PAUSE FOR BOURGEOIS LEGALITIES
"Digimon" and all characters and situations contained within are
copyrighted trademarks of Bandai, Saban Entertainment and Upper Deck.
Permission is hereby granted by the author to reproduce this document
unless you try to make money off of it; if so, please contact me first at
Calcite_McWhalen@hotmail.com. I may be a grown-up cartoon fan but I do
know my way around Title 17.
****
Other Voices
****
"So, how did it go?"
Hikari was inside the resistance's base, a complex of subway tunnels that were part of some expansion that was begun but never finished; the contractors had the money to hollow and support a few hundred yards of tunnel and they wanted to earn their pay. The result was roughly three miles of well-built but abandoned tunnel which conveniently enough were placed right next to the bay at Odaiba. One of the lower tunnels happened to be a drainage tunnel, emptying straight into the nearby bay. Miyako had discovered the tunnels some time back and had decided to utilize them in a properly rebellious fashion. Gathering up what friends and followers she could she took to the tunnels, sealing the top entrances up once the harbor in the sunken tunnel had been completed.
"It was wierd... I expected it to be really intense, and it was in a way because of how tight Miyako runs things, but at the same time nothing happened at all. Nothing at all." Hikari had, over time gotten used to his presence and didn't mind a little free talking here and there.
Hikari at the time was inside what passed for the quarters for the place. It was the highest section of tunnels available and had many grates and such to allow for sunlight to stream inside to the beleagured inhabitants of the resistance. When Iori had built the framework for the beds and what little dressers that they had -- mostly brought from home -- he had considered how the sun would have contributed to how people were able to sleep and relax and build accordingly. What couches and relaxing pieces of furniture they had were all in the middle; the rest of the room was taken up by bunks built in a rough circle around the grates and their gift of sunlight. Iori had tapped a water main in the far corner of the room; the pipe ran to the residential areas above but was always just a little weaker than normal. He used this water for everything that they needed; piping for the kitchens and bathrooms. Hikari was sitting on one of the beds, a little ways from the natural light, upon her mattress of old. She wasn't in her field dress anymore; rather, she was in her sleep uniform: tank top and shorts. Her hair, longer now that she had aged, bunched against her neck but not beyond. She was still a fan of short hair but with a feminine length to it.
"Aren't you glad that nothing happened?"
Hikari wasn't alone. In fact, she happened to be glancing down at the one constant in a world gone mad: her friend Takeru Takaishi, who had been sitting on the ground next to her bunk. She had just gotten back and, after going through an hour-long interrogation of a debriefing session, had been released into the real world again. Takeru was also in his sleep uniform -- an old jersey and his basketball shorts. His hat had been abandoned in the topside world and Hikari was still getting used to him without it. His hair had grown out somewhat and he had the beginnings of a beard. For his part he had his eyes closed, focusing on some thing beyond her ability to hear but still very much there for her.
"I wish I could have done something," she said quietly. He didn't react.
"What was your job again?" he asked after a while.
"I was supposed to watch out in case something happened."
"So you did something," Takeru reasoned.
"That's not fair," she pouted. After fifteen minutes of it, his pouting resistance had finally maxed out and he opened his eyes, moving slightly to glance up at her irritably.
"Aw," she said playfully, "I was just warming up."
"Exactly," he straight-faced. He earned a whack over his head for that. "Ow!" He rubbed the back of his head where the hat used to be.
"What'd you do while I wasn't here?" she asked.
"Oh, this and that. A lot of being bored. It was really quiet."
"Did you do any writing?"
"Yeah. Another three pages of copy added. We'll have to see if this one gets any response." Takeru had never really liked to write as a kid, but after he hurt his leg in his freshman year of high school he had taken to it to have something to do. He still wasn't a huge fan of the idea but it had grown on him as a way to keep involved. He had compiled a list of things that the Odaiba Group produced, extracted a purpose for these things, and posted an essay about it online. For his work he was expelled and forced underground. It wasn't an official exile; however, it was better than staying and be watched all hours of the day by his own government for writing 'subversive material'.
"I wish there was some way we could tell if there is people looking at my stuff," he said distantly. This was an area they had gone over before.
"I'm sure somebody's reading," she responded. "You're fighting the good fight, right? Pen rather than sword, right?" He nodded half- heartedly. "Well then, you're doing what you can. Keep on hoping, Takeru. Somebody will read your stuff and that one person will make all the difference in the world."
He was quiet for a while after that. They both were. Eventually Takeru asked, "When do you guys go back out again?"
"Sometime next week," she said softly. "I don't really know... Miyako said something about making preperations for next time."
"Huh?" he asked, looking up again. "I thought that you guys would just go out and do it."
"She's not sure," Hikari said in a hesitant tone, and Takeru knew that Hikari wouldn't be pushed any further. After being her best friend for most of his life he had seen where her walls were and how they defined her comfort zone. He knew better than to push those walls. Once, long ago, he had pushed those walls too far in a fit and didn't see her for the better part of a month. He struggled to his feet on his bad leg; it had been hurt back in high school and twinged every time he tried to move it.
"Hey, how about some food?" he asked. It was lame and stupid and something other than the discussion they had been having and Hikari jumped at it.
"Food sounds good," she said and Takeru turned, walking out towards the mouth of the subway, to where most of the other people were. The residential area took a slant downwards to the main area where the gear and cooking stuff was kept. Neither Takeru or Hikari had much kitchen talent and they were not alone in this; the base only had five or six people who could actually cook and one or two of those people were always on. They cooked for almost forty people so they had quite the task if only one person was awake. Fortunately at the moment no less than four of them were on, and that was a good thing because half the base was eating. Iori could be seen way across the area, at a far table.
Takeru glanced down at Hikari. "Looks like we're late for the party."
She shook her head. "Where's Miyako?" Takeru made a quick glance around and saw no traces of the lavender-haired girl. "She said that she'd be down," Hikari continued. Miyako stayed in the normal sleep area like everyone else, but often went up to a specific part of the subway to think after a mission.
"Maybe something came up," he suggested.
It was about then -- the two of them in line, making a little conversation -- that the whole thing went straight to hell.
The piece of tunnel above the eating area -- a largish block of sturdy-looking concrete -- exploded. There was no setup or warning. It simply came apart.
Hikari screamed involuntarily and dove away from the debris storm, bringing the slower Takeru with her. They scrambled down under a nearby table. All sorts of dust had been kicked up and the ceiling kept rumbling. Coughing, she could hear everyone else yelling, Iori's startled yelp above it all, she could feel something warm on her left hand... Warm? She glanced down quickly where her hand was and saw a dark reddish something. She quickly realized that it wasn't her blood and almost screamed again when she saw Takeru; he had a gash above his left ear, one that bled rather freely. He was out cold. Her training quickly took over. Before she realized what she was doing she had torn her shirt and tied a bandage of sorts to the wound, keeping steady pressure on it. "Don't die on me, Takeru," she whispered slightly and took stock of herself. She was scratched and bruised in places but had all of her limbs working.
