Chapter Ten: The Game Is Afoot
Author's Note: You know, for once, I don't think I have anything to put here. I am very confused. I just realized how much I've been procrastinating: doing several full laps around Elfwood's FanArt section, believe it or not. But I found a hilarious picture that embodies the term 'sleight of hand', Yu Yu Hakusho style, so it was worth it. It made my week. (shrieks 'tuxedo' spontaneously and laughs) I don't need a disclaimer until next chapter, so…
ON WITH THE SHOW!
The moment Dr. Crusher entered the cargo bay, she was almost immediately assaulted by a distressed Gunthar, who charged through his people towards the opening doors once he saw who it was that had deigned to pay them a visit.
"Doctor!" he bellowed loudly, folding his arms over his chest. "We have a problem!"
"What is it?" she asked carefully, having already, in fact, guessed. "Is there something I can do?"
"I should hope so," Gunthar rumbled. "Sean has gone missing, and the security outside has been most unhelpful. We have been on our best behavior ever since we left spacedock; I believe we deserve a little assistance."
"Don't worry," she soothed him, hurriedly remembering her cobbled-together explanation. "We've had him down in sickbay for the last few days."
"Oh," an only slightly mollified Gunthar said. "Well, he's been in good hands, then, but I would have preferred to have been told before he was removed. And I would like him returned to us by the time we are beamed down to our new world. Am I correct in assuming that we're close?"
"You would be indeed. We should be able to beam you down by this evening. If you'll excuse me?"
"Certainly, but—"
She gave him a professional smile before he could continue and made a quick escape, wading through the eavesdroppers with little difficulty. Once the cargo bay doors had closed behind her, she muttered to herself, "I'm going to need to talk to Kurama."
"Well, I'm right here; what do you need?"
She fairly jumped out of her skin, turning one hundred and eighty degrees on one heel to face the redhead. "Must you?" she asked venomously.
"Sorry."
Dr. Crusher took a deep breath, calming herself. "Actually, I needed to know what Sean was going to do. How were you planning to stay on the Enterprise if Gunthar had you under his thumb all the time? He's asking for you—Sean—whoever, you know."
"We intended for me to stay unobtrusive until the Sierrans were to depart. I would then simply shuffle the beam-down schedule enough for no one to notice that I wasn't in any party. Unfortunately, that's no longer an option."
"It sounds like you need to be in two places at once," she joked. "Can you do that?"
He smiled. "No. I can appear to, but not physically exist in two separate places. In fact…" His eyes went absent for a moment. "That may be the best course," he continued.
"How so?" she asked, gesturing for him to walk with her. He fell into step obediently.
"I could beam down in Sean's form. The Enterprise would naturally remain in orbit for some time, is that not correct? Before long, I could slip off, discard my disguise, and, drawing on that world's plant life, construct a simulacrum of Sean that would wander off and simply vanish into the wild. I would then contact the Enterprise and be beamed back up. It's not perfect, but it will do."
"Did you make up all that on the spot?" she asked, impressed. "Remind me not to play Go with you."
"Actually, I've done it before, yes, it was on the spot, but it wasn't all my idea." At her confused look, he added, "Anything said to one of us eventually gets back to the other, Doctor. We're not in constant communication, but it's close enough. As to the simulacrum, I wouldn't be able to construct it on board the Enterprise, if you were wondering. A feat like that requires more power than I comfortably have on hand; I could drain my own life-force, but would be unconscious for days just to regain enough energy to even sit up if I survived. Planetside, I can call on Lima Sierra's plant life for the power I'll need."
She didn't quite understand the bit about the plants, but believed him if he said it would work. "And they'll find the simulacrum eventually?"
He considered it…or perhaps discussed it; she couldn't tell the difference. "It depends. We've never been to Lima Sierra, so we don't know exactly what I'm dealing with, but M-class worlds usually have the same general type of vegetation. Ideally, the simulacrum will become inanimate before long, producing the same effect as a dead body. By the time it dissolves, it should be buried in a grave and forgotten."
Crusher frowned as they turned a corner, trying to find some problem with his/their plan. "What if they autopsy the 'body'?"
He paused, listening and then winced slightly. "Hiei suggests… making the cause of death so obvious that no one will bother." He was quite obviously paraphrasing whatever his partner had really said.
"Uh huh. And what was that look for?"
