TACO Run

Chapter 19

Naomasa rubbed a thumb against the spot between his brows, fighting off a headache. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

Last night, he'd asked Kikuchi for a progress report on both Olberic's legal residency application, and on the translation program. Kikuchi hadn't had much to report on the former, but the latter he'd said was progressing nicely.

"It helps that his language does have some similarities to a few from our own world. Mostly German, yes, but, well, I took the liberty of running a few sentences past my cousin while I was passing on Chief Tsuragamae's request. She says it's—and I quote, sir—'as if Low Middle German and Scots Gaelic had a drunken one-night-stand, and then their offspring was adopted by Sicilians.' The program has a basic idea of sentence structure, syntax, and phonetics, but its vocabulary is still very limited. Give it another day or two, sir, and I'll be able to correct that."

So by tomorrow night, or possibly even tonight if Kikuchi had made enough progress the previous evening, he needed to find Olberic a place to stay besides the department's detention center.

If Olberic were a person from the modern world, even an actual refugee of some kind, it wouldn't be quite so hard. There were procedures in place for that kind of thing, safe-houses they could assign him to. But despite the progress they'd made, he was still very much not at home in a modern society, and without the ability to communicate with those around him, likely to get into trouble despite his best efforts. That was why Chief Tsuragamae had specified after Kikuchi's program was ready.

On the other hand, giving Olberic the ability to communicate with those around him could cause its own problems. As of now, only three people actually knew the whole truth about Olberic and his circumstances—Kikuchi, Chief Tsuragamae, and Naomasa himself. But if Olberic could talk to the other officers and detectives—or worse, civilians—without someone else there to cover for any slips… well, even if he were to actively try to conceal his origins, it wouldn't take long before someone caught on.

And even if we managed to keep it from the media, someone in the government would find out about it eventually.

And Chief Tsuragamae had very quietly stated that nothing good could come of that. Olberic's presence was not a matter of national security, regardless of his origins, but someone, somewhere, would believe differently.

So I have to find him somewhere to stay that either won't ask questions, is already in the know, or can be trusted implicitly. And they have to be police-affiliated. Having Olberic stay with Kikuchi would have been an ideal choice, on the surface. They could already communicate, had built a rapport, and Kikuchi was fully aware of the particulars of Olberic's situation. Technically speaking, records personnel weren't police, but as they were employed by the department, Kikuchi could count as 'affiliated'.

When he had tentatively broached the topic with Kikuchi, however…

"I'm sorry sir," the records clerk had winced. "I wouldn't mind, myself, but Rin's already unhappy with how much more work I've been bringing home, trying to get that translator working properly. It's not quite at the level of angry yet, but… well, happy spouse, happy house."

Frankly, Naomasa didn't blame him for his refusal. He honestly felt bad even asking the clerk, considering how much he was already doing for them, on top of his actual duties. Chief Tsuragamae planned to give him a bonus for the extra effort, as well as some well-deserved paid vacation.

But that still left Naomasa without many options. I can't exactly ask the Chief to take him in. And he shared his own apartment with Makoto, who, well…

His sister could be trusted not to leak secrets. She was almost frustratingly closed-mouthed about things when she felt it necessary to protect others—like that teen idol who worked for Marukane department store. The girl had been involved in more than one Trigger-related incident; always as a bystander or victim, but that didn't mean they couldn't learn anything from interviewing her. Makoto had put her foot down, though, refusing to reveal Pop Step's identity so they could question her. Naomasa understood her viewpoint, and her desire to keep from stressing the girl any more by bringing up past incidents, but her refusal was frustrating.

Makoto was also very good at piecing together the truth from small tidbits of information, and had excellent intuition. She'd figure out something was up within five minutes of meeting Olberic, and somehow manage to worm the truth out of him regardless of whether or not he tried to hide it.

I might not have a choice, though. If he couldn't come up with anything better, well… at least Makoto was spending a lot of time on this business of Captain Celebrity's going-away party. Finishing her bachelor's degree in the fall had freed her time up substantially, and she'd thrown all of her considerable talent and energy into her various work-related projects.

"Sir?" Officer Tsuwa poked her head into his office. "Officer Kaniyashiki has a report from her first day at Onomura Medical Corp."

"Send her in." Naomasa set the problem of Olberic aside for later. He had a job to do.

