0A: DIFFICULT CONVERSATIONS
There was nothing in the police car. Which is to say that there was Artemis and the cops and nothing else, a yawning absence with all the heaviness and weight of a ghost person in the seat next to her, and Artemis remembered what it was like before in the bad old days when the ghost people were in her, were her, when her voice and theirs were intertwined like the innards of an elaborate lock, and she trembled in the emptiness and wished for Brauron. But there was no Brauron. Just a poké ball, in the jacket pocket of the left-hand policeman. And an absence, and the thought: you are functional. Everything else is weakness.
The thought and the absence stayed there for far too long. Artemis sat there in silence as the cops drove her down to the station, on the verge of throwing up, wishing senselessly for sharp objects, pulse thumping dizzyingly in her temples. She sat there, and because she had no other options she made it out the other side, and now here she is, sitting in this windowless little room where the light is yellow and trying hard to hear the questions that she is asked.
She is not good at being interrogated. The cops' eyes unmake her, slice unmercifully through the scraps of womanhood she has gathered around herself. She sees shapes (ghost people?) in the corners, there and then not. She fails to answer questions and is shouted at. At one point someone bangs on the table to get her attention and she cannot help it, she cries.
Then something changes. Then the door bursts open and Artemis looks up to see, of all things, a familiar face: dark skin, perfect lipstick, enviable eyebrows. It is, she realises, that League lawyer, Emilia Santangelo. And Emilia looks back at her, eyes suddenly full of a volcanic fury that to her astonishment Artemis does not think is directed at her, and then she says something and in the next moment all the cops are gone and Emilia is sitting down opposite her, alone.
"Hello, Artemis," says Emilia.
Artemis doesn't say anything.
"Are you okay?"
Artemis shakes her head.
"I didn't think so." A silence. Emilia's natu shuffles slightly on her shoulder. "They're going to let you go immediately."
Artemis still can't find her voice, but her surprise must show, because Emilia smiles without pleasure and nods.
"Oh, they don't know it yet," she says. "But I'll go back out there in a minute and ask them to do it, and they'll say no, and I'll remind them of how hazardous to their career interfering in League business can be, and then they'll moan and whine about how the League is a meddling old fossil but they'll do it."
"Why?" asks Artemis. It's just one word. It's not too hard to get out.
There is a short pause, and then something about Emilia seems to shift; she looks tired, human even, as if all her grace and poise has drained away in an instant.
"Okay, I'll level with you," she says, in a completely different voice, rougher and more casual. Not unlike Artemis' own, albeit with a south Celadon tint. "You've got enough shit to deal with already, Artemis. Believe me, I know."
Artemis wants to say no, you don't, because how can Emilia know this, how can this conventionally attractive cis woman know what this is, but she doesn't have the courage to tell her that and she isn't even sure if it's true and so she just says:
"Do you?"
And Emilia says, "Yes, Artemis. I do."
Artemis stares. Emilia put a very deliberate emphasis on that. Surely she can't mean …?
"But you …" But you what? But you're beautiful? But you're still alive at the tail end of your thirties? But you're a successful professional? How deep does your hatred go, Artie, that you can think any of that? There is nothing strange about a trans woman being any of these things. And yet, choked by her own self-image, by the hate that she knows is out there waiting for her, Artemis cannot help but be shocked.
Emilia seems to understand. She looks resigned rather than insulted.
"Sorry," says Artemis, almost whines really, and Emilia shakes her head.
"It's okay," she replies. "I'm sorry, Artemis. For everything." She sighs. "Look, now isn't really the time to talk, I get it. We do need to talk about what you did, and what you think you know, but not now. All I'm going to do tonight is go out and get them to release you, then I'll walk you back to the Centre. Is that okay by you?"
It is okay. More than okay, it's kind, and Artemis wasn't expecting that – wasn't expecting any of this, of course, but this least of all. How much does Emilia know about her? Or is her fear really that obvious?
"Yeah," she replies. "Yeah, that's … that's okay."
"Good." Emilia smiles and stands up, and just like that she's back to her usual self, bright and polished as a gemstone. "I'll be back in a minute."
She leaves the room. Without her, the room is quiet and oppressive, the light buzzing dully in the back of her head, but Artemis does her best to take advantage of the break and get her head together. She wipes her eyes, crushing mascara into the back of her hand, and sniffs deeply, trying to clear her nose. Okay, Artie? No, actually, very not okay. She just got arrested trying to break into a League installation, and maybe the cops knew what happened at Cinnabar House and maybe they didn't, but either way, they knew it was somewhere important, somewhere nobody was ever supposed to get into. Though Artemis has never been the kind of kid who breaks into abandoned houses to explore, she doesn't think they get interrogated like this. The cops suspected her of something, and that was – is – terrifying. So no, she isn't okay. But it seems like Emilia is going to make it disappear, and whatever her real reasons for doing so, that's a good thing.