"He offered to lend me his sword after I told him he wasn't coming along. Well, actually, he threatened to hit me with it if he was to be left behind, but I asked if that was an offer to let me borrow it. It was too good an idea to pass up, but he can keep the sword. I won't need it."
She flinched in sympathy with him. Actually, upon reminding, she was mildly surprised that Worf hadn't demanded the immediate turnover of the blade. Why Kurama went unarmed if they were often physically separated in dangerous territory was beyond her, but she decided not to ask. The likelihood of getting a straight answer instead of a half-truth or downright lie was too great. Besides, she probably didn't want to know.
"That sounds feasible. How long will it take you?"
"Not long. An hour, at least. Two to be safe."
She nodded as they reached the turbolift. "Would you like to tell the captain, or shall I?"
"You should probably tell him." His eyes went vacant again, looking into the middle distance. "I'll meet you in sickbay as Sean an hour before arrival at Lima Sierra IV; it would look odd if I returned on my own."
"Yes, of course," Dr. Crusher bid him goodbye as the turbolift's door opened. He nodded to her as she stepped in, and went back the way he had come, vanishing around the corner by the time the door had closed.
The darkness didn't bother him as he ambled easily through the streets of Riiseth, Lima Sierra Four's main city. Disregarding the idle glances of late-night, unoccupied passerby, Sean made his aimless way towards the edge of the town. No one hindered him; all were either at the late-night (in Riiseth's time) impromptu gathering, or more likely, party, for their new neighbors or at home safely in their beds. With few large, carnivorous, predators on the continent, there was no need for a gate or elaborate security measures that would require careful bypass. There was no one to notice the little blond boy slipping quietly away.
Exactly as he'd planned it.
A safe distance into the dense forest, he closed his eyes and reached out for any indication, smell, sound, or second sense, that a human colonist was nearby. Finding only a bright, forceful cluster in the city five minutes behind him and no trace in the tangled brush, he allowed the diligently maintained illusion to dissolve into metaphorical dust.
Kurama shook his head, beast-like, freeing his long hair from the constraints of the alternate form. Despite its outward appearance, he still retained some measure of feeling in his original body—wearing a smaller illusory form felt much like wearing a wet shirt that one knows will be too small by the time it dries. With a relieved smile, he knelt, working his fingers into the damp night earth.
It was pleasant, he thought, after weeks in space, aboard a metal, sterile starship, to be able to return to his own element. Surrounded by trees and other plants, even on the surface of an alien world, he was most at ease, not having to be on his guard against attacks either physical or verbal. The plants themselves would defend him in an emergency; there was no one to bother him.
A tentative pulse against his mental barriers corrected his misconception. Well, one person. And the little koorime barely counted; they were so close mentally that they habitually, as Counselor Troi had observed, referred to themselves as 'we' even though the other would be any distance away.
I'm here, he sent back. You there? The message translated only roughly; the back-and-forth of acknowledgement and questioning constantly passed between them.
Ready? Hiei asked from their quarters on the ship. Kurama knew without asking that he'd be perched on the window ledge, watching the planet from miles away in space.
Almost. Sitting cross-legged with his back against a native tree, he worked his left hand further into the earth, calling on the plants that he controlled to aid him. Alone, he couldn't create a simulacrum; the animating and most essential elements were fire and earth. For water and air, he could draw on the plants' roots and the air around him, although it was easier with four elementals.
Raising his right hand to eye level, he pulled threads of power from his own core, spinning them before him like a loom—or, as he preferred to think of it, as vines climbing a trellis. Weaving Hiei's power into it, he pulled from his mind the memory of his illusion, providing the whirling dervish he saw in his mind's eye with a body upon which to hang. Drawing strength from the vegetation around him, he disregarded the need to animate the copy and instead focused on making it as lifelike and cohesive as possible.
When he opened his eyes, nearly forty-five minutes of profound concentration later, and severed his connection to the earth, a dark shape stood before him, unmoving.
Are you all right? his partner asked.
"Of course," he replied aloud, then rolled his eyes at his own forgetfulness and repeated the assurance telepathically. I'm fine. Don't worry about me.
That's what I always say, and you never listen to me, Hiei protested.
That's because you always lie about it, the kitsune chuckled, strength returning with his sense of humor. And because the last time you said that, we were in the middle of a battle and you had three inches of blade in your side. I think I have reason not to listen to you, my friend.
That was entirely different, he grumbled.
Sure…I'm coming back up now, he sent. Five minutes. Anything happen?
