A/N: See chapter one for full notes. As usual, I own nothing. All feedback is appreciated. Thanks to Amber for beta reading, and if you're confused at this point, worry not – all shall be explained. Enjoy.
With all the preamble of someone flicking a light switch, X was conscious again. He was immediately aware of the constant, dull ache in his left shoulder. That's nice. He shrugged slightly and, happily noting that his left side did indeed move when he asked it to, tried not to wince. Really nice. He opened his eyes. He was in the infirmary. Again. Not that he couldn't remember getting there, but it was somehow still surprising, if only for a few seconds. He blamed the sedative protocol and sat up.
More pain in his shoulder. That was going to be annoying if he actually had to use it for anything, but he seemed to have full range of motion. Good. The Blue Bomber swung his legs over the side of the bed, and noticed for the first time that he wasn't wearing his armor. It occurred to him that he should have remembered that too. He really didn't like medical stasis. He had been stripped down to an undershirt and black boxers with little yellow smiling faces on them. Some part of him screamed to know how many people had seen him like this, but, with a bit of mental effort, he shoved it aside. He had more important things to worry about. He found the call button on the side of the bed and pushed it.
Lifesaver's voice answered after a few moments. X thought he sounded more stressed than was normal, but that was to be expected, given their current situation. "You're awake," he began, stating the obvious in that special way only physicians can, "I'll be with you in a minute. We have a problem."
"Another one?" He sighed. This was going to be a bad week.
"Afraid so. We're in the middle of a political wrestling match. The Minister of Defense is trying to blame us for this entire fiasco."
X rolled his eyes. "Is there any chance you can find a reason to put me back to sleep?"
The voice on the other end chuckled. "No rest for the wicked, Commander."
"Alright," X sighed, "then how about some pants?"
The door to Lifesaver's office opened, and he strode purposely out. He was a stocky man, dressed in brown and green armor that, all things considered, was rather drab. He wore a brown helmet on his head with a large round mirror (or at least some sort of medical scanner that looked very much like a mirror) set into it. He didn't smile very often, but that had a lot to do with the fact that most of the time he was wearing an expression of, as he liked to call it, "professional neutrality." X narrowed his eyes – at the moment, his reticent friend was frowning. "I'd give you a set of scrubs, but I really don't think you'll want to wear those to a staff meeting. Especially considering we have the esteemed pleasure of teleconferencing with the Japanese UNSC Representative in fifteen minutes. I was about to wake you up."
X arched an eyebrow. "You seem rather glib, given the circumstances. Not that I disagree with you."
The frown faded a bit. "Something tells me I won't be in a very humorous mood after we find out exactly how much of that stuff got stolen, and what exactly it does. Not to mention the fact that it'll probably be our fault before they're done with us. I'm trying to get my daily allotment of sarcasm and faux-cheer in now, while I'm still in the mood."
"Good idea. I'd like to say I can't believe they developed something like that without letting the UN – or us – know, but I'm really not that surprised. We work for a pack of idiots. This is just another link in a chain of unbelievably stupid things they do and then expect us to clean up." He rotated his shoulder again, hoping it would feel a little better. Unfortunately, it did not. He consulted his damage control system, which proclaimed that the appendage was fully operational, yet for some reason not taking as much power from his generator as was normal. "So, what's wrong with my arm?"
Lifesaver blinked. "You don't remember? You really don't handle being put to sleep well, do you? And you've only been out two hours. Don't look at me like that. I could have left you awake when I sliced you open. I had to completely replace your left shoulder – well, everything in your left shoulder. What wasn't sliced in half was either melted or otherwise unsalvageable. Very nice energy dagger. It'll be a bit sore for a few days, until the new components synchronize with your power systems. You usually don't notice this kind of thing because I deactivate the sensory nodes near the affected areas … but if I turn off the ones in your shoulder you won't be able to feel anything in your arm. And since they're probably going to want you to stay on call until we've dealt with the nerve agent, that won't work."
"Ah. Is that why you've turned down the power intake?"
The doctor shook his head. "I had to replace a power distribution node in your chest cavity. It shorted out. It'll take about a week to get up to full capacity, I'm afraid. Until then, I've set it up so you won't be able to pull some stupid stunt and blow the whole thing out. Oh, I know you'll still pull stupid stunts, but this way your arm won't fail on you in the middle of said insane antics."
X nodded, feigning offense. "Any side effects I should be aware of?"
"Your weapon systems run on their own power source, so that's not a problem … but your artificial muscles are only getting twenty percent of their normal power. I know you can do the math, but just to be thorough, you won't be able to apply more than one ton of force with your left arm. It won't break or anything … it just won't work."
X's frown, which had almost left his face, returned with a vengeance for several seconds. More complications are the last thing I need right now. He sighed heavily. "Noted." With a thought, X activated his teleporter and, pleasantly surprised to see that the compound's computer system was reporting that his armor was repaired and available, recalled it. In the next instant, his body disappeared in a flash of blue light. When it cleared, he was once again wearing his trademark two-toned blue armor. Lifesaver was suddenly looking rather bemused. "What's that look supposed to be? Wait, was Zero here while I was knocked out?" Despite the situation, he couldn't help but think, Wonderful. If he saw those shorts, I won't hear the end of it for weeks.
"No, you're in luck. Alia got here first, deduced that you probably didn't want to risk him seeing you so … happy … and covered you up before he came in."
X's jaw dropped. He knew he had more important things to worry about, but this … this was just bad. "That's … infinitely worse." His voice rose slightly as he stood up. "Is there a reason you didn't cover me up with something before she got here?"
Lifesaver shrugged, his face serene as he turned for the door. X was pretty sure he was enjoying himself. "It's not like you were naked, and you know very well we only give blankets out to humans and unclothed reploids. Besides, I can assure you she wasn't paying much attention to them. She was too busy casually asking me when you were going to wake up and what exactly was wrong with you. Oh, and she kept subtly brushing hair out of your face whenever it tickled you and your nose started twitching. The both of you are very good at seriously worrying over someone without actually appearing as worried as you are. I mean, I've been doing this long enough to see a lot of that kind of behavior, but with either of you, it's like a performance art."
X was looking very calm now, and he smiled thinly. "I'm not going to deny anything. Come on. We'll be late."
By the time X made it to the senior staff's conference room, his mood had changed dramatically. The underwear incident was forgotten, and he moved with a practiced, subdued urgency. They had a problem, and it was time to fix it. He slid into his seat in between Zero and Alia's empty chair, and took in the mood of the room.
To his right, Zero was sitting with his arms folded, scowling. He was about a head taller than X, with fiery green eyes and golden-blonde hair that was pulled back into a ponytail that brushed his ankles when he stood. Armored white epaulets covered his shoulders – each trimmed red and emblazoned with a golden, stylized letter Z. His helmet was nearly identical to X's save for the fact that it was mostly white in the front, gilded, with a blue crystal inset. The sides were red and rose into spikes that resembled cat ears – though most people thought of them as horns – the horns of The Demon. He grinned at X. "Good to see you up, bro. I thought you were gonna miss the fun. I think we're about to get chewed out."
"Yeah," Lifesaver grumbled, plopping into his seat, "we certainly wouldn't want to miss that."