Dimly she became aware of the lack of noise. The ceiling had stopped rumbling and people had stopped screaming. Cautiously she peeked out from under the table to see the dining area in ruins. Dust had enveloped everything, making it all but impossible to see. People were standing out in the open, glancing around the area. People she didn't recognise. People with guns and radios and uniforms of the Odaiba Group --
A hand reached out, lifted her above the table, with her squealing in surprise the whole way. "Found one!" a brutal voice cried out.
"Bring her over here and check the area again. They like to hide together," another voice answered, this one full of scorn. It was female and vaguely familiar. Hikari found herself tossed on the ground nearby, almost hitting one particularly sharp piece of rock on the way down. She looked at her attacker with the intention of doing something... only to find a gun in her face. The person behind it held it with the loving touch that comes from long experience with it.
"Nothing cute, girl, or we'll have one less rebel in the world today." He motioned with his gun. "Walk on over there to the others and keep quiet. Wouldn't want to hurt anyone, now." She didn't spare him another glance, just walked on over and sat down with the others. They were all much like she was -- dusty, bruised, resentful. Iori in particular was shaking with a furious expression on his face, an ice pack held to his head.
"Are you okay, Iori?" she asked, concerned, but her gaze was still over at the mound of rubble where Takeru was half-hidden. She hadn't been able to stuff him in there at all, but some things shifted around when she had been pulled out, and it didn't look like the soldier had given the area more than a cursory look.
"No, Hikari, I'm not okay," he said back angrily. "How did they know where we were?"
That was something that Hikari hadn't considered yet. "I don't know. Is everyone alright?" "No," he growled. "We've all been captured by that snake of a President." He glanced at the soldiers. "He sent like ten soldiers -- if that. We're being mocked and I hate it!"
Hikari hazarded a last glance at where Takeru had fell. At least, where she thought that he was; the dust was making it all but impossible to see. There didn't seem to be any soldiers over there and her thoughts sent a final farewell to him before she turned --
And nearly screamed again.
For she had seen across the area, where the dust had begun to settle, standing there with some kind of small device in her hand a person Hikari had not seen in three years. This person was dressed in the uniform of the Odaiba Group (one that was marked with a silver A), had short red hair, and possessed a haughty look upon her face. She moved carefully and quickly around, shoving the device against each person she encountered, moving on when it beeped. The well-endowed woman kept moving around and efficiently made her way over to where Hikari and Iori were. Hikari, who hadn't recovered from her shock, didn't move a muscle when the woman thrust the device against her arm. It beeped differently and the woman drew back in surprise, staring down at Hikari with brown eyes as if evaluating her.
Hikari hadn't moved because standing above her, now quietly asking for assistance with her little device, was Sora Takenouchi.
****
"Are you serious?" The Assistant didn't quite know what to make of that. He listened to his phone for a while, then said, "Unbelievable. Bring the two of them up here and get them restrained first!" He slammed the phone into the cradle that held it in the field office he had set up, then motioned a man over. This person had buzzed blonde hair and icy blue eyes, and came right on over. As much as the Assistant hated to deal with anyone as cold as Yamato Ishida he recognised that nobody was more competent. He didn't head up Squad A for nothing. Constructed entirely from people native to Odaiba and headed up by former associates of the President, there was no other unit that operated with the skill and competence of Squad 1 in all of the Odaiba Group.
"I need you to run a message across to Mr. President." That'll show him, the Assistant thought irrationally, and was displeased when Ishida didn't even twitch. He simply turned and walked towards the vehicles that Squad 1 commanded.
****
Ishida walked away from the desk of the President, entered the elevator, and pressed the down button. Obligingly the doors shut and the car descended. It was about then that the President allowed what he had been feeling since the report reached him, at 11:42 PM, to show: he jumped up and hollered at the top of his lungs.
"YES!"
Settling down his body quickly, Mr. President still found his mind to be jittery with momentum and bits of euphoria. This was completely unexpected. He hadn't counted on something like this to happen at all; he knew that at least one Chosen was at the base but he never expected to find several of them! He had expected to be satisfied and relaxed; instead he was on the verge of being far more happy than anytime in his life.
Smiling still, he punched in the orders and leaned back. His collection was almost complete now...
****
Ken Ichijouji runs the spectrum of himself.
Denial comes first, and its stark whiteness brings it into focus quickly. It is quickly and firmly at his side with the avid and welcome declaration of No! it didn't happen! don't believe it! But Ken overcomes this quickly. His Spore had been screaming as its lifeblood was drained away. Ken could feel the effect of the darkness on him, causing him to become irrational and preternaturally strong. No, Denial offered no solace to Ken; it merely attempted to soften the blow and failed miserably.
The shock came next. A blinding yellow, it slapped him upside the head with the simple declaration of war being declared by the forces of darkness on his old home, a place he had thought impervious to harm. Shock passes quickly, though, driven off by the ensuing tide of first anger and then rage. They were orange and red respectively and he immersed himself in them. Nobody had the right to dare attack the world of his birth! Righteous indignance radiated from his being and he clenched his hands into fists, wishing to destroy the darkness at its source.
That passed too; however, it was replaced by a feeling of guilt. Guilt was the dark blue of the ocean and Ken found himself drowning in it. Was he to blame? Did any of the evils that he had defeated during his stay as Regent escape to this world? He slouched somewhat, overcome by it, then rallied. He was not responsible for the actions of darkness; he merely would fight it where it emerged. The ocean rippled, changed colors, and the purple tinge of despair surrounded him. He couldn't fight this. He didn't even know what it was, let alone where it came from or how to confront it. Feeling drained, Ken thumped his still-clenched fists into the table in front of him. Then the blackness of no feeling came upon him and mercifully allowed the feelings to drain. Now he could think rationally.
Abruptly, Ken looked up, realizing that the table in front of him was ever-so-wet. He ran a sleeve over his eyes and forced himself to focus again, looking around. He was still in the Wal-Mart or whatever it was, and people were staring at him, specificially the pizza place employees. He was irked by the deadness in their stares. Only a few people showed any animation when looking at him; most others simply gave him a glance and kept on at their business.
The others presented a small problem as Ken wasn't very good at dealing with people. It wasn't that he disliked them, or thought of them as a burden. He simply hadn't had much contact with them over the course of his seventeen years. It was fortunate that he had to deal with so many kinds of Digimon where he came from because he would have been at a loss to deal with the humans in a normal environment.
This environment was hardly normal, though.
Ken eventually recovered his wits enough to walk over to the ATM in the corner, pulling out his little disc with his left hand as he went. He examined the machine carefully, then pressed several keys. He inserted the 'disc' into the slot -- it fit perfectly -- and he went about pushing buttons. In the bad old days he had managed to make quite a bit of money, and store it away into accounts; and if the Internet being taken down hadn't interfered with anything...