No.
You're nowhere near that monitor, are you?
You were the one who asked for my help.
Fine, fine. Go check; I'll see you in a few minutes.
The conversation was over, but he could still sense his friend's movement in a distant corner of his mind. They'd gotten into the security systems with laughable ease—for them. Constant monitoring of the bridge, engineering, and other high-security areas was a built-in feature of Starfleet systems, and was a convenient opportunity to keep their fingers in the middle of the important areas of the ship while staying out of Picard's way until he calmed down a little bit.
Inspecting the simulacrum woven of pure demonic power, he was pleased. It looked human; it felt and smelled human. There was little animating power, but little was needed. He placed one hand on its forehead. "Run," he whispered, pulling an image of a nearby creek bed, half full of stagnant water that he could smell from half a mile away, into his mind. "Fall," he continued, imagining the body slipping on the slimy rocks, and falling at such an angle as to break its neck and leave it facedown in the torpid water. Cause of 'death' would be plain, and much easier to explain than a sword through the heart. Run, he repeated the command in a language he didn't often need to use, and stepped back and away as it stirred to life.
Sean blinked several times, took one step, then another. Fixing his hands behind his back, Kurama watched as it tested out its limbs, then shuffled away, gaining speed as it went. It would carry out its mission without fail, and then decompose weeks later. Assuming the Sierrans found the simulacrum before it began to dissolve—quite likely—there would be no questions asked. The creek was not that far away, after all.
He did so hate loose ends; you were so easily tangled in them.
Once he was satisfied that the simulacrum was well on its way, Kurama pulled a commbadge from his pocket and tapped it. "Transporter Room Three."
"Standing by," Miles O'Brien's cheerful voice greeted him.
"One to beam back."
He pocketed the commbadge just before the transporter beam claimed him. He had declined to wear it because, a thief by nature, he tended to pocket little things that wouldn't be noticed missing automatically. Certainly not out of vanity, as a certain small fire demon would automatically and quite happily accuse.
Vain kitsune.
Kurama rolled his eyes with a tolerant smile as he vanished into blue and silver sparks.
The Enterprise remained in orbit around Lima Sierra IV; they were without leads in their priority mission. Engineering had requested that the ship not go charging off randomly, and had made vague promises of supplying a clue, leaving whoever was in charge of the bridge, in this case, Commander Riker, to sit and pace. Impatient, he left the bridge to the command of the unperturbed Data and headed down to Deck 36 to discover more on the nature of their possible miracle.
Riker made his way into engineering, sidestepping an impressive array of relays and discarded tools scattered around. The reason for the unusual disorderliness was unclear upon first glance. As he wandered around, puzzled, he spotted Lieutenant Barclay, at work in the chief's office. Besides a skeleton staff, the area surrounding the sullenly pulsing warp core was devoid of its normal bustling complement of engineers and the cheerful chief engineer.
"Lieutenant," he called, stopping at the threshold of the small room.
Barclay startled, jerking around and nearly dropping the PADD he held. Catching it one-handed, and looking rather encouraged by the feat, he tried to come to attention without stepping on something. "Commander Riker, sir!"
"Just commander will do, Lieutenant," Riker assured him, staying where he was. "Where is everyone?"
"Deck 34, sir, just behind the main—main deflector."
"What the heck are they doing back there?" Riker asked, frowning.
"Th-they're modifying the l-long-range sensor array, the two, ah, am…" Apparently he couldn't bring himself to say 'demons.'
"Yes, I know who you mean," Riker sighed. "What are they up to?"
"They're h-helping Commander La Forge with the sensors; to enable the long-range sensors to cut th-through the cloaking device on Alameda."
"Cloaking device? I never heard anything about that," Riker muttered, more to himself than Reg Barclay. "Don't answer, Lieutenant, I'll go find Geordi. Carry on," he dismissed the lieutenant, and turned on his heel, boots making soft noises on the blue and grey carpet as he headed for the nearest 'lift.
The doors of the turbolift hissed open a few seconds later in a small room, containing the computer readouts of the long-range sensor array. Even before the doors had fully parted, he could hear the sounds of engineers hard at work: the clatters, crashes, metallic bangs, and cheerful back-and-forth that seemed to come with the territory.
"Hello back there," Riker called, stepping into the narrow service corridor, which lead to the long-range sensors' 'nuts' and 'bolts', as it were, situated in an unobtrusive alcove to the right as he entered. "What's going on?"