"Well," a third, lighter voice popped in, "it beats trying to teach trainees how to properly oil a Chimera LR mecha. I've been giving the same lecture for the last four hours, and people are still trying to lubricate the laser cannons in the chest." He shrugged his green-armored shoulders, and sighed, eyes rolling mightily behind the red tinted welder's goggles built into his helmet. He looked stressed. "I mean, am I the only person that thinks putting flammable liquid in a tube that fires white-hot energy beams is a bad idea?" He looked at X, suddenly smirking. "Good to see you back on your feet, buddy. Next time you're in danger of bleeding to death, how about not telling Alia? She got all snappy."
X blinked, ignoring his green and grey armored friend's closing jab. "Where're Signas and Alia?"
Before anyone could respond, the doors parted again, and two more people entered. The first was an absolutely towering man who wore a solemn expression. His armor was black and white, accented with a number of green globes. His helmet was fashioned after a military cap, with a round red jewel set into it. He took his seat, looking as grave as X felt. "Everybody ready?" There were nods all around.
Then there was Alia. She was a bit shorter than X, but not by much. Her armor was of the lighter variety, mostly magenta and pink (No, I did not choose this color scheme, so you can stop snickering, Zero. And if you ever call me Barbie again …) with white highlights on her gauntlets, chest, and abdomen. The material covering her upper arms was black. She didn't wear a helmet, but her omnipresent headset was perched in its usual spot. Bushy blond bangs hung in front of her blue eyes. Without getting up, X pulled her chair out. It would have been more gentlemanly to stand and do it, but a man could only stand so much abject cooing from his (single) friends in one morning. "Thanks," she said crisply, the corners of her mouth quirked up. "Feeling better, I assume?" X nodded quickly, and the smile got a tad bigger. "Good."
X had a feeling she longed to add the word "idiot," but brushed it aside. At times, it was an accurate assessment. "Yeah. Lifesaver said I'll be fine." His mouth fell into a thin line. "I assume we're waiting on their call?"
Signas nodded. When he spoke, it was impossible to miss the slight agitation in his voice. "That's right," he said darkly, "they'll be with us in about ten minutes, if they're running on schedule." He sighed. "Damn it, X – what happened? No one in this room is blaming you for anything, but it doesn't make any sense."
"No kidding," X grumbled. "And I was there. I still don't have anything to offer on the sticks they used against me – yes, Zero, I said sticks, apparently wooden – but I'm thinking whoever they are, they've developed some sort of human-safe teleporter. At any rate, we've got two serious problems as I see it, not counting the theft itself."
"One," Douglas cut in, "is that the mercenaries – and therefore, whoever hired them, had a way to beam through a military-grade teleportation scrambling field. I'll tell you right now – that just shouldn't be possible. I mean, the teleporter technology we use now is fundamentally flawed – it simply isn't able to penetrate energy fields that scatter photons. Whatever they've got, it's something completely new."
"Not to mention it's a serious tactical disadvantage," Zero added grimly. "Sigma's entire army could drop in on us right now and we wouldn't be able to do anything about it. We're sitting ducks."
"I never thought I would hear you say something like that, Zero," Lifesaver jumped in, eyebrows raised.
"I didn't say we were helpless sitting ducks." Zero narrowed his eyes. "If they come, we'll flatten them. Attacking a concentrated group of Hunters, last time I checked, is fundamentally stupid."
"What's problem number two?" Douglas asked.
"X was attacked by a human," Alia said quietly. "He didn't get a chance to defend himself, but if he had –" she stopped abruptly; she seemed unable to finish her sentence.
"I'd be dead," X said quietly, frowning. "That's the serious problem here. We've dealt with nerve agent recovery before – as much as I hate to say it, it's almost routine. But we're Maverick Hunters … if humans are working with Dynamo's group, well … our hands will be tied, to say the least. My own feelings on the subject notwithstanding, I don't think I can order my unit to commit suicide. That's not what they signed up to do."
Alia abruptly sat bolt upright. Her voice was as calm and controlled as ever, but her eyes were a bit wider than normal. "Your own feelings? What's that supposed to mean?"
Signas interrupted them before X had a chance to respond. "You really think it's him, then?"
X nodded, pleased to change the subject. "Dynamo? Yeah. You saw the note. It wasn't signed, but it sounded just like him."
"Yeah," Zero added. "The bastard's in a perfect position to jerk us around, and he knows it. So, what exactly did they steal? I mean, I know it's some sort of prototype neurotoxin, but what's it do?"
"Unknown," Signas replied. "They didn't want to tell us until we could all assemble for a meeting, but I got the impression it was something seriously dangerous."
Alia furrowed her brow, narrowing her blue eyes. "Aren't nerve agents supposed to be illegal under UN Resolution 12033?"
"Not exactly," X muttered. "The use of such weapons is illegal … development is not."
Alia looked absolutely disgusted, a rare display of negative emotion while on duty. "What? That doesn't make any sense. How can development be legal if usage is not?"
"Simple," X said, his face darkening more than anyone liked, "If they can come up with a non-military use for the agent, they have justification. Or, in the case of this stuff, there's the option of simply not telling the UN and hoping you don't get caught."
"Directive be damned?" That came from Douglas.
"Exactly," Signas continued. "There's little the UN can do but discourage them anyway. No one's going to pass sanctions against Japan, and the government knows it."
"Yeah," Douglas spat. "We're here. Japan is home to Hunter Headquarters, so they end up with a hell of a lot of leeway."
"Chemical weapons," Lifesaver spat venomously. "Arrogant, stupid fools. I don't get it, really. Sigma's still trying to wipe them all from the face of the earth, yet they still put so much effort into coming up with newer and better ways to slaughter each other."
"How bad could this stuff be?" Alia asked. Almost sheepishly, she added, "I'll admit, I'm not much of an expert on chemical or biological weaponry."
"They haven't given me a complete briefing yet, but how much do you know about a chemical called VX?"
Alia paled slightly, but
the expression of simple curiosity on her face didn't change. "It was a nerve agent produced through the
middle of the 21st century.
It was all destroyed one-hundred years ago. As for what it does," she actually turned a
bit green, and X followed suit, "I haven't seen any pictures, but the written descriptions
are very … explicit." X muttered
something about drastic understatements.
He had seen pictures.
Lifesaver nodded, his expression grave. "That's about right. From what little I know … this stuff is
worse. They have enough to affect
several hundred thousand people, if not more.
That's assuming it's at least as potent as VX."
Zero narrowed his eyes. "Shit."
No one had a chance to say anything else. The viewer set into the far wall began to beep. It was time to dance with the devil – and the devil wore a power suit.
Dynamo smirked. "Alright, you two, we're here."
Hermione grinned, delighted. "Great," she breathed. "I thought I was about to fall over."
Harry narrowed his near-useless eyes. "Really?"
Hermione frowned slightly. Why did he get so literal all of the sudden? "Of course not," she said crisply, "but I have no problem admitting my feet are killing me."
Harry smiled thinly. "Mine too." He tried to look at the building they were in front of, but couldn't make out much of anything, except for the fact that it was the most painful shade of slime green he had ever laid eyes on, half-blind or otherwise.
"You're not missing anything, Harry," Dynamo said, grinning at them both. He had learned quickly not to suggest they were dating. Not unless he wanted to watch them squirm and shoot off denials faster than scandalized politicians. And as much entertainment as that was, he realized he needed them to like him for a bit longer. "It looks like a giant green Jell-O cube."
Harry chuckled lightly. "At least it's open."
"Indeed." Dynamo made a show of glaring at the watch on his wrist. "Oh, blast it."
"What's wrong?" That was Hermione.