Just then, Emilia comes back in, holding the diary and Brauron's poké ball.
"They were very accommodating," she says. "All I had to do was ask and they gave me your stuff back, right away."
Artemis swallows. She told the cops that the diary was hers, hoping they wouldn't actually look inside it. Presumably, Emilia hasn't checked either.
"Thanks," she says, taking it and the ball, a little too fast. "I … can I go?"
"Of course. Come with me."
There is a gauntlet of hostile stares to run – just as she hinted, Emilia has made enemies here tonight – but after that comes the freshness of the night air, and as she breathes it in Artemis feels her heart finally start to slow down. God. It's over. She's out, and she got away with it.
"I expect you're glad to get out," says Emilia. "I always was. Come on, it's this way back to the Centre."
Artemis wonders what that means. It's hard to imagine that Emilia has ever been arrested before. She isn't brave enough to ask about it, so instead she releases Brauron and immediately has to focus on calming her down; she climbs up over Artemis' chest, hissing anxiously and staring into her face as if making sure she's still there.
"It's okay," says Artemis. "It's okay, I'm all right." She strokes Brauron's neck until she stops wriggling, then hugs her gently to her chest. "We're gonna go back to the Centre now," she continues. "It's all over."
Emilia watches with an expression Artemis doesn't recognise. Some strange kind of pain.
"You two have really got on well, haven't you?" she remarks. "It's only been a couple of weeks since you partnered up."
"Oh," says Artemis, embarrassed. "Um, thanks."
Emilia smiles, but her heart clearly isn't in it.
"Come on," she says. "It's not far. Nothing is, here."
Silence then, except for the waves and the crickets and the clicking of Emilia's heels on the pavement. Artemis feels a sudden stab of jealousy, wishing she could pass as cis the way Emilia does, and then just as suddenly a rush of guilt. She should like what she is. Be proud of it, even. It's just hard, when nobody ever seems to be anything other than disgusted by it. Even if they're like Cass, even if they accept her, she can tell that underneath it they are fighting their unease.
The lights of the Centre come into view ahead, beneath the shadow of the big revolving sign, and Emilia starts to speak again.
"Well, here we are," she says. "Now, I'm sorry, but we have to talk about what … well, about everything. So – meet me in the Centre lobby at eleven tomorrow morning? That will give you a chance to get some sleep."
"Yeah," says Artemis, not seeing any other way options. "Yeah, I guess that's okay."
"Don't worry, you're not in any trouble," Emilia reassures her. "And as far as I can, I'm going to make sure everyone forgets what happens tonight. All right?"
She smiles. Despite herself, Artemis thinks it's genuine.
"Yeah," she says. "Okay." Pause. "Well, goodnight."
"Yes. Goodnight."
Artemis is about to go inside when Emilia calls after her.
"Oh – one more thing," she says. "Did you tell anyone where you were going tonight?"
"Huh? No. No, I didn't."
"That's interesting," says Emilia. "Because the police only drove out to Cinnabar House because they received a tip-off that someone was breaking in." She raises her eyebrows significantly. "Be careful," she says. "Goodnight, Artemis."
"Um … goodnight."
Emilia disappears into the night, and Artemis hovers there in the doorway, uncertain and afraid.
Someone tipped off the cops. Someone knew.
Artemis shivers and hurries on inside. The night does not seem so beautiful any more.
Believe me, I know. Emilia said that. She did. She admitted it, for the first time in … god only knows how long. All right, she couldn't bring herself to actually say the word and apply it to herself, and that is not a good thing, but she admitted it, indirectly.
It feels good, in its own way. Sometimes you don't realise how much the constant secrecy hurts until you break it. Emilia still isn't planning to announce what she is to the world at large, but someone knows now, someone who can be trusted with that information, and that's surprisingly comforting.
Not that there's much comfort to be got out of any of this. Emilia isn't sure she's ever seen anyone look quite as scared as Artemis did last night, and she's met with a lot of people who have seen some pretty terrifying things. Possibly Artemis has anxiety, although in this case Emilia can't say it isn't justified. There are bad things gathering around her, and if Emilia's hunch is right she's only just started transitioning, too. That's more than anyone should have to deal with at once.
Still. Hopefully Emilia can help lighten the load a little with this next meeting, and as she heads out from her hotel to the Pokémon Centre that morning she runs over potential ways to do so in her head: information that can safely be divulged, assurances that she could make. Some of this might not strictly be within her job description, or for that matter the bounds of the law, but what the hell, she's in a position of power and she's damned if she's not going to make use of that to help someone who isn't. It's not like the League can fire her. She's too useful for that.
She arrives early, as usual, but Artemis is already waiting for her, sitting in a corner and fiddling with her phone. Shoulders hunched, head down, shame at her size written all over her. Emilia feels depressed and angry to see it.
? asks Nadia, but Emilia can't explain this even to other humans, let alone to a natu, and anyway she doesn't get the chance because Artemis sees her and gets up quickly, apparently eager to be away.
