TWO YEARS LATER
Ugh… Tired…
The guard's mouth stretched over a deep, face-splitting yawn. He rubbed his eyes roughly, and shook himself back to an alert state. Word had arrived yesterday morning that three neighboring towns had just been hit over the weekend. And if proximity was any indication, Little Chicago would be next.
"I saw that."
"What," he said, stifling another yawn as he looked over at the straw-haired, middle-aged secretary. "This?"
"Mm."
He collected wits, and battled his growing nerves with his usual flippant banter. "Standing in stationary parade rest, weighted down with more artillery than I know how to use, for six-hour shifts, twice a day for five months straight," he blinked the sleepy moisture from his eyes, "Lady, I'd be lying if I told you it was the most exciting job I've ever had."
She shook her head and started filing a pile of papers on her desk. "Well, considering we're probably next on the list, and no one knows what these plant stealers even look like, they really should rotate the most attentive guards in," she uttered under her breath.
He bit his tongue. Everyone was already on edge. These plant stealers were the most elusive criminals Gunsmoke had ever encountered. No one knew exactly what they looked like. How they did it. Or how many there were. The only testament to their visit would be a sudden but permanent loss of power, followed by empty bulbs.
And to make things worse, it just kept happening. Little Chicago was one of 15 cities left that still lived on the plant-run generators. The mayor had organized an entire militia to protect their energy source. The rest of Gunsmoke's population had reverted back to primitive living by force, in these mysterious oases that had been popping up all over the place, complete with crops and mud-roofed housing. Hell. His cousin lived in one, but he preferred his electric razor, and 60-watt bulbs, thank you very much. Not to mention the modern, medicinal equipment that regulated his mother's murmuring heartbeat.
He could have expounded on his worries, but preferred a less heavy topic. Things were tense enough already. He smirked. "You should consider yourself lucky that I've been stationed by your desk for so many days."
She quirked a skeptical brow. "And why's that?"
"Because," he winked and blew a kiss, "baby, the longer I stand here, the better you look."
Her jaw dropped. Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Why you…"
"Good afternoon," came a light, effeminate voice.
They both jerked to attention as two desert blown strangers walked through the front door. The guard immediately palmed his pistol, his trained eyes taking in all. The man was tall, dressed in some strange desert jumpsuit. His hair was white blonde, and short, and the expression on his face, sophisticated, aloof... The guard frowned. And arrogant….
But the guard was immediately disarmed by the man's companion. He did a double take. Heeeel-lo…
She was attired in a classy crimson dress, with high boots and a short jacket. Full, black hair bounced just below the shoulders, flipped up at the ends in a stylish fashion. Silver earrings enhanced the sparkle of her colorful, heavily-lashed eyes as she greeted them. Pretty mouth, pretty teeth, lovely complexion...
She caught him staring, blushed, and nodded politely.
His practiced reticence cracked and he half-smiled in return, only to feel his blood run cold as the blonde man with her turned an icy glare his way. The guard looked down at his toes. Territorial bastard… Though I can't really blame him, with a woman like that…
"May I help you?" the secretary asked, the suspicion creeping into her voice.
The woman replied courteously. "Yes. My coworker and I are nationally registered engineers, and we came to implement…" her voice trailed off as he noticed a beetle crawling along the floor. It was yellow and red, walking in little zig zags in front of him, flapping its wings in succession...
It was quite possibly the most intriguing thing he'd ever seen in his entire life. It wasn't long before he quickly forgot all about the pretty woman and her strange companion, mesmerized by the fascinating insect that danced at his toes. And when the shouting voices alerted him hours later, declaring that the plant angels had been stolen, the guard wondered in shocked disbelief how it was possible. He'd been standing there all day long.
And there hadn't had a single visitor…
.
.
"Are they all engaged in healing?"
"Mm."
"Buckled down?"
"Mm."
"Are any distraught?"
"Bejya's c-c-calming…them…" Knives looked back in time to see Meryl sway dizzily and fall forward. He swore, and the vehicle swerved as his arm shot out to keep her from landing on her face in the driver's cab. She crumpled in the seat next to him, her head flopping against his thigh.
Her name caught in his throat. He vicariously steered while dividing his attention between the road ahead and her fluttering eyelids. Strands of her hair fluffed out with each breath, and he exhaled relief.