"I'm going to be late for an appointment if I don't get out of here." He stared hard at the both of them, seemingly deep in thought. "Look, you won't need an appointment here. Just walk in and explain the situation. They'll get you fixed up, Harry, then they'll be able to direct you to a shelter. I'm pretty sure there's one very near here." He dug around in one of his pockets, and handed a white and gold credit card shaped piece of plastic to Hermione. "Here. Take this. It's not much, just fifty or so zenni, but it'll be enough to get you bus fare to anywhere within thirty miles of here, just in case you need it."
Hermione hesitated. "Thank you, sir, but we couldn't take money from you."
"No, I'd feel horrible if I just left you here without any money. I've got plenty. Go ahead."
Hermione was about to refuse again, but Harry elbowed her lightly in the side with the arm he was holding on to her with, hoping it would be less noticeable that way. Hermione frowned lightly, considered for another half a second, and pocketed the card.
"Thank you very much, sir," Harry smiled pleasantly. "Thanks for everything."
"Anytime," Dynamo grinned, and turned to walk down the street. "Good luck." In another few minutes, he was gone. He had turned a corner, and with all the noise of the street, neither Harry nor Hermione could hear his light chuckling.
They stood silently for a second, and then Hermione turned towards him. Harry couldn't see her any better than before, but he somehow knew she was less than pleased with him. "I can't believe you did that, Harry," she hissed. "It wasn't right to take money from him, especially that much. We're not beggars."
Harry's instinct was to sigh, but he held it in, frowning deeply at her. She wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "I'm afraid that's not true, Hermione." He could see the fuzzy outline of her jaw moving, instants away from a reply, but he pushed on. When he spoke, he was unable to completely banish the frustration from his voice. "We're stuck here. We have no money. No clothes but the ones we're wearing on our backs. No food. Nothing. Hermione, as much as I hate to say it, we are beggars, at least for the moment. We need all the help we can get."
As soon as the last sentence was out of his mouth, he regretted it. Not because of the content – he meant every word of it – but he didn't mean to sound so bleak. As much as he hated to admit it, his own frustration was starting to get to him. No, he thought suddenly, I won't lose control. Not like this. I told her we aren't hopelessly screwed. I've got to believe that, no matter what. He heard her whimper lightly, and would have cursed himself if she weren't around. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't – I know what I sounded like just now. It doesn't have anything to do with you, I promise. I'm just a little frustrated right now."
"I know, Harry. I guess … I just wasn't thinking about it like that. I don't know why. Kind of stupid, really. I mean, how else are we going to get money?"
Harry squinted his eyes in an attempt to get his image of Hermione to coalesce a bit, and found her shoulders. He squeezed them gently. "It's not stupid. You're right. Taking money from strangers, however nice they may be, is a risk I wouldn't normally take. But I think, in our … uh … position, it's worth taking." He turned, looking at the cube-like building. "I guess we should get this over with. After all," he grinned, "we've still got to hit the library, right?"
Hermione giggled lightly. "You aren't usually this excited about the thought of spending hours in libraries."
"Oh, I know. I just figure, maybe if I pretend to be, I'll start to understand why you want to live in one."
Hermione said nothing, but promptly elbowed him in the side, performing the motion with much more force than he had. "I think we're even now," she said happily, taking his hand again. Harry tried to catch his breath, and grinned.
Hermione led Harry into the office and looked around, mindful of the fact that Harry would be relying on her for an in-depth description of … well … pretty much anything he needed an in-depth description of. She shrugged her shoulders lightly, almost surprised by the slight downward tugging on her arm that was currently attached to Harry's hand. She had gotten very used to the contact over the course of the morning. She felt Crookshanks brush against her legs lightly. She watched him curl luxuriously up under a potted tree of some sort and looked around.
The waiting room was rather spacious, and seemed only more so in the absence of patients. Someone had done a very nice job with the décor. The walls were a pale yellow, with very clean ice blue carpeting. The lighting was all artificial, but very clean and bright nonetheless. There were a few healthy looking potted plants here and there. It occurred to Hermione that there were no windows, anywhere. "Do you think they're open yet?"
"I guess. I mean, the door was unlocked." Harry thought the place had a nice feel to it. It seemed very clean and bright. He looked around, trying to find the receptionist's desk. He saw a fuzzy looking rectangular, glassed cutout in the far wall, and started moving that direction, Hermione at his side.
A door opened to their left, and the ensuing near-yell nearly made Hermione topple over in surprise. For an instant, Harry instinctively fingered the wand in his pocket, but he didn't draw it out. The woman – who, by the look of her fuzzily outlined white coat, was a nurse or doctor – seemed more surprised than anything. He assumed she didn't want to harm them. That, and it occurred to him that, regardless of her intentions, he wouldn't be able to aim well enough to do anything if she did. Harry couldn't tell much about her appearance, aside from the fact that she was about half a head taller than he was, with black hair and an ebony complexion. He couldn't see that her eyes were a deep blue. He frowned slightly. The woman, whom Harry was beginning to suspect was an assistant of some sort, seemed to compose herself and said simply, very calmly, "Hello. Can I help you?"
Hermione stepped forward slightly. "Yes, ma'am. My name is Hermione, and this is my friend Harry." The Boy Who Lived nodded.
"Hello, ma'am. We were referred here."
The young woman paused for a moment, taking in their appearance. Harry, she saw, was an average looking boy; not terribly tall, thin but fit looking, with messy black hair that covered his forehead. His eyes caught her attention; they seemed a little dazed, yet were pointed directly at her face – he wasn't blind. It took her about a second to realize he wasn't focusing very well. The girl, Hermione, was about a head shorter than Harry, with very stressed looking, large, brown eyes. It was obvious that her hair was usually very bushy, but at the moment it was almost completely wilted. The skin around her left eye was yellow and green – lightly bruised. It occurred to Wilma that she looked nearly exhausted. Something very odd was going on here. "You were … referred? By whom? We're not really open yet, so we have a few minutes to talk. Would you care to sit down?" Hermione nodded eagerly, and turned in the direction of the couch she gestured to, still leading Harry by the hand. Wilma got a look at the back of Harry's head, and her eyes widened; a good deal of it seemed to be moistened by some red substance she was almost sure was blood. Yes, finding out what was going on here was very important. "My name's Wilma, by the way. Wilma Anderson."
Harry managed to sit down on the couch without tripping over himself, and relaxed. His feet were becoming most unhappy, and giving them break before they figured out how to rebel against him seemed like an excellent idea. Hermione all but collapsed next to him. "It's a bit of a long story," he said abruptly. He prepared to slip into another stream of fluid lies and half-truths. He wasn't really surprised with how easy the charade was. He didn't consider himself a delinquent, but between dealing with Snape and Filch, he had plenty of experience. "My friend and I are … between residences at the moment."
Wilma nodded, making an effort to keep her face neutral. So, they're homeless. That explains a few things. She had a sinking suspicion that the bundles they were carrying and the clothes they were wearing represented the whole of their possessions. It was really the only reason she could think of that he would be going around with a broom strapped to his body. "I see. How long has it been like this with the two of you?"
"I'm afraid it's been a while," Harry returned easily, not at all sounding dejected or pitiful. "We've been together … for … well, it's hard to say exactly," he said evasively, "a very long time."
"Oh," Wilma said lightly, aware that she was suddenly treading on sensitive ground. "Well, you said someone referred you here?" she trailed off, noting the looks of relief on their faces at the subject change.