Perfect. All of his accounts were present and accounted for. The sum of over a million dollars was at Ken's fingerprints. It wasn't intoxicating for Ken; rather, it was something to grab onto as a ground in this crazy storm. Taking his disc when it was spat out by the machine, he walked over to the counter of the pizza place and glanced at all of the employees. They were certainly eyeing him as they went throughout their work and none of them seemed to have any life left in them...
Abruptly, his gaze was blocked by a person that crossed his line of sight directly in front of him, carrying some kind of bag. The person -- male, black, relaxed, and sporting the cap that only the manager of the place had on -- turned to him and said, "Sorry, bro, just in a hurry, ya?" With that he turned and kept moving into the back of the restaurant yelling for the next deliveries. Ken had only gotten a quick look into his eyes but they were lively and energetic.
The front girl walked over to him with a vacant expression on her face, chewing something. Ken had the distinct feeling that that was as enthusiastic as "Amy", according to her name tag, was ever going to be. "Whaddyawant?" she slurred tiredly at him.
"Just give me a slice of that," he said, pointing to some kind of pizza on the other side. He was pretty sure that it wouldn't match the stuff that Digitamamon could make but was willing to give it a shot, just to think about something else. When she told him the price he swiped his disc where it was indicated and she walked away. He waited without thinking much until she brought it over, took it without thanks, and walked to a booth.
The pizza was incredible. Ken had forgotton a key factor about Digitamamon's food; it was configured for all sorts of different races, while human food had been made for humans only. Digitamamon's clientele ranged from insectile to demonic and they all had a different idea about what tasted good and what didn't so this was a welcome change. As he ate, he thought over his situation and came to a few conclusions: he decided that he needed to test this whole thing more. Was it just at this retailer or was this more widespread? Ken chose to ignore the evidence of how dark it was at seven-thirty. He'd handle that later, when he was more rational.
For now, he needed to focus on problems that he could handle; that meant that he needed to find a place to stay so that he could perform some extended tests on what was going on. That meant that he needed to find the ultimate control place, somewhere where he couldn't be drained or put upon by darkness or anything else. That meant a room in somebody's house, for starters. He couldn't trust a hotel to not have draining devices and he realized in all of this thinking that he had already discarded his theory of the draining devices being just this retailer. That made no sense; if somebody could drain humans here, they could drain them pretty much anywhere.
Pizza and brainstorming finished, Ken stood up and walked over to the counter again. "Hey!" he called. The black guy from earlier emerged from the back, sans bags, and walked over to him.
"Yeah, what's up, man?" He had a relaxed, open way of talking and wore no nametag.
Ken decided to take a very small risk. "I'm Ken Ichijouji. What's your name?"
"Ken, uh? My name's Chardsy and I work here. You need something?" Ken was inwardly relieved. Chardsy had never heard of him before.
"Actually, I need something rather unusual." The guy glanced at him quizzically.
"We got all kinds of pizza, man. We make anything."
"Not that stuff," Ken assured him. "I'm looking for a place to stay that's not official."
Chardsy took a step back, sizing up Ken. When he didn't find anything threatening, he leaned forward and asked, "Why?" This was not a question that Ken was prepared for but he did the best he could on short notice.
"I'm something of a nomad scientist. Psychology major, out of Harvard. I move around studying humans in different situations and try to predict behavior patterns for my doctorate. I need places to sleep that are completely unexpected and I pay people well for that." Ken was rather proud of that little doozy.
"Pay well, eh?" he said thoughtfully. He placed his hands on the counter, steepled them. "How much is well?"
"One thousand dollars a week."
Chardsy's eyes all but bugged out of his head and his mouth dropped open. "A thousand fucking dollars? Holy shit, man." He turned around, about to announce it gleefully, but stopped. He turned back to Ken, an almost crazed light in his eyes, hands out on the counter. "Okay. I can make room but I need the thousand dollars in advance." He was hyperventilating and full of energy again and Ken found it difficult not to smile at the guy's honest thrill.
Ken pointed to the ATM in the corner. "Come with me over to that once your shift gets out." Chardsy's eyes didn't bug out this time, but his mouth did open. He walked over to the corner, tapped buttons on a computer there, then walked over to Ken again.
Chardsy took off his cap. "I'm off," he announced, and tossed the hat on the counter. "I ain't gonna be needing that for a long time. Don't need to work or nothing!" he yelled and bounced right over to the ATM. "Where's the money?" he asked breathlessly. Ken wordlessly handed over a neat stack of $20 bills, and Chardsy took a moment to simply look at it. Ken saw that light in his eyes again; the light of security and freedom that came with something like this. He stuffed the bills into one pocket. Then Chardsy looked Ken in the eye and stuck out his hand.
Ken shook it firmly. "Where to?" he asked.
"Whoa," Chardsy said. "Where's your stuff?"
"I don't have anything with me other than my equipment," Ken said, pullling at his neck where the shirt chafed on it. "This fabric keeps itself clean."
"Alright. That way," Chardsy said, and started walking out of the building. Ken would have been right behind him, except that the outdoors had actually gotten darker -- Ken found it impossible to see. Chardsy also stopped.
"It's really dark," Ken muttered quietly.
"Give yourself a minute, man," Chardsy said back quietly. "You'll adjust." Ken's eyes eventually came back into focus; he could see the people again, streaming inside still. Chardsy had already set out. Ken quickly caught up, finding himself confused by his new companion's antics. It turned out that Chardsy drove a very small car -- no larger than a small Monochromon -- and stuffing both of them into it was interesting, to say the least. Chardsy lowered his window and Ken did the same, then he started the car and the radio. It was playing something light and fluffy and obviously pop.
This was not unfamiliar to Ken. The Digital World had its share of music bands and some of them specialized in the kind of mindless fluff that he was listening to now. Most of the time they performed in the Stadium, a performing center in the Capitol, but sometimes they'd invite Ken to listen to a new release or jam session. Most of the time Ken, as the Regent, had to turn them down in the interest of running the worldwide nation. Occasionally he'd get the chance to go.
Ken didn't care for the music, but Chardsy seemed to be having quite a good time slapping the wheel with the beat. He had managed to keep the grin on his face, but whatever it was that was in the air of this place got to him. Presently the music came to a halt and the DJ came on saying, "And now, for the week's #1 hit also by Gardening Sincerity, here's --"
Chardsy reached over and gave the knob a twist, turning it off. Ken glanced over. "Why?" he asked.
"Don't worry about it," Chardsy drawled back, but with a quiet pensiveness to his voice. "Nothing for a college man like you to care about."
Ken waited, looking at his host quietly. Chardsy just stared forward, looking at the road.
