at the end of the tracks. Their cargoes look very queer indeed, but their purpose becomes clear when the figure stands up, walks over to them, and picks them up. Once seen in the hands of the humanoid figure, they take on the form of a rifle, a pistol, ammunition, and magazines. The figure loads the pistol and clips it into a slot on the front of its carapace. It checks the rifle for faults before loading it and firing a single round into the water nearby. The water is shallow, however, and the round detonates. The artillerymen are impressed. The figure fits magazines into various places and settles down to wait with its miniature brethren.

They do not have to wait long.

A little way in from the destroyer, a darker patch of water becomes apparent as it swiftly advances upon the shore. The foamy trails of torpedoes are visible as the destroyer launches a withering salvo at it. A hundred metres from land, one makes contact in a muted plume of water.

The shadow keeps advancing as the other torpedoes detonate against the rock of the seashore. It slows to a stop only metres from dry land.

That is when the entity rises out of the water to reveal itself as a roughly humanoid figure. It has what are recognisable as a pair of legs and a pair of arms.

That is where the similarities end.

Everyone is too stunned to do anything as it takes its first tottering steps on dry land. Its empty, vaguely avian sockets stop their scan mid-sweep and it turns its whole body to face the waiting figure of black and grey.

Everything is very, very still for a moment.

The silence is broken by a shot. It's a small thing, probably a pistol. Neither of the giant figures notices, but many of the artillerymen look around dumbly for the firer. In the fearful quiet, there is the distinctive sound of a mortar being fired and then another. An artillery piece fires and, in the next few seconds, the figure on the beach is the centre of a whirlwind of sound, light, and smoke. The kneeling figure fires off a few rounds experimentally.

The firing comes to an abrupt halt, and everyone waits for the last of the smoke to clear. When it does, seconds later, the alien figure is revealed to be unharmed, though they cannot help but read a certain degree of taken-aback-ness in its guarded poise. The giant on the hill raises its weapon and resumes firing, the soldiers scrambling to follow suit.


The rumble of the guns was ever-present as the jeep made its way down the deserted northern highway. They faint but distinctive roar of jet engines had been an ever-present accompaniment to the increasingly sporadic report of the artillery, but they could be heard no longer.

The jeep was green and emblazoned with the flag of the rising sun. It had four wheels, five seats and was wholly unremarkable in itself. The windshield was up, but not the flimsy hood. In it were three people; all natives, and all in uniform: a girl in khaki, a woman in black, and a boy in black-and-white.

Strangely, the woman sat in the back with the kid.

Stranger still, she was practically sitting in his lap.

As one might expect, he appeared extremely uncomfortable.

She seemed to find his discomfort very amusing.

The driver was doing her best to ignore the both of them, but she snuck in a peek every once in a while. They were going too fast for her to hear them properly, but she was pretty sure that the officer was doing most of the talking. One thing was for sure, though; she envied that kid. Just look at him, sitting there with a Captain fawning all over him...

'Why can't I ever get some of that?'

The line of thought took a turn for the serious as she noted a road sign. Not too long before they would be at the station now. Couple of minutes, tops.

'Regulations, of course. Then there's competition...' she pretended to examine another road sign as they zoomed past so she could give the young couple another quick assessment, then sighed at the conclusion. The both of them were prettier than she was. Which formed the basis of the third point. 'Demand.' Everyone loves a man in uniform. An officer's uniform, that is. It's probably right there in the constitution. Which was funny because the constitution was very clear on the subject of military officers – there weren't supposed to be any. 'But what have we here?' She grinned to herself. Ha-de-frickin' grin faded as she noticed that something was missing.

Her brows furrowed in concentration, then went slack as she paled.

The guns had stopped. Not just... muted or paused or whatever. They'd stopped entirely.

She felt sick all of a sudden. Ill-at-ease, having a bad feeling about this, that sort of thing. There was a whole division out there! Foreigners, too!

As her brain worked the matter further, she felt more uneasy still. The jeep had a radio, but they hadn't given her a channel to use, which was bloody typical. There were still jets and helos around though. You could hear them just fine. She scanned the sky for them with one eye on the road.

