Chapter 11: Interim

+4 days Kaiju attack

Three choppers set down. They'd picked up their cargo at the Hong Kong airport and radioed back with their arrival times. The arrival of pilots and pilot candidates meant all hands on deck even if all hands only meant the Gipsy Danger pilots. Mako, and Raleigh waited in the overcast morning for the big Sikorsky helicopters to set down. The driving force of the blades drove Mako's hair in sweeping circles around her head and she pinned it back with one hand.

"Still think you should buzz it." Raleigh grinned at her irritated look. "Just saying."

The first set of doors opened and the candidates spilled out. Thirty-three total candidates for jaegers they didn't have. Herc's instructions were clear, Mako and Raleigh were in charge. Mako had the title of Commander and Raleigh, her lieutenant.

The man at the front of the crowd was easily forty pounds heavier than Raleigh although the two men were of the same height as he drew close. Heavily inked biceps flexed as he saluted Mako casually and tossed his bag down. "Joseph Temura." He said to Mako. "Commander Mori."

"Mr. Temura." Mako lips turned up as she struggled to control her smile and Raleigh bristled slightly to see it. Joseph had broad open features, a man who looked like he was used to charming every woman he met. "It is a pleasure. Herc has spoken highly of you."

"Yeah," he glanced around and extended a hand to Raleigh. "Raleigh Beckett right? Heard that fight with Otachi was something to see."

"I get points for the ship, but the final sword thrust was all Mako."

"So I heard." The charm turned on again, but then Temura grew more serious as the other candidates began to cluster around the small group. "I thought Herc would be here. Isn't he in charge of the Shatterdome's training command?"

"I am the Training Commander." Mako answered.

"And Herc?"

"He is otherwise occupied."

His footsteps sounded overloud as he walked through the Shatterdome. The doctors had let him take off the sling but his arm was still contained in a soft cast. Another two weeks of no duty and then another two months of limited. It rankled to remember that it was his single decision that had cost him his arm and his son. Another part of him argued that it was the logical decision to try to reboot Striker Eureka, but that voice was often overruled.

Joseph Temura was on his way. Herc had promised Margret that the man was a possible candidate for Foxtrot and she'd been so angry with him. That hurt too. It ran on repeat with the memory of her in Chuck's mind. Chuck's memory was tinged with disappointment as Margret told him her version of events. She hadn't told Herc - even when he'd tried to apologize. She pushed him away. And finally he understood why.

Chuck had known both sides before he died. An unexpected intimacy the drift gave them, when the son gave the father advice.

"Max." Herc called to the dog as he entered the medical bay. The bulldog stirred and got up from the floor, his tail wagging as he left the bedside and trotted to his master. "Here boy, good dog."

"He keeps watch over her. Your doing?" Ygor asked thickly. The mechanic rose from the chair and rubbed at his stubbled chin.

"Yes."

"So why are you here?"

"You didn't go to the Driftzone?"

"Ironside wouldn't give me permission. He said that it would be cruel to experiment on her. Asshole. Anything would be better than this." Ygor didn't notice he'd switched to Russian halfway through.

"Do you need his permission?"

"I speak mechanical, I don't speak science. You?"

Herc shook his head. "No, but I know someone who does." He patted Max again as a nurse came in to check on the visitors and was flattered into taking the dog out for a short walk. Ygor stepped outside, but Herc moved closer to the bed. An oxygen tube was threaded into Margret's nostrils but she hadn't needed a ventilator, not yet. She was in a coma and they'd started treating her as if she'd never get up again, moving her arms and legs in false approximations of movement. Her heartbeat continued with an even rhythm and he leaned over her to put his hand against the skin of her arm. She was warm but did not respond.

"I'm sorry," he told her although she could not hear. "I will explain it to you. I promise."