Chardsy eventually gave in. "That group, Gardening Sincerity, they're a newer group. They started really good, ya? I loved their early stuff. But they got worse real fast, ever since the Odaiba Group started backing them with money and tech. Now they can barely sing a note that's good because they don't care anymore. It's like they sold out, ya?" Chardsy looked frustrated. "Why'd they have to go and get backing? They didn' t need that shit."
"Odaiba Group?" Ken wondered aloud.
Chardsy nodded, lip twisting up. "I didn't think that that bunch of stuffed shirts would bother with a band either, but they get to use the band for marketing crap, so there you go. Another group of people without any energy." A passing car whizzed by them.
"This whole place is like that," Ken mused to himself. He didn't say it quietly enough to have Chardsy miss it, though.
Chardsy nodded. "I thought so."
Ken looked up. "Huh?"
Chardsy pursed his lips, then glanced over at Ken. The car stopped at a red light. "You ain't from around here."
"Of course not," Ken said, surprised and a bit worried. "I'm from Harvard." Chardsy gave him a quick look, then returned his gaze to the road in front of him. His mouth twisted.
"You don't know what it's like, being in a place run by Odaiba," Chardsy said bitterly. When Ken didn't react, Chardsy continued. "You people think that their new ED reactors are the greatest thing ever. Sure they're low cost and efficient and all that shit, but they do something to humans, man. Whatever's in them is screwing us up. We're getting damned tired all the time and I know we didn't get that way with electrical power, ya?"
"You don't seem to be affected by that," Ken pointed out.
"Yeah, that's because I run my place on a generator and use an old gas-powered car. Gas is getting hard to find, though. Gonna have to buy the Odaiba shit to stay alive." Chardsy shook his head. "Never thought it would come to that. Anyway, here we are," he said, and pulled the car into a driveway. Ken got out and looked up; it was an apartment building. "I'm all the way up," he said, and started climbing stairs. Ken did as well and they both arrived in a few moments.
"How do you know that it's Odaiba technology that's doing this to you?" Ken asked. The name Odaiba sounded vaguely familiar, and he made a mental note to contact Stingmon whenever he could to get some info on it. Chardsy unlocked the apartment and they went in. It was by and large clean, except for all of the odd posters and cutouts up on the board. Most were marked "Gardening Sincerity". They all seemed to feature what Ken guessed to be some kind of lead singer: a twenty-something knockout of a redhead. He didn't quite know what to make of such a revealing outfit and found himself staring for one brief moment. Something about her was quietly familiar...
"You alright, man?" Chardsy said, waving a hand in front of him, breaking up his thoughts. Ken shook his head hard to get the cobwebs out, feeling embarrassed.
"Caught off guard by the poster," Ken said. "Anyway, you never answered the question." Chardsy collapsed onto some kind of couch thing and Ken followed suit onto a chair across the way. By the look of it Chardsy didn't entertain much.
"I read that stuff. Somebody posted it online." Chardsy took to digging through a stack of documents. "It's off the old Internet -- I don't have the VandeNet. Sorry. Here we go," he said, and pulled out a stapled stack of papers. "It's a bit long. I'll be in the back, alright? Gotta work out."
Ken took the proffered papers, no more than ten pages of text. "It's not that bad." With that, he looked at the title, and settled himself in for some long reading. This was exactly what he was looking for: "Odaiba Group Technology and Effects on Humanity", by the Angel of Hope.
****
The Lady Celeste pulled into a ruined harbor.
Miyako had been out on a supply run; it had taken all day, with only Aya and Kevin for company. Iori had elected to stay behind and, besides, the Lady Celeste didn't take four people to run it, right? Never mind that Kevin couldn't sail for anything and that Aya was too busy thinking dark thoughts to help. Miyako might as well had made the trip by herself; and thinking those thoughts kept her movements automatic until she had gotten quite close to the harbor; enough to realize that nobody was signalling for their entrance.
It became much more obvious what had happened when they actually got to the dock. There was nobody waiting there to help them get into the harbor; nobody there to assist the three of them getting off of the ship. "I don't like this," Aya muttered constantly while getting out the ropes and throwing them to Kevin while Miyako dropped anchor. "Something happened."
"Aya," Miyako said sternly. "We don't know yet."
Miyako was the first one inside, and the first one to see the base's central room. What had been a bustling center for eating and relaxing had become a field of ruin; the top of the base's roof must have been demolished, because there was a gaping hole where the ceiling used to be that let the starlight in. Miyako's flashlight cut across the place, showing nothing but rock and dust and quiet ruin.
"Damn," Kevin whispered, moving across the area with a hesitent hand. Aya was simply glancing around, her flashlight playing into the ground nearby. Miyako reacted somewhat more strongly; she dropped to her knees, suddenly fighting off the urge to sob. Fighting that was a failing battle and she knew it. She'd figured out exactly what had happened but that didn't make things easier to swallow. She'd never thought that Odaiba and its little Mr. President could smash her group this easily!
Then the rubble moved, and she forgot her sorrow.
A bandaged head reared itself, outlined in Kevin's flashlight. Miyako jumped back up and raced over to the shadow, Aya close behind, to find the bloodied and dazed Takeru. He had been injured somehow and somebody had placed a bandage on his head; it hadn't been quite enough by itself and he looked very pale, the side of his head caked in dried blood "What happened?" Takeru kept saying as the three of him took him carefully to the Lady Celeste. He was the only one that was talking; even Kevin's wit seemed like it didn't work. "Where is Hikari and everyone else?"
They placed him on a bed in the crew quarters. Kevin went out to get the rest of their equipment while Aya set them back out, away from the ruins. Still nobody said anything.
Miyako took a quiet stock of the situation. They had refueled the boat on the way to the supply depot. Most of their advanced equipment was on the boat. She certainly was fine physically Really, the only thing that the President had taken from them was their people and their dreams, Miyako reflected darkly. She had decided to stay with Takeru, who seemed to have some kind of fever or delirium. Either way, he kept asking where everyone was. Miyako wasn't any medical expert, but from what she knew his head injury was either a concussion or something worse. He was probably lucky to be alive, she realized.
"Where is everyone?" he asked again, more insistent this time, and Miyako saw as he turned and glanced into her eyes. His were all but dead, with but a little spark of life behind them.
"I don't know," Miyako finally responded. "I don't know where everyone is." That seemed to placate him, and he collapsed into sleep. She examined the cloth on his head and, reaching out into a small bucket of water nearby, started cleanng the wound. It was an automatic thing and it took her away from the madness. The mind-twisting hopelessness. The rage.
Her lip twisted as she continued to change the bandage but she kept her hands steady. The President had crossed the line! He'd gone too far now, and she had to do something back to him! Finishing with the cleaning, she tore her shirt slightly and redressed the wound. He didn't react much throughout all of that, simply rolling over a bit and wrinkling his brow. When she was done he turned over and fell asleep again. Her lip continued to twist as she looked down at him. They had never tried to kill an Odaiba employee before. Yes, Aya hurt one badly once, but never had any of them crossed that line.
