Disclaimer:
Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha is the creative property of Seven Arcs, whom created this wonderful anime/manga series. Anything not attributed to Seven Arcs belongs to their respective owners, such as other series, references, and vice-versa. This story is written purely just for fun, guys; please for God's sake, don't sue me! I'm just a college student with too much free time on his hands! On the other hand, any specific author created characters I created for this fic (despite how unoriginal they may be at times) are mine. So without further ado, let's get on with the show!
The Surgeon General's Warning:
Read at your own risk.
Mahou Shounen Enforcer Chrono!
Before Lyrical
Entry 1.24:
Idiots of Justice
A Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha AU fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards
Time rests for no man, and so the day carried onwards, as much I would have preferred puzzling out the mystery of Ryuune Zoldark some more. The not-so subtle reminder of pain, after she had tossed out the most vividly emphatic of Mando'a refusals / invective in my fact to hose me down in strange flash of euphoric bewilderment, only served to hammer home the fact. First things first, time to get acquainted with a new semester of "Modern Combatives": having passed the initial course work, namely the study of ancient warrior cultures and philosophy to nurture our mental discipline and character, we would be allowed now to begin actual weapons specialization. Prior, we were restricted to advancing our proficiency in hand-to-hand fighting techniques, for we were deemed unfit, lacking the proper education to appreciate and respect the new strength we would obtain.
Of course, this warrior education is continuous. Failure to meet standards or exceed expectations can result in penalties, such as remedial training, the student being barred from attaining higher techniques, and / or certification. But on the contrary, the "old traditions" were not a requirement of our professional military education at all: the basic sustainment for officers and enlisted was a tan belt, qualifying rifle score, a D-rank in "Staves", and passing PFT (other requirements vary from service to service). It would not help you get promoted any time soon, I assure you, not to mention it sends a maelstroms worth of possible messages about yourself to higher...
But, ah, I digress. See, today was special for more than just because the first lesson: an ultimatum I had forgotten about virtually was about to be realized. My only warning was the smell: a nostalgic combination of wet wool, mold, and a pungent oily musk. I thought maybe it was the heat, or perhaps, poor ventilation in the old classroom attached to the particular minimalist gymnasium set aside for us. Sixty odd people of various races and dispositions, from eager to hung over, gathered in a hot locale tended to stink things up quite fast, despite the best intentions of cologne, perfumes, and antiperspirant deodorants.
By some strange turn of the Wheel of Fortune, the ever rascally Nagi Dai Artai and his stoic Maid of Honor had ended up in the same section as myself and Ryuune. Taking prime position to my left, I was soon wrangled helplessly into idle chatter, lulling me into a false sense of security that, indeed, it had only been my imagination. The sudden crackle of a loud baying trill put an end to such delusions with the certain bark of a blaster, silencing the class in an instant.
It was a bizarre bone chilling noise, liken to half-dog and half-insect, accompanied by a disgusting wet squelch as the creature itself began to --- scuttle about, feeding the seed of terror that had been planted into the room. The fear of the unknown, though, was lost to myself and my eclectic companions. Nagi with his ineffable cheer looked to me expectantly, while Ryuune tried to ascertain the origin of the agitating sound so she can tear it to pieces, and her comparable number, Nina, the patient hunter, waited in staid anticipation for whatever interloper to reveal itself. I wished for once the puck was not right, but I seemed to have given myself away completely, the mask of concentration self-evident on my face.
"Lord Mird..."
A sudden crash swiftly muffled by a blood curling scream brought us rising out of our seats before I could even finish. Chaos erupted as a full third of the class bolted for the exits or sat stupefied. Another third of us gave a wide berth of the squabble of limbs and screams, gazing in a peculiar horrid fascination; the final remaining third pushed their way past the gawkers to confront the scene, and soon came at a loss for what to do. In the center of the calamity was a one-meter long or so, six legged beast with a whip of life, which, like the rest of its body was covered in blubbery, loose flaps of skin. Short fur of a gold hue lined this particular specimen, and it continued to bay dangerously from its huge, fanged mouth, slavering upon the overpowered youth beneath it.
The amazing part was it had taken down a strapping, tall chalk-white skinned youth (likely a Rattataki by his skin color and bald head), who seem barely contained in his uniform by virtue of his impressive physique. I heard stories that his kin had some form of natural mind control, not to mention they were natural warriors thanks to their long violent history. However, to see him, the most threatening and biggest of us, by such a fierce "little" thing seemed to have taken the fight out of even the group willing to respond.
"So that's a strill," Ryuune remarked with a disturbingly thoughtful expression. "Cute."
She could not be serious, could she?
"And cunning, too," Nagi agreed all smiles.
Please, tell me this was all sarcasm...