"Good morning," says Emilia, with perfectly convincing cheerfulness. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay," replies Artemis, although she does not look it. Her salandit picks up on this too, and glares at Emilia with vivid purple eyes.
It's to be expected, really. Emilia was probably intimidating before, and now that Artemis knows she's trans she's probably even more so, in some ways.
"Okay, good," she says. "Have you eaten? No? In which case, let's have brunch. I saw somewhere that looked really quite good on the way here."
Artemis looks uncertain.
"Um … well, I don't―"
"I'm paying, by the way," says Emilia, as if her concern were not obvious. "League grants aren't so generous these days, are they? I got fifteen hundred florins, but I can't imagine you got more than half that."
"Uh. No. No, I didn't."
Of course she didn't. Emilia hides her irritation at League policy behind a smile and gestures to the door.
"Shall we, then?" she asks. "We've got quite a lot to talk about. Best to make a start right away."
"Okay," says Artemis, and off they go.
Cue about thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence, during which Emilia starts to wonder if she really is that scary.
"So how's your trainer journey going?" she asks.
"Okay," says Artemis. "Except for … well."
Emilia sighs.
"All right," she says. "I suppose I should have seen that one coming. But it's what I'm here to talk about. If I can, I want to get this sorted out."
Artemis' eyes betray a certain wary kind of hope that makes Emilia feel her age.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," confirms Emilia. "You're not alone, Artemis. The League has your back."
"Okay," she says. Emilia doesn't think she quite believes her. Under the circumstances, she really can't blame her.
The café Emilia saw earlier is on the corner of an open plaza, and has a few cute wrought-iron tables out in the square itself. Emilia suggests they sit out here, thinking in part about the gorgeous weather and in part that Artemis might feel more comfortable if they were in a public space where Emilia can't try anything (although she isn't entirely sure what it is she's meant to be trying); Artemis, however, hesitates before answering, and so Emilia assures her they can go inside if she wants. This she does agree to, and in they go.
Emilia should have thought of that. Artemis wants to be out of the way, obviously. And sure enough, she goes for the seat in the corner.
"Have whatever you like," she says, handing her a menu. "The League is paying."
"Is that okay?"
"Of course. This is business, after all. Technically." Emilia smiles. "I won't tell Lorelei if you don't."
Artemis doesn't smile back.
"Is that who you work for?"
"Mostly, yes."
They order: coffee, croissants, water for Nadia, tea for Artemis. Emilia watches the way she grips the cup tightly between her hands and wishes she wasn't the authority figure that she is.
"So, Artemis," she says. "I know it must seem like I just pop up wherever there's trouble, but I actually didn't come here because of what happened last night."
"No?"
"No." Emilia sips her coffee and sends a thought to Nadia, pay attention. Artemis has her sympathy, but she still has a job to do. "I'm here because you started asking questions in Pallet."
A tense, ugly moment of fear. Artemis' salandit slithers off her breast onto the table, where she crouches and stares aggressively at Nadia, who hops nervously away from her dish of water towards Emilia.
"I guess that makes sense," says Artemis, making no move to intervene. "I expected someone to come after me for that."
"I wouldn't say we're coming after you. We're worried, actually. You've been involved with breach twice" (and Emilia remembers that she is not supposed to say what she is about to say and then thinks screw it) "maybe even three times, we can't tell what that scyther is, and we're starting to get concerned." She gives Artemis her best I-want-to-help-you look. It's studied, but that's not to say she doesn't mean it. "Under the circumstances, I'm amazed you didn't start asking questions sooner."
"The scyther was breach?" Artemis leans forward, intent. Emilia has to stop herself from leaning back. "So it was?"
"We don't know." Emilia shrugs. "Breach is disruptive, mutations aren't unknown. But we've had people searching Route 1 and nobody's found any trace of an actual event yet. Could be that the scyther itself is a breach entity, could be that the breach happened inside it, could be that it's just a sick scyther."
Artemis looks strangely disappointed. Emilia nudges Nadia with her mind, looking for clarification, and the response comes back positive. Why would she be disappointed? Is it certainty she's after?
"Okay," says Artemis. "So … so what do you want from me?"
A little scared, a little plaintive. Her salandit picks up on it and raises the fins between her shoulder blades, a tiny draconian threat display. Nadia decides to relocate to Emilia's shoulder, just in case.
Artemis sighs.
"Brauron," she says in exasperation, picking her up and putting her on her shoulder. "Sorry. She just wants to help."
The salandit wriggles a little, but she stays where she's been put.
"I know," replies Emilia. "It's fine." (It is not, really, because Effie would have done the same and every time Brauron moves to defend her partner Emilia cannot help but be reminded that she is dying, but she says it anyway.) "And as for what we want from you – officially, I'm here to ask you what you think you know, and to get you to stop digging for information."
Artemis pauses with her teacup halfway to her lips.
"And unofficially?"
