I, Koshi Rikdo, for the sake of making this parody seem fully justified, hereby give my permission for every major character in Excel Saga who has not yet appeared to make an appearance in this chapter!
Stamp'd
9. Face to Face
The trailer, miles from the nearest city, had seen more commerce in the past forty-eight hours than it had any reason to expect. Five visitors: two who had left, one who would never leave. Now, as Excel and Hyatt stood outside, a sixth visitor appeared on the horizon.
Excel narrowed her eyes. "Hey, Hatchan. You didn't bring a tail, didja?"
"Excuse me, Senior, but Hyatt isn't sure what costume-playing has to do with the matter at hand."
"Naw, what I mean is—"
Whoever came down the road that first That Man, then Hyatt had traveled, they moved faster than any ordinary human.
"—what's up with that hopping girl?" Excel finished.
"Oh. Oh my."
The girl, visible first as a punkish tuft of purple hair, came skipping down the road. They heard her singing merrily to herself: "De-li-ver Sho-chan's me-ssage, that's what I'm gonna do!—Whe-ther in fire or hail or snow, the post will still go through!—It's cla-ssified top-secret, encoded with a key!—A cou-ri-er girl is what I love – to – be!"
The grinning, flat-chested catgirl bore Kozo Shioji's unmistakable stamp.
"I get it," muttered Excel. "So that's his preference…"
"Could the message be for the late Mr. Key, Senior Excel?"
"Nah. From the look of that thing, I'm pretty sure it's for me."
Ropponmatsu II skipped to a halt in front of Excel, snapped to attention, and flashed her double V-signs. "Hiya big sister! You're Excel Excel, right?"
"Yep. Hopping Girl, this is my friend Hatchan. Hatchan, this is – Hopping Girl? Made by a guy named Shioji, if Excel's learned anything this past week."
Hopping Girl laughed. "My name's Ropponmatsu, big sister!"
"Robo—?
"Rop-pon-matsu."
"Yeah, whatever. So are you gonna cough up the message, Shorty?"
Crossing her arms, Ropponmatsu sulked. "Not until big sister calls me by my real name."
"Jeez, Ace! You're pretty touchy for a courier-bot."
"Ropponmatsu!"
"Look, Chuckles, Excel has had a pretty rough day, alright? So—"
"Waugh!—Big sister's mean!"
Thwack.
"I'm gonna hit you, Sprout!"
"Don't say that after you've hit me!" wailed Ropponmatsu, holding her head. "And it's Ropponmatsu!"
"Fine! Ropponmatsu! Have you got a message from sensei or not!"
Instantly regaining her good humor, Ropponmatsu grinned. "Actually, big sister, I can do ya one better!" The cat-ears on her scalp extended with a whir; her eyes went suddenly blank. "Opening remote communications circuit," she said in altered voice; and a moment later Shioji's unmistakable tones came out of her mouthpiece.
"Miss Excel?—Can you hear me? I'm afraid I've never tested this feature before."
"Do you put remote communications circuits in everything?"
"Why, it's the thing of the future! Thing of the future. Thing of the future. Thing of the—sorry. What I meant to say was, I think of it as a way of putting as much distance as possible between my courageous intellect and cowardly physical body. No need to put myself in any actual danger, after all."
"Makes sense. So what's up?"
"Well." Shioji's voice became more sober. "We hadn't heard from you in some time, so we were naturally concerned. There have been reports that ACROSS's Director of Special Operations, a man named Key—"
"Yeah, yeah." Excel flapped her hand. "Been there, done that. Bought the T-shirt."
"Then – am I to understand that Key is dead?"
She nodded.
Although Ropponmatsu's face remained static, they heard warmth creep into Shioji's voice. "Miss Excel Excel, as an employee of the Japanese government, allow me to offer you my warmest congratulations on behalf of that body. You may have single-handedly won the day for the forces of Love & Peace."
Excel blinked. "How's that, sensei?"
"The Daitenzin and Self-Defense Force have mobilized, and That Man's forces are on the run. After four years of brutal civil war, a free Japan is once again in sight. We all hope for a tomorrow free of oppression and terror!"
"Well – that's good, I guess."
"You know," interjected Hyatt, "this could be only Hyatt's opinion, but there is something rather disturbing about the voice of a middle-aged man emanating from the body of a prepubescent girl."
"Seconded, Hatchan."