"Lord, convincing the creature of regular hygiene will be no easy task," Nina added in all seriousness. Oddly, she had her gas mask on her person today, dangling from her neck on open display for all curious eyes. I wonder, why...does not exactly seem like the sort of thing that would be considered a -- fashionable accessory. "But should thou will it, this one believes the strill shall see some benefit in being an educated gentlebeing. At the least, 'tis simple matter to hunt one's prey when it is no different from the land."
My sanity took a hit, much to my dismay, as our little group began to discuss various uses a strill could be used for "combat" (read: hunting down unlikeable fellows) and more common every day pleasures. I was more worried as to how I was going to "convince" Lord Mirdalan to leave the Rattataki boy alone, whom had just soiled a perfectly good pair of trousers too, then. Oh, trust me, it and I were quite - familiar; my subtly trembling hands, clenching and unclenching, in anticipation of possible attack.
The little bastard had always looked at all of the recruits like we were a potential meal, and made it a habit to slip out at night past firewatch to "snuggle" up with a less than fortunate boy for the evening. You can only begin to imagine the screams and commotion in the morning before the spry little critter made good its escape, leaving us to deal with an unamused Sergeant Major...
Wait, that's it! If Mird's here, then HE-
"That's enough, Mird; leave the pissing shabuir alone," commanded a primal voice as certain and malevolent as cold steel, yet lacking - strangely - the over-the-top sadistic glee I had come to expect. There he was Master Drill Instructor Walon Vau at the front of the room, cutting a striking figure, clad in black Mandalorian armor. Lord Mirdalan crooned as if swooning at the sight of the cruel man(?). "You shabla ge'verd that just sat stupid, stay; the hut'uunla chakaar'se who think it's funny to ba'slan shev'la and leave your vode behind, you got ten seconds to get back inside my frakkin' classroom, now!"
He was hacked off. I could see it in his eyes.
"The rest of you, flaming di'kute: outside. fly."
With a snap of his fingers, I had never seen boys and girls move faster. When that door closed, it was as if a blast bulkhead had been sealed shut, dooming whoever was left inside to their fates. For once I felt no obligation to stick my nose somewhere it did not belong, obviously; I was not ready to face this new Walon Vau, an entirely different man from just sharpening his razor edge to a new finish.
Black: did that not mean...
"...Justice," Ryuune finished my thought, unexpectedly. Ever the expert on Mandalorian culture, she had been explaining to us, quite enthusiastically, on the meanings of the colors that adorned one's armor.
Justice? Vau, the Villian, the Cruel Tyrant, the Boogeyman, who transformed mewling children into soldiers: that Walon Vau I knew did not seem like the kind of man to concern himself with moral rightness. Then again, I was not particularly qualified to make objective judgments about his character, being a product irreversibly "shaped" by him. The memories alone of the trials imprinted into my very fiber, which I survived, was enough to aggravate the endless pain I carried now.
We had been idling out in the gymnasium for the better of thirty minutes, since the Sergeant Major effectively kicked us all out. Naturally, the cadets had all agreed to make a good impression on the furious man, that is, not piss into his power supply again by arranging ourselves into a formation of three ranks. Our senior on deck was a blossoming female Zeltron of fifteen cycles, so she had the honor of stepping out in front as our acting platoon sergeant, a privilege none of us envied. Mystra only knows what kind of mood Vau would be in when he came out of his "hut".
And... BANG! There he came storming out with Lord Mirdalan dutifully scuttling by at his heels. Oh Lady of Mysteries, there goes civilian tax credits for the door along with the door hinge. Did anyone ever teach this man to open doors the civilized way when he was angry?
"Platoon, attention!" our de facto platoon sergeant about faced and cried (read: squealed in a painfully, laughable girlish squeak) out, or at least she tried-
"Usen'ye, shabuir! You're fired!" Vau barked out fast as a quad-blaster cannon. The mad look in his eyes screamed of a man possessed with untold fury, such that he paced back and forth in front of our formation, muttering incoherently, before turning sharply on his heel and gave a crisp snap of his fingers again. "Osik! Cadet Harlaown! Where the fierfek are you? I know you're here, so come on out, GUIDE! Come out, and call my frakking shabla milkmaid platoon to attention! NOW."
Holy Sith! Mystra. Why. ME?! Still, as much as I complained, all habits died hard that is once you render obedience to someone and know the consequence of disobedience, 'tis hard not to obey again.
"What? No, 'Aye, Sergeant Major'? Get back!"
Durp, durp; how could I forgot something that important?
"Aye, Sergeant Major!"
Backpedal on the double.
"Cadet, get on your face! The exercise will be Marine Corps push-ups. This will be a four-count exercise on my mark. Also, don't worry, Cadet Harlaown; this isn't hazing because I'll be doing it with you. In fact, the entire platoon will be doing it with US. When I give the command, assume the starting position: MOVE!"
