42. Old Acquaintance

"... So I understand how you couldn't come along for that intervention-thing Nanoha organised to help out the Harlaowns – it was Nanoha who came up with that, right? Thought so. Code Black, Capital Defence Forces freaking out, mountains of paperwork... all that. What I don't get is why you lot never asked me to help out. I mean do you have any idea how long I've been hoping to try out my theories on separately-targeted mass-teleportation? I even spent most of my free time practicing that Dr. Manhattan line." Yuuno's voice flanged eerily. "You will all return to your homes."

"Well, I'm very sorry about that," Hayate replied through a mouthful of suspicious-smelling pizza, "but we thought you'd be far too busy. How were we supposed to know that you were wasting your time on overrated Western comic books?"

"Hey, don't knock Moore until you've tried him. Besides, you should count yourself lucky that I'm showing an interest in your planet's fiction at all, after how Vita decided to introduce me to it. What was it again, Urotsuki-something-or-other? 'Research into the cultural impact of the Book of Darkness on primitive civilisations', my left foot."

The colonel's giggle turned into a cough and she doubled over, narrowly avoiding death by pickled herring Napolitano. "I... hwee... I remember that. It was when Admiral Graham was paying a visit, wasn't it? There was this scream from the other room, then this little brown blur, and then you were halfway up the admiral's trouser-leg before any of us could react..."

Yuuno felt his face burning. "Look, the ferret thing's a registered anxiety disorder, all right? It's not like I make a deliberate habit of burying myself inside naval officers' clothing when something startles me. Besides, I don't think that the Tome of the Night Sky ever... wait... did it?"

"No."

"Oh. Um. Good. You're sure?"

"Very sure. Incidentally, why were you over then? Maybe it was just my imagination, but you seemed to be around an awful lot when he was doing his supervisory visits. Before those documents about the Book of Darkness Incident got declassified enough for me to read them, I... mean... oh, right. Ah... thanks."

The librarian waved his hands frantically. "Oh, no need to thank me, really. It was Nanoha's idea. Well, sort of. It was more that she mentioned in passing that we might want to keep an eye on good old Gil – I mean, yes, Inspector Acous did vouch for him, but seriously, who trusts that guy the first time they meet him? – and I kind of... ran with it."

Hayate's face fell for no readily discernible reason. "Oh. Nanoha. Of course. Did she... did she suggest this dinner as well? Because if she did, then you... ah... you really didn't need to go to all this effort on my account. I could have quite happily cooked us a meal myself instead of all this" – she indicated the sumptuous banquet and vast, glittering room – "and saved you from having to put in the effort. I mean, not that I'm not grateful, you understand, but, you know, the effort... which I've mentioned three times already, and-"

"No, no, my idea. Definitely my idea. Sorry about all the pomp, but... well, it was my treat and my budget, and I sort of had to pick the Dragon." He grinned. "It was either that, or subject you to an unforgivable lapse in quality when compared to your food." My word, that was almost suave.

For the second time that evening, Colonel Yagami turned bright pink, mumbled incoherently for a bit, and then went quiet.

"It is... ah... very good food," she finally ventured. "Very tasty."

"Oh yes," Yuuno blurted with rather too much enthusiasm, desperately trying to keep the conversation going without another stall. "The dim sum selection especially. I should really schedule a trip to England, try some from the source. Maybe on my next scheduled leave."

Half a dozen expressions flickered over his dinner-partner's face, before fading into the sort of amused indulgence that told him he'd just got Earthborn culture spectacularly wrong again. "... Sure, Yuuno. You can try that. Just... don't ask for it deep-fried next time. Trust me on this."

He chewed a dumpling contemplatively, resigning himself to the fact that the mystery of its actual country of origin would probably keep him up for the rest of the night. "Ah, yes. I was wondering about that."

It took him a while to notice the intent manner in which Hayate was studying his face. "Is something wrong?"

She practically jumped out of the chair, before forcing a crooked smile. "N-no, nothing. I was... I was just thinking that you look much better when you're not worrying about things."

This time, it was his turn to chuckle. "I thought we'd agreed not to talk about that."

"Right. Um, sorry."

It wasn't working. Even he could see that. They were both just too twitchy, too high-strung to engage in anything as complex as having a meal in the middle of a restaurant. He didn't know whether it was the stress from both their jobs, the lingering pall of Chaos across the city, the intimidating glitziness of the Dragon, or (a small, treacherous part of his hindbrain suggested) just the fact that someone who he had until recently considered something like a younger sister was sitting across from him wearing that dress, but they either needed to do something about it, or call the whole thing off.