Emilia has a strange urge to glance over her shoulder to catch any eavesdroppers, as if she's in a movie, but she squashes it.
"Unofficially, Artemis, I think something's wrong with this whole thing. It seems to me like someone is actively triggering breach events, and you don't need me to tell you that that's not a good thing. Unfortunately, people don't like being given bad news, and I don't have any evidence. Which is where you come in," she adds. "If there's anything you can tell me that might help, I'd be glad to hear it."
Artemis picks at her food for a while in silence. Busying her fingers, Emilia thinks. Fidgeting rather than hungry. It's okay. She can wait.
"I … don't know," she says in the end. "I don't know anything."
LYING, says Nadia, although Emilia does not need to be told.
"We both know that's not true," she replies, as gently as she can. "Or you wouldn't be looking around in Cinnabar House."
Another silence. Artemis won't meet her eye, staring down into the tabletop, hands in her lap. On her shoulder, the salandit tenses and coils around the back of her neck, pressing her head against her partner's jaw.
At least she got a good partner, thinks Emilia. That salandit really cares about her.
"I heard that something happened on Cinnabar," says Artemis. "And then I got here and I thought that abandoned houses don't normally have razor wire around them."
Clever. Probably mostly true, as well. But it's the first bit that really interests Emilia. Something did happen on Cinnabar: the M entity broke containment and began murdering its way across Kanto before the League counterattack drove it into whatever hiding place it's been in for the past ten years, if it's still alive at all. The thing is, how does Artemis know about that?
"What did you hear about Cinnabar?" asks Emilia. Artemis shrugs.
"Nothing. Just that something happened."
Nadia is silent. That much at least must be true.
"Okay," says Emilia. "That's okay. Where did you hear about that?"
Artemis hesitates.
"I …"
Emilia waits, and when it becomes clear she isn't going to continue steps in again.
"I'm on your side," she says. "I promise, Artemis. I'm not looking to get you in trouble, I just want an end to this. People are getting hurt."
"They are?"
"Yes. I can't divulge any details, but there have been injuries." Emilia hopes that doesn't sound too intimidatingly officious. "I know, I know, I'm League, I defend people who at least some of the time don't have your best interests at heart – but I'm human too, Artemis. More than I want the League to contain this, I want whoever's breaching to stop."
A second passes. The door jingles as someone enters; at another table, cutlery clinks. Artemis stares at her plate for a long time, and then, without looking up, she speaks.
"Giovanni," she says. "It's Giovanni." She pauses for a while, for so long in fact that Emilia isn't sure she's going to say anything else, but then she continues. "He was waiting for me in Viridian Forest. Said he was catching starters. Thought I was asleep. But I heard … he scanned me or something, I dunno, looking for breach radiation, and he couldn't get his scanner to work so he called someone for help. Mentioned something that happened on Cinnabar then. I didn't find anything here, though."
It seems like this time she really is done. Emilia nods gravely.
"Thank you," she says sincerely. "I suspected as much. Giovanni … I think he used to lead a breach research project, but the Elite Four had it shut down. My suspicion is that he and his team have carried on anyway."
"Can you stop him?" asks Artemis. "Can you just – can you make it stop?"
She sounds so desperate. Emilia wishes she could say yes.
"I can take it to the Elite Four," she says. "I can have Giovanni brought in and an investigation launched."
"But will that stop it?"
Emilia hesitates a moment too long, and Artemis looks away, hurt.
"Okay," she says. "I guess that's my answer, then."
"I'm going to do what I can," says Emilia. "I really will. But Giovanni will be prepared for me. He's been at this a long time, and I don't believe for a second that he doesn't have some kind of contingency plan in place to deal with a situation like this."
"Okay." Artemis does not sound disappointed, which is possibly worse than if she did. "So what now?"
"Now I ask you for permission to tell the Elite Four what you just told me about Giovanni," says Emilia. "And you say yes, or no if you like but I'd appreciate it if you said yes, and then I let you get on with your trainer journey. Like I said, you're not in any trouble, nobody's going to stop you. Just – stay safe, okay?"
Artemis nods.
"I'm trying," she replies. "I'm trying. And – okay, you can tell the Elite Four. If it will help."
"It will. Thank you." Emilia drinks the last of her coffee and reaches for her bag. "Here is my card," she says, taking one out and scribbling on it. "I'm writing down my personal phone number – you call that if you run into more trouble, all right?"
Artemis looks from it to her and back again.
"All right," she says. "I'll do that."
Probably even she doesn't know if she's telling the truth there; no way Nadia will be able to tell. It's all right. She might, and that's what matters.
"Hang in there," says Emilia. "This won't last forever."
Artemis turns her cup around on its saucer, watching the dregs of the tea swill around the base. She does not look up at Emilia when she speaks.
"Is it … how do you do this?" she asks, voice cracking. "How – just how?"
Emilia does not know what to say. She never really imagined herself having this conversation with anyone. She never really imagined herself having anyone to have it with.