She's breathing…
He went to shake her alert, but his hand just hovered inches over her shoulder in indecision. He'd been so preoccupied with his sisters that he hadn't even thought about how Meryl was doing. But in hindsight…damn. It's a miracle she lasted this long.
It had been the biggest raid since January. There were 168 angels in the cargo section of the desert crawler behind him, 42 of which were freed from their prisons, another 42 having performed the liberation, and a matching 84 more to heal them all on the way back to Eden.
And where there were a plethora of angels, there were a plethora of humans. Who knows how many minds the woman had to control as the minutes ticked on. The secretary and guard were easy, but they had an entire hundred-man militia inside the cursed place, around the bulbs. And that didn't include all the civilians who noticed the power outage, and decided to run straight to the electric company to inquire…
Knives wasn't even sure he could have fared much better.
So…tired… he heard her fading thought echo up to his mind. He felt her struggle to sit up, and then his hand did clamp down on her shoulder.
Rest, he sent back firmly. Recuperate.
She didn't even fight him. The woman lay back down, pillowing her head half-way in his lap, and was out. He stiffened immediately at the contact. He didn't mean for her to lay on him, for crying out loud. Red-faced, Knives blinked down at her, and mumbled under his breath.
"You are far too comfortable with me, woman."
No response, except for a light snore. He rolled his eyes, and looked back at the road. Then looked back at her. The road. Her. Her hair covered her face like a veil, and she was inhaling it, so he awkwardly reached a gloved hand down and after a couple efforts, succeeded in tucking the obsidian locks behind her ear.
Didn't want her to gag on her own hair and cough all over him.
But his eyes lingered longer than he meant them to, distracted by her face, her unguarded nearness, her warmth… It had been two years. Two years of working together almost every day. It hadn't been all that bad, really. They'd become quite the well-oiled machine on these raids. Granted, they still fought on occasion, but a perverse side of him delighted in those moments. No one could make her angry quite like he could.
He felt his expression relax. Her hair really did suit her better when it was long…how it pleasantly framed her cheeks, and seemed to flop around when she laughed. He went to raise his free hand on the steering wheel, but it disobeyed him completely and rested tentatively on her shoulder blade.
Knives cursed his abrupt awkwardness, and then quieted. Vash wasn't around, and she wasn't awake. Neither would startle and gawk at him like he'd crossed another milestone…like they did every time he smiled, or engaged in trivial conversation, or tried a new concoction of something the Amazon had made… Ridiculous fools. Always acting like I'm an emotionally void machine…
Long fingers splayed across her back. Screw it. He left his hand there.
.
.
Vash rolled on his back, his lungs billowing with gigantic breaths while limbs stretched to the four corners of the globe. He had just erected fourteen mud homes in succession and was now sweating like a pig. He deserved a rest.
"Brother Vash, look out!"
His ears heard Angela's warning, but his body ignored it. Too late, a tree sprouted beneath him, and wedged right in his spine. He yipped as it launched him up in the air. Limbs flailing spastically for purchase, he rolled off it, only to meet with another sprouting palm tree, followed by a eucalyptus, a fir…
It was a good beating. A decent beating. Might have been impressive to watch, had he not been the pinball in this arcade game from hell. After a painful ralley, he was finally ejected out of the agricultural mosh pit in a dizzying spin. The air friction ripped at his clothes but did nothing to slow his descent, and he ultimately came crashing down…
Or he would have come crashing down, had Milly not caught him. He yelped as his arm flopped around her neck, and his knees and back draped over her forearms. When his head stopped spinning he managed to look up at her face.
Hair pulled back in a pony tail, eyes disappearing in a pleasant smile, face smudged with a little dirt… "Hello, Mr. Vash."
He winced at a bruised rib, and smiled back. "Hello Milly."
"That was quite a ride."
"Yeah."
She gently dropped his legs and steadied him on his feet. Truly, the woman was too strong for her own good. Vash caught Angela's eye, who was kneeling on the ground with her fingers imbedded, alongside six other angels in various attires and states of disarray. And she was giggling. They were all giggling. A trait they'd picked up from watching how humans expressed themselves.
Ah, the joys of having 1242 little sisters. Why couldn't they ever pick on Knives?
"Very funny."
More giggling.