Leaving him there, she went to the bridge. Kevin and Aya were both there, quietly going about their business. The both looked expectantly at her when she got there.
"We're going to Odaiba," she said. "We've got people to save and a score to settle."
****
****
Other Voices
****
"So, how did it go?"
Hikari was inside the resistance's base, a complex of subway tunnels that were part of some expansion that was begun but never finished; the contractors had the money to hollow and support a few hundred yards of tunnel and they wanted to earn their pay. The result was roughly three miles of well-built but abandoned tunnel which conveniently enough were placed right next to the bay at Odaiba. One of the lower tunnels happened to be a drainage tunnel, emptying straight into the nearby bay. Miyako had discovered the tunnels some time back and had decided to utilize them in a properly rebellious fashion. Gathering up what friends and followers she could she took to the tunnels, sealing the top entrances up once the harbor in the sunken tunnel had been completed.
"It was wierd... I expected it to be really intense, and it was in a way because of how tight Miyako runs things, but at the same time nothing happened at all. Nothing at all." Hikari had, over time gotten used to his presence and didn't mind a little free talking here and there.
Hikari at the time was inside what passed for the quarters for the place. It was the highest section of tunnels available and had many grates and such to allow for sunlight to stream inside to the beleagured inhabitants of the resistance. When Iori had built the framework for the beds and what little dressers that they had -- mostly brought from home -- he had considered how the sun would have contributed to how people were able to sleep and relax and build accordingly. What couches and relaxing pieces of furniture they had were all in the middle; the rest of the room was taken up by bunks built in a rough circle around the grates and their gift of sunlight. Iori had tapped a water main in the far corner of the room; the pipe ran to the residential areas above but was always just a little weaker than normal. He used this water for everything that they needed; piping for the kitchens and bathrooms. Hikari was sitting on one of the beds, a little ways from the natural light, upon her mattress of old. She wasn't in her field dress anymore; rather, she was in her sleep uniform: tank top and shorts. Her hair, longer now that she had aged, bunched against her neck but not beyond. She was still a fan of short hair but with a feminine length to it.
"Aren't you glad that nothing happened?"
Hikari wasn't alone. In fact, she happened to be glancing down at the one constant in a world gone mad: her friend Takeru Takaishi, who had been sitting on the ground next to her bunk. She had just gotten back and, after going through an hour-long interrogation of a debriefing session, had been released into the real world again. Takeru was also in his sleep uniform -- an old jersey and his basketball shorts. His hat had been abandoned in the topside world and Hikari was still getting used to him without it. His hair had grown out somewhat and he had the beginnings of a beard. For his part he had his eyes closed, focusing on some thing beyond her ability to hear but still very much there for her.
"I wish I could have done something," she said quietly. He didn't react.
"What was your job again?" he asked after a while.
"I was supposed to watch out in case something happened."
"So you did something," Takeru reasoned.
"That's not fair," she pouted. After fifteen minutes of it, his pouting resistance had finally maxed out and he opened his eyes, moving slightly to glance up at her irritably.
"Aw," she said playfully, "I was just warming up."
"Exactly," he straight-faced. He earned a whack over his head for that. "Ow!" He rubbed the back of his head where the hat used to be.
"What'd you do while I wasn't here?" she asked.
"Oh, this and that. A lot of being bored. It was really quiet."
"Did you do any writing?"
"Yeah. Another three pages of copy added. We'll have to see if this one gets any response." Takeru had never really liked to write as a kid, but after he hurt his leg in his freshman year of high school he had taken to it to have something to do. He still wasn't a huge fan of the idea but it had grown on him as a way to keep involved. He had compiled a list of things that the Odaiba Group produced, extracted a purpose for these things, and posted an essay about it online. For his work he was expelled and forced underground. It wasn't an official exile; however, it was better than staying and be watched all hours of the day by his own government for writing 'subversive material'.
"I wish there was some way we could tell if there is people looking at my stuff," he said distantly. This was an area they had gone over before.
"I'm sure somebody's reading," she responded. "You're fighting the good fight, right? Pen rather than sword, right?" He nodded half- heartedly. "Well then, you're doing what you can. Keep on hoping, Takeru. Somebody will read your stuff and that one person will make all the difference in the world."
He was quiet for a while after that. They both were. Eventually Takeru asked, "When do you guys go back out again?"
"Sometime next week," she said softly. "I don't really know... Miyako said something about making preperations for next time."
"Huh?" he asked, looking up again. "I thought that you guys would just go out and do it."
"She's not sure," Hikari said in a hesitant tone, and Takeru knew that Hikari wouldn't be pushed any further. After being her best friend for most of his life he had seen where her walls were and how they defined her comfort zone. He knew better than to push those walls. Once, long ago, he had pushed those walls too far in a fit and didn't see her for the better part of a month. He struggled to his feet on his bad leg; it had been hurt back in high school and twinged every time he tried to move it.
"Hey, how about some food?" he asked. It was lame and stupid and something other than the discussion they had been having and Hikari jumped at it.
"Food sounds good," she said and Takeru turned, walking out towards the mouth of the subway, to where most of the other people were. The residential area took a slant downwards to the main area where the gear and cooking stuff was kept. Neither Takeru or Hikari had much kitchen talent and they were not alone in this; the base only had five or six people who could actually cook and one or two of those people were always on. They cooked for almost forty people so they had quite the task if only one person was awake. Fortunately at the moment no less than four of them were on, and that was a good thing because half the base was eating. Iori could be seen way across the area, at a far table.
Takeru glanced down at Hikari. "Looks like we're late for the party."
She shook her head. "Where's Miyako?" Takeru made a quick glance around and saw no traces of the lavender-haired girl. "She said that she'd be down," Hikari continued. Miyako stayed in the normal sleep area like everyone else, but often went up to a specific part of the subway to think after a mission.
"Maybe something came up," he suggested.
It was about then -- the two of them in line, making a little conversation -- that the whole thing went straight to hell.
The piece of tunnel above the eating area -- a largish block of sturdy-looking concrete -- exploded. There was no setup or warning. It simply came apart.
Hikari screamed involuntarily and dove away from the debris storm, bringing the slower Takeru with her. They scrambled down under a nearby table. All sorts of dust had been kicked up and the ceiling kept rumbling. Coughing, she could hear everyone else yelling, Iori's startled yelp above it all, she could feel something warm on her left hand... Warm? She glanced down quickly where her hand was and saw a dark reddish something. She quickly realized that it wasn't her blood and almost screamed again when she saw Takeru; he had a gash above his left ear, one that bled rather freely. He was out cold. Her training quickly took over. Before she realized what she was doing she had torn her shirt and tied a bandage of sorts to the wound, keeping steady pressure on it. "Don't die on me, Takeru," she whispered slightly and took stock of herself. She was scratched and bruised in places but had all of her limbs working.