Emerging from the slightly claustrophobic passage, he was stopped short by the sight of an indescribable contraption jerry-rigged directly into the sensory devices. Made of a black substance that, eerily, seemed to absorb light, but was probably something very common, it spanned the entire chamber, reaching to about five feet high and sprawling from sensor to sensor like a giant parasite. Monitors, attached in odd and unlikely places, blinked and chirped as they ran start-up diagnostics. He counted, at first glance, five engineers, not including Geordi La Forge, who was located an instant later on the far side of the ceiling grate, and Hiei, sitting cross-legged on a section and blending in quite well with the contraption, whatever it was, in his black cloak.
"Good morning, Commander!" La Forge said happily from just above his head. Sparks flew for an instant from the two wires he was working on splicing together, cutting off the rest of his greeting. A shout of 'Sorry!' from what appeared to be a not-so-solid wall, underscored by the universal translator's slight signature, indicated that Kurama was deep in the guts of the ship too, and too distracted to speak Federation Standard.
"I thought the power was off!" Geordi yelled.
"It was!"
"Geordi, its 1350 hours," Will corrected, brushing a loose spark from his uniform and trying to get the conversation back on track.
"Is it really? Wow. Think we have room for lunch down here?" he called.
"As well?" Lieutenant Hayes said skeptically, briefly emerging from beneath their machine. "Where would we put it?"
Geordi smiled ecstatically and looked back down at the commander. "Guess we've been a little busy down here." The obvious irony was clear. Equally clear was that La Forge was having the time of his life.
"Busy with what, exactly?" Riker glanced around, nodding to Geordi's assistants and only briefly meeting the eyes of the fire demon perched atop the device, if such a small word like device could convey the sprawling, encompassing feeling of said apparatus.
"Your sensors can't punch through Alameda's cloak," Hiei spoke up scornfully. "You may be able to pick up a damaged warbird, but Alameda is completely different. This" he gestured downward, "is a mess, but it will give Enterprise a chance of tracking her down."
"How does it work?" Riker asked, looking back up at Geordi. He put the stupid question down to being discombobulated by the demon's unrelenting crimson stare, and immediately ate his words. "No, don't tell me. What do you mean, a chance?"
"Well, the number of possible frequencies for the cloak are like your shields—theoretically near-infinite," Kurama's voice called from behind the wall. He paused for a second, and then appeared on Geordi's grid-floor level, only to causally leap down the ladder's shaft. Landing quite solidly on his feet, he continued, "But, of course, some frequencies would require a ridiculous amount of power, so they're almost never used."
"Ok, I'm with you so far. But in battle, there's no time to rotate your phaser frequencies. If you can guess the shield frequency, then it'll go through them like they aren't there. Data could probably rattle of the probability off the top of his head, but I know it's a pretty high ratio. You're using remote sensors here, and only a guess that Alameda is in the area. It's not feasible to scan an entire sector—or is that what this is for?"
"That's what this is for," Geordi grinned. "During our first battle with Fenell, the computer picked up an odd radiation surge in subspace. It only showed up a second before Alameda dropped out of warp and started firing on us, but the computer registered it. This scans for that unusual signature in subspace, which is the only place the radiation shows up. Once it's up and running—if we ever get the right power lines off when they're supposed to be off—this will seize onto the closest 'scent' of that radiation. We'll just follow it along, and their cloak will be useless. Normal sensors won't be able to pick them up, but this baby will sniff them right out."
Riker was actually quite impressed. "Where's the radiation coming from, or do you not know?"
"Fenell's own haul," Kurama smirked, leaning against the black sensor with his arms folded. "Infernium."
"Wait a second. I just thought of something else," Riker said, after strolling the few steps to examine the tracking device for a few seconds. "What if you follow the trail in the wrong direction?"
"Well, if Hiei can't get that element of the programming working, then we could be chasing wild geese all over the sector," Kurama smiled innocently across at said koorime, who glared at him, I'm working on it all but echoing. "Which of course won't happen."
"Damn right," Riker barely heard.
"Good work," the commander complimented all and sundry. "Do you have a time estimate yet?"
La Forge glared downwards from behind the grate, still holding his wires. "It depends. Is the power definitely off now?"
"Yes, yes, I turned it off."
"Good." As he spliced the wires together, this time without the fireworks, he replied, talking around his work, "we should have this hunk of junk up and running pretty soon, Commander. That better?"