Olberic sat in one of the swiveling chairs in what Kikuchi called the 'soft interview' room, arms folded patiently across his chest. He wasn't sure what made an interview 'soft', but the room was comfortable enough, well-lit and cool, with a sturdy wooden table and walls thick enough to block out any sounds from outside it.

No sooner had Kikuchi arrived this evening, than he had asked one of the guardsmen to summon Olberic, and begun teaching him about the use of a device he called a keitai denwa. Apparently, such devices were used to speak with others from a distance, but also had a number of other functions. In fact, that very device was the one which Kikuchi had been training to understand Olberic's language.

Now, he claimed that it had learned enough for him to put its training to use.

"It won't be anywhere close to perfect," Kikuchi had warned, looking up at him with a concerned expression. "Even with all I did last night, there are going to be gaps in its training, because there just hasn't been enough time to go through every permutation of our respective languages, and find workarounds for all of the words which don't quite fit."

Olberic understood that. Even the word 'training' itself was a compromise, as the word Kikuchi had originally used did not have an Orsterran equivalent. For that matter, the device's name had no equivalent, and Olberic had quietly set himself the task of finding or creating a new word to use. Which would be much simpler with Cyrus around. Or perhaps Alfyn; both of them have ways with words that I cannot match.

Kikuchi had attempted to fill what gaps he could the previous evening, by reading aloud from a book which listed all of the words in his own language, as well as their meanings. He would read the word and its meaning aloud first in his own language, and then in Olberic's, so that not only would his device hear the words, but also gain more examples of how phrases and sentences were constructed. This simple, sensible method impressed Olberic, but when he told Kikuchi so, the clerk seemed embarrassed by the praise, mumbling that it was the only thing he could think of.

Olberic had not remained awake through all of Kikuchi's efforts. The clerk had assured him that so long as they were within a few strides of each other, they did not need to directly communicate for his 'Quirk' to function as it should. So as the hour grew later, Olberic had allowed himself to nod off in the cushioned chair of the clerk's workroom, only stirring in the small hours of the morning, when Kikuchi prepared to leave for the day. He'd returned to his borrowed cell, stiff from sleeping in the chair, and used some of the liniment Alfyn had given him so long ago for his back, before laying down on his pallet and going back to sleep.

This day, he had done little besides train.

Alfyn would scold him, were he here. While Olberic had not pushed himself to exhaustion or strain, he had trained longer and harder these past few days than he had in the years previous. Partly it was a desire not to lose his edge despite having temporarily lost his weapons. But a great deal of it was sheer restlessness. Olberic was not given to indolence, and while his understanding of the situation meant he would not allow himself to become irritable over the restrictions he faced, the fact of the matter was that he had no tasks or goals to pursue, nor even any way he might assist those around him, who had treated him so considerately since his arrival.

It was… galling.

Simply put, there wasn't a great deal to do besides train. He was not in Cobbleston, where daily tasks such as laundry or preparing meals could occupy the hours not spent mentoring Philip or training the townsfolk to defend themselves. He was not even with his companions, who might engage him in conversation or a game of cards.

The time spent with Master Kaname the day before had helped. Had… taken the edge off, he supposed. It had been a joy and an honor to join her students even for so short a time, and the duel with Tamakawa had helped to settle him a little. But she had not returned today, and already Olberic found himself growing restive again.

"…Sir Olberic?"

Olberic blinked back to the present, sitting up straighter and unfolding his arms. "Yes?" It was disconcerting, to hear Kikuchi's voice inside his ear a half-beat behind the foreign words of another man. Even more disconcerting, to see the thin cord dangling from below the flap of a canine ear, the tail of one of the 'ear-buds' that Kikuchi had taught him about. One such rested in Olberic's own right ear, delivering the translation from the device he now carried in his pocket. It was… not uncomfortable, but it would take some getting used to.

The dog-headed man Olberic had nearly slain the day before—Kikuchi had confirmed that he was the commander of this city's guard—had a smooth, calm voice. He also had the same wise, direct gaze Olberic had seen and respected on King Khalim of the Sunlands… and on his own king, more than a decade before. A man worthy of his men's admiration and loyalty.

And a man with nerves of tempered steel, to have not flinched at Olberic's reflexive attack upon his person.

If the commander had an opinion on his inattentiveness, he gave no sign. "It is good to see that mister Kikuchi's device-training works as well as he had hoped," he said. "I thank you for your patience while these arrangements were made."

"On the contrary," Olberic demurred, "I thank you and your men for the courtesy and hospitality I have been given."