Dimly she became aware of the lack of noise. The ceiling had stopped rumbling and people had stopped screaming. Cautiously she peeked out from under the table to see the dining area in ruins. Dust had enveloped everything, making it all but impossible to see. People were standing out in the open, glancing around the area. People she didn't recognise. People with guns and radios and uniforms of the Odaiba Group --
A hand reached out, lifted her above the table, with her squealing in surprise the whole way. "Found one!" a brutal voice cried out.
"Bring her over here and check the area again. They like to hide together," another voice answered, this one full of scorn. It was female and vaguely familiar. Hikari found herself tossed on the ground nearby, almost hitting one particularly sharp piece of rock on the way down. She looked at her attacker with the intention of doing something... only to find a gun in her face. The person behind it held it with the loving touch that comes from long experience with it.
"Nothing cute, girl, or we'll have one less rebel in the world today." He motioned with his gun. "Walk on over there to the others and keep quiet. Wouldn't want to hurt anyone, now." She didn't spare him another glance, just walked on over and sat down with the others. They were all much like she was -- dusty, bruised, resentful. Iori in particular was shaking with a furious expression on his face, an ice pack held to his head.
"Are you okay, Iori?" she asked, concerned, but her gaze was still over at the mound of rubble where Takeru was half-hidden. She hadn't been able to stuff him in there at all, but some things shifted around when she had been pulled out, and it didn't look like the soldier had given the area more than a cursory look.
"No, Hikari, I'm not okay," he said back angrily. "How did they know where we were?"
That was something that Hikari hadn't considered yet. "I don't know. Is everyone alright?" "No," he growled. "We've all been captured by that snake of a President." He glanced at the soldiers. "He sent like ten soldiers -- if that. We're being mocked and I hate it!"
Hikari hazarded a last glance at where Takeru had fell. At least, where she thought that he was; the dust was making it all but impossible to see. There didn't seem to be any soldiers over there and her thoughts sent a final farewell to him before she turned --
And nearly screamed again.
For she had seen across the area, where the dust had begun to settle, standing there with some kind of small device in her hand a person Hikari had not seen in three years. This person was dressed in the uniform of the Odaiba Group (one that was marked with a silver A), had short red hair, and possessed a haughty look upon her face. She moved carefully and quickly around, shoving the device against each person she encountered, moving on when it beeped. The well-endowed woman kept moving around and efficiently made her way over to where Hikari and Iori were. Hikari, who hadn't recovered from her shock, didn't move a muscle when the woman thrust the device against her arm. It beeped differently and the woman drew back in surprise, staring down at Hikari with brown eyes as if evaluating her.
Hikari hadn't moved because standing above her, now quietly asking for assistance with her little device, was Sora Takenouchi.
****
"Are you serious?" The Assistant didn't quite know what to make of that. He listened to his phone for a while, then said, "Unbelievable. Bring the two of them up here and get them restrained first!" He slammed the phone into the cradle that held it in the field office he had set up, then motioned a man over. This person had buzzed blonde hair and icy blue eyes, and came right on over. As much as the Assistant hated to deal with anyone as cold as Yamato Ishida he recognised that nobody was more competent. He didn't head up Squad A for nothing. Constructed entirely from people native to Odaiba and headed up by former associates of the President, there was no other unit that operated with the skill and competence of Squad 1 in all of the Odaiba Group.
"I need you to run a message across to Mr. President." That'll show him, the Assistant thought irrationally, and was displeased when Ishida didn't even twitch. He simply turned and walked towards the vehicles that Squad 1 commanded.
****
Ishida walked away from the desk of the President, entered the elevator, and pressed the down button. Obligingly the doors shut and the car descended. It was about then that the President allowed what he had been feeling since the report reached him, at 11:42 PM, to show: he jumped up and hollered at the top of his lungs.
"YES!"
Settling down his body quickly, Mr. President still found his mind to be jittery with momentum and bits of euphoria. This was completely unexpected. He hadn't counted on something like this to happen at all; he knew that at least one Chosen was at the base but he never expected to find several of them! He had expected to be satisfied and relaxed; instead he was on the verge of being far more happy than anytime in his life.
Smiling still, he punched in the orders and leaned back. His collection was almost complete now...
****
Ken Ichijouji runs the spectrum of himself.
Denial comes first, and its stark whiteness brings it into focus quickly. It is quickly and firmly at his side with the avid and welcome declaration of No! it didn't happen! don't believe it! But Ken overcomes this quickly. His Spore had been screaming as its lifeblood was drained away. Ken could feel the effect of the darkness on him, causing him to become irrational and preternaturally strong. No, Denial offered no solace to Ken; it merely attempted to soften the blow and failed miserably.
The shock came next. A blinding yellow, it slapped him upside the head with the simple declaration of war being declared by the forces of darkness on his old home, a place he had thought impervious to harm. Shock passes quickly, though, driven off by the ensuing tide of first anger and then rage. They were orange and red respectively and he immersed himself in them. Nobody had the right to dare attack the world of his birth! Righteous indignance radiated from his being and he clenched his hands into fists, wishing to destroy the darkness at its source.
That passed too; however, it was replaced by a feeling of guilt. Guilt was the dark blue of the ocean and Ken found himself drowning in it. Was he to blame? Did any of the evils that he had defeated during his stay as Regent escape to this world? He slouched somewhat, overcome by it, then rallied. He was not responsible for the actions of darkness; he merely would fight it where it emerged. The ocean rippled, changed colors, and the purple tinge of despair surrounded him. He couldn't fight this. He didn't even know what it was, let alone where it came from or how to confront it. Feeling drained, Ken thumped his still-clenched fists into the table in front of him. Then the blackness of no feeling came upon him and mercifully allowed the feelings to drain. Now he could think rationally.
Abruptly, Ken looked up, realizing that the table in front of him was ever-so-wet. He ran a sleeve over his eyes and forced himself to focus again, looking around. He was still in the Wal-Mart or whatever it was, and people were staring at him, specificially the pizza place employees. He was irked by the deadness in their stares. Only a few people showed any animation when looking at him; most others simply gave him a glance and kept on at their business.
The others presented a small problem as Ken wasn't very good at dealing with people. It wasn't that he disliked them, or thought of them as a burden. He simply hadn't had much contact with them over the course of his seventeen years. It was fortunate that he had to deal with so many kinds of Digimon where he came from because he would have been at a loss to deal with the humans in a normal environment.
This environment was hardly normal, though.
Ken eventually recovered his wits enough to walk over to the ATM in the corner, pulling out his little disc with his left hand as he went. He examined the machine carefully, then pressed several keys. He inserted the 'disc' into the slot -- it fit perfectly -- and he went about pushing buttons. In the bad old days he had managed to make quite a bit of money, and store it away into accounts; and if the Internet being taken down hadn't interfered with anything...