It hurts to think this, a blunt pain like dull teeth pressing into skin. What can she say? That it gets easier? Because all right, it's true, it does, after those first few awkward years you get into the rhythm of it; and yet how can Emilia say that to Artemis, when the truth is that nobody who looks at Emilia will ever know she isn't cis while nobody who looks at Artemis will ever miss it? Emilia has no right, not really. She has no right to look Artemis in the eye and sell her a vision of a future that is not open to her. She shouldn't be championing the path she's taken anyway; she should encourage Artemis to celebrate who she is, not keep it chained up in the attic like a dirty secret. And yet, and yet – what does celebration get you, other than a kick in the teeth? Because the more you like yourself the more they hate you, because you are supposed to be a miserable broken thing striving endlessly for acceptance, and if you aren't then you are to be punished.
What can Emilia say in the face of all that? What can anyone? Some things are too big and too painful to ever be illuminated by words.
"I'm sorry," she says in the end. "It's hard. In some ways it always will be. But in others it will get better."
Artemis looks up now, into her eyes, devastatingly hopeful.
"Will it?" she asks.
Emilia holds her gaze, and gives a perfect reassuring smile. It's like the I-want-to-help-you look: just because it isn't real, doesn't mean it isn't true.
"Yes," she says, hoping she is not lying. "It will."
While she is still sitting on a low wall by the harbour, looking at the waves and trying to process everything that has happened, Artemis' phone buzzes into life.
hey! back yet?
Cass, then. Artemis told her this morning that she had some errands to run, and she believed her. Something else to feel guilty about, that, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. Worse, when she looked at Cass all she could think was that maybe she was the one who tipped off the cops, even though of course she wasn't, because even if she was awake there's no way she could have known where Artemis was going. And obviously she felt even guiltier about that.
Anyway, she tells herself, she should go back now. She should. They'll go to the Gym and train and because her mind and body will be occupied Artemis will feel better. It's just that right this moment, after being arrested and then rescued and all the rest of it, she really, really doesn't want to.
But.
"Okay, Brauron," she says, easing herself down off the wall. "Let's go."
She sends a quick on my way back to Cass and starts heading through town towards the Centre. Things are getting weird now. Can she trust Emilia? No idea. Why did she tell her about Giovanni but not the diary? Also no idea. Artemis' problem is that she can't even seem to understand her own actions right now, let alone anyone else's. What is she trying to achieve here? Hell if she knows. All Artemis is sure of is that she is very tired and very stressed and her meds haven't been doing much to stop her hallucinating recently.
Maybe going to the Gym is what she needs after all. Forget about all of this for a few hours. Let the fear fade from specific back to nebulous. Put some distance between her and last night, and this morning for that matter, and come back to it when she actually has the capacity for some proper analysis.
It's not far back to the Centre, but it's long enough for her to make some attempt at composing herself. By the time she walks in and finds Cass, Artemis looks – not normal, she never looks normal, but as close as she's going to get. Cass asks if she got everything she needed; Artemis squashes the paranoid distrust rising inside her and says yes, and are you ready? And Cass is, so they go.
The walk up to the Cinnabar Gym is much like the trip up the mountainside yesterday – better paved, naturally, and with more signposts, but otherwise it winds through the same stands of olive trees and rocky outcrops, the same fields of clover and butterflies. Above, the Gym juts out into the sky like the prow of a ship, tall and black and ridged with ancient buttresses. As they get closer, its age becomes more apparent – its stones are worn and rounded at the edges, and in places patched with modern mortar – but it doesn't seem any less impressive. Artemis imagines the old Kantan knights advancing across the island in the fourteenth century, armour glittering in the light from their rapidash, and looking up at the castle in its prime. How they cracked it she has no idea. Maybe she should read up on siege warfare sometime.
"Okay, maybe I'm just unfit but this is a ridiculous climb just to get to the Gym," puffs Cass, as they turn the corner onto the last stretch. "I know this is a site of special historical value or whatever but couldn't they have just made it a museum and put the Gym somewhere else?"
"I think it's because it used to be military," says Artemis. "And, you know, back then the League was the military. So I guess they had the building and needed something to do with it."
"That's like the worst excuse for making me climb halfway up a mountain I've ever heard," says Cass. "Damn it, Ringo, hurry up and evolve so you can fly me up here."
"Can fearow do that? They don't look big enough."
Cass shrugs.
"Think so. At least, there's this Vine I saw once of a guy who goes today is the day … that I finally kill the sun and then in the next shot he's being carried away by a fearow while he fires like a water pistol at the sky."
Artemis snaps her fingers.
"Yeah," she says. "I think I saw that one."
The main entrance to the Gym is a pair of massive reinforced gates between two stone pillars as thick as Artemis is tall; a more sensibly-sized door has been cut into the left-hand gate, and this is propped open with what looks like a piece of an old statue.