The phrase "Aw, FFFFFFFFFFFFF-!" was the general consensus, I believe, as none of the cadets wanted to taste the mortification of being treated like recruits. However, the Sergeant Major had rank, and we had - nothing. Therefore, his word was law, especially since he was using his old exaggerated Master Drill Instructor accent.
"Push UP~!"
"Marines Corps!"
"I can't he~ar you~. Get on your face! Pu~sh UP!"
"MARINE CORPS."
"We're do~in' this, a~gain. Push U~P!"
"MARINE CORPS!"
And a-one, two, three...
"Good: RE~COVER. Now, call my platoon to attention, Cadet Harlaown."
"AYE, SERGEANT MAJOR!"
This time I did not make the mistake of thinking twice. Moving with a great sense of urgency, almost scurrying on all fours, I moved to execute. Checked my distance, back straight, thumbs to the seams of my trousers, deep breath, and roar out in my best "big man" voice:
"'TOON: KE-"
"As you were," Vau cuts me off in mid-shout with a snap of his fingers. I swear, Lord Mirdalan snickers at my expense, as my cheeks color with red in front of the entire class. "Where are the shabuir who just stood there and looked when Cadet Pisspants... A~ah, there you lot are. You, you, you, and you; all of you in second squad and half of third, starting from the Chiss down. I remember your faces, so just step on out now and get out of my face. Consider yourselves suspended from this course, effectively, until you go to your next school or my rotation here is over in three cycles. See, I only have twenty-one cadets, officially, as of this moment."
The shocking declaration took a moment to sink in. By some fluke, my companions and I were exempt from the sudden culling, but a moment was still a moment too slow for the Sergeant Major's liking.
"...What the frak are you standing there for? Mird: get them!"
Once the cunning strill was set loose upon us, bodies started moving fast, just like before. Frankly, I could not blame them either; between the man and his pet, it was better that they not take their chances, period, in some lame hope of turning aside his-
Snap!
"Now, Cadet Harlaown, call my platoon to attention."
"Aye," I turn to acknowledge him, "Sergeant Major," before executing, "'TOON, KE'SUSH!"
Apparently so, old habits die harder in the case of Walon Vau.
"Morning, cadets, and welcome. I am the chief instructor for this course, Sergeant Major Walon Vau. Under no circumstances will you address me by my name or other terms, until you've earned the privilege to do so. I am the Sergeant Major, and you will be under my watchful eye for the next three cycles. You'll be assigned to appropriate instructors to suit your training regimen. Do. Not. Be. Late, especially if you find yourself luckless enough to be assigned directly to me for instruction.
"My areas of expertise are knife fighting techniques and the integrated combined arms martial art, Close Quarters Combat, simply known as CQC. You will not be allowed to learn CQC, until you have achieved green belt status in MCMAP and have a C-rank in proficiency with some form of weapon, preferably knives or daggers. Advanced forms can be applied with a variety of other weapon types, but for the basics, well, we'll make do somehow. But remember this: CQC is meant to supplement all you will learn, not replace the fundamentals. Combining the two together will create your own unique martial style, and grant you the honor of prestiging your martial belts: Degrees of Mastery, from first to the tenth degree. Note, it is also considered - Degrees of Lethality.
"I am a fifth degree black belt, and a certified master level practitioner, Shidoin. It will take you many cycles before you climb up to that summit. I just have the unfortunate advantage of having made War my business for a long, long time. Any questions?"
As we were standing at attention, it would be a gross breach of close order drill to speak, a clever use of protocol on his part to shut us all up. Sincerely, I did not even believe for a moment he was in the mood to entertain questions. Whatever happened behind those doors had him royally hacked off.
"Good, now in a few moments, our special honorary guest for the day will be making his appearance. Listen, learn, and watch. Do. Not. Embarrass. Me. Any further. I promise, you won't hit the rack in peace tonight, if I hear even a peep of disrespect come slipping out of your filthy traps."
A distant bark from Lord Mirdalan, hanging back by the side exit off-set from the double bay-size doors at one end of the old gymnasium, was an enthusiastic curtain call as any.
"Platoon Sergeant, take charge of the platoon and carry out the plan of the day," Vau did not salute as he was presently "uncovered".
"Aye, Sergeant Major!" I bark right back, before turning back around to address the platoon. "'TOON: rest."
We all watch him leave out of the corner of our eyes, a beast in the tall, cadaverous sinew of a man. When I first and last saw him, he had been a cruel, borderline sadistic Drill Instructor, campaign hat and all, veteran of more wars than you could count off your ten fingers (note: I apply this only to humans and near-humans). With a glistening sneer and the sharp eyes of a bird-of-prey, he had systematically weeded out all the weak and feeble, transforming a gaggle of children into a trained, disciplined platoon ready and willing to kill for "God and Country" at the first sound of the horn. Though to be frank, it was not so much out of patriotism we would have fought, but the horrible possibility of disappointing Master Drill Instructor Sergeant Major Walon Vau: that absolute worst-case scenario must. not. happen. period.