Perfect. All of his accounts were present and accounted for. The sum of over a million dollars was at Ken's fingerprints. It wasn't intoxicating for Ken; rather, it was something to grab onto as a ground in this crazy storm. Taking his disc when it was spat out by the machine, he walked over to the counter of the pizza place and glanced at all of the employees. They were certainly eyeing him as they went throughout their work and none of them seemed to have any life left in them...
Abruptly, his gaze was blocked by a person that crossed his line of sight directly in front of him, carrying some kind of bag. The person -- male, black, relaxed, and sporting the cap that only the manager of the place had on -- turned to him and said, "Sorry, bro, just in a hurry, ya?" With that he turned and kept moving into the back of the restaurant yelling for the next deliveries. Ken had only gotten a quick look into his eyes but they were lively and energetic.
The front girl walked over to him with a vacant expression on her face, chewing something. Ken had the distinct feeling that that was as enthusiastic as "Amy", according to her name tag, was ever going to be. "Whaddyawant?" she slurred tiredly at him.
"Just give me a slice of that," he said, pointing to some kind of pizza on the other side. He was pretty sure that it wouldn't match the stuff that Digitamamon could make but was willing to give it a shot, just to think about something else. When she told him the price he swiped his disc where it was indicated and she walked away. He waited without thinking much until she brought it over, took it without thanks, and walked to a booth.
The pizza was incredible. Ken had forgotton a key factor about Digitamamon's food; it was configured for all sorts of different races, while human food had been made for humans only. Digitamamon's clientele ranged from insectile to demonic and they all had a different idea about what tasted good and what didn't so this was a welcome change. As he ate, he thought over his situation and came to a few conclusions: he decided that he needed to test this whole thing more. Was it just at this retailer or was this more widespread? Ken chose to ignore the evidence of how dark it was at seven-thirty. He'd handle that later, when he was more rational.
For now, he needed to focus on problems that he could handle; that meant that he needed to find a place to stay so that he could perform some extended tests on what was going on. That meant that he needed to find the ultimate control place, somewhere where he couldn't be drained or put upon by darkness or anything else. That meant a room in somebody's house, for starters. He couldn't trust a hotel to not have draining devices and he realized in all of this thinking that he had already discarded his theory of the draining devices being just this retailer. That made no sense; if somebody could drain humans here, they could drain them pretty much anywhere.
Pizza and brainstorming finished, Ken stood up and walked over to the counter again. "Hey!" he called. The black guy from earlier emerged from the back, sans bags, and walked over to him.
"Yeah, what's up, man?" He had a relaxed, open way of talking and wore no nametag.
Ken decided to take a very small risk. "I'm Ken Ichijouji. What's your name?"
"Ken, uh? My name's Chardsy and I work here. You need something?" Ken was inwardly relieved. Chardsy had never heard of him before.
"Actually, I need something rather unusual." The guy glanced at him quizzically.
"We got all kinds of pizza, man. We make anything."
"Not that stuff," Ken assured him. "I'm looking for a place to stay that's not official."
Chardsy took a step back, sizing up Ken. When he didn't find anything threatening, he leaned forward and asked, "Why?" This was not a question that Ken was prepared for but he did the best he could on short notice.
"I'm something of a nomad scientist. Psychology major, out of Harvard. I move around studying humans in different situations and try to predict behavior patterns for my doctorate. I need places to sleep that are completely unexpected and I pay people well for that." Ken was rather proud of that little doozy.
"Pay well, eh?" he said thoughtfully. He placed his hands on the counter, steepled them. "How much is well?"
"One thousand dollars a week."
Chardsy's eyes all but bugged out of his head and his mouth dropped open. "A thousand fucking dollars? Holy shit, man." He turned around, about to announce it gleefully, but stopped. He turned back to Ken, an almost crazed light in his eyes, hands out on the counter. "Okay. I can make room but I need the thousand dollars in advance." He was hyperventilating and full of energy again and Ken found it difficult not to smile at the guy's honest thrill.
Ken pointed to the ATM in the corner. "Come with me over to that once your shift gets out." Chardsy's eyes didn't bug out this time, but his mouth did open. He walked over to the corner, tapped buttons on a computer there, then walked over to Ken again.
Chardsy took off his cap. "I'm off," he announced, and tossed the hat on the counter. "I ain't gonna be needing that for a long time. Don't need to work or nothing!" he yelled and bounced right over to the ATM. "Where's the money?" he asked breathlessly. Ken wordlessly handed over a neat stack of $20 bills, and Chardsy took a moment to simply look at it. Ken saw that light in his eyes again; the light of security and freedom that came with something like this. He stuffed the bills into one pocket. Then Chardsy looked Ken in the eye and stuck out his hand.
Ken shook it firmly. "Where to?" he asked.
"Whoa," Chardsy said. "Where's your stuff?"
"I don't have anything with me other than my equipment," Ken said, pullling at his neck where the shirt chafed on it. "This fabric keeps itself clean."
"Alright. That way," Chardsy said, and started walking out of the building. Ken would have been right behind him, except that the outdoors had actually gotten darker -- Ken found it impossible to see. Chardsy also stopped.
"It's really dark," Ken muttered quietly.
"Give yourself a minute, man," Chardsy said back quietly. "You'll adjust." Ken's eyes eventually came back into focus; he could see the people again, streaming inside still. Chardsy had already set out. Ken quickly caught up, finding himself confused by his new companion's antics. It turned out that Chardsy drove a very small car -- no larger than a small Monochromon -- and stuffing both of them into it was interesting, to say the least. Chardsy lowered his window and Ken did the same, then he started the car and the radio. It was playing something light and fluffy and obviously pop.
This was not unfamiliar to Ken. The Digital World had its share of music bands and some of them specialized in the kind of mindless fluff that he was listening to now. Most of the time they performed in the Stadium, a performing center in the Capitol, but sometimes they'd invite Ken to listen to a new release or jam session. Most of the time Ken, as the Regent, had to turn them down in the interest of running the worldwide nation. Occasionally he'd get the chance to go.
Ken didn't care for the music, but Chardsy seemed to be having quite a good time slapping the wheel with the beat. He had managed to keep the grin on his face, but whatever it was that was in the air of this place got to him. Presently the music came to a halt and the DJ came on saying, "And now, for the week's #1 hit also by Gardening Sincerity, here's --"
Chardsy reached over and gave the knob a twist, turning it off. Ken glanced over. "Why?" he asked.
"Don't worry about it," Chardsy drawled back, but with a quiet pensiveness to his voice. "Nothing for a college man like you to care about."
Ken waited, looking at his host quietly. Chardsy just stared forward, looking at the road.
Chardsy eventually gave in. "That group, Gardening Sincerity, they're a newer group. They started really good, ya? I loved their early stuff. But they got worse real fast, ever since the Odaiba Group started backing them with money and tech. Now they can barely sing a note that's good because they don't care anymore. It's like they sold out, ya?" Chardsy looked frustrated. "Why'd they have to go and get backing? They didn' t need that shit."