"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, trying to quickly decide exactly what he wanted to say, "We … were robbed earlier this morning." No lies yet. He just didn't mention that they had been robbed of their lives. Unimportant details.
"I see," the nurse returned easily, suddenly frowning. "I'm guessing that's why you're both a bit beaten up?"
Harry blinked. "Both?" He turned his head towards Hermione sharply. "You said it wasn't that bad." That line had not been part of the plan. Then again, he hadn't meant to sound quite so worried, either.
"It's not, Harry. Honestly, you worry too much. It's just a bit of bruising. Besides, you're the one who can't see past his nose right now." Harry would never know it, but at that moment, she looked as close to sticking her tongue out at him as she had in the last four years.
Wilma's eyebrows shot up slightly. She was taking great pains to keep her expression neutral, but it was hard not to smile. Whoever these kids were, it was obvious they had a very developed relationship, platonic or otherwise. "So, I take it that, during this … scuffle, Harry, you lost your glasses?"
Harry nodded. "Among other things," he said darkly. "How did you know – ?"
The nurse waved him off. "It's quite obvious you aren't seeing very well, otherwise you would have noticed the –" Hermione cleared her throat, "the, uh, very slight discoloration on your friend's face."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. I can't see very well at all right now. I hate to say it, but without my glasses I'm a bit … well, I'd be doing much better if I didn't have to worry about anything beyond my nose. I wasn't really sure what I was going to do. I'd thought going to a hospital, but since we don't have any identification or insurance, I didn't think that would go very well. We ran into a very nice man a little while ago, and, after we explained the situation to him, he brought us here and dropped us off. He said your office does work for one of the local shelters, and that you might be able to help us."
The nurse smiled kindly at them. She had suspected it to be boiling down to something like that. She grinned. They both seemed like they could use a bit of good news, and she was prepared to give them some. "Ah. Can't see anything past your nose? You are bad off, kid." Crookshanks chose that moment to appear, walking briskly across the carpet and jumping into Hermione's lap. He curled up into a ball and purred. Wilma gawked, momentarily dumfounded. It wasn't so much that she was surprised by the bandy-legged cat's presence, even though he had up to now escaped her notice. It was quite obvious from his behavior that he belonged to the girl sitting across from her. No, it had a lot to do with the way the sharp eyes in the smashed-looking face were staring at her. Cats and dogs had looked at her intently before, but this was the first time she honestly felt like one of them was glaring at her. She didn't entirely like it, in fact she was bit creeped out, but she tried to put that aside. Normally, she would have to insist that Hermione remove the animal from the building, but she decided not to worry about it, just this once. She knew Nathan Cossack well enough to figure he wouldn't mind, given the circumstances. "Nice kitty, dear. Here's the deal – Doctor Cossack does do work for some of the shelters, but I'm afraid it's not free. It's usually the shelter that's paying for it. Which one are you staying at right now? I'm sure we could arrange something with them."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. Next to him, Hermione did the same. This was unexpected. "We," he began, "we … uh …" Okay, so he wasn't a fantastic liar, but was that really a title worth having?
"Wait," the older woman said suddenly, worry washing over her face. "You aren't staying in a shelter, are you? Tell me you've got somewhere to sleep."
"We're not staying at a shelter," Hermione said quietly, ignoring the second part of the woman's question. "We don't know where one is. We've," she blinked furiously for a moment, "we've never been to Tokyo before."
"We were staying somewhere outside the city," Harry picked up, "but we had to … leave."
Wilma sat for a moment, thoughtful. There was one critical question. She wasn't quite sure if they were runaways or not. It made sense, given the pristine, clean quality of their clothes, and their obvious evasiveness, but at the same time, she doubted it. They both sounded a bit sad and lonely. It didn't seem like they were very used to their current situation, whatever it was. "We may be able to help you," she said finally. "But we can't give you anything for free. Would you be willing to check in at a shelter if I could find you one?"
Before Harry could do anything, Hermione nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes. We would be more than willing." Harry smiled, and Wilma did too, pleased at seeing some of the worry lines disappear from their faces.
"Alright, then. We don't have any patients scheduled 'till one, and the doc will be here in a half hour or so. We keep a list of the shelters we work with, so I'm going to make a few calls. Hermione, why don't you help Harry into the bathroom so he can clean up that cut on the back of his head? There's some hydrogen peroxide under the sink."
Hermione nodded and took Harry's hand again. By now, she didn't even pause to think about the action. As they walked, the nurse called after them. "I almost forgot. Neither of you mentioned who sent you here."
"Oh," Harry smiled. "Sorry. We met him near a sushi bar a couple miles from here. He was really nice – said his name was Dynamo, and that he knew the doctor. Is he one of your patients? He has long, silver hair, and he's about my age, I think."
He and Hermione disappeared into the bathroom, the latter trying to stifle a giggle as Harry clipped the doorframe with his shoulder. They closed the door. Only Crookshanks, who was indeed scrutinizing the nurse carefully from his position on the couch, saw her eyes widen in a mixture of fear, anxiety, and fascination. "They … with him … didn't know who he was. Holy God." Before the two of them emerged again, she had managed to force it off her face. He made a mental note to attempt to keep the silver haired man far away from his Hermione. Clawing his eyes out might be sufficient. After all, the Wilma woman seemed to think he was a very bad man.
"That's total bull, and you know it!" Zero bellowed furiously. The woman on the viewer didn't so much as flinch, despite the fact the blonde's brilliant green eyes were positively burning into her skull. She was of Asian descent, and the blue eyes in her own late twenty-something face were blazing just as brilliantly back at him. She tugged on the black jacket of her Armani suit and ran a hand through her electric blue hair, the only part of her that didn't scream, in the Crimson Hunter's opinion, stuffy, self-serving bureaucrat.
"I will thank you to watch your tongue, Commander. I realize the Hunters don't observe overly strident rank and protocol regulations, but do not forget your place. You are a member of a UN sanctioned anti-terrorism task force and are thus beholden to respect and uphold the directives of that organization and its representatives. Don't forget that."
"Respect is earned, Councilwoman, not assigned," Zero hissed dangerously. "And don't give me this UN directive shit. The United Nations doesn't have a damned thing to do with this, besides the fact that they're – and by extension us – the ones left trying to clean up your mess. This is the Japanese government's fault, pure and simple. We wouldn't be having this discussion if we'd been in on this. We could have been providing security. But no … that would have meant letting the full United Nations know you were cooking up the next great plague, now wouldn't it? And staffing the place with nothing but humans, with that kind of nasty … I don't even know what to call the sludge you brewed up. In short, Councilwoman, just what in the hell were you thinking?"
Signas frowned. As much as he agreed with Zero, the shouting match from hell wasn't the way to play this. They simply didn't have the time. Zero had stopped, and the woman on the viewer was busily gaping like a fish (he tried not to grin), so he had a moment to consider. He let his eyes slide around the table, taking in the mood of his other senior officers. Douglas was angry, that much was certain, but his mood was nothing compared to Zero's. In fact, he seemed more flabbergasted than anything else. It was quite possible he was trying to wrap his brilliant engineer's mind around the problem of how the humans in control of Japan's military could really be that stupid. He understood that; he was in the same boat.