Fortunately, he had a solution.

There were certain times in history when the hand of destiny could be physically felt, moments when the multiverse held its breath as the luxury liner cruised towards a lurking mountain of ice, the respected historian picked up the obviously-forged diary whilst reaching for his wallet... and Chief Librarian Yuuno Scrya spoke twelve particular words.

"So, Hayate, think we should give this place's drinks menu a go?"


The problem with using alcohol to relax, Yuuno glumly reflected, was that it required both of you to actually be able to hold your liquor. Which, as it turned out, Hayate couldn't. At all.

He stood on the pavement outside the White Dragon, with a shield held over his head to stave off the downpour (which only seemed to have worsened since he'd last been outside), and one arm supporting a thoroughly soused citykiller mage. He had elected to leave early, stumbling over his apologies to the staff whilst Hayate belted out an incoherent (and stunningly explicit) Ancient Belkan drinking song that she had presumably learned from Vita. The sole mercy was that he doubted she knew what half the lyrics meant, though he couldn't be sure that the same went for some of the older customers, who had started giving them funny looks as he gently herded her out of the door. He would have to remember never to tell her, either; the last thing he needed was an embarrassment-related death on his hands.

Teleporting whilst drunk was right out, which meant standing around in the cold and rain for an indeterminate amount of time until another taxi deigned to pick them up. All this would have been tolerable, though, if he had been able to shake the feeling that the disaster the evening had turned into was entirely his fault.

"You know, you could have warned me," he grumbled. "Preferably before I'd ordered the bottle of Arcturan Megavodka."

"... 'rry," she muttered indistinctly, headbutting his shoulder as she leaned against him.

Yuuno sighed. "Never mind. I probably should have asked before skipping straight to the heavy stuff, and I definitely should have been paying attention. I just hope you didn't think I was pressuring you... wait, was I pressuring you? For the Kaiser's sake, please tell me I wasn't-"

An erratically-wobbling hand moved to cover his mouth, almost shoving itself up his nose in the process, and he fell silent.

"Shee, thish right here's yer problem, Yuuno," Hayate proclaimed. "It'sh... it'sh the blaming yourself. The bottling. Heh... bottling. Anyway, what I'm saying ish... ish... ish that you need to shtop with the isholating yourself. The noble shuffering. It'sh not healthy. I mean, it'sh not ash if you're the only one. You seen the dead in yer dreamsh? You realise that you couldn't remember shome of their names? You ever wonder if... if maybe this ish something that can't be fixed by just scheduling some criminals for rehabilitation sessions? You wonder if the folks in what'sh left of GovCentral are wondering 'bout that too, and what answers they're going to shtart coming up with?"

She paused, taking a deep breath. Yuuno, for his part, remained silent, though he might have squeezed his arm slightly tighter around her. The voice in his hindbrain informed him that this was the done thing to do in this situation.

"But that'sh irrelevant. Not important. Forget I mentioned it. We're talking about... about you, right? Your problems. 'Cos you've got them, right? You've definitely got them. I mean, jusht take that whole Nanoha thing. What're... what're you trying to prove there? I mean, sure, fine, can't have her sho you might as well be a good friend to her, that makesh sense, but you... you're just martyring yourself. It'sh like... it'sh like you know one option'sh not gonna work, an' you can't even regishter that you might have anyone else interested in... oh, screw it."

Yuuno had opened his mouth again in an attempt to speak, but did not even manage to start a sentence. This was because Colonel Hayate Yagami promptly took advantage of the opening and stuck her tongue down his throat.

What happened next was, of course, involuntary, but as the librarian reflected once he was once more capable of coherent thought, there were certain things that demanded an apology, anxiety disorder or no. One of them, not to be overly specific, was panicking, emitting a blinding flash of green light, turning into a small, carnivorous animal of the type Mustela putoris furo, and falling into the front of an old friend's cocktail dress. Especially when it was at that precise moment that the long-overdue taxi finally rounded the corner.

The drive to the transporter terminal was very, very quiet.