"Security's not what it used to be, huh?" says Cass, and despite her anxiety Artemis laughs.
"Nope," she agrees. "It sure isn't."
Inside, the Gym is cool and dim, despite the searing heat and bright light outside. It isn't as big as Artemis expected, either; the ceiling is maybe twice her height, and the far wall not more than ten metres away. The room is a curious hotchpotch of ancient and modern, twentieth-century posterboards fixed to thirteenth-century stone walls and a computer at the front desk casting a faint light onto time-worn flagstones. No windows, which is a little oppressive, but probably that's just how castles go. There isn't much point building massive walls if you're going to immediately punch them full of holes.
"Hi," says the woman at the desk, seeing the two of them standing at the door and staring. "Can I help you?"
She can; they're on their trainer journey, have been doing the journeying bit and now would like to stop and do the training part as well; this is fine, there are sessions being run most of the time, sometimes led by Blaine if there are no challengers and by Merle, his second, if there are; there is in fact one on at the moment, if they'd like to go through that door there? They would, and they do, and beyond the door they find a large room carpeted in fireproof crash mats and lit by several small, high windows, in which several trainers and a bewildering variety of pokémon are engaged in creating a series of extraordinary noises.
Merle, a tall man with lank dark hair, sees them entering and comes over with a smile and a welcome that penetrates even Artemis' unease with its warmth. Trainers? Come in, they're just getting started. Ah, a salandit! Marvellous, marvellous; even Blaine will be envious of that. And a spearow? Excellent. It's cliché, of course, but we like hot-tempered pokémon here.
So it goes. Artemis is very nervous, but most of the other people in the room are Gym trainers and they are all much too fascinated by Brauron to care about her partner's appearance. Brauron accepts their praise and attention with her usual air of royal dignity, and Artemis finds herself fielding what feels like dozens of questions: where did she get her? What sort of personality does she have? How far do her powers of corrosion extend? She answers as best she can before Merle steps in and calls for order, slotting Cass and Artemis in among the other trainers, matched against a charmeleon and a ponyta, respectively. He's good at this: the charmeleon can match Ringo's speed and the ponyta refuses to let Brauron stay at a distance.
After that, Artemis doesn't really have the time to worry. There's too much to think about: the ponyta's trainer knows a lot about fire-types, and his directions open up new possibilities she'd never considered before. Okay, now I want an ember with minimum fuel usage, he'll say, and by way of example the ponyta will spit a tiny fireball that's more superheated air than flame; now let's try that again but with more power, he continues, and this time it produces a splashing orb of fire the size of Artemis' fist. Your turn, he says, and Artemis and Brauron do their best to replicate it.
Most water-types, poison-types and fire-types share this one issue of limited ammunition: there's only so much fluid a blastoise can store in its torrent sacs, so much venom in a nidoran's spines, so much powder in a charizard's furnace-gizzard. Unless yours is one of those pokémon who draw their power from more arcane places (and Brauron is not), you have to learn to ration it out, to take calculated gambles. A channelled move like flamethrower uses up more than a single-shot move like ember – but sometimes sweeping a plume of fire across the arena might be the only way to hit an evasive opponent. Can your salandit do flamethrower? No? All right, let's see if we can teach her …
It's hard work, especially with so many fire-types heating up the room with open flames, but after a few hours Artemis is getting somewhere. Brauron doesn't quite have the fuel capacity to sustain a flamethrower yet, but she's starting to get the hang of flame burst, and once, without either Artemis or the other trainer knowing quite how, she spits vivid blue-purple flames shot through with white lightning: some kind of dragon attack, though what move exactly it might be neither of them are sure.
Eventually, Merle calls a break so the pokémon can eat and recover the energy lost in breathing all that fire, and Artemis finds Cass at one end of the room, holding out a handful of mealworms for an unusually tired-looking Ringo.
"How's it going?" she asks, digging in her bag for Brauron's ash pellets.
"Pretty well," says Cass enthusiastically. "These guys are really good, you know?"
"Well, it is their job."
"Yeah, I guess. Learned a lot about stamina management. Ringo can't stay in the air that long anyway, but it's gonna be helpful for when he gets bigger. Getting better at nailing those mirror moves, too. You?"
"Similar kinda thing. Fuel stuff. Can't keep relying on that trick where Brauron blows up all her gas at once."
"Hey, if it ain't broke …"
"Well yeah, but I kinda need more than one tactic."
Break over, and back to work; the fire flashes, the room heats up, and the cryptic shouts of trainers commanding pokémon fills the air. The training goes on, and then at around six culminates in an impromptu tournament. Artemis makes it to the third round before she has to forfeit, Brauron completely out of venom despite her eagerness to fight. It's impressive, really. She has kind of an advantage, given that nobody here has faced a salandit before, but even so. She'll take three wins when all her opponents are professionals, any day of the week.