Bone Town was traced with new scars where Otachi's body had fallen and then again where the infant Otachi clone had died. The only thing not scavenged was the giant backbone and ribcage. Even Chau's men didn't bother to tackle the immense size of those bones. Stripped, pennants and banners already hung from the tips and the Shinja's logo was painted on the base of the skeleton. The kaiju worshippers had already claimed it for themselves and nothing had been built around the black and dripping logo, nothing would be until they began to construct the altar.

Herc seemed unmoved by the kaiju blue in the air but Herman snuffled and wiped his nose again and again. They made an unorthodox group as they picked their way through the rubble.

Herman glanced at the card Ygor held. "Why does every shady dealer in Hong Kong use a card?"

A heavily made up woman selling fisk sticks smacked her lips at him and kicked a box in their direction. It was full of cards that advertised everything: naked girls, clubs, vasectomies at half price. Herman shuddered and declined to take any.

"It's here." Ygor pointed to the next street and the three men found the correct door and entered.

They hesitated just inside. A receptionist looked up from the desk and acknowledged them even as she continued with a rapid Mandarin conversation for another minute. Ygor caught three words that he knew and none of them more complicated than 'thank you'. The office looked like a dentist's lobby. Sterile, bare, and more Western than any place they'd seen in Bone Town. It looked out of place and a little bit creepy.

"Ni hao." She greeted them. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No," Ygor shuffled his feet and then stepped in front of them. He clasped his hands together awkwardly. "I would like to see whoever runs this place. I am Ygor Dmitrivich. I heard that you have a cure for neural scarring."

The receptionist pursed her lips. She was young, probably only twenty or twenty-one. It might have been the weirdest thing she'd heard that day but probably not in her career. "You'll need an appointment."

"I don't have time for an appointment." Ygor snapped. "It is a matter of life and death."

"Mr. Dmitrivich," Herman tried to calm him down. "Perhaps if we explained…"

The door behind the girl opened and three very large Chinese men stepped through. Each one was over six feet and two would tip the scales at over 250 pounds. They fit the expectation of sleaze much better than the clinical office.

"Problem?" One asked the girl.

"There's no problem." Herman intervened. "We are merely trying to determine if there is a scientist here who has experience with neural scarring from drifting. We are not from the government. Well, we are from the government, but not in the way you might think."

Herc sighed, his Chinese was minimal at best. "The pilot of Foxtrot Alpha is in a coma. We were told you could help." He didn't know the word for coma so he did the best he could and called it 'bad sleep' which was nonsense unless they could follow the jist of what he was trying to get across.

"Foxtrot Alpha?" The biggest man turned to the girl and whispered back and forth with her for a moment. He glanced up. "Wait." And vanished into the back.

"Did that work?" Herman seemed unsure of himself. "Are we supposed to be so forthcoming with information?"

"Mags will not get better if we play it safe." Ygor grunted.

"Yes well, the last time I took a risk, I melted part of my own brain, saved the world, and got expelled from my own laboratory as compensation. I'm feeling particularly risk averse these days." Herman harrumphed. "I looked into the DARPA data that I still had access to. The neural patterning of jaeger pilots is unique but virtually unstudied."

"We were too busy fighting kaiju."

The look Herman gave Herc was less than impressed. "DARPA locked down research. Once it worked, the PPDC didn't want to know what the side effects were. The technology was restricted and that is why we are here and not treating Margret ourselves."

"An elegant summation." The man who spoke walked through the door on the heels of one of the bodyguards. He was a heavy set Chinese man with thick eyebrows and a rolling set to his walk that made him seem more sailor than landlubber. "I'm intrigued by the group of you, and by why you're here. Come into the back."

"Do you have a cure?" Ygor couldn't restrain himself.

The man cocked one eyebrow and lifted a thick hand. Scars were traced all around the thumb and fingers as though he'd dragged the digits through glass. He beckoned for them to follow him. "You shouldn't move through the world like that. Hannibal Chau will sell you a cure for dollars on the pound and laugh all the way to the bank while you eat kaiju bile."

"Then what are you selling?" Herc asked.

"Pure sugar." He chuckled heartily at their discomfort. "Come, come. And see why I think that's a good thing."