"Much," Hiei muttered, attention completely on his computer panel. His fingers flew over it for a few seconds, and then paused, looking up at his kitsune partner. Kurama nodded wordlessly and vanished up the ladder again, completely disregarding Riker.
"What was that about?" the commander asked Geordi.
"No idea. They've been trying to speak aloud—it was creeping my people out a little bit—but I suppose old habits die hard."
"La Forge to bridge," the call came up not half an hour later.
"Go ahead, Geordi," Riker answered from the center chair. "Good news, I hope?"
"You bet. Subspace infernium sensors are on line."
"Oh, is that what we're calling that thing?"
"If it fits, Commander."
"Very well, let's keep this channel open. Mr. Data, scan for infernium trails."
"Aye, sir," the android at Ops said at once. Plying his console, he proceeded to link in the new sensors and carry out his orders. Just as Will Riker began to settle in for a long wait, Data suddenly sat up.
"Commander," Data said sharply, looking as surprised as an android can, "there is a trail off our starboard bow. Destination coming in now." He consulted his panel. "Sir, there are traces of infernium in Lima Sierra's Oort Cloud."
Riker stood up and took the few paces to look over Data's shoulder. Refraining from asking 'are you sure,' he tapped his commbadge. "Captain to the bridge."
Only a handful of seconds later, the door to the captain's ready room hissed open, and Picard emerged. "Report, Number One," he said crisply, taking command by his presence alone.
"There is a possible infernium signature on the edge of the system," Riker told him. "Could be Alameda."
Picard raised one eyebrow. "Bold of them. Mr. Data, does the trail lead away from the Oort cloud, or does it end there?"
"Sir, there is a departing trace; however, there is a stationary source of the radiation."
"Fenell's cache?" Riker speculated.
Data checked with his panel again. "Unlikely, sir. The signal is extremely faint. At a greater distance, the chances of registering it would be—" Seeing the captain's warning look, he amended, "improbable."
"Understood. Get the coordinates from Mr. Data and lay in a course at warp five, Ensign Crusher."
"Aye, sir, course laid in," Wesley said, fingers tapping in the heading.
"Mr. Worf, raise shields, prepare all weapons," the captain continued, seating himself in his command chair. "Yellow Alert. Mr. Crusher, engage." He pointed forward in his signature gesture as the majestic ship got under way.
Two and a half minutes later, Picard ordered, "Drop to impulse power. Report."
"Tactical sensors are picking up a small ship of uncertain origin situated on a large asteroid dead ahead," Worf rumbled.
"Hail it," the captain ordered, rising and tugging his uniform into place absently.
"They do not respond," Worf informed him moments later.
"Hail them anyway. Make sure they can see me even if they don't want to talk back."
"Aye, sir, channel open."
"Attention unidentified vessel," Captain Picard announced. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise. Stand by to be brought aboard by a tractor beam."
He nodded to Worf, who cut the channel and asked, "Tractor beam, sir?"
"If they won't talk to us, we'll have to talk to them directly," Picard explained as he sat back down. "Bring them in, Mr. Worf."
"Aye, sir. Engaging tractor beam." At Worf's command, a blue beam shot out from the forward dorsal emitters, midway down the swan's neck of the Enterprise, seizing onto the small ship and drawing towards the main shuttlebay.
"Mr. Data, you have the bridge," Picard commanded, standing up yet again and beckoning to Riker. "Number One, Counselor, please accompany me."
Deanna Troi rose from her seat to Picard's left, where she had taken up residence in response to the yellow alert, and followed him with Riker up the curving wing of the bridge to the aft turbolift. As they went, Worf tapped his commbadge, summoning two security guards to rendezvous with the captain's party in the main shuttlebay.
The enormous double doors swished open to admit Captain Picard, Will Riker, Deanna Troi, a security officer named Ensign Shail, and Lieutenant Faber, who was toting a phaser as usual. The officer on duty snapped to attention and nodded stiffly as they entered.
The man lounging against the pocked and worn surface of his small ship did nothing of the kind. Scruffily dressed in oil-splattered brown coveralls that had seen a lot of wear, he looked like nothing more than an itinerant trader down on his luck. His green skin, hefty build, and leather skullcap covering a bald head denoted him as an Orion.
"Captain Picard, I assume," he said casually as the party came to a stop in front of him.