Signum was waiting for them when they finally arrived at Hayate's quarters in the central office, her Barrier Jacket activated and Laevantien at her hip. She did not say a word as they managed the arduous task of attempting to navigate their way through the door, nor as she helped point her mistress in a vaguely bedwards direction. Once that was done, though, Yuuno felt an inhumanly strong hand clamp around his wrist and drag him into an adjacent room.

"Scrya. In here. Now."

Almighty Sankt Kaiser, saviour of us all, I commend my unworthy soul to your infinite benevolence. Just... not yet. Please?

He was lifted bodily, his feet dangling in the air, and slammed against the nearest wall without quite the amount of force required to inflict permanent damage. Laevantien's blade halted less than an inch from his throat, held back by a faint green aura. Yuuno thought (hoped) that the Wolkenritter would have stopped in time anyway, but that was no reason not to raise a shield just in case.

"It is now several hours after midnight," Signum stated levelly.

Oh crap...

"For what I believe to be the first time in her life, Mistress Hayate is severely inebriated."

Oh crap, oh crap...

"There is lipstick on your face."

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap...

"Do you have an explanation for this, Scrya?"

"I turned into a ferret! It doesn't count if you turn into a ferret!" The librarian's desperate wail could have been heard halfway across the station.

There was a long, pregnant pause as Yuuno's brain slowly caught up with his mouth. "Umm... that is... I mean..."

Slowly, cautiously, and without breaking eye contact for a moment, Signum lowered him to the ground, let go of his collar, and took several steps back, before carefully wiping her gauntlets.

"I have no interest in the details of your bizarre proclivities, Scrya," she said eventually, "so long as Mistress Hayate is not further involved in them."

"Right," Yuuno babbled, overjoyed at being able to breathe again. "Fine. Yes. I can do that. Or not. You get the picture."

"Indeed." The bodyguard glanced pointedly at the apartment door. "Now, do you not have other places to be?"

"Yes, yes, of course, sorry for disturbing you..." He paused halfway. "Ah... one thing first, though."

She folded her arms. "That being?"

"I'm..." Yuuno licked his lips, "worried. About her. I know, I know, none of my business, probably going to get shoved out of the door now, but... there's been something off about her since the invasion. No, more, since we lost Vita on Bloodhaven. It's just been getting worse since you got attacked and... Kaiser, why wasn't I there?"

Signum's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "This is something that we have noticed as well, though there was some dispute over the extent. I am not personally qualified to assist in such matters, but will see if I can arrange a meeting between Mistress Hayate and Shamal. Good night, Scrya. I appreciate your concern, if not your... judgment."

"Thanks, Signum. Good night to you too."

Yuuno strolled down the corridor, mentally mapping out the quickest route to the Infinite Library's main portal. The enormous, downy bed in his own quarters seemed increasingly inviting with every step he took.

Sleep was not the only thing on his mind, though – far from it. He trusted the Wolkenritter to do their best for their mistress, but that was no reason not to keep an eye on Hayate himself.

That's what friends are for, after all.


The Spiral Nation's base in the Iolaus system had escaped Chaos's ravages relatively unscathed, and its garrison wanted to keep it that way. That was why the planet alone had a quintuple-layered defensive system, that was why its communications were encrypted to the extent that even with the requisite codes it would still take you a quarter of an hour to be able to read them, and that was why enough firepower to level a medium-sized country was currently pointed at the elderly, hooded gentleman attempting to enter the southern gate.

Looking at the man in question, Major Jurgen Gumble could see why.

It wasn't that he was remarkably tall and broad-shouldered, even stooped over and leaning against his curious drill-tipped staff. There were a lot of tall, broad-shouldered men hanging around Naval Command, and most (if not all) of them were better-dressed. It wasn't his aura of overwhelming charisma, because he didn't have one. In fact, ever since he'd shown up, he'd been about as quiet, polite, and unobtrusive as any seven-foot-tall veteran soldier could be.

No, it was his eyes.

They burned with long-suppressed power, tiny lines spiralling outwards from the irises like the arms of a galaxy as they bored into your soul. It was impossible to meet the old man's gaze for more than a few seconds without feeling a deep, profound terror of almost theological proportions.

"Look, I'm very sorry for this, sir," Gumble began, very carefully trying not to look up, "and I appreciate that you did the paperwork, but it's going to take a while for us to verify some of the detains, so if you wouldn't mind coming back in... oh, one moment. Pardon me, please."

"Of course, major." A genial smile appeared under the ragged, moth-eaten hood. "It's no problem."