Lifesaver looked … well … he wasn't sure, but he thought his taciturn Chief Medical Officer might have been in shock. No, wait … his mouth's moving. Now that he was thinking about it, it was possible, if he strained his ears, to hear what the doctor was muttering. Interesting. Curses in Latin and Ancient Greek. Right, then. He made a note to tread lightly around the doctor until the current crisis was over. And, quite possibly, for several weeks after that.
Alia's skin was losing some of its newly acquired green tint; that was good. She hadn't spoken at all sense the animal testing video was shown, and he was sure it had taken a great exercise of will to keep her face neutral and impassive. It was impressive, really, how she could keep her emotions so well in check when she had to. It's what made her so useful during any kind of crisis. Panic simply wasn't something she was good at. That's why, he often thought, she made such a good spotter for Commander X and his unit.
Mega Man X. His wasn't really a face he wanted to at right now, but he did anyway. No point in gauging the mood of a room if he didn't check on the man he considered his second-in-command. He met the green-eyed Hunter's gaze, and he couldn't help it – he flinched. X wasn't like Zero – shouting rages weren't his style. In fact, it was nearly impossible, even in battle, to make the man angry. Or so the story went. Signas knew better. It was true, X could exert a great deal of control over his emotions when he needed to, and he almost never allowed any real anger to surface on his face or in his voice. As far as the Grand Commander knew, there were only a few men alive who could consistently get him to break that rule. He was certain UN Security Council representative Aya Misumi wouldn't want to be counted among them. But it was really too late for her to do anything about it. He looked at his friend's face again, and tried not to shudder.
X hadn't moved much in the last few minutes, and had said even less. He simply sat in a newly requisitioned vinyl desk chair, resting his arms on the rests built into the sides, listening to the representative coming clean about exactly what the military in her home country had been up to. It was almost unbelievable, but the proof was being fed into the terminals set at intervals into the conference table, and it was still throbbing in his shoulder every time he moved. It was absolute stupidity, pure and simple. He'd listened to Zero getting put down for calling the idiots on their recklessness. Sure, his friend was often far too … expressive when he was angry, but he was right. He realized abruptly that Signas was looking at him, but he didn't care. He'd had enough. "This is idiocy," he said finally, his normally gentle voice icy and eerily calm. All activity in the room stopped, and Miss Misumi stayed whatever response she was about to issue to Zero. Her eyes were fixed on X, and she had the look of a person who suddenly wanted very much to be somewhere else. He returned the gaze, eyes that had looked gentle and almost tired mere moments before suddenly alive with barely supressed anger. She wondered, in that moment, if that's what so many Mavericks and mercenaries saw before the Blue Bomber had sent them to whatever afterlife was reserved for sentient machines. She would never know that, indeed, that look was infinitely worse.
He felt Alia's white-gloved hand slip over his own and squeeze it lightly. He could see her out of the corner of his eye – her expression hadn't changed at all. It was still calm and focused on the viewer, just as it had been before he opened his mouth. He wanted desperately to smile at her so she wouldn't worry about him, but he couldn't manage to get the artificial muscles in his face to comply. And that only made him angrier with the woman in front of him. As he continued to speak, his voice lost the minute traces of warmth and friendliness it still held. "You have no right to criticize us for anything. We were not the ones that decided to develop the Ragnarok Protocol. We're not the ones who flaunted – no, broke – at least two dozen UN resolutions and a number of multinational weapon testing and development treaties. I know just how much heat the Security Council is giving you over this, so don't you dare try to act like you're acting in their interest. That's the only reason the Minister of Defense had you address us today, isn't it? You're acting as a representative of this government, but your status as a member of the Security Council would certainly make you more imposing." X crossed his arms, the mere motion of his arms making the listening diplomat flinch. "If we were actually intimidated by titles, that is. No one here cares about making it any easier for you to cover your mistakes. We can and will help you fix them – that's our duty – but will not cover them up. So let's go over what you've told us:
"The Ragnarok Protocol is a nerve agent – more specifically, a neurotransmitter inhibitor similar to VX that also increases intracranial pressure of the victim. The unstable attributes of VX have also been eliminated from the molecule, so it's much more persistent than the ancient nerve gas. Deadly within five minutes when one is exposed to the liquid form; ninety seconds when exposed to the gas, highly corrosive, and – well, I don't think I need to go through re-describing its exact effects – we all remember the monkey video quite vividly. Perhaps most importantly, there is no antitoxin, because your people hadn't gotten around to formulating one yet. As of this morning, one ton of the liquid form was stolen by – and we are assuming this – the mercenary known as Dynamo and or his agents, along with a number of unidentified humans. According to your estimates, that's enough to kill hundreds of thousands of people. Their escape was clean, and at the moment, we have no way of tracking them. This is where we stand at this hour. So please forgive me if I'm in a bit of a bad mood." He finished speaking and leaned back in his seat, dropping his arms to his side. His shoulders drooped a bit, and a frown settled on his face, as though confronting the woman had taken a great deal of effort. The truth was, and he would never admit this to anyone but Alia or Zero, should they ask, it was only through the exercise of every bit of willpower he possessed that he hadn't already put a bolt of plasma through the screen. And he hated that he could be made that angry by someone who wasn't technically an evil maniac. He had sworn more than twenty-five years ago to do everything in his power to protect the human race from extinction. And more than once he'd been made to wonder just why Sigma bothered – given enough time, they were sure to wipe themselves out. Then again, I guess when you've gotten to the top of a planet's food chain, and you've got no more major predators to worry about dealing with, you've got to try to kill something … and when all that's left is you, that becomes a problem.
Aya Misumi felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Hard. She wanted desperately to break eye contact with the blue armored Commander whose irises were currently fixed on her, but she couldn't. She had made the mistake of forgetting who she was talking to, she realized all too late. She was dealing with a living legend … a man who was known for staring apocalypse in the face and still being calm enough to blink; a man who routinely exterminated armies – alone – with nothing more than the cannons built into his arms and, according to a few people, a smile. Some people liked to say he had no fear. Whether that was true or not, it occurred to her in that tense moment that he didn't give a damn about some diplomat's empty, face-saving threats. He only cared about the problem he had to solve right now, and getting the information he would need to do it. She had never been one of the people stupid enough to discriminate against reploids simply because of what they were, and there was a part of her, she realized then, that desperately wanted to salvage some kind of amicable relationship with the androids currently glaring at her. She may not have been able to show it very often, seeing as official policy was to treat them as something akin to dry dirt, but she respected each and every one of them for what they did. It was time, she decided, to drop the pretenses and give it to them. Her superiors would likely be infuriated with her for what she was about to do, but they didn't have to look at those accusing green eyes. As far as she was concerned, they could get bent.
Before the assembled members of the Maverick Hunter Headquarters senior staff, Miss Misumi underwent a very noticeable, very drastic change. Her shoulders fell as she slumped back into her seat. Her face seemed to lose the politician's mask she had put in place. Indeed, the woman seemed to age several years before their eyes as stress lines made themselves apparent. She sighed, and when she spoke again, she sounded far more exhausted than any of them were expecting. "I won't disagree with you, Commander," she said heavily. "We've screwed up here." She paused, giving them time to get over their shock at seeing her so drastically transformed. "You're all right, as far as I'm concerned. This whole project reeks of stupidity. And I'll tell you something else: as for why I was ordered to be as stingy with information as possible, it's because we don't know what the hell is going on here. The chemical itself wasn't the only thing stolen. As of this morning, the forms, directives, and orders authorizing the project – hell, everything related to Ragnarok – disappeared from our computers. It's been completely wiped, from what I've heard. Hell, if you asked somebody right now, no one would even be able to tell you whose idea this was. Personally, I'm not sure anyone actually knows. All we've got left proving it actually exists is incomplete hardcopy versions of the authorization orders and a few progress reports. It's been utter chaos all morning. People are completely lost. Even the backups are gone. Including the seven sets of offsite copies. It's a total mess. We're assuming whoever organized the theft managed to pull the data as well. They have the means to produce more. The United Nations knows nothing about the data theft. The Prime Minister fears sanctions and censure … that's how serious this is."