"Indeed. May I know your name?" Picard asked diplomatically.
"You can call me Mordecai. I guess you took the bait, huh?"
"The bait?" Riker asked, getting a bad feeling that they'd been suckered.
"That infernium stuff. I've got a chunk on board. Captain Fenell said you'd sniff it right out."
At their expressions, he laughed. "Yeah, I'm one of the captain's men. My orders are simple, Captain Picard: I have a message for you, from one captain to another. If I can remember it. One moment…"
He closed his eyes and thought as the double doors swished open. Riker turned to look, and was unsurprised to see Hiei and Kurama enter. The latter nodded to him, and half-smiled as they joined the group.
"Ah yes," Mordecai said finally, breaking his own reverie. Looking directly at Captain Picard, he recited, "'Greetings, Captain Picard. I should be honored to know that the flagship and best crew in the fleet is so concerned with me, but, sadly, I'm not. In fact, I'm more irritated than anything. So this is a warning. You couldn't win a small battle with me, and you can't win a pitched one. It's in your best interest to abandon your little hunt. Starfleet won't be too happy with you, but that's life. And life's better than the alternative: if I see that great hulking ship of yours again, I'll blast you out of the sky.'"
Mordecai grinned at Picard's rather taken aback expression. "To the point, huh? The captain's not one to mince words."
Picard sighed softly. "I thank you for your warning, but Fenell should know that I can't abandon my mission."
"Captain, he's made a tactical error," Riker exclaimed. "We have here one of his own people—one of his crew. He should know something. For example," he turned on Mordecai, "Where is Alameda headed?"
"Sorry, can't say," Mordecai shrugged. Seeing the security officers reaching for their phasers, he raised his hands defensively. "Whoa, wait a second. Captain, are you really going to let them fire on an unarmed man?"
"Hold your fire," Picard commanded reluctantly.
"Besides," Mordecai continued, standing up and tensing, "I know absolutely nothing!"
With that, he broke into a sprint, heading round the hull of his ship to the door on the other side.
Deanna Troi had been watching the two demons from the moment they had joined the group. So she was the one who saw Kurama make his move. In a seamless set of movements, his right hand flew to a lock of his hair, then was flung outward, holding what appeared to be in all aspects a rose. As his hand reached it's highest point, he snapped his wrist back down, and the rose transformed into a good ten feet of whip that hissed through the air to wrap around the fleeing Mordecai.
The Orion shrieked in shock and fear as he was thrown backwards. As he flew backwards, Kurama seized his collar, bared sharp fangs, and snarled, "You lie!"
Author's Note: We're now deep into the meat of the story (took long enough), so I have to actually think about what I write. Believe it or not, it took me longer to find out what deck the long-range sensors are on than it did to write all that technobabble about the sensors or the shuttlebay scene you just finished. On another note, the information on simulacra is from Tamora Pierce's Immortals Quartet; I have changed it on minor counts, but the intent (and, indeed, purpose) remains the same. My 'credits' list is so long now…
CHAT:
grayangle: Thank you! I try. The finer details get sorted out in my head in the middle of algebra class or theology tests, but the story (and my grades, luckily) seem to be working out despite that. Oh, you inspire me—can I use that? I think you've just given me a jumping-off point for a Yu Yu Hakusho sort-of-epic story that has a really cool title and summary at the moment but not much else. Oh, the 88 came from total episodes over the course of the series. It's one of my favorites…but I haven't seen it in awhile.
KHnews hound: Ooh, Q as well? I would love to do a Q story. Some day in the distant future I might even start one. I'm not sure how he would fit in with this, apart from dropping by, making a few smart comments, playing some kind of trick on Picard, and then going off in a huff. Mmm, doesn't quite jive with the current plot as I've planned it. One might imagine that Q has met up with them at least once; they probably did not get along. My imagination is pretty good, but I'm having a little trouble with Q and Hiei in the same story without terminal personality clash. An idea anyway! Koenma may get a cameo appearance, or maybe just a mention (more likely).
koriaena: A new reviewer! I'm thrilled—welcome! I'm so glad you like this. You are, by the way, the first person to comment on the (non)slash aspect of Answers. I will occasionally read low-key slash stories but won't write it into a story like this (as if I could write romance anyway). As I have a tentative (one might say select if being nice) audience here, I don't want to scare anyone off. And as an apology for shifting the venue so far out, I'm trying to stick to the shards of what's left of the canon…