"Then I'll make things brief," said Shioji, with a smirk in his voice. "While we men of science are rarely moved by such – ordinary considerations as duty, I can't help but feel that, while you've made good on your commitment to us – as per our agreement – we have yet to make good on ours. By which I mean, of course, that while ACROSS's backbone may have been broken, your own quarry – Lord Ilpalazzo himself – has yet eluded you."
"I guess that's about the size of things."
"And believe me, we regret this turn of events nearly as much as you."
"So. How do you purpose we solve this dilemma?"
"Well!" The force of Shioji's exclamation jolted the Ropponmatsu. "It just so happens – I have a solution."
For some time, as Excel listened intently to Shioji, Hyatt had been glancing around in the attempt to discover the source of a mysterious noise. It was a buzzing like a motorcycle – but the desert was empty in all directions.
"You'll buy me a plane ticket?"
"Now, now; that's hardly the way we do things."
Hyatt tapped Excel on the shoulder. "Senior…?"
A shadow fell over both of them. The plane streaked over the trailer, scattering sand like water on the surface of a pond. It looped around twice, losing momentum, until it finally taxied to a gentle stop in front of them.
Excel had clamped her arms over her head. "Billy Jean!"
Shioji chuckled. "When my little one finally located you, I took the liberty of having my elder take charge of your vehicle."
"My…?"
Looking up, Excel examined the plane. It was an eyesore, she decided; and what was more, its pink-and-teal color scheme was familiar.
"Oh. It's the 6050."
"That's correct," said Shioji, smugly.
"It – turns into a plane?"
Ropponmatsu nodded.
"You never mentioned that."
"Well, you never asked."
The plane's cockpit, formed from the robot's chest plate, slid back to reveal another purple-haired robot.
"Miss Excel, Miss Hyatt, allow me to introduce you to my elder: Ropponmatsu One."
Ropponmatsu I, still standing in the cockpit, bowed. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Yeah, yeah, pleased to meetcha too, Ropponmatsu."
Ropponmatsu II's eyes suddenly flickered, and her high adolescent voice shrieked: "So you'll call her by her real name, huh? Big sister—"
There was a moment of internal struggle; her ears flapped open and shut; she spoke in alternating voices:
"Now see here young lady—!"
"I'm not li-ste-ning! Lah-lah lah-lah—"
"—ought to be grateful—"
"Wah! Wah! I hate you! I hate you!""
She struck herself several times on the side of the head, and Shioji reasserted himself: "I'm sorry the two of you had to see that shameful display."
Ropponmatsu I climbed carefully down from the cockpit. "Cargo delivered safely," she addressed Shioji, in the person of Ropponmatsu II.
"Excellent work, Ropponma—"
"What about me, huh? Huh? What about me?" Ropponmatsu II shouted at herself. "Praise me, praise me!"
"I'll have a little talk with you when you get back, little missy," said Shioji. "Do I have to deactivate your free will module again?"
"N-no! I'll be good."
Shioji cleared his throat. "Now, Miss Excel. Allow me to make myself clear. If you have information on Lord Ilpalazzo's whereabouts, I hereby give you my permission for you to take the 6050 to the ends of the earth in pursuit of him."
"I understand."
Hyatt smiled. "That is a very generous offer, Mister Shioji."
"Don't mention it. Provided that you forget all about that little incident—"
Ropponmatsu II asserted herself a final time: "Big sister, don't listen to him! He's a bad daddy and he never lets me do what I want! I'm gonna run away! I'm—!"
She struck herself so forcefully that sparks flew out of her right ear, and she collapsed, insensible. Ropponmatsu I sprinted from the plane.
"Sister unit!"
"Well, I guess I don't get to say goodbye," said Excel.
"I will convey your best wishes to Doctor Shioji," said Ropponmatsu I, lifting her sister gently and settling the body over her shoulder. "I regret that the two of you must part in such an undignified fashion. Doctor Shioji is a good man, if – eccentric. I am certain he wishes you luck as well."
"Yeah, you guys take care," said Excel, eyeing the plane.
The routing of ACROSS's armies – which armies, she reflected, she had never seen – and the rebuilding of Japan, seemed insignificant compared to the task ahead of her.
"Farewell," said Ropponmatsu, turning her back.
Excel waved. "See ya." As the Ropponmatsus vanished into the desert, Excel turned to Hyatt: "This has all been awfully convenient, huh, Hatchan?"
Night was settling in. The air was cooling, and the lurid shape of the plane was growing dark and uniform.
