A New Tabitha

The sprawling complex of Silph Corporation did, obviously, not burn down to the ground. That much destruction was beyond the powers of one single pokemon. The fire brigade had a hard time taming the eerie flames the Haunter had left, but apart from the lower west wing, there was not too much damage, and eventually the flames faded away, leaving just a strange smell of marsh gas that mixed with London's smog and finally evaporated. The basement did collapse, and the west wing was ruined indeed, but that was it, really. And there were hardly any casualties. It didn't take Silph too much money to convince people that nothing at all had happened.

Because there were clearly was no signs of terrorism, a rival company, spies, or aliens, it surely had been an accident. Circuits failing, the sprinklers and fire alarms not responding, something like that. Stranger things happened each day.

The public mind lost interest hardly two days after the fire, and it was barely worth the news when Silph announced that the west wing would be rebuild to house an arboretum. Crossbreeding some rare plants really was not interesting at all, as long as they were not alien plants.

Some weeks after the fire in the west wing, however, six funerals took place. They clearly were not connected to the events of that certain night, and most of them went completely unnoticed. They were all rather sparse, and rumour had it that six rather well-trained security guards had fallen prey to a monster that roamed the basements of Silph Corporation. As an urban legend, it was just the right amount of totally tasteless, totally unbelievable, and totally true.

The morning after the fire, Warrington's secretary made an offer to pay someone a few dollars to bring flowers to the widow Sullivan, and some more dollars to tell her that she actually was a widow. Even the owner of Silph could not really deliver this punch line. It was innately unfunny. There was a general shuffling of feet.

But some young guard who had some free time on his hands volunteered when the staff was feverishly looking for anyone to bring a bunch of roses to an elderly lady.

Gregory walked the few minutes to Sullivan's house in deep thought. He knew a bit more about the fire than most of the staff, and he did not believe what everyone else said: That they had found Sullivan's tattered coat and shirt, but nothing else. You knew a man was in a fire and found nothing but a bit of clothing, so he had to be devoured by the flames?

No fire fighter would believe such a heap of bullshit, but would have to agree that it could be true. Yes- highly unlikely, but it could happen. But Gregory had heard and seen a bit too much. The fire had left no ashes, for example. No scorches. It was as if it had been a fire without heat and smoke. He remembered the fractured bits Bradley had quoted from his wretched little book. In a world where spiders had their legs on the back, smokeless fire was pretty easy to believe in.

He was aware, though, that sometimes life likes to rehearse some little cliché, and maybe Sullivan had really died in the flames. So he took a short moment to compose himself before he knocked, and tried his best not to stare when, after a while, an elderly woman in a wheelchair opened. She had no legs, and wore a thick blanket to cover the stumps. He cleared his throat, and reminded himself that maybe she would laugh at his news.

"Er, Mrs. Sullivan? You are Andrew Sullivan's wife?"

"That is correct, young man. You work for Silph? Then we are co-workers, in a way. Would you like to come in?"

"I, er, come on behalf of Mister Warrington."

"He sent me an e-mail already."

"Oh? Ah, he did?"

She blinked her eyes. There was a slight sparkle that could have been a tear.

"What is your name, young man?"

"Er, Hayes, madam. Gregory."

"Ah. And tell me, Mr. Hayes, would you stomp on a spider if you saw one?"

This time, she very clearly winked. Gregory felt a great relief.

"No, madam."

"And if it were a very large one? They can scare some people, you know, when they are all large."

"Still negative, madam. I've met some mighty fine spiders."

He must have passed some sort of test, obviously, and hoped that what he thought was true was, indeed, true. The now-officially-widow nodded happily.

"How charming. Then please, come in. I shall make some tea, and you are to tell me the big lie Warrington seems to take for a fact. We shall compare your version to the one in his mail, yes? I enjoy a good laugh, you know?"

"It would be a pleasure", said Gregory, returning her smile, and followed her in.

When Gregory returned from the poor widow an hour later, he carefully asked his way around the tangled structure of Silph until he found the most stupid, well-paid, remote person who was able to sign his quitting papers. He made a spirited speech about a dead uncle, a small pension, a house in the woods and possibly a small dog, too. He signed his papers and left Silph forever that very evening. On the way to his car, he absolutely accidentally failed to see an elderly nurse, who was so clearly offended by this lack of manners that she spontaneously agreed to have him driving her home.