"Wonderful," Douglas hissed, "so not only do they have the stuff, but they also have all the instructional and informational material they need to make as much of it as they want." Zero swore again, and this time Lifesaver joined him in English.
"Exactly," Misumi replied heavily. "On the bright side, we've received direct orders from the Prime Minister. He's not interested in recovering the stuff – he's interested in wiping it off the face of the earth. Your orders are to locate and destroy the agent itself and recover all electronic data related to it. We realize humans are involved in whatever is going on here, and most of you are forbidden from engaging human combatants. There will not be a problem with your non-reploid Hunters engaging these human mercenaries. I realize that's only a small percentage of your forces, Commander Signas. The United Nations has instructed me to inform you that several nations are offering the services of their militaries, should you need them." She glanced at X again. He looked like he approved of the Prime Minister's decision, and she found a bit of the weight on her shoulders dissolving.
Alia raised an eyebrow. "Why not just destroy the data along with the agent itself?"
The representative sighed. "They want the data back so they can study it further and finish devising a counter agent. Like your CMO said, we have no way of knowing who will end up with the formula. We need a way to combat the agent, should it actually be used."
"You know," Signas spoke finally, "I hadn't even thought of them selling the formula yet. This is going to get out of control if we don't get on it fast." He grew completely serious. "Is there anything else you need to tell us before we go to work?"
She frowned. "You really think whoever took it would sell it? We figured it was someone who wanted to use it for themselves."
"If X is right about who stole it," Signas said patiently, "I have no doubt it has already been sold. Dynamo is a mercenary, as you know. He does only what he is paid to do, with two notable exceptions – he would give anything to kill X and Zero."
Zero snorted. "And he'd probably do that for free." X nodded barely, the expression on his face unreadable. Aya Misumi looked absolutely horrified. Zero, to his credit, managed to look almost sheepish. "Sorry."
"He would," X said, and there was no longer anger in his voice. He simply sounded determined, but Aya only had a few seconds to marvel at the how quickly he'd clamped down on his temper. "The Grand Commander is right. Dynamo won't do anything he's not paid to do. Which means …" he trailed off, waiting for the human on the viewer to pick up the sentence. He didn't have to wait long.
"It was sold before he stole it. Good God."
"We've got to find him," X said, traces of urgency in his voice. "We've got to bring him in and figure out who he sold it to."
Zero frowned deeply. "You know it was probably the bald baron himself. We haven't heard from him in months. And bringing Dynamo in is gonna be a serious pain in the ass. He'll probably insist on a fight to the death, and then run out at the last minute. Coward."
"Yeah," X said, ignoring the last part of Zero's tirade, "it probably is Sigma. But the optimist in me would like to think otherwise. I mean, who could be worse than him?"
"Good point," Signas cut in, retaking control of the conversation. "Is there anything else, Miss Misumi?"
"No. I would like to be kept informed about your progress if at all possible. Good luck." Remarkably polite farewells were issued, and the terminal died. Silence reigned.
Lifesaver scowled. "I guess that's all we're going to get from them for awhile. I want to schedule an assembly as soon as possible. We'll need to let our human field operatives know of the health risk and tell them what precautions to take, standard briefing aside."
"Does this mean we're going to have to look at the videos again?" The doctor nodded. "Damn. I guess I need to make sure we've got enough working containment suit type armor for everybody. Either that, or we could sideline them. How much of our manpower consists of humans, anyway?"
"At this moment," Alia volunteered instantly, "roughly twenty-five percent of all active field Hunters are human."
Zero raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"
Alia smiled grimly. "It's my job to know."
Signas frowned. "We could shift them to reserve status and give them all leave. I don't feel good about ordering them into combat if we don't have any antitoxin to give them."
Alia nodded, but it was obvious from her expression that she didn't think it was a good idea. "We could do that, but that twenty-five percent is scattered unevenly throughout almost every unit. Our elite units, like the Seventeenth, would be weakened, but not incapacitated, though Zero would loose his sniper and his demolitionist. Among other things, we'd be taking at lot of medics off the field, and the Seventh Unit's fighter wing would be useless. I can get a more detailed list after the meeting, if you'd like."
"Alright," Signas said, "here's what we'll do. I want a full list of exactly how many humans we have right now, where they're at, and I want it as soon as possible. I may change my mind, but if the Seventh Unit is any indicator, I don't plan on mandating all humans fall back to standby. At the same time, I hate to send them into a situation where we can't provide adequate medical care. I'll make my decision within the next hour."
"I'll get down to the armory," Douglas spoke quickly, "and get our thermite gelatin ready. With any luck, we'll just be able to bomb the stuff out of existence."
Signas chuckled. "Luck … wouldn't seem to be our forte, Douglas. As it stands, the pieces have been positioned on the board, my friends, and our opponents have moved first. It's time to play. X, Zero, your units will likely be at the head of any ground assaults we launch, so make sure they're ready to go. Doctor, coordinate with Douglas and get those chemical suits checked out and distributed. Whether we put them in the field or not, I want them to have as much protection as we can give them, just in case we have any … surprises. We're at standing Code Red, people – I know I don't have to tell you to be ready for anything, but I will anyway. Dismissed."
The South Branch of the Tokyo Public Library System was a fairly new building. It was what Hermione would think of as one of the odd ultra-modern type structures, all white with no visible corners. Indeed, it looked like nothing more than a six story high white igloo with a good number of evenly spaced navy-blue opaque windows on each floor. It was surrounded by a pristine lawn. Hermione locked her eyes on it once she and Harry stepped off the bus, and for an instant the bushy haired girl looked as though she was a conquistador gazing out over the mythical city of El Dorado. Harry tried not to feel deeply disturbed. He tried really, really hard.
In the end, he just pushed his new, round, silver rimmed glasses up on his nose (as it was, Hermione had a good deal to do with choosing the frames, given his impairment at the time) and shook his head in bemusement. Some things, it seemed, would indeed never change – and at the moment, he had no problems with that. "Well, here we are."
"Yeah," Hermione seemed to come out of her reverie slightly. "So, the money card thing Dynamo gave us … the bus driver didn't give you any problems over it?"
"No," Harry shook his head, "he just smiled and ran it through some kind of scanner."
"That's good. What time is it?"
Harry looked at his watch. It was still in timekeeping mode – the mere thought of the armless locator clock made him slightly queasy. "It's almost ten."
"Excellent," Hermione chirped. "That gives us nearly three hours here, assuming we leave ourselves enough time to get to the shelter by one. Your glasses look very nice, by the way." She rang her hands slightly. It was odd: since they had arrived here, or when, or however the best way to put it was (temporal grammar was not something she wanted to think about right now), she had been in constant physical contact with her nearly blind classmate. Now that he could see again, he was carrying both of their robes under one arm, and kept the other hovering just inside the pocket containing his wand. Hermione was surprised to discover that, for some reason she couldn't quite identify, the removal of that contact was vaguely worrisome.