The planes she could see were flying away from the action.

The Captain noticed her looking around, and they exchanged a significant glance. She stopped teasing the kid and produced a pair of binoculars from somewhere, starting her own scan.

They couldn't be more than a minute from the station now, surely.

"Stop the car."

She did. Too quickly, if anything; the kid ended up sprawled over her shoulders but that didn't matter because they had togetout. The two of them practically threw him out before rushing him into the drainage ditch at the side of the road. It was the only cover for maybe half a mile.

"Keep your fingers in your ears and your eyes closed. Don't stop until I tell you to. Got it?"

He nodded, but questions were evident in his eyes and he opened his mouth to "– just do it."

He obeyed and curled up into a ball. The sky lit up like… like something very bright and the last thing she saw in the split second before she did the same as the kid was the Captain throwing herself on top of him, fingers in her ears. She couldn't help but be amused at how silly she looked in that moment. Her laughter was reduced to utter insignificance by the heat and sound that followed.


It was bright. Very bright.

too bright. Furthermore, the sheets were crisp and clean. The air... smelt of? stank of? was heavy with the smell of disinfectant.

Eyes focused and adjusted to the glare, affording an ever-better view of the white panels of the ceiling. This confirmed her suspicions: this was not her room.

She raised her head to look around. She had the room, the hospital room, to herself.

She could not recall anything needing to be done. If someone needed her to do something, they would come get her in time. She was patient. It was very nice here. She could just lie here forever…

She blinked. She was far more… patient than usual. She sat up again and examined her drip-bags carefully. That would explain her blissful indifference in the face of her injuries, which included a probably – hopefully – minor head injury, various cuts, and bruises; they were not control-harness injuries. She had acquired first-hand a great wealth of experience with those. Experience told her there was no way to tell if she actually had sprained or dislocated something without getting up and moving around, and sometimes painkillers concealed the more minor injuries. She had no recollection of why she was here, which surprised her even though it shouldn't have. This happened sometimes with head injuries, she recalled.

The clock on the wall ticked by. The ninth hour of the day was at hand.

Back to waiting.

She lay back under the all-too-familiar ceiling, blinking and breathing as required.

She did not have to wait for too long. It may have been ten minutes at the most. She was good at keeping time, even without a watch.

The door opened and she sat up, unhurried.

Her stony features softened a touch at the sight.

"Father."

The moment seemed to call for more words, but she wasn't quite sure what to say. Which was silly, because that implied that she had something meaningful or significant to communicate to him or ask of him. She didn't, ergo she had nothing to say. He was clearly healthy, if tired. What else was there to ask about?

"Mana." He slowed to stop by her side. "I am glad you are well. Do you feel well enough to get up?"

"I..."

'...yes, in all probability?' She could not be sure, however. "I have not tried."

He urged her to try by way of a gesturing hand, stepping back to give her space to do so.

She slipped her legs out from underneath the sheets and tentatively lowered them to the ground, her hands gripping the bedrail. Cautiously, she leaned forward. Standing on her own two feet, she took a bold step forwards... and stumbled into his waiting arms.

He helped her back to the bed and pressed the 'call' button on the wall.

They exchanged a look. He was saddened at her condition, she was sure, though even she could hardly tell just by looking at him. Father was always like that; familiarity and context were needed to make sense of what he might be thinking or feeling.

Nothing was said. It did not need to be. His gaze remained on her as she examined the hospital garden through the windows.

When the nurse came in, he excused himself and went to exchange a few quiet words with the woman. After a minute or so she left again and he returned to her side.

"Remain here for now. The doctors will release you when they are satisfied that you are sufficiently recovered." He met her steady gaze. "Do you need any thing?"

Her eyes slid off to one side and stayed there for a moment. Then they edged over a little further, coming to rest on the smooth brown bakelite of the radio. She met his gaze again.

"No."

"I shall visit you later if I have time. Goodbye, Mana."