Milly laughed lightly with them and started to unfold the blueprint. He shook his head, pointed at Angela in mock warning, and turned his attention to his friend. "Alright. So where are we at now, Miss Milly?"
Milly traced her finger along her father's architectural layout of the oasis plans. It would have to accommodate all of Little Chicago's population. "Water table has been tapped into, small lake formed, two miles of surrounding foliage. Sand has been replaced with the indigenous soil underground. And this site is already within the mountain range, so the moisture extracted from the uninhabited regions of Gunsmoke should recycle well in this valley…"
"What's left?" Vash asked, feeling tired just hearing it all.
"68 mud homes adjacent to—"
A cacophony of high-pitched shouting interrupted her. Vash swore, recognizing the sound. It didn't matter how many times he'd heard it. The noise of fighting angels always disturbed him deeply.
Milly shaded her eyes from the sun and squinted through the crops. "Zoe and Yaya?"
Vash listened. "No." He could see them. A group of seven angels getting in the faces of four of their sisters. The distinguished blotchiness of their black and white hair patterns was finally recognizable. "No. It's—"
"Pepper and Lela?"
"Un-uh."
"Rasta and Rosh?"
"Minmae and Julie," he uttered sadly. "And their collective posses. I think it's…I think they're fighting over who gets to do the apple trees." One shoved the other. A tree was uprooted out of anger, and tossed.
Vash and Milly sprung into a brisk jog to intervene, but Angela jumped up, and waved them back.
"I got it this time," she said helpfully, and dutifully raced over to stop the fight between her sisters. Vash blew his breath out in a long exhale and ran his hands through his hair. He felt Milly's hand on his shoulder, and clasped his fingers over hers.
"They're getting worse and worse…" he said, feeling anything but relieved as Angela succeeded in breaking them apart.
Milly shook him reassuringly. "You can't have over 1200 people working in such close proximity on the same project for so long without some bickering, Mr. Vash."
"I know," he said quietly. "But it's getting difficult to hide their less-than-civilized behavior from Knives, and…" He didn't finish. It was hard to pinpoint it, really. Just a gut feeling. A vibe. That something bad would result if Knives found out his angel sisters weren't perfect.
Every sin of Knives' life...every transgression was masked by a false righteousness, hinging on his utter conviction that his plant sisters were godly beings. Able to co-exist in harmony, where humans could not. Able to co-exist with nature, where humans could not. A superior species, unfettered by the darker natures that ailed mankind.
If he knew the truth... That plants were just as human as the humans were, then there would be no lie under heaven or hell that he could tell himself that would justify the deliberate murder of millions and millions of innocent lives.
He'd finally realize that the 'greater good' he bought into was just a fallacy.
Which would make him nothing more than a murderer.
Vash shuddered. Knives. You're not ready for that...
Milly nudged him. "Mr. Vash?"
"Hm?"
She looked sympathetically at him as though to ask, 'are you okay?' He smiled. Falsely, albeit, but she knew him well enough by now to recognize when to not press an issue. The woman was more in tune than she let on.
"We're almost done. Just fourteen more locations to liberate. I'll ask daddy to start working on a separate community for the angels, so they don't all have to live under one roof. Maybe it'll help lessen the sibling rivalry, okay?"
He nodded, appreciating the help. Two locations would be nice.
The dispute resolved, Milly drew his attention back to the blueprint. "Now. We still need 68 mud homes adjacent to the ones you just erected. Twenty more 100-rowed crops of these items listed here…" she tapped at the map. "Daddy suggested barricading the western end with a row of cactuses, to seal in moisture and protect from winds—"
An explosion sounded behind them, and they both looked to see two dozen angels growing corn stalks out of the ground like bubbles in boiling water. Perfect, even rows. Vash bit his bottom lip and shook his head. "Another day, at least…" he whispered. "Good thing Knives and Meryl are doing the raid tomorrow-"
"Today," Milly corrected.
Vash's gut dropped. "What?"
"It was today they were going. As a matter of fact, they should be heading back right about now—"
As though in answer, the low, thrumming hum of a desert crawler echoed through the trees. Vash turned to see the familiar vehicle amble up over a nearby sand dune, weighted down with what must have been nearly 200 bodies.
He smacked his forehead, and swore. "Ah! Too soon!" Immense worry settling in, he left Milly in the dust and sprinted up to meet his brother, exasperated, pissed off, and panicked all at once. Knives stopped the crawler a foot from him, and Vash was bombarded with sand and the smell of oil and machinery.