The major strode over towards his frantically-gesticulating comms officer, noting how some of the smaller automated defences seemed to follow him as he moved.

"What is it, Isaiah?"

The gangly technician saluted, his face white. "Message from the top, sir. The very top. All-clearance, effective immediately. That guy you were talking to? We're to let him in. No security checks, no quarantine, no nothing. We're talking beyond VIP status here. Never seen anything like it. Who the hell is he?"

Gumble, for his part, just stared back at the new arrival, who was busy scratching the chin of his pet pigmole, as everything came together in his head at once.

"Oh, shit," he breathed.

Simon the Digger raised his head, pulled back his hood, and favoured the two soldiers with another warm smile. "Shall we go, gentlemen?"


There was a ceiling to the world, an endless, gently-undulating wall of scarred, mangled armour-plates. Iolaus Alef had a negligible human population and few oceans to speak of, which meant that when the Chouginga Dai-Gurren had limped into orbit a month ago, there had been no real need for it to keep its distance for the tidal cycle's sake. The upset stomachs from the slight gravitic imbalance were considered an acceptable cost.

Simon, for his part, found it oddly comforting. Like being underground all over again.

Naval Command was a colossal, ziggurat-like structure built around the mass accelerator used to propel materials into orbit. Even it, though, was dwarfed by the maintenance scaffolds that surrounded it, some of them still occupied by the kilometre-tall Space Grappals that loomed over the base like titans of legend. Wisps of green fire played over the vast humanoid war machines as their pilots casually overrode the laws of physics, preventing their mechs from collapsing under their own unimaginable weight.

They were walking through the outskirts of the cluster of low-rise buildings surrounding the headquarters, a maze of warehouses, barracks, workshops, and administrative offices the size of a small town. Their transport, a bulbous, froglike Ganmen with an elongated crew-compartment protruding from its back, squatted on the tarmac behind them, its running-lights blinking in the Chouginga's shadow. It had taken half an hour's flight to get from the main gate to here, weaving through the legs of the titans dominating the base as their smaller, sleeker brethren flew in escort formation around them, their van-sized assault rifles swinging back and forth. Simon had taken the opportunity to have a quick nap, which had unfortunately made Major Gumble and his crew even antsier.

"Well, we're almost there, sir," the short, rotund officer gabbled, his cheeks red as he struggled to keep up with his longer-legged charge, "and I'm really sorry about the delay. Honestly, I ordered that bus ages ago, don't know what's keeping them, you know how it is with these folks, except that you probably don't, what with being a living legend and all, not that I want to imply that you don't care about our problems, because I'm not, I'm sure you're a great guy, and ohgodIsodidnotsaythat…"

Simon briefly considered informing him that he was perfectly fine just taking his time and soaking in the (rather magnificent) view, but since he lacked the medical knowledge to deal with the subsequent heart attack, he decided against it.

Hero-worship was a tricky thing to handle; it was one of the reasons he'd left in the first place, after all. Not one of the most pressing reasons, admittedly, but it was at least one he could have a good, therapeutic brood about without dredging up... unpleasantness.

Just when you think you're out, they draw you back in. Well, I suppose a whirlpool is spiral-shaped, too.

He smiled, the lines in his face deepening. As philosophical insights went, it wasn't one of his best. I really am out of practice.

There was a clattering sound from up ahead, as if the contents of an ironmonger's workshop had simultaneously decided to take up tap-dancing, and the prophesied bus veered around the corner, its legs pounding into the dusty concrete. The driver's window wound down as it approached, something small and glittering arcing from inside towards Simon.

He snatched it out of the air, not needing to look at it to know what it was, not needing to see inside the cab to know who had thrown it with such particular precision. His fingers ran along the grooves in its surface, a rhythmic warmth pulsing into his palm like the heartbeat of some vast, ancient being.

His pulse raced, his posture straightened, and the years seemed to slough away from his tired frame. Once more, he was a god amongst men. Once more, he was the pathfinder for his people, the hammer of justice that would smite the forces of darkness for their- no. Not yet. Maybe later, maybe soon, but not yet. Give me some more time, please... The moment passed, and he slowly folded back into himself.

"Thought I recognised that driving style, Yoko," he said with forced cheerfulness to the bus as it lurched to a halt. "Good to know that now that your aiming's started to get a bit sloppy, we've still got the option of catching the enemy in the inevitable traffic accident."