"Goodbye, Father."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out. The door was halted in its attempts at closing by a nurse forcing a trolley into the room, accompanied by the faint scent of hot rice gruel. It didn't sit well with the background smell of the disinfectant.


She took off her earmuffs to listen. "Better. Reload." There was a squealing of brakes behind them. Captain Katsuragi had arrived. He turned around to see her accompany her charge down the slope. He turned back to his most prized student for a moment. "Belay that. Come."

"Yes, Sergeant."

The pairs met halfway. For a few, tense moments silence reigned. This was Nerv HQ's no.4 firing range, and today it had been reserved for the pilots' use. Pilots plural – both of them were fit for training at any rate, even if her Eva was still inoperable. The Major and the Sergeant stood very straight with their hands at their sides. Shinji had one arm across his body, his hand gripping the upper arm of his... other arm. Mana noticed that she was doing much the same, only her arms were behind her back. Shinji was fidgeting with his free hand, she noticed. Mana wasn't bored, but she had been told it was rude not to greet colleagues in circumstances such as these. However, she had also been told to wait for her superiors and/or seniors to issue greetings first.

It was probably more important to issue the greeting, though. Perhaps the Sergeant didn't know what to say? He didn't say much. He could simply be waiting for the Captain to speak first. That would make sense from a greetings standpoint, but at the same time it violated protocol – an inferior should always salute first, for instance. But Nerv was not a regular military organisation, as he himself had pointed out, so obviously that didn't apply in this situation...

Anyway, a simple 'good' tacked on to the time of day worked just fine in her experience.

"Good morning, Captain Katsuragi," she bowed and turned to Shinji, giving him slight head-bow. "Good morning, Pilot Ikari."

"Hello, Mana. It's good to see you remember Shinji. Love at first sight is a precious thing."

Shinji's cheeks became rosy as Mana was left looking thoughtful. The expression was vaguely familiar, if indeed it was a... 'a phrase? An aphorism? A saying?' She had read it somewhere before, perhaps.

Kongo strove to wipe the trace of mirth from his face before addressing his superior. "I'll take it from here, Ma'am. You may rest assured I will be more gentle with your charge in future."

It was not like the Sergeant to be apologetic, Mana noted. She had not known Captain Katsuragi long, but she believed that his words had done something to put her at ease. The implications of his words were, of course, that he had been more rough with Shinji in the past. The next few hours should provide some clue as to just what that meant, though she could guess. The Captain squeezed her fellow pilot on the shoulder and flashed a small smile her way. 'Should I smile back?' It probably wasn't expected of her, but whether it was or not was irrelevant as it was now too late to do so anyway. She made a note of it so that she might ask Mister Fuyutsuki about it later.

When she was out of earshot, Kongo turned to look at Shinji who stopped looking at the two of them indirectly and turned his head to one side to better avert his eyes. His free hand fiddled with the seam of his slacks as Captain Katsuragi drove off in a rapidly-dissipating haze of diesel. Mana continued to stand easy, slightly curious at what would happen now.

"Mana," he said, drawing her eyes. "Strip down your rifle and wait for us."

"Yes, Sergeant."

She obeyed. It was only a matter of seconds. Seventeen seconds to be precise.

She looked over to where Shinji and the Sergeant were. She could only guess what they were talking about, but she guessed that the Sergeant reassuring him that he would be gentle with him. In her experience, whenever the Sergeant was harsh it was because he was actually trying to do her a favour. He did not appear to be a man who enjoyed suffering - she was sure that he liked to think that he did not - but she suspected that on some level, he did. Perhaps. Further speculation would not be productive; she would just have to wait and see.

And wait, she did.

She was good at waiting.

It was a few minutes before the two started their way over and 'Katsuragi' sat down next to her. She expected that unnecessary fiction was the General's work. She did not think Miss Akagi would see the need for such a trivial - and potentially troublesome - lie. The Sergeant had said once that being an officer with no experience of war or hardship had made him a man who delighted in the theatrics of his position, one inclined to agonise over the most minor of details. His actual words had been much more concise, of course, and profane.