Knives took his time getting out, and upon noticing Vash's distress, he instantly looked smug. "Hello brother."
"W-we're not ready!"
He raised his brow in mock sympathy. "What? Not ready? That's so unlike you, Vash."
"Knives, this is serious! Did you already deliver the map and instructions to the mayor?"
"Left it in his mailbox."
"Gah…" Vash ran his hands through his hair, adding this little hiccup to the myriad of other hiccups they'd had since this project began. Had things ever gone smoothly? Misread blueprints, mud homes sinking into the water table, irrigation ditches dug too shallow, crops where lakes were supposed to be, lakes where forests were supposed to be…
Had he been human, he probably would have died of a heart attack by now. It was the first time in his life he coveted his brother's organizational skills. It's a good thing he worked alongside such a positive person. Milly had calmed his nerves more than once, just by being herself. But what could they possibly do about this situation? Angry humans might be showing up any minute, demanding their power back… They'd be caught, and bring forth all the calamities that Knives foretold. Desperate times called for desperate requests!
"Can you…take them back?"
Knives' smug reticence faltered, and his face scrunched in muted appall. "No."
"Just a few—"
"Don't be absurd."
"But Meryl can—"
"Do nothing. She overexerted herself this time."
Suddenly, all his problems ceased to matter. "What? Is she okay? Is she alright?"
Before Knives could answer, Vash raced around to the backside of the vehicle.
"She's in the front, Vash," he said with more than a little irritation in his voice.
Vash half turned, nearly stumbling, and swung open the cab. He calmed the moment he saw her, laying down across the cushioned seat with her head under the steering unit. Her legs were curled up, and her hands were resting lightly by her chin, hair blanketing her face...
She was passed out, but in one piece.
"She's on my team. I am responsible for my team," Knives said, an edge to his tone. "After all this time, do you really still believe that I would let harm befall her?"
Vash didn't answer. There was something about the way she was laying there. Taking up the whole seat, like that. Something… If she was laying there, and Knives was driving here…
"Anyhow, I anticipated your lack of planning. You need to pack up, now."
Vash's jaw dropped the same time a grin tugged on the corners of his lips. He'd just caught Knives with his hands in the cookie jar.
Knives frowned, instantly apprehensive. "You're smiling--"
"You let her sleep on you."
Knives' eyes widened. Face flushed. "I--"
"Snuggled up next to your leg…"
"She--"
"Head in your lap…"
"It's not—!"
"All the way here! Ha!"
Knives' face shifted through several furious and awkward expressions. Vash's grin broadened. Two years ago, he would have just tossed an unconscious Meryl in the back. But now… He guarded his thoughts, though his outward gloating belied his sentiments. Well, I'll be darned. He's fond of her. She may revolutionize Knives' view of humanity yet… He was still smiling when Knives lunged forward and fisted his collar, lifting him up off the ground.
"This is why you're always two steps behind, Vash! You get distracted from your work with trivialities!"
"Well," he coughed. "Can't argue…with that." Vash didn't struggle, letting the outburst run its course. Hell. To save Knives. Rem had charged him with it. He had actively sought it. For nearly a century and a half, 1680 months, 33,600 days it had been his number one goal. Honestly. How could he not be ecstatic at these little changes in his brother's impermeable behavior?
Knives dropped him, and Vash dutifully composed himself, rubbing his neck. Well, back to the issue at hand before Knives blows a hole in my oasis just to prove he's still an ass… "We need another day, Knives. Do you think you can—?"
"The only thing I'm going to do is leave. With my sisters."
"It won't be ready!"
"It is good enough," he replied sharply. Earlier offense forgotten, Knives folded his arms and narrowed his eyes back at the way they'd come. The barest hint of distress weighed down his features and solemnized his voice. "Little Chicago had organized a militia to stop us, Vash. They were there when we showed up, which is why Meryl is currently useless. And their transport is bound to ambulate across the desert more rapidly than my crawler. Oh. And did I mention our tracks? How they're still visible? The wind storm isn't due to arrive for a few more hours…"
Vash rubbed his temples, and looked over his shoulder at Milly, who was managing the angels as they created another acre of crops. "We'll…we'll have to return to finish, or the citizens of Little Chicago will fight over the resources. The shelters."