And today, he had gone from the old Marine to --- well, simply put --- death on two legs. A chameleon, no, something else... This was not just camouflage, but a complete metamorphosis. Now, there was no swagger, no performance that would have seemed theatrical in comparison to the he of the present. So, it became apparent to me that I had not the faintest clue what the real Walon Vau was like, the Mandalorian that is.
Further contemplation on my part was put on hold indefinitely, as a quartet of new faces arrived on deck. The fourth and the third were entirely forgettable. Human males between ages of 18 and 22 cycles; Army ratings; one in greasy overalls worn over his jumpsuit, probably works in Motor-T, Airwing, or something vehicular in nature. The other fellow was a combat medic. His mechanically inclined colleague's immediate attention was rather absorbed in a hand-held scanner of sorts that he kept trained over the second member of the group.
It was a gray-colored battle droid of a make and type I was unfamiliar with, standing at a respectable two meters tall, and gazing outward with light blue photoreceptors: two in the head and one auxiliary unit visible on its abdominal armor plate. Clad in a desert-pattern camouflage cloak, the droid struck us all, I imagined, as a dangerous, menacing figure. The ease of its gait, far more natural and graceful than the staff back at my own home, combined with its decidedly "human" swagger sent a clear message that here was a state of the art engine of destruction.
A couple of, no doubt, habitual twirls of its powered down electrostaff in its inhumanly dexterous and capable hands let us know that it was a close-combat specialist too. It had to be considering the familiar Iridonian. If it were not for the setting, and the protocols of close order drill, I would have gone to greet him at once.
"Officer on deck!" that was the next best thing I could offer.
The trio soon arrived before us, and after a little pacing on the battle droid's part to get their distance, the droid turned to address us first, his digitized manly, bombastic letting us know that he was indeed a "He":
"PLAH-TOON: A-TEN-HUUUNGH!"
Why he sounded just like an Army Drill Sergeant, too. He took a moment to survey us in good order, before taking a step back and to the side, turning things over to a bonafide Bureau legend:
"At ease, cadets!"
A mild hubbub rose as we were allowed to relax in earnest at last, and certainly, Grandfather was an immediate hot topic. A striking sight to behold he was, with his aqua-hued skin, golden eyes, and mane of dark hair. He was battle ready in a glossy black electromesh battlesuit and "Olde Ye Faithful" at the ready by his side. His horns and the facial tattoos, which seemed to create the delusion that he had a second pair of eyes upon his brow, completed his famed moniker: "The Blue Daemon".
"Good morning, cadets!" his unfailing bass boomed out in a more kindly tone.
"Good morning, Sir!" already the air about us was beginning to change with a peculiar restless anticipation that I could not quite explain. Was it because the Sergeant Major had left? Or was it because everyone, including myself, shared the same mutual thought of what was about to happen?
"I am Colonel Jaohm, special attaché to Lord Admiral Hood at FLEETCOM, Segmentum-Your-Present-Security-Clearance-Doesn't-Cover-It. Reputably a Sword Saint, at least according to the esteemed eyes of my colleagues, I am your guest speaker for the day, due to certain --- extenuating circumstances."
Another round of whispers and murmurs went through the ranks behind me. Not surprising, when you tried to account for the two bombshells Grandfather had dropped into our laps. I think, he would have already earned all ears with just his certification as a "Sword Saint", which spoke volumes of his martial prowess.
"To my left is Sergeant RL-5, an IG-100 Self-Motivating Heuristically Programmed Combat Droid, A-K-A the MagnaGuard series, from Holowan Mechanicals."
"Hooah! Another a glorious day in the Union Army, Sir!" the droid came smartly to a modified "rifle" salute, using his electrostaff, with enviable precision timing.
"In other words, he is both a capable bodyguard and battle droid. The sergeant has participated in numerous combat actions, and had the unenviable luck of being ordered to engage the Jedi, during the regrettable hours of Order 66."
"It was a good fight. I held them off for a good five minutes, before I --- made a mistake. Sir, a moment's silence?"
What? A battle droid that makes mistakes!?
"Certainly. Cadets: let us pray."
Order 66 will always be a sour point in the greatest war ever fought in the galaxy. Back then, the Bureau was not around yet, but our congressmen had deployed our forces under the banner of the Union J.S.F. or Joint Strike Force, as our contribution to the Grand Army of the Republic. Separate from the chain of command, we were encouraged to operate independently or cooperate with the GAR to "achieve peace in the galaxy", which was the same privilege given to other member states of the Republic, whom had pledged their private forces to the war effort. The reasoning was that normal "regulars" would impede upon the efficiency and espirit de corps of the all clone army, led by the Jedi and select officers of the Judicial Forces.