Home, in their very special case, meant Birmingham, where Gregory did some financial transactions on Mrs. Sullivan's behalf.

Andrew Sullivan had a real man's hobby room. It had everything- a small refrigerator, shelves full of obscure little tinker toys, even a small model railroad. On a makeshift desk with mismatches legs, a partly assembled model ship stood next to a large bottle. On the bottleneck there was a sticky note: Does Not Actually Work! There was the smell of sawdust and oil. One small window allowed a pale sun to play on tools and assorted junk.

It was the kind of room someone who uses very complicated tools to manipulate very small things regularly visits, just to remember himself that with some patience, even the devices to splice genes have, somewhere, a hammer and a screwdriver in their pedigree.

Andrew Sullivan carefully placed the capturing orb on the table, displacing the model ship and carelessly tossing the bottle aside. He stared at the orb as if the device was actively sneering at him. Pete sat down and rested his head in his hands. It had been a hard days night indeed.

"So…", sighed the ex-engineer, "she fights like an animal, she displays pokemon combat behaviour, and she actually attempted to eat a ghost."

"I think it was the stress. She snapped. Who wouldn't have?"

"Shall I repeat my summary, Pete? That wasn't human behaviour!"

"She did it to defend her owner, Doc."

"Yes, that's the next thing. I can't own a human."

"You do own a pokemon."

"Ridiculous. You know what? I don't! I don't want to."

He made an angry pause.

"These orb things", Sullivan said, "are inhuman."

"They were never intended to be used on humans, I think."

"Yes, and you know Scientific Rule 34b, right?"

"Always use a name with more than two syllables?"

"No matter what its original use, any harmless device will eventually be abused."

"Yeah, that one. Yes, I think it's true. Someone always will think just like Bradley."

Sullivan gently touched the orb, and it snapped open. Tabitha appeared in a flashing shape of red energy and formed right at Sullivan's side. She remained motionless, watching him intently, not saying a word but scanning the room. If she wondered where she was or how she'd got there, it didn't show.

"That", Sullivan said, and actually pointed, "is no longer Miss Carlyle. She has not yet said something charming, and she has not mentioned tentacles."

"Pokemon. She's yours now, Doc. The orb really must have an effect. As long as it is used on pokemon, it's a useful effect. Something like a taming aid."

"No. This is not how an animal should be treated. Having a machine that forces and breaks it into obedience?"

"It is only one factor, right? The orbs are just one puzzle piece, one factor of many." Pete waved the Gladiator's Journey- the only thing they had been able to snatch away from Bradley. That and one strange little blue stone with a teardrop engraved into it. Tabitha had eagerly offered, in English that got more fractured by the minute, to return into the building and get more. She had been doggishly brave indeed. The way she had carried her supervisor… animal, Pete thought. There was only pet loyalty left of a cheerful, rather innocent and quite independent woman.

"One factor, but a major one. An artificial one!", snapped his senior.

"Pokemon seem to enjoy being owned, though."

"What can we do, Pete?"

"I don't know, Doc. I know what we can't do: Stay here. When we stay, Silph will sooner or later find us. They will. I don't think I'll have to draw you a picture what'll happen when they find us. Or Tabby."

"tah-by", giggled the girl, amused at the sound of the name. Sullivan looked as if he wanted to slap her across the face. He stoop up, and searched his workbenches for something.

"This stops now, Miss Carlyle", he rumbled, and took a large hammer.

He sat down.

He took the capturing orb.

"Do you see this? Do you see this fancy little ball here? Well, Miss Carlyle, then watch my magic trick!"

He brought the hammer down on the orb. There was a crunch, and the device broke. The table sagged, too, the blow had been so hard. A faint glow escaped from the capturing device. Tabitha blinked, and then clutched at her face.

"Ow! Argh, oh man! That… stings!", she moaned. Then she looked up at Andrew Sullivan, and her eyes softened.

"Thank you", she said, her voice perfectly normal.