And when she and Cass leave, tired but excited, and make their slow way back down the mountainside towards the town spread out below like a child's toy, it occurs to her that she didn't even think of breach at all.
Cass goes to bed early, which is moderately surprising considering how late she got up, though Artemis can't deny that sleep is definitely enticing after their afternoon at the Gym. It's strange how much effort it takes. The Gym Leaders and the professionals on TV are always so relaxed and confident, barely moving a muscle throughout the battle, but apparently there's some way to go before you get to that point. Artemis spent an awful lot of time today shifting from foot to foot, gesturing wildly and hopping around. It feels to her like a rookie trainer kind of thing. At least, she hopes it is. If not, she's going to look kinda ridiculous when it comes to her Gym challenge.
Which is something she's thinking about now, as she bids goodnight to Cass and settles deeper into her chair in the Pokémon Centre's lounge. Brauron is fireproof, in fact splashes around in it as happily as other salamanders do in water, and though that's not perfect protection against a fire-type attack – some of the raw force behind the move will get through – it puts her in a pretty good position to take on Blaine himself, now that she's got some experience under her belt. Maybe not tomorrow; she and Brauron both need a break, maybe another training session. But sometime soon.
Tonight, though … well. Tonight she has something else to do. Something that's probably either going to be very boring or very stressful. One of those all-or-nothing deals.
Okay. Brauron asleep in her lap, kids watching TV across the room. A comforting warmth and pleasant background noise. It's about as good a setting as she's going to get.
Artemis opens up M. Fuji's diary, and begins to read.
9th October 2006
Imagine genetics as watercolour painting: no need to snip and splice, no intricate fine detail work, but the freedom to rewrite as you please, to gesture in the direction of what you are after and watch your material move accordingly. This is what we're doing here. I can't go into the details – I may already have said too much! – but it involves targeted pulses of a specific kind of radiation. The results are simply staggering. Perfectly controlled mutation. You'd think this would simply be a recipe for cancers, but everything so far created is remarkably stable. I've seen examples, though obviously I can't write about any of them.
I think I made the right decision coming here. With the new specimen and its unusual genetic properties, we have a chance to create something with incredible potential.
You don't need to be a geneticist to see where this is going. Artemis thinks about the scyther, about its strange in-between-ness, and is appalled to think that someone might have tried to use that, to make breach into a tool. It also makes her uneasy. If breach radiation causes mutations, what's it going to do to her? She's got at least five rads to her name.
The old fear kicks and snarls inside her like a scared dog, barking and blustering to hide its panic. Artemis feels her hands tighten on the book, her pulse spike and her breath catch, and then she works her way back down again into something resembling calm. It's okay. She hasn't turned into a raging abomination yet. And hell, whatever happens to her body, it can't get any uglier, can it?
She tricks herself into smiling with that, and takes advantage of it to press on with Fuji's diary. There's a lot of incidental detail; Fuji generally does a good job of avoiding writing about their work, especially anything that the League might take issue with, and Artemis finds herself skipping much of it. It's clear, however, that they and their colleagues were trying to create … something. Some kind of artificial breach entity, maybe.
This is an objectively terrible idea, and Artemis is glad that the facility is now abandoned. Whatever they were doing here, they shouldn't have been doing it.
She reads on, and after wading through several pages of Fuji getting excited about chemicals Artemis can't pronounce, finds something else of interest.
6th February 2007
It's awake. Everything we've been working towards has led up to this – and it worked. I have to admit, I wasn't sure it would survive once taken off life support. The projected results were always somewhat up in the air. But it's worked. The creature is awake and appears lucid, even reasonable. I am not sure how intelligent it is, but it follows our movements with its eyes, as if trying to parse them. It is truly remarkable.
Next up are the tests to determine whether or not it is still a pokémon. If not, this will all have been for nothing. If it is – well, remarkably enough, we might actually have got this right first time. This is quite possibly the greatest breakthrough in the field that will occur during my lifetime, and nobody will ever know.
Well, we're not in it for the fame, are we? Enough for now, I think I hear the kettle boiling. Until tomorrow!
Something about this entry seems important. Artemis rereads it, slower this time, and then the penny drops: it was a pokémon. They wanted to make a pokémon. And why did they want to make a pokémon? Because if it's a pokémon you can catch it, in one of those reinforced ones they use for raging gyarados perhaps but you can catch it, and if it has that same old pokémon instinct you can do more than that. You could train it.
An obedient breach entity. What would you even do with something like that? And who would be able to hold a poké ball knowing that something huge and horrifying was within it, ready to explode?
Not Artemis, that's for sure. But then, the kind of person who would do this is probably someone much less afraid than she is.
Artemis flicks through the pages rapidly, towards the point where the writing stops. She knows, kind of, what must have happened. Something went wrong, something that Giovanni at least thinks is Steve's fault, and then whatever it was they made here decided it didn't want to be here any longer. It makes a brutal, horrid kind of sense.
Still. She needs to know. She doesn't want to, but she needs to all the same.