Of course, we had an incentive to fight as did the other allied nations, but to be there when Supreme Chancellor Palpatine --- nay --- the Sith Lord, Darth Sidious showed his true colors at last, left a ghastly after taste in our mouths. What if the culling had not stopped with the Jedi? What if he had turned the Guns of the Republic against us as well? How would we have responded against the might of the entire galaxy?
None of it ever happened because the Sith, naturally, are creatures of betrayal, but...
"Amen."
Eyes on.
"I am not going to subject to the torture of a longwinded lecture on the importance of what you are about embark upon, cadets. The phrase: actions speak louder than words, has always proven to be the best teacher in my experience. Therefore, the sergeant and I will be putting on a demonstration, and if it isn't clear to you yet, neither myself nor he are...Mages."
There was hardly a moment's pause for shock, before a titanic crackling clash broke out: humming blue meeting scintillating purple.
"HARK: Hear me, 'O Children of the Light! Some day that fated hour will dawn, when you will come upon each other: your enemy! You mustn't rely on magick. It is but a tool, fickle and transient. Master it, a part of you it shall become, but not the totality of you. For that day, your claws, teeth, eyes, ears, hands, and feet must be ready...! When you can cry, 'ENEMY'! When you can shout, 'MY ENEMY'! I believe...! Believe that chance will come!"
What in...! This feeling. Those words... Where have I heard... I feel --- the colors are...bleeding?
"Il Forte! Today's very important! You promised you would try to wake up early today!"
"'ey, 'ey, 'ey, ain't it the li'l prince himself!"
"Tch. Silver tongued, aren't you? A mark of an officer, and of a liar. I hope you're not too in love with the sound of your own voice!"
It was...some time later(?) that I regained consciousness, oddly, standing up. Something had happened, did it not? I remembered... I can't remember? No, there was something new, memories that were not there before: unfamiliar voices and words, but all addressed to this "Il Forte". I --- I could almost see, taste, smell, but...
PAIN.
On reflex, a glove clad hand, my hand, shot up, grabbing a fistful of leather, whining a peep under the intense tension, but failing to claw into my aching chest. It was like a swarm of pygmy fire ants, the poison burning deep, beneath easy flesh, and straight into the throbbing heart. A voiceless snarl twisted my expression, as another blackening hand fumbled through jumbled memories, grabbing blindly for the bottle of - vision doubling, air sweltering, salt...
"Art thou unwell, young lord?" a voice interrupted, and let slip through my nerveless hand the now so precious bottle.
It was quite a horrible sight, all in slow motion, watching the white little thing fall to the ground. There would be questions. Questions I was not authorized to answer, and then, eve-ry-thing. would. fall. a...
The bottle hit the toe of a black boot, instead, bounced upwards in a unbelievably lucky parabolic arc. I made to reach for it, but another set of black clad hands, not mine, intercepted it first. Pop went the top, along with all the blood in my face rushing down south to my bowels from unspeakable horror, the debilitating pain forgotten for a moment. Dark sky, shrieking wind, and thunderbolts: the overwhelming weight of doom, imminent, hovered over me no different from the certain, patient scythe of the Grim Reaper.
Thoughts of how I could possibly outmaneuver my wonderful disaster was put on hold by a helpful reminder of my nocireceptors: the kind reminiscent of a Mandalorian crushgaunt reducing someone's to congealed "watermelon". Naturally, I grew faint but the unexpected struck again for I was caught, something shoved into my trembling hand, and forced into my gaping mouth. Gag reflex exacerbated the instant, but as there was an abundance of liquid gel capsules tumbling right in, my only real choice was to swallow, having forgotten to breath through my nose.
I have no recollection of how many I swallowed, likely more than what was safe, but the effect was instantaneous, sweeping me away in an analgesic induced "high". Whoever was supporting me, a steady hand against my shoulder, must have seen the glassy film appear on my now heavy-lidded eyes for the near empty bottle was then withdrawn. Now, allowing my pseudo light-headed gaze to level back down did they bear witness to my "savior".
"N-n-Nina Wang?!" try as I might I could not help but gape, as mine met her stern amber-hued eyes.
She did not reply immediately, instead bringing us closer to loop her arm through the crook of mine so she do away with the incriminating bottle, returning it to me(!). Then, did Nina speak, barely louder than a husky whisper, as she produced a wad of tissues, "Young lord, thy nose."
"Uh, yes?"
Obviously, I did not catch her meaning in my daze, but she took my words as an affirmation to do what she intended and gently pinched my nose shut with the aforementioned tissues. I was robbed of word and breath. The gesture was unusual, to say the least, and under the intense focus of her gaze, a blush damnably crept onto my face. Was this the sort of "preferred" treatment Nagi Dai Artai received on a regular basis? Well, I suppose, I have experienced something similar from my household's droid staff, but...erm... It felt close to a moment with Mother or Grandmother, but somehow, vastly different...