"Odaiba Group?" Ken wondered aloud.
Chardsy nodded, lip twisting up. "I didn't think that that bunch of stuffed shirts would bother with a band either, but they get to use the band for marketing crap, so there you go. Another group of people without any energy." A passing car whizzed by them.
"This whole place is like that," Ken mused to himself. He didn't say it quietly enough to have Chardsy miss it, though.
Chardsy nodded. "I thought so."
Ken looked up. "Huh?"
Chardsy pursed his lips, then glanced over at Ken. The car stopped at a red light. "You ain't from around here."
"Of course not," Ken said, surprised and a bit worried. "I'm from Harvard." Chardsy gave him a quick look, then returned his gaze to the road in front of him. His mouth twisted.
"You don't know what it's like, being in a place run by Odaiba," Chardsy said bitterly. When Ken didn't react, Chardsy continued. "You people think that their new ED reactors are the greatest thing ever. Sure they're low cost and efficient and all that shit, but they do something to humans, man. Whatever's in them is screwing us up. We're getting damned tired all the time and I know we didn't get that way with electrical power, ya?"
"You don't seem to be affected by that," Ken pointed out.
"Yeah, that's because I run my place on a generator and use an old gas-powered car. Gas is getting hard to find, though. Gonna have to buy the Odaiba shit to stay alive." Chardsy shook his head. "Never thought it would come to that. Anyway, here we are," he said, and pulled the car into a driveway. Ken got out and looked up; it was an apartment building. "I'm all the way up," he said, and started climbing stairs. Ken did as well and they both arrived in a few moments.
"How do you know that it's Odaiba technology that's doing this to you?" Ken asked. The name Odaiba sounded vaguely familiar, and he made a mental note to contact Stingmon whenever he could to get some info on it. Chardsy unlocked the apartment and they went in. It was by and large clean, except for all of the odd posters and cutouts up on the board. Most were marked "Gardening Sincerity". They all seemed to feature what Ken guessed to be some kind of lead singer: a twenty-something knockout of a redhead. He didn't quite know what to make of such a revealing outfit and found himself staring for one brief moment. Something about her was quietly familiar...
"You alright, man?" Chardsy said, waving a hand in front of him, breaking up his thoughts. Ken shook his head hard to get the cobwebs out, feeling embarrassed.
"Caught off guard by the poster," Ken said. "Anyway, you never answered the question." Chardsy collapsed onto some kind of couch thing and Ken followed suit onto a chair across the way. By the look of it Chardsy didn't entertain much.
"I read that stuff. Somebody posted it online." Chardsy took to digging through a stack of documents. "It's off the old Internet -- I don't have the VandeNet. Sorry. Here we go," he said, and pulled out a stapled stack of papers. "It's a bit long. I'll be in the back, alright? Gotta work out."
Ken took the proffered papers, no more than ten pages of text. "It's not that bad." With that, he looked at the title, and settled himself in for some long reading. This was exactly what he was looking for: "Odaiba Group Technology and Effects on Humanity", by the Angel of Hope.
****
The Lady Celeste pulled into a ruined harbor.
Miyako had been out on a supply run; it had taken all day, with only Aya and Kevin for company. Iori had elected to stay behind and, besides, the Lady Celeste didn't take four people to run it, right? Never mind that Kevin couldn't sail for anything and that Aya was too busy thinking dark thoughts to help. Miyako might as well had made the trip by herself; and thinking those thoughts kept her movements automatic until she had gotten quite close to the harbor; enough to realize that nobody was signalling for their entrance.
It became much more obvious what had happened when they actually got to the dock. There was nobody waiting there to help them get into the harbor; nobody there to assist the three of them getting off of the ship. "I don't like this," Aya muttered constantly while getting out the ropes and throwing them to Kevin while Miyako dropped anchor. "Something happened."
"Aya," Miyako said sternly. "We don't know yet."
Miyako was the first one inside, and the first one to see the base's central room. What had been a bustling center for eating and relaxing had become a field of ruin; the top of the base's roof must have been demolished, because there was a gaping hole where the ceiling used to be that let the starlight in. Miyako's flashlight cut across the place, showing nothing but rock and dust and quiet ruin.
"Damn," Kevin whispered, moving across the area with a hesitent hand. Aya was simply glancing around, her flashlight playing into the ground nearby. Miyako reacted somewhat more strongly; she dropped to her knees, suddenly fighting off the urge to sob. Fighting that was a failing battle and she knew it. She'd figured out exactly what had happened but that didn't make things easier to swallow. She'd never thought that Odaiba and its little Mr. President could smash her group this easily!
Then the rubble moved, and she forgot her sorrow.
A bandaged head reared itself, outlined in Kevin's flashlight. Miyako jumped back up and raced over to the shadow, Aya close behind, to find the bloodied and dazed Takeru. He had been injured somehow and somebody had placed a bandage on his head; it hadn't been quite enough by itself and he looked very pale, the side of his head caked in dried blood "What happened?" Takeru kept saying as the three of him took him carefully to the Lady Celeste. He was the only one that was talking; even Kevin's wit seemed like it didn't work. "Where is Hikari and everyone else?"
They placed him on a bed in the crew quarters. Kevin went out to get the rest of their equipment while Aya set them back out, away from the ruins. Still nobody said anything.
Miyako took a quiet stock of the situation. They had refueled the boat on the way to the supply depot. Most of their advanced equipment was on the boat. She certainly was fine physically Really, the only thing that the President had taken from them was their people and their dreams, Miyako reflected darkly. She had decided to stay with Takeru, who seemed to have some kind of fever or delirium. Either way, he kept asking where everyone was. Miyako wasn't any medical expert, but from what she knew his head injury was either a concussion or something worse. He was probably lucky to be alive, she realized.
"Where is everyone?" he asked again, more insistent this time, and Miyako saw as he turned and glanced into her eyes. His were all but dead, with but a little spark of life behind them.
"I don't know," Miyako finally responded. "I don't know where everyone is." That seemed to placate him, and he collapsed into sleep. She examined the cloth on his head and, reaching out into a small bucket of water nearby, started cleanng the wound. It was an automatic thing and it took her away from the madness. The mind-twisting hopelessness. The rage.
Her lip twisted as she continued to change the bandage but she kept her hands steady. The President had crossed the line! He'd gone too far now, and she had to do something back to him! Finishing with the cleaning, she tore her shirt slightly and redressed the wound. He didn't react much throughout all of that, simply rolling over a bit and wrinkling his brow. When she was done he turned over and fell asleep again. Her lip continued to twist as she looked down at him. They had never tried to kill an Odaiba employee before. Yes, Aya hurt one badly once, but never had any of them crossed that line.
Leaving him there, she went to the bridge. Kevin and Aya were both there, quietly going about their business. The both looked expectantly at her when she got there.
"We're going to Odaiba," she said. "We've got people to save and a score to settle."
****