Harry grinned. "They should; you have very good taste."
Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly, and it wasn't because she was once again out of breath. "Well, thank you … you agreed to take them. It's not like I forced them on you, or anything. You make it sound like I didn't let you have a say in the matter."
"Oh, of course not. But if you hadn't helped me, I'm pretty sure we'd have been there for most of the day, while I figured out how to get my head close enough to the mirror to look at myself without crushing my nose." Hermione giggled slightly, which surprised him. On the grand scale of jokes, that one had been a bit weak, as far as he was concerned. But he allowed himself a satisfied, very thin smile. A giggling, somewhat happy Hermione was a far cry from the panicky one he had left back in the alley. It was for this reason he decided not to bring up the odd change in behavior he had noticed in the nurse between the time he and Hermione entered the bathroom of the clinic to clean up and when they came back out. Such an observation didn't seem to be the type that would ensure the continued presence of a moderately happy Miss Granger. "So … where are we going to leave Crookshanks? I doubt they'll let him in the library." The cat in question stared up at Harry. "Hermione, please tell him not to glare at me. It's freaky."
In response, Hermione pretended to glare at him and picked up the ginger cat. He purred happily in her arms, even as she told him he would have to spend the next few hours hiding underneath a nearby dumpster. Harry began to wonder if Crookshanks was even capable of being upset with Hermione. After all, here he was, being told to go hide beneath a dumpster while people threw trash in his general direction, and he sounded perfectly content. And if I so much as look at him wrong, I get the death-growl. It's not fair, really. After the cat disappeared, Hermione looked at him. "Do you think he'll be safe out here?" she said, faintly anxious.
Harry tried to look reassuring. "I'm sure he'll be fine if he stays out of sight. Are you ready to get this over with?"
Hermione nodded, watching closely as her cat disappeared beneath a large black metal dumpster. "Let's do it, then."
The inside of the library was, like the outside and the surrounding grounds, very clean and neat. The flooring was a nondescript blue carpet that went on forever in all directions. Upon seeing this, Harry found himself wondering, as absurd as it was, how the managed to keep it all so immaculately clean. The walls were white, covered in posters of what he assumed were famous celebrities holding their favorite books. Each of the portraits was emblazoned brightly with the word "READ." He grinned. It was oddly comforting to be somewhere that was almost recognizable. Harry scanned them quickly, not really looking for anyone recognized, but just out of curiosity. He was pleased to discover that no one seemed to have three eyes or more than one head.
Hermione seemed to be doing the same thing, and eventually pointed at one of the framed posters, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "Hey … that one looks a bit like you."
Harry followed her fingers, and blinked. "Who …?" It wasn't an exact likeness, indeed, the man in the picture looked slightly older and a bit taller than himself, and there was something about him that struck Harry as odd, though he couldn't immediately say what it was. But that wasn't the point. The point was, Hermione was right. The mystery man had a light complexion and messy jet black hair that gave Harry's own rat's nest a run for its money. His emerald eyes matched the color of Harry's own irises almost exactly. He was wearing severely beat-up jeans with white patches over the knees, a black long-sleeved turtleneck, and a worn brown bomber jacket, complete with fur collar. He was leaning against a wall, eyes focused intently on a copy of a book called Heroes and Villians of the American Civil Rights Movement of the 20th Century: The Undeclared Civil War. He wasn't exactly smiling, but the expression on his face was gentle nonetheless. Harry and Hermione wandered closer, so they could read the text at the bottom of the portrait. It said, in small golden letters, "Commander X, Maverick Hunter."
"I wonder who he is." Hermione mused, in a low voice, instinctively aware that not recognizing any of the obviously famous people in these pictures might seem a bit odd. "Must be someone important to be on this wall. But what's a Maverick Hunter? It sounds like something out of a bad movie."
Harry shrugged, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling suddenly welling up in his stomach. This "X" was obviously part of some sort of military organization that hunted people down. Government sanctioned bounty-hunters, perhaps? Whatever it was, he figured it probably didn't bode well as an indicator of the area's general violence level. "I have no idea, but he must be an important one. Let's see if we can find out."
But Hermione's brow was furrowed, and she looked less than pleased. "Harry … does anything here seem odd to you?"
Harry blinked, clearly having no idea what she was talking about. Maybe he was missing something, but he figured that was his right – after all, his oddity sensor was greatly overloaded at the moment. "Uh … I'm afraid not. What is it?"
Hermione was frowning now, deeply. "Well, this is a library, right?"
"Uh … yes?"
"Well … then where are the books?" She looked positively distressed now.
Harry, for his part, felt deeply and profoundly stupid. He swept his eyes over the large room again, and felt his jaw drop. There were rows of computer terminals, an information desk, a café, and something that looked like a very large plastic playpen … but no books. I should have noticed that before … I've got to start being more observant. All my expectations and assumptions are probably moot now. I'll have to remember that. "Well," he said slowly, "this could be a problem."
"Well," Hermione said hesitantly, "I … uh … let's go to the information desk, then. I'm sure there's a pamphlet or something on how to properly use the library's resources."
For the sake of the girl's sanity, Harry nodded and gestured towards the desk in question. It was currently being staffed by an older woman with silver hair tied back in a mighty bun. Her eyes were black, and highly alert. Her pink shirt perfectly matched the daisy-patterned pants that only the elderly people in any given community seem willing to be seen wearing. They made their way over. "Excuse me, ma'am."
The woman looked down at Harry, and with a pang of discomfort he realized she reminded him of Madam Pince. She smiled warmly. "What can I do for you, young man?" Harry did a good job at holding back his frown. She even sounded a bit like the Hogwarts librarian.
Hermione seemed to pick up on his discomfort and decided it was time to speak. "We were wondering if there were any pamphlets or anything explaining how to use the library's resources. We've just moved here," That is getting much easier to do, she thought suddenly, "and we haven't been to one of the public libraries yet."
The woman seemed to brighten, and surveyed them as if seeing them for the first time. Harry had nasty thoughts about her suddenly muttering "fresh meat," but she simply smiled and very politely asked them to go sit at the café, promising she would have a volunteer come to show them around. Within minutes, they were sitting at a table for two, waiting.
"Are you hungry, Hermione? I know we didn't get a chance to … well … when was the last time you ate?"
She shifted uncomfortably, but managed to answer. "I woke up at five this – that morning and ate really early. I was thinking of getting a couple sandwiches on the Express, but, well …" she trailed off, and tried to rub her eyes while looking like she was pushing her hair out of her face. The motion wasn't lost on Harry, but he kept silent, mentally directing a curse of the non-magical variety at Pettigrew, wherever he might be.
"Well," he continued, keeping his voice even, "I guess the important question is, are you hungry now?"
She shook her head. "I don't really feel like eating."
"Me neither, but you know we've got to make ourselves eat something sooner or later. If you don't, you'll start to feel even worse." Trust me, I know a bit about malnutrition.
Reluctantly, Hermione nodded and plucked a small laminated menu from a triangular stand in the middle of the table. Harry allowed himself a small smile as he took one of his own. "Well, I could use something to drink. I'm afraid my body is still trying to get over our … hike. Oooh! Smoothies …"
Harry, for his part, thought the mint tea sounded refreshing. "Okay … so," he glanced around, but it was obvious there were no waiters anywhere, and he couldn't see anyone who looked like a manager, "how do we order?"