When she finally withdrew did the cause for her solicitous behavior become clear. A nosebleed?! Why was my nosebleeding?
"Th-Thank you, Nina," but even in my bewilderment, apparently, good manners had not failed me.
"'Twas nothing," she replied as per rote, pocketing away yet another piece of evidence.
Then, I noticed the young Maid of Honor had made no move to separate herself from me. My bewilderment grew, naturally, and I began to observe and fumble around as to her motives. Her unwaveringly ascetic gaze struck down the crackpot possibility of affection or physical attraction instantly, but such a wild theory, also allowed me to take in my surroundings into account. We were still in the gymnasium, mostly empty, save there was an animated conversation, verily so, emanating from behind the ultramarine-haired girl. The voices were recognizably that of Nagi, Ryuune, and my grandfather.
Could it be she was shielding me from their line of sight? And why did their words sound a little --- muted?
My body spoke for me, and Nina deduced correctly so, "Worry not, young lord. She will not ask of thee what thou cannot or will not speak of."
This girl...
"But if it is thy wish to keep this silent, it would be best to ask an oath of this one. Do not feel burdened for asking such a thing. My Lord favors thee with much adoration, and as such this one is obligated to thee as per His wishes. Even should thou come to blows with His Lordship, She will not betray thy words, unless thou should release Her."
What a thing to say, yet coming from a mortal being, made of flesh-and-blood, it felt overwhelmingly powerful.
I believed her, "Th-Thank you."
"It is done," Nina breathed deeply, "Are thou well enough to stand?"
"Yes," at least, I thought so.
"Then, we shall part here."
Like a bubble popping, sound and the heat of the gymnasium came rushing right back, as if they were moving to fill in a void. An epiphany struck me but a heartbeat later, making my jaw drop again. Nina Wang. I watched her efficiently stride back to the animated gathering, and their eyes turn to, encouraging me to join them, boisterously. That girl...
Had she used a spell without a device?
Alas, there was no time to consider my newest mystery further, for soon I found myself being nearly manhandled over by a hissing mad Corellian hellcat. Guess our mutual little puck managed to set her off somehow or another again.
In the past, I never had much of a thought on spending "down time" with Grandfather. Being with him, Mother, or Grandmother was a circumstance that happened to be, and my then younger self simply accepted to be fact. The very concept of "down time" had not existed, until I had stepped out from beyond the woods of our ancestral home. Now, there was a such ideas as time management, schedules, deadlines, milestones, standards, and of course, relationships to which I had been wholly oblivious. How strange it was that a matter of months could change a growing boy's perspective so much?
I wonder how much more I will change by the time I graduate.
"What troubles you, son?" Grandfather rumbled forth, seated across on a folding chair. His left arm was notably hanging limp in a sling and he sported a fresh bacta-laced bandage around his forehead. From the premises, I deduced the demonstration "duel" between himself and Sergeant RL-5, which I had no recollection of to my private disturbance, had gotten quite spirited.
"It has been some time since we last met face to face, father," I, too, was seated after the same fashion.
Thanks to the machinations of Nagi Dai Artai, the rest of our "whimsical" troupe had up and disappeared on account of giving me a private moment with the colonel. The reasoning went that they had been hogging his attentions the entire time; therefore, I was entitled to monopolize him, too. I thought it strange they did not know of my relation to him, but if they had not asked, Grandfather was never the type of man to volunteer information off-handedly.
As for why we addressed each other as such, well, it was a simple question of respect, and a bit of awkward tale of my much younger self recognizing him to be my father. I was only a babe then, and I just happened to acknowledge the big blue-skinned daemon to be my patriarch. Children, as I will come to realize some day down the line, are prone to fantastic attachment, and always, old habit die hard. Of course, I was educated to who my father was truly...
Kinda hard to call a Mr. Hero, who was barely ever there, 'Pops', ain't it?
What.
"Steady!"
A voice?
"Ca...!"
Must have been...
"Chrono!"
Just like that the haze lifted, and I returned to the surface of consciousness: a breath of fresh air.
"I'm... I'm... Who?" I blurted out, a fool, a hand, my hand pressing up against my temple.
"Chrono, speak: what ails you?"
Grandfather: he looked so worried. No choice.
I smiled, "Ah, it's nothing," and lied, "just a little jet lag is all."
Of course, it was not all a lie, but how casually I reacted struck a disturbing discord in me. Grandmother had forced such a fate on me --- no, that was childish and unlike what a Le Fay would do... I accepted this power with my own free will. It had its price. I could only hope he would understand.