Even so, she had again found herself of one mind with him.

The Sergeant took up position just behind them, for the moment silent and paused in thought. He looked down to Shinji, who avoided his gaze and remained huddled by his weapon.

"Assemble and load."


"Of course, victory was practically inevitable. My team here is the best in the country. Only the nation's best" – he paused to clamp an arm over the young man – "and brightest" – he squeezed the young man, neglecting the girl at his other side amidst a few smiles. After a few seconds he jumped back a little in theatrical gesture as if he had just noticed her and put his arm around her as well – "are fit for the Eva program itself, though of course there are many critical jobs to be performed outside, ah, 'Project E' and its immediate, ehhh, departments." He dropped his arms and made a little gesture ahead of them. "This way, please."

The proud-to-be director of 'Project Evangelion' led his prized pilots and the gaggle of security-approved reporters along the catwalk. Trailing behind the mob was one man in a very nice white uniform and a shorter one in more plain-looking grey uniform with red bits. Both had shoulder boards and nice caps with golden badges on them, and each was wearing about two packs of cards worth of multi-coloured strips on the left side of his chest. They chatted idly, though it was the 'Grey' that was doing most of the chatting. 'White' was mostly just murmuring monosyllabic replies. A reporter – Timothy Hardy – glanced back to them and wondered if he could maybe wheedle a word out of them. The 'don't-try-anything' look from the pair of Japanese military policemen following just behind them discouraged him, but it was the look of open hostility from the Admiral that convinced him to spare his dignity. For his part, the General gave him a look of sympathy and a Gallic shrug.

Below them, the assistant director of Project E scowled daggers at where she figured the departing figure of her superior to be. Her eyes continued to narrow as the seconds ticked by, the loud ticking of her wristwatch becoming audible in the relative stillness. She flinched violently and involuntarily as someone put their arm around her, pulling her sideways and off-balance into a one-armed hug. A playful voice sounded in her ear and she shivered without quite meaning to. They had always been her weak spot.

"Awww, don't do that, Ritsu… if you're still doing that when the wind changes…" The surprise-hugger let go, and 'Ritsu' directed the scowl their way. Misato just smiled wider under her friend's withering glare. Behind her, Shinji was trying not to look too openly mortified and Mana was standing at ease. Or rather, she was standing at what passed for standing at ease in her books, which is to say she looked like someone had rammed a – "Sorry to drop in on ya all sudden-like. I just thought I'd take the kids out for a drive. School's out 'cause of flooding – you know how it is – and when I was dropping them off I thought, why not go out of town for a bit and catch some fresh air? And I thought, 'Hey, the Gora Defence line is really nice when it's not on the front line', so I figured that seeing as I knew you were here and all…" Ritsuko waved a hand impatiently and Misato cut to the chase, even she was nearly done explaining. But she knew how Ritsu liked to get to the point, so cutting to the chase had never really bothered her. Well, not too much. "So what's all this then?" she nodded by way of gesturing to the entire rest of the hangar.

"My workshop for th' week. A beauty, isn't she?" A podgy fifty-something, clad in one of the eponymous orange jumpsuits of Nerv's engineer corps, appeared from between the haphazardly ordered stacks of unmarked crates that left the nearest wall a maze of shadows. He was a little shorter than average, grey-haired, and entirely unremarkable but for his voice, which seemed to ring a bell in the young lad's head. "Yon laddie 'ere sh'd know, ay? Built half o' it weth 'is own hands, he did. Didn't yeh?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's m'boy." He offered his hand and the boy shook it without a moment's hesitation. "Et's good t'meet yeh at last, in the flesh an' all that. How's th' arm?"

"It's, ah…" he looked at it himself. Four sets of eyes made contact with the plaster; the Albino's eyes didn't deviate from Shinji's expression as he blanched. "It's fine." After a couple of seconds he felt the need to say something else and he inadvertently cut the elder man off before he could speak. "It still itches a bit but I think it should be coming off soon. Is it, Miss?" He looked to Akagi. She was caught a little off guard, and noticed the engineer taking the opportunity to let the boy's hand go. Life has a quota of awkward handshakes in store for a man, an English friend of hers always liked to say.