1st September 2007
I don't know what to say or think. It killed them. All of them. They're dead and it is
What have we done? I can't stop thinking about it, those eyes, that voice, like nothing I've ever heard before. "What have you done?" it asked. "Why did you do this?" And none of us had an answer and it killed them all. Except me. Not fucking me, god knows why but not me.
I
Someone was careless with its ball. I think that's it. We had it made specially, plated with bisharp steel to reflect telekinesis, but someone put it down on the table and it just took the whole desk. Ripped it right out of the floor. Nobody could get to the ball to recall it.
That moment. When it was over there and the next instant it wasn't, it was right there, holding its ball so we couldn't get it.
"What have you done? Why did you do this?"
It was a reckoning, a calling to account, and we were all judged and found wanting.
I have to get away from here. The project will be shut down anyway, after this. There's nothing left here for anyone.
Home. I am going home, and if the League wants to stop me it's welcome to fucking try.
Artemis is very still for a minute, and then she shuts the book and lays it down on the arm of the chair.
She closes her eyes and concentrates. Brauron on her lap. The babble of the TV. Chatter from the hall.
Breathe in, and out.
Someone died. A bunch of people, even. A bunch of people died and someone made it disappear and this is all that's left, the diary of some poor bastard who was in it for the science and didn't even consider the consequences until it was far too late. And if Artemis hadn't stumbled into this mess and through their room in Cinnabar House, nobody would even know.
Artemis opens her eyes again and sighs.
Okay?
Okay. Or no, not really, something horrific happened and the fact that she's the only one who knows about it is a lot more than she wants or needs, but okay enough for now. Okay enough to ask, what next?
Surprisingly enough, Artemis has an answer. It involves going to bed and forgetting about all this for eight hours. As answers go, it kinda lacks for elegance, but it's all she's got right now. It's going to have to do.
"Right," she says quietly, lifting Brauron from her lap. "C'mon. We can sleep upstairs, kiddo."
Sss, goes Brauron, half-opening one eye and sinking luxuriously into her arms.
"Sure," replies Artemis, picking up Fuji's diary, trying not to think about what lies inside. "Something like that."
It could have gone better. It could have gone worse, too, but it could have gone better. Emilia has plenty of time to consider this as she suffers through the ferry ride east to Fuchsia, stuck in her cabin with seasickness and no phone reception. She didn't really do what she came to Cinnabar to do; Artemis is probably not going to stop digging. But she does have some eyewitness testimony that Giovanni is up to something, which is some kind of evidence, even if it isn't completely conclusive, and that means she might just have enough to take the case to Lorelei. It's going to be painful, and quite possibly it's going to put more strain on their friendship than it can stand, but after seeing Artemis that morning Emilia honestly can't find it in herself to put it off any longer. Something has to be done, and she's the only one who can do it.
And then there was her disastrous attempt to impart life advice. What was she thinking? In some ways it will get better. What kind of weak prevaricatory nonsense is that? Could she not think of anything more encouraging? Artemis is young and sharp as a tack, and clearly has a knack for training to boot; she has so much going for her, and all Emilia could say was that it would be hard but also it would get easier. Obviously she's been doing too much League work. She can't seem to open her mouth without equivocating.
She sighs. It's fine. Artemis can look after herself, mostly; she's seen several breach events and come away unscathed every time. Emilia should focus on doing the things that Artemis can't: to wit, hammering away at the upper echelons of the League until somebody decides to do something.
This, however, is something she can only do when she arrives back on dry land, where there's enough reception for her phone to actually work. For now, Emilia decides, she needs to focus on not throwing up. With some concentration and a lot of soothing feelings beamed into her head from Nadia, she succeeds, and then when she arrives in Fuchsia, she staggers off the boat and into a taxi to the airport.
She doesn't call Lorelei. Not yet. The conversation is going to get ugly, and Emilia owes it to both of them to have it out face to face.
Up there among the clouds, Emilia finds her misgivings dissipating. Aeroplanes have this effect on her, she's noticed; the boredom seeps in like water and douses whatever anxiety it is that happens to be burning in her gut. Perhaps it's the distance. From thirty thousand feet up, she looks back at her past self in Cinnabar, and shrugs. She did what she could with Artemis. And now, she's going to do the right thing. What happens next, happens. But Emilia will not look back and regret it.
Eyes closed, she leans back in her seat and breathes in the low chaos of the plane: footsteps of stewards, quiet conversation, the creaking of chairs and that dull, all-pervasive mechanical hum. Nadia making small avian noises in her lap.
Seconds pass. Maybe days. Emilia opens her eyes, feeling calm and cold and focused, and walks with measured paces down the now-landed plane, out across the tarmac and through the streets of the Indigo Plateau towards the huge, glittering fortress at its heart.
Emilia spares a moment, as always, to look up at the columned façade of the Indigo Palace, and then she lets the past vanish away inside her and goes inside to ruin everything.