Soki Jaohm of Le Fay glowered down at me. It appeared Grandfather was an experienced disassembler and my feint had been seen through rather easily, or perhaps... "Son. Did Morgan come through-"
I was saved an interrogation by the untimely ping of a PDA: the ring tone indicating urgency and one that did not belong to me, either. With great vehemence, the proud Iridonian warrior rose, and stepped away, with the awkward ponder of a predator forced to abandon his kill. For a second, he even considered crushing his PDA outright, before whatever he saw on the screen evidently changed his mind, moving further away for some semblance of privacy.
Sweet Mother of Mysteries, how did he know about Grandmother's visit? Then again, I did not know much about how they operated in their professional lives. Grandfather, obviously, was a military man, but as for Grandmother Morgan, it was anybody's guess what she did, though I imagine it was quite important.
What seemed like an eternity later, Soki returned, and impossibly, he seemed even more angry than before. Glowering terribly, his eyes like molten furnaces and looking every bit the daemon, Grandfather managed to wrangle in his broiling temper; one that I believe was in my best interests never to experience. However, I was not to escape entirely unscathed, barring my onerous feelings of guilt.
FLIP!
"I wished we had not met under these circumstances. Here, your birthday present."
Bouncing off my freshly smarting cheek was a "smartcard": this one, a transparent pocket-sized specimen with embedded integrated circuits that can process data. Also, it bore a logo "S", with ascending and descending rungs in between that gave off the impression of a double helix, colored a cyan aqua-hue.
"Class IV Tech License with the Sirta Foundation. They do good work. Keep it safe until the time comes you can register it under your name; they cost good credits, so do not go losing it. I believe, they will give you a class on that soon enough."
Truth be told, it was a heaven sent leg up once I began to build my first device.
"Son, the next time we meet face to face, I pray tomorrow will be better, and that, someday, we can sit back and laugh about it all. May you find shelter and water."
The last Grandfather had spoken in his native tongue, a traditional goodbye, considering the harsh, nigh-inhospitable nature of Iridonia. His cryptic parting words unsettled me and became a haunting hound that followed all the way to Saturday. Adding to the list of my worries, the chronic pain in my body had not subsided, and with great difficulty, I had stocked up on over-the-counter painkillers, stashing them away in my bedroom. It was hard to say if it was phantom or a pathological in nature. What could not be denied that it was real.
My only saving grace was there had not been another incidence of memory lapse, nor that of hearing voices in my head. There was a plenty of reasons for concern. I had encountered far too many "extraordinary" happenings, since my first steps here, a normal, civilized space that should have been different from my ancestral. Yet against my expectations, they were happening. Could it have something to do with the Ziggurat? Or worse, was I the focal point for all of this "madness"?
The Burning Man. This Il Forte. The Blackouts. The Voice.
It was too much, and I had no answers.
Of course, I would not speak of such things to my small circle friends. I never dreamed it would end up this way but there was no denying the circle made of myself, Ryuune Zoldark, Nagi Dai Artai, and Nina Wang had all become guilty by association. We shared many of the same classes together, the same free periods, the same electives... It was simply impossible to get away from each other, which was a good thing for the Corellian and I, as the prince's influence could not be denied.
No one had the gall to touch us, yet, and a chance would come surely.
Nina, true to her word and my relief, had not spoken a word of what had transpired between us to Nagi. Her whimsical lord did not give the slightest indication that he knew. That said, I was forced to grace uncomfortably close to disaster when he broached the subject of Grandfather's demonstrative duel with Sergeant RL-5. Lady Luck was on my side, and I managed to wrangle not only himself, but Ryuune, into retelling the spar, with great bravado and panache. Evidently, they were both quite enamored with the colonel.
As for why you would find all four of us gathered in a largely abandoned office, the building located somewhere in the Aurum Quarter, on a weekend... Well, two of them decided to tag along because I could not convince them otherwise that it would be a big fat waste of time. The reason we are here was because the Student Council demanded a complete audit of the Student Disciplinary Committee, my rather ponderous new responsibility, by Sunday morning.
It sounded like a lot, and I would not know where to start, so I asked if I would be able to meet with Illyasviel von Einzbern and her staff... Imagine my astonishment when I learned they had all up and transferred away. The intriguing drama soon ballooned out of proportion, with a blistering migraine and a touch of paranoid guilt, when I came across a dataslate waiting for me in the tyrant's chair.
A letter of resignation with a list of digital signatures, more than I care to count, and a short word from the old blood noble herself: Cepi corpus. Ego te damnatio ad oblivione, Arbiter. It was High Gothic simply for, "I have the body. I damn you to oblivion, Judge."