"...I think so, yes. Now, Captain Katsuragi and her charges would like to know what it is we're doing here. I trust you can be of assistance?"

Of bloody course! What kind of chief engineer would know what was going on with his own men?

"Aye, that I can." He seemed to notice Misato for the first time and took off his cap, twirling it down in front of him as he made a dramatic bow. "Captain Mogami at your service, Captain." He met her gaze to see her wearing a friendly grin. Straightening and replacing his cap, he turned back to Ritsuko. "Aye... et's not my department, yeh might say, but I suppose I could, yeh. Why not? Come on." He started off towards the gargantuan corpse of the fallen Angel, making a gesture for them to follow, which the children did in short order.

As she turned to follow them, Misato noted Ritsuko not moving. "Please, Misato. I've got work to do." Her friend looked skeptical. "I was just taking a smoke-break. I've got to get back to..."

"To quietly seething with resentment?"

Well, she did actually have work to do, but that was a good point.

"Touché."

The others, Mana included, had noted their absence by now and were looking back their way expectantly. "We'll only be five minutes." The pleading tone, again. "Come on."

She allowed herself to be dragged along. 'Oh, fine. Whatever.' It could wait.

They caught up to them rather quickly. "An' this here's... oh, it's all part o' th' process, 'ay. Can't have it rottin' here forever, so we're lookin' for that thing o' Miss Akagi's here afore we blow et to kingdom come and ship it out o' here."

"Thing?" Ritsuko studied Misato's expression as they walked behind the others. Shinji was also giving her an expectant look.

It's not like it was classified or anything, but still...well, better she heard it now than she go off and find out for herself. Gods and spirits above knew she probably could, too. You can only keep so much secret when hundreds if not thousands of people are working on it at any given time.

"It's an organ which, if harnessed, could be a great source of energy. It's how Angels survive without eating anything."

Mana already knew this, of course, but she couldn't see Shinji's reaction from here. Misato was troubled.

"So how long can an Angel survive just on this...organ?"

'How the hell should I know?'

"We're not sure. If we can get it to work for us, we may just find out. But we have to find it first, which is why this stage is taking so long."

"Ha! Took the words right out o' my mouth y'did. Aye, Gods only know how long this'll take, but the moment we're done we can blow it to as many pieces as we like. Come! I'll give yeh a good look in at the squidgy work, ay. Yeh're all wearin' boots, right?"

There was a general murmur of assent and the Engineer led them on, alongside the corpse as they were by now. Nothing more was said as they walked right by the crimson-purple of its... flesh? Misato reached out to touch it, looking to Mogami for approval. He nodded. "Et's fine t'touch, we think. Mind, it's a bit of a weird feelin' though."

Shinji took that as an invitation to reach and and touch with tentative outstretched fingers his victim. This was the first time he'd actually seen it with his own eyes, Ritsuko noted, let alone touch it. A moment for the history books, surely. Her thoughts returned to the answer she had oh-so-carefully rehearsed to what should have been Misato's next question. It wasn't as if that woman could read her like a book, but all the same... it just didn't sound natural.

'It's just a hypothesis, but if it is correct then we cannot afford to miss this opportunity.'

Or maybe it was just her.

As they continued into the autopsy zone, Ritsuko kept her head forward as she made a furtive check on Misato... who was still examining the Angel.

Well. That was easy. Misato had always been far too easy to distract.

Ritsuko tried to set her eyes on the far side of the hangar, but her gaze was drawn once more to the crowd on the catwalk. Misato looked her way at the sudden sound, but decided to let her bespectacled friend be. Deaf to the world, Ritsuko's arm tightened round her clipboard as she ground her teeth at thought of The Director of Project Evangelion basking in the sun of the world's appreciation.


To you, oh Banana most Sinister - and readers most eager - I do pledge my thanks, and praise.