A quite unreasonably attractive middle-aged woman poked her head out of the window, her red hair almost black in the darkness, and gave him a look that made his escorts turn pale and subtly edge out of the firing line. "Sorry, Simon. I suppose I'll have to practice. Any body parts you don't mind doing without?"

"Think I'll pass on that, thanks. Don't worry – you'll have plenty of targets soon, from what I hear."

"You hear right. Good grief, I thought we were done with this."

"Life's funny like that, isn't it?" Simon sighed and spread his hands, the Core Drill gleaming faintly. "It's good to see you at least, Yoko."

"You too, Simon."

She stepped out of the vehicle. There was bouncing. Apart from a slight pinkening of the cheeks of some of the younger soldiers (and a squeak from Major Gumble as he dived for his autograph book), there was little reaction from the escort team. Tall, skimpily-clad women carrying rifles as big as themselves did not even register on the average Spiral guard's weirdness meter.

Yoko's eyes narrowed as she noticed Simon's appreciative grin. "What?"

"Just amazed you still fit in that outfit, is all."

"Are you implying something?"

"Who, me?" he asked innocently. "Of course not."

She stalked towards him, her carelessly-swung rifle almost knocking over the major as the latter sidled up to her, autograph-book held up. "And just what right" – she grabbed the collar of his wretched cloak, causing a cloud of dust to rise gently into the air – "do you have to comment on other people's clothes, mister? First thing we do, we're getting you a shower, a hairbrush, and a three-hour chemical bath."

Simon managed an apologetic grimace. "Right, sorry about that. Can't say I've had much reason to pay attention to my appearance, lately, ever since... well, you know."

Yoko paused mid-collar-tug. "Oh. So, you mean there hasn't... no, why would there be? Sorry, stupid question. Forget it."

"No... no, there hasn't been anyone else. I made a promise to move on, and I have, but even so... there's some things I've never been quite prepared to leave behind. Again, you know how it is."

She nodded. "Definitely."

"Ah, so that means that you didn't... you know... either?" This 'you know' was spoken in the exact same way as the others before it, a piece of mutual vocabulary encompassing an entire, tangled knot of shared history.

"I'm afraid not. Different reasons, though. Well, more like extra reasons. After the first two guys die immediately after hooking up with you, romantic pursuits start to lose their appeal a little. It was around about the time when the singles' bar burned down just as I walked through the door that I decided to call it a day."

"Ouch. Still, you seem to be doing pretty well for yourself. Got to see that honours list a while back – one of the few times the exploration team had a clear signal. Bet your staff were over the moon about that one."

"Yes... running the school has been good," Yoko replied slowly, as if reminding herself of the fact. "Very good. That sort of government recognition's nice, too, and the staff should be pleased – they were mostly responsible for us getting it. Almost entirely responsible, in fact. Anyway, we've held up these people long enough – I think it's time to get going, don't you?"

Simon had been out of touch with general society for quite a while, but there were still some verbal cues that he could easily recognise. "Of course. Major?"

Gumble... burbled. Yoko sighed, withdrew a pen from an implausibly small pocket, and signed the open page of the autograph-book, before taking a hasty step back.

The pudgy little officer straightened instantly, executing a perfect salute with lightning speed. "Yesofcoursema'!"

Things proceeded somewhat more smoothly after that.


Thirty minutes later, the Iolaus Alef base's colossal magnetic accelerator fired again, set to low-velocity in order to avoid liquefying its precious cargo. The capsule's rockets kicked in seconds afterwards, light spreading across the headquarters below like a miniature sunrise. Most people on the ground were far too busy to even spare it a glance, preparing for the maelstrom to come – except one.

Jurgen Gumble watched as it rose, clutching his autograph-book to his chest like a lifebelt as his team's Ganmen flew lazily back towards the gates. He was the only one to see the greenish tinge of the flames emerging from the capsule's nozzles and the way that the vapour trail curled into a narrow, spiralling cone like the thread of a drill, and all he thought about it was that it was an entirely appropriate send-off for the people who were going to win the war.

Even so, the eyes of that strange, bedraggled man called Simon the Digger would haunt him for a long, long time.


Author's Notes: And so the two mysterious figures from Chapter 28 turn out to be... exactly who you were expecting them to be. Gosh, what a surprise.

Yeah, Simon's got some baggage. Figured there was more than one reason for him abandoning his friends at the end of the series. Nice to know he fits in around here, eh?