"A number of issues were resolved in a very brief amount of time," Hyatt agreed.
The desert sighed. Somewhere, they heard a wild dog scrabbling in the sand. The faint smell of lemonade still drifted from the trailer door.
Excel shrugged. "So who's complaining?"
"Will you be leaving now, Senior?"
"Yep."
"For South America?"
"Sure. It can't be that big, right? I'll find him." She clenched and unclenched her right hand. "And when I do…well."
"I wish you luck, Senior."
"Yeah, well – thanks."
They embraced again, briefly, then Excel stepped back. The outline of a full moon hung over the trailer.
"And now, abruptly, I'm in South America."
Excel stood in the village square, next to her grounded plane, subject to the uninterested stares of several locals and wild dogs. She glanced around at the low-slung adobe buildings. With no way of communicating with Shioji, and no knowledge of how to transform the 6050 from a plane back into a combat-ready robot, she would have to find another weapon.
But wait! If South America is anything like North America, deadly firearms can be purchased conveniently at any time!
Controversial statement!
Turning around, she spotted a street vendor lounging under a promising sign: Guns! Pistols, rifles, double-barreled shotguns!—in both English and Spanish. His wares were assembled on a folding table in front of him.
Thank God for Western Civilization, or the lack thereof! She skipped over, and the fat, grinning vendor tipped his hat. One pistol caught her eye: compact, silvery, and oddly familiar. She realized it bore a resemblance to—his gun. The phrase 'poetic justice' was somewhat beyond her ken, but she understood the principle.
The man spoke to her in his incomprehensible foreign language. Smiling back, she pointed at the gun, and held up several fingers: How much?
"You – have – ID?" the vendor asked, in broken Japanese. "Permit?"
Excel shrugged.
The vendor smiled again. "It's okay," he said, in Spanish, "I trust you, stranger."
Again: How much?
"You kidding? Anymore, I can't give this stuff away. Gimme a little kiss and we'll call it even."
He tapped his cheek. Excel, understanding, pecked it; and he passed the gun over the counter.
"Thanks, Mister!"
He made a gesture as if to say, Go on, try it out!
Aiming it experimentally into the air, she pulled the trigger; it fired loud and clean. Bystanders applauded and cheered.
The vendor laughed. "She's a natural-born American!"
Excel stuck the weapon in her belt. As she turned back to the plane, she stopped, spotting a familiar face.
A muscular, dark-skinned man came pushing an empty wheelbarrow down the street. He hummed to himself, at peace even with the blistering heat and buzzing mosquitoes.
Excel hailed him: "Pedro-san!"
He turned, bursting into a grin. "Excel-san!"
Abandoning the wheelbarrow, he dashed toward her.
"Uh – eh – huh…guarandoo!"—they executed their fist-pounding ritual, pointed at each other, and laughed.
"I never expected to see you here in my own native, unnamed country, Miss Excel! When I was a poor immigrant laborer in Japan, the bonds of warmth and friendship we formed left me with such pleasant memories of that country!"
"Excel seems to remember…something about a fire…what could it be?—But I got no time to think about that right now!"
"Yes, yes! What brings you to this humble land, Miss Excel?"
"Ilpalazzo," she said. "Where's Ilpalazzo?"
"Ah." Pedro's smile grew wistful. "You must be – Excel." He blinked. "You know, I never made the connection until just now. I never imagined that his Excel might also be my Excel. Although I suppose Excel is not really a common name.—He talks about you often, you know. When he drinks at the cantina here."
Excel's ears perked up. "He does?"
"Oh, yes. I can see the attraction, you know." He pinched her cheek. "My pretty little girl has grown into a very beautiful young woman!"
"Aw, Pedro!—Wa-ait. Attraction?"
"I knew," said Pedro, shaking his head. "From the moment I first saw that man. He was a dreamer; a romantic. A fool for love."
"Love?—Lord Ilpalazzo is a man of ideals! And morals!" Excel insisted, forgetting her grudge for the briefest instant.
"Ah. Love for an ideal; for another; for oneself. It's all so complicated. Pedro can only describe what he saw in that man's face. But you know," he added, smiling again. "Being a fool for a woman like you – is always the right thing to do."
Excel looked down and away, biting her lip.
"So. Where is he?"
"In the big empty house on the edge of town. You can't miss it. All the dogs stay away from there.—But I can't help but notice that pistol in your belt, Miss Excel."