At that moment, all I could do was sigh heavily and hit the delete key. What I did not expect myself to do, on reflex, an empathic violent impulse triggered from me sitting to me standing: a chair clattered, an arm shot out, a grey blur accelerated with a whoosh, and three bodies barely clearing out the way in time. An ugly shatter followed suit, as the poor dataslate splattered against the old wooden door, before thudding onto the tiled floor lifeless.
Silence reigned supreme, but my expression, unknown to myself, was said to be something so terrible that no one dared to question my actions, at least so I was told much later. Of course, ever duplicitous Nag broke the deathly pause with a laugh, even as Nina still stood bent over rigid to shield him possibly with her own body, and moved straight on to a question that I would answer.
"So, Friend Chrono, what is to become of the Student Disciplinary Committee?"
"We are disbanding," I told him, flatly.
"Wait...WHAT!" Ryuune spluttered, wide-eyed. "Have you gone loony, Harlaown? I just finally got myself ready to accept this stupid job, and now, you're going to quit? What happened to that talk we had a while ago?"
"All sacrifices considered, 'tis not a task that can be done humanly with just two people. And I-"
"Well, I cannot supply you an army, but..."
"Forget it, Nagi," I cut him off. "If I walk into that council meeting tomorrow-"
The fool ripostes nimbly, undaunted in the slightest by my dismissal, "Results I can provide, Friend."
"...results, you say..."
"I cannot grant you an army, but what this humble puck can offer you, Lord Oberon, is a protector with great potential and all the eyes and ears you can ever hope to need."
A Protector? Eyes and ears?
"Oi, Nagi, you're not seriously asking Nina to join us, are you?" Ryuune gave him a hard, flinty stare. Suffice to say, she was not keen on the idea, not because of any lacking qualities on behalf of our young Maid of Honor, but of what was to happen to the girl. "There's no way you can protect us all once we get serious. Remember? You're the frakkin' Green Collar. Favors. Creds. Power. Mr. Middleman never gets his own hands dirty."
"Exactly," beamed the albino boy, "that is why I am offering my dear Nina's services to you, at an astonishing disaccount. The Fool will still buy and sell as always, but it does not mean I do not have preferred clients, yes?"
Leave it to Nagi Dai Artai to find the logistical means to make the impossible possible and deepen my debts to him even more. The hard resolve of transparisteel liquefied, as I propped back up the dark executive chair and flopped myself back into it, a debased sulking warlord, shaken.
Next, and behold did Nina speak, "Honorable Chrono Harlaown, by your grace, this one would spake thusly: thou should not shirk thy duty. She has heard of the price paid so that thou would reside now in this office. Blood. Sweat. Tears. Time. None of these should have been spilled had thy no interest to be a fair steward."
Increasingly I began to feel like a spoiled brat, and the subtle accusation was true. The right thing, the Le Fay thing to do at this point would to brush off the grim reality and follow through with what I meant to do in the first place: accept it all.
"Suppose I accept your assistance, you of Artai. Just what am I to do next?"
The answer came in a near choreographed staccato.
"A name."
"Ideals."
Great.
"What if I said I am daft with names and ideals?"
Now, Ryuune Zoldark of all people joined the divine comedy, with a wide toothy smile.
"Judgment. We stand for Justice, Compassion, and Espirt de Corps. We can't fight everyone's battles for 'em, but we'll try to win the ones that matter, right?"
Sigh.
"I cannot dissuade you all, can I?"
The answer was unanimous, and so the Student Disciplinary Committee was reborn: Judgment, a bunch of bungling self-styled Idiots of Justice.
To be continued...
Author's Notes:
Well, there you have it. Entry 1.24 in all of its glory. Thoughts, feelings, questions: hey, fire away, fellas. As far as this episode goes, mostly wrapping up a few old threads / housekeeping plus a taste of reality, and I dare say is the AXE effect taking hold again? Don't sweat you all; next chappie is pretty much eighty-percent done as of this posting. That should be up by mid-March, real life willing, while I crack away at 1.26. I almost feel bad this little bit childhood is about to end. Seriously, we're almost done here, and the next couple of cycles are gonna fly by fast.
Oh yeah, time for a small advertising service announcement thingie here: if y'all get bored in between waiting for new episodes, be it anime, manga, or fanfiction and whatnot, but you're dying for a fresh/unique AU fic go read Kara no Kyokai: The Borderline to Emptiness by Tempest Dynasty in the Naruto section. I guarantee, he is the only fella who has the guts to fuse Magical Lyrical Nanoha with Naruto and the infamous Warhammer 40K gothic-scifi military tabletop game series. Give it a shot; you won't regret it.
Thank you all for tuning in and remember, I always encourage each and everyone of you to feel free to comment, review, and/or discuss the story. Your comments can really make a difference, I assure you, and if you're up to it, feel free to ring me up on AIM, or even send me an e-mail (although you really don't need to boost my ego too often). You know how to get in touch with the maestro here.
Tsudzuku!