Knives snorted. "They do that anyways. Even when you over-fortify their oases."
Vash grimaced. It was true. Especially with the larger populations. There always seemed to be a smattering of selfish, cold-hearted men who tried to control those around them by taking more than they needed. Causing contentions. Causing segregation. But where Vash saw it as a few sour grapes in every bushel, Knives was only further cemented in his beliefs that the bestial, territorial, power-hungry nature of a few selfish brutes was somehow the dominating trait of an entire species.
And there was no talking him out of it. Hell. Every time mankind acted less than perfect, Vash got another lecture. 'Do you see now, Vash? Do you see how self-destructive they are? Our people do not quarrel. They do not work against each other.'
What Knives didn't know, is that the angels did quarrel. And over petty things. Had he shown up just minutes earlier, he would have witnessed such a dispute. But Vash kept tight-lipped about those incidents like he always did.
Knives was helping, now. So long as he was helping, let him believe what he would…
"Milly!" he waved her over. She blinked twice, handed Angela the blueprint, and crossed the distance between them in a brisk jog.
"Yes, Mr. Vash?"
"We…we have to leave. A militia is on its way…"
Knives nudged him, his icy eyes locked on the way they'd come. "Vash."
"Mm?"
"I was wrong. They're not on their way."
Relief. Big, fat re—
"They're here."
.
.
Shouting. Angry, vulgar shouting. The noise seeped into her consciousness and quickened her lethargic heartbeat into a galloping patter. Meryl jolted awake, her gut in her throat. Her limbs flailed aimlessly, ambling her body out of the driver's cab before her vision could even focus, and she found herself dumped in a clumsy heap outside the vehicle.
She stood covered in sand, only to fall back against the door hinge as taught anxieties slammed into her awareness, nearly knocking her off her feet. She grimaced and squinted through the blaring sun to see the backs of Vash and Knives, both standing in a posture that was both rigid and threatening, legs stanced apart, hands just inches away from their heat. They were facing off with…with a thin black line along the top of the nearest dune.
Her sight focused, and her breath caught. The militia! There must have been all hundred of them there. Armed men, some scowling, others bewildered, overlooking the oasis. They were on racers, and desert squats, and pieced together motorcycles. She was too horrified to even swear. Quick, parental eyes scanned the place to see the oasis angels staggered throughout the nearby crop, staring with their enormous, glossy black orbs at these men who had come to take them back.
"Meryl…"
It was Bejya. The angel guardian was coming out after her, and Meryl motioned her back. "Stay inside the crawler, Bejya. And keep the angels in there with you."
"But Vash…Knives…"
"If anyone is in danger here, it's those men!" She waited until she heard Bejya scramble back into the body of the large transport, and then moved slowly towards them. Knives and Vash hadn't drawn their guns yet, but their fingers twitched at their sides, on the ready. Sentinels. Guardians.
She knew Vash wouldn't kill anyone, but Knives on the other hand…
Get your ass back in that machine!
Knives' mental shout nearly made her legs buckle. He hadn't turned around, but then he didn't need to. His hair was standing on end, and she felt his psychological probes all over her body. But it didn't stop her. With every step closer, Knives' shoulders bunched more, and by the time she reached him, the veins in his neck were protruding with rabid reaction.
"Don't kill them," she pled in a hissed whisper, eyeing dreadfully the crude weapons and determined faces of the militia.
Knives' voice was low, his profile cold and unyielding. "I'll kill every last one of them without pause or remorse if they so much as scratch any one of you."
"Get back in the car, Meryl," Vash snapped, echoing his brother's command. "If we're worrying about you getting hit in the crossfire, then it'll cost us our aim."
"Crossfire? What crossfire? You're already consigning this to a showdown?"
"No." Knives said coolly. "But they are."
So intent were they on their 'visitors' and each other, that all three somehow missed Milly until she'd stomped right by them, waving her hands in the air.
"Hey there, everyone!"
Vash coughed, Knives swore, and Meryl went to go after her, but Knives collared her back. "Don't even think about it," he growled, his grip unrelenting.
Vash voiced Meryl's panic. "Milly! What are you—"
"It's okay, Mr. Vash," she waved them back, turning to smile at him over her shoulder. "I'm just going to talk to them."