"Oh, this? Yeah. Ah heh-heh."
"I take it that's no souvenir."
She shrugged.
Pedro's smile saddened again. "This is a matter between the two of you. But I'm not sorry I pointed you in his direction. It's what he would have wanted."
"Now that I don't believe."
Unknowingly, still smiling, he repeated Hyatt's words: "How else is he ever going to see you again?"
The quiet mansion stood just out of sight of the town's lights. Pedro had been right; none of the ubiquitous wild dogs skulked around it. There was no sign of life at all, not even a car in front – except for a single light burning in a ground-floor window. That was enough.
Unholstering the gun, she crept over the moist jungle ground. She was prepared for another ambush. Uncomfortable, squirming feelings had begun to manifest themselves, though, making it more difficult than ever to concentrate – but she couldn't fail now, when she had come so far. Now that she thought about it, she had never successfully completed a mission in her life; never done anything right.
So. This would be the first time.
She put her ear to the cool wood of the door; there was no sound inside. She kicked her way in, leveling the gun. The foyer was empty. Beyond, in a spacious living room, modern furniture suggested the recent occupant. The light she had seen was to her right. She began to move, taking slow, light steps.
He might have heard the door; or he might have assumed it was just a crash in the jungle. It all depended on whether he was expecting her or not. Given the way he had always – always underestimated her, she assumed he wasn't. Fine.
The light came from the kitchen doorway. Stopping outside, Excel strained her ears:
"Ha, ha!—Good girl," came Ilpalazzo's smooth, unmistakable voice.
So he wasn't alone. Great. Probably with some local girl he'd picked up; the thought made her skin crawl. That only meant she might have to kill him quickly, instead of savoring it.
The thought brought on a last surge of panic. Was she really going to fire that gun?—She couldn't answer herself one way or the other. She couldn't pull the trigger, even in her mind, but she remembered what the sight of his face had done to her. Perhaps she could do it then. Okay, I'll surprise myself, she thought bitterly.
She stepped into the doorway.
It was a homey kitchen, with handcarved wooden furniture and an ambient light. Ilpalazzo was kneeling by the sink, holding a paper bag under his arm. He smiled indulgently as a small white dog lapped food out of its dish. He faced half-away from her, and didn't look up.
"Good girl," he repeated.
He had discarded his cape, but his old uniform hung on a smaller, thinner body than she remembered. His lavender hair glowed soft in the moonlight coming through the windows.
She crept up within a foot of him, amazed that he still didn't notice her, and aimed the gun at his head. And now I pull the trigger, she thought. She didn't.
Ilpalazzo petted the dog, and it yipped happily. Excel recognized the dog, a moment before he said:
"I was wondering when you might show up. Shame you're too late to join me for dinner. Eh, Ex-Agent Excel?"
He still didn't turn around.
She could still fire, but she knew she never would. She let the gun drop with a dull, wet click on the kitchen floor, and hung her head.
The dog recognized Excel. With a bark of terror, it bolted across the kitchen and lay cowering against the far wall.
"Hi, Menchi," she said weakly.
Ilpalazzo stood. "Are you and this animal acquainted? I came across it in the ruins of F City. I was in need of a companion at the time, and so on a whim I adopted her." He set the bag of kibble on the counter. "Dogs are remarkable, aren't they? Give them a little food, a little attention, and they'll follow you to the ends of the earth."
He still wouldn't face her.
"You and I have unfinished business," said Excel.
He turned, nudged his glasses up his nose, and smiled.
"My dear, you couldn't be more correct."
Excel's preview: "…"
AN: That whole bit with Ropponmatsu II and Shioji's Parental Control Issues might seem like a throwaway gag, but I like to think of it as a suggestion that he may be growing up.
Okay, here's the deal. I wrote – not one, but two, count 'em two endings; and while I might have my own preference between them, I think both of them fit the outline of the story equally well. It's like one of those choose-your-own-ending books.
So, here's the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Just how do you read that character?
Loyalty, of course. Go on to Chapter Ten, "I'd Rather be a Hammer than a Nail."
Love, of course. Skip ahead to Chapter Eleven, "Half a Person."
Of course, you may end up reading both of them anyway. In which case you can imagine that they both 'happen,' and the Great Will of the Macrocosm does a reset before the one you like better.
Or maybe, in fact, the two endings compliment each other, and in a sense each happens simultaneously…but we won't speculate.