Hermione didn't say anything, but she was looking closer at the little black pyramid their menus were formerly perched on. She pointed at a tiny keypad with a small slot on the left. "I bet we're supposed to use this thing."
Harry peered at the little buttons. If he hadn't known better, he would have said it was a calculator. But that wasn't right. He looked back at the little menu he was holding in his hands. All the items were numbered. There was a little button that said "Order," and another that said "Instructions," the latter written in such wonderfully tiny handwriting that, even with glasses, Harry had to strain to read it. He raised an eyebrow and stabbed it with his thumb. Help would be good – he had never purchased food from a geometric shape before, yet he was mindful of the fact that the both of them would look conspicuously odd if they allowed the depth of their confusion and surprise to show.
Yet that didn't stop him or his bushy haired companion from jumping back in their seats several seconds later, pure and total shock on their faces. The tip of the pyramid had promptly lit up, turning sheet white. That in itself wasn't really so odd. However, the bright, neon colored words that were now hanging in midair between them – shining green bastions of the English language – were in Harry's opinion, something that Muggles just shouldn't have been able to come up with.
"Wow…" Hermione's whisper sounded genuinely impressed. "Hologram projectors. And if they're using models this advanced to display menus, imagine what they can really do. I'll bet they have holographic projection rooms, like on Star Trek."
Harry smirked. Only you, Hermione, would manage to be completely distracted from our problems, if only for a minute, by science fiction made real. Not that I have a real problem with that. "Maybe. So, let's see, 'To use this terminal, key your selection number in and press ENTER. Repeat the process until all your desired items have been selected. Press the ORDER button and insert your credit card. Your order will be processed as soon as the appropriate number of credits has been removed from your account. Thank you for using this Hayatom Holo-Waiter Terminal.' Well … I guess that's straightforward enough. So … which one do you want?"
"Number Seven – but Harry, are you sure we should be doing this?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, confused. "Doing what?"
"Just … spending money like this. We don't even know how much we've got … well, I mean, how far will it go if we just keep spending it on stuff we don't need?"
Harry's face darkened. "I've been thinking about that. There's no point in thinking it won't run out very soon if we keep using it like we are. I got the impression fifty credits isn't very much, and we've already used fifteen – twenty-five after we get the drinks. We're going to need to eat soon, whether we want to or not. But as far as I see it, there's no real point in trying not to spend it."
"You just admitted we're going to run out of money if we keep this up and said it doesn't matter in the same sentence. I don't get it," she said calmly. She wasn't about to let him know this whole conversation was making her more and more uncomfortable. "Shouldn't we be worried about this?" Actual question: Why aren't you worried about this?
Harry shook his head, surprising Hermione with a sad smile. "Not really. You're not thinking about it right."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, hoping her tone made it clear that she didn't like being told she wasn't thinking "right."
"We don't have to worry about money, because," This isn't going to be pleasant, he thought, keying in their selections and trying not to look too amazed with the way an itemized list of their order, complete with pricing and tax information, was now hovering in front of their eyes, and inserted their card in the reader. "Homeless people don't normally have any. Don't look at me like that – I don't like this anymore than you, but I don't know how else to put it. We'll be able to stay there for free, and if we're lucky, they'll be able to figure out how to make some more. Hopefully, after a few weeks, we'll have enough for plane tickets or something to get us back to Scotland."
Hermione absorbed everything he said, and managed to keep herself from calling him on his eager acceptance of their new role as homeless beggars. It was, after all, the most logical (and realistic) role for them to take, and she realized that, as much as she hated to admit it. But there was an obvious flaw in his plan that she didn't mind mentioning. "We shouldn't try to go to Scotland. We don't actually know where Hogwarts is, do we? I mean, do you have any idea where the train goes to get there? All we know is it's somewhere in Scotland."
Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. "You're right. I was thinking about that earlier, actually. I never can remember how we get there. In fact, it always seems like I don't care to remember. It's probably some kind of charm or something they've put on the train." He paused for a minute, then seemed to come up with an idea. "We could go to King's Cross …"
Hermione looked slightly upset, as if she had already thought of that. "Do you think it's still there?" It was obvious from her tone that she doubted it. "I mean, if they've got floating vehicles, they've obviously got stuff that's a lot more efficient than coal powered trains."
"Certainly. But it's our best option right now. If we're lucky, Diagon Alley will still be there … that'd be the best thing, really."
It was obvious Hermione had forgotten all about Diagon Alley. Her eyes lit up instantly, and though Harry didn't show it, he enjoyed this greatly. "Yeah, it – hey … is that waste basket moving over here?"
At that moment, a floating, three foot silver cylinder with what looked like a removable lid was making its way towards them. It did indeed look like a waste basket. "It's … uh … coming this way." For an instant, he seriously considered drawing his wand, but managed to calm down, realizing that no one else was paying the possessed trashcan any notice. It eventually arrived at their table and stopped.
Harry made to reach for it, but the lid swung back, revealing two drinks, nestled carefully in ice cubes. It beeped once, and said, in what was obviously a recorded female voice, "Thank you for using this Hamilton Servbot Product. If you drinks are damaged in any way, please press the red button on the lid now. Otherwise, take your drinks and press the blue button. Do not attempt to tip the Servbot. Thank you."
Harry took the drinks, and realized he was becoming vaguely irritated by being ordered around by mindless machines. He jammed a finger down on the blue button. The can beeped once, closed its lid, and went on its way. He passed Hermione her smoothie, and sipped on his mint tea. "Er … Here you go. Is it just me, or is this getting a bit strange? Hermione?"
The bushy haired Gryffindor managed to rip her fascinated eyes off the little trashcan (it occurred to her that it was cute, but she actively crushed that particular thought … now was not the time or the place, and she didn't particularly like it when her girlish impulses made themselves known) and turned to look back at Harry. "I guess it makes sense … I mean, it's not that much more advanced than some of the best twentieth century robots. Like that robot dog the Japanese made that would go out and get your paper for you."
Harry blinked. "Where'd you hear about that?"
She blushed slightly. "Oh, I just saw on the news once where someone had opened one up and programmed it to try and … er … interact with people's legs." Harry looked like he was trying to head off some escaping giggles. Hermione sighed, grinning. "Boys."
"Sorry. It's a genetic thing."
Hermione nodded sagely. "Ah. Like that primal urge you have to tamper with each others' underthings."
Harry decided he would leave that one alone, and let the matter drop. He was about to inquire about the quality of her drink when something behind her caught his eye. It was coming their way, but it was the farthest thing from a little silver trash can he could have imagined. It – no, his mind insisted, it isn't right, he's a he, I think – was about six feet tall, and thin looking. His eyes were blue, and his hair was a fiery red that made some part of his subconscious think of Ron. He was wearing jeans, and a yellow t-shirt. All of that was what Harry would consider normal Muggle-wear. But this wasn't a human Muggle: it was, if he was not sorely mistaken, a bipedal fox, replete with a bushy red tail that currently swung back and forth behind him in small arcs. His entire body seemed to be covered in the fine red fur, down to his wrists. Each of his hands was solid black. The only other major exception was his head. It was only vaguely human. His eyes were close together and noticeably small, and in the place of his nose was a orange furred, short snout that ended in a black button nose. He smiled, revealing two perfect rows of white teeth, several of which, Harry noted, looked a bit sharp. He spoke. "Hi. Did you ask for a guide?" Across from Harry, Hermione made a squeaking noise he had never heard before.
Oh boy.