"I will make sure they are informed." A quiet sound, not unlike a very soft bark. "However, now that we have a method of communicating with you that does not require mister Kikuchi's presence, we can no longer allow you to occupy one of our cells. I'm sure you have noticed that the others are beginning to fill up."

Olberic nodded. While his own cell-hall had remained unoccupied, he had seen several individuals of bizarre appearance and surly countenance escorted to the other cells over the past few days. Most were held for a night or two at most before being released, but the influx was still greater than the outflow. "Is there, then, another place I might make myself unobtrusive?"

One of the commander's ears twitched. Barely a quiver, really. "I do not believe you are capable of being unobtrusive, Sir Olberic," he said mildly. "Even in so diverse a world as ours, your presence demands attention." Before Olberic could question that, he continued. "As your current situation is unique, we have been forced to find an alternative solution to your living arrangements. We cannot allow your origins to become common knowledge—I trust I will have your cooperation on this?"

"As best I am able to give it," Olberic agreed solemnly. "I am… not gifted at dissembling." You act about as well as Cyrus sings, Therion had said once. "Where, then, have you decided I shall stay?"

The commander nodded towards corner of the room, where Truthseeker Tsukauchi was frowning at his own communications device and prodding it repeatedly with a thumb. "The arrangements are being made now."

Naomasa frowned down at his phone.

You said: Makoto, where are you right now?

Makoto said: At Marukane Department Store. The Featherhats are having an early dinner with CC, before he takes on his first job now that he's back.

Makoto said: Why?

Naomasa grimaced. He really didn't want to do this.

You said: Something's come up at work, and I'll need to bring someone home with me tonight.

Makoto said: You mean you're actually coming home tonight?

You said: Makoto…

Makoto said: I kid, I kid!

Makoto said: So who is it?

Naomasa sighed.

You said: A person of interest.

You said: He doesn't have anywhere else to stay at the moment, and he doesn't speak Japanese, so we've been letting him stay at the department until we could get a translator set up.

You said: But now that that's done, Chief Tsuragamae has said he can't stay here any longer.

Makoto said: Well, our couch is a pull-out. And it's not like you're here all that much, so it won't be a problem to share the bathroom.

Makoto said: Did you need me to do anything, or is this just a heads-up?

You said: Well…

You said: Unfortunately, he doesn't have any luggage with him.

You said: We've provided him with basic necessities while he's here, but he could really use a few changes of clothes.

You said: If you're at the store, would you mind picking a few things up?

Makoto said: Sure! If you can give me his sizes, I'll grab something on my way out.

Makoto said: I won't be home until later tonight, but I doubt you'll be home before 10 anyway, right?

You said: …probably not.

Makoto said: Hah! I knew it. So?

You said: ?

Makoto said: What are his sizes?

You said: I don't actually know.

You said: I don't think he knows.

You said: I don't think the sizes are the same where he comes from anyway.

Actually, Naomasa didn't think that they had generic sizes for clothing at all in Olberic's world. From the bits and pieces he'd gotten from Kikuchi's report, and later conversations, everything was either homemade or bought from a professional tailor.

Makoto said: Can you take some measurements, then?

Naomasa frowned. Olberic was currently conversing quietly with the Chief, having the situation explained to him and being slowly persuaded that leaving the department without getting his sword back first was actually a viable option.

Very, very slowly.

You said: I can tell you his approximate height and weight. Will that work?

Makoto said: If you have a picture to go along with them, sure.

Makoto said: Not everyone the same height and weight are built the same.

You said: I'll see what I can do.

"Kikuchi." Naomasa got the clerk's attention quietly, waving one hand for him to come over. When he did, Naomasa spoke softly to him. "You still have the pictures you took the other night, for Sir Olberic's legal residency paperwork, right?"

Kikuchi blinked, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Yes, sir. Why?"

"Can you send me copies?" Naomasa rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "My sister needs them to figure out his sizes for clothes and things."

"Oh, of course." The clerk nodded, and quickly flicked through his phone's photo album until he found the right ones. "There you go, sir."

Naomasa nodded as the pictures popped up on his phone. "Thank you, Kikuchi. This shouldn't take much longer." He opened up the files and prepared to forward them to Makoto.

Huh. Not the most flattering photos, but they'll do. They'd been taken late at night, and a lot of foreigners grew facial hair faster than native Japanese did, so he supposed it wasn't too surprising that Olberic had some pretty visible stubble in the pictures. At least he didn't look too uncomfortable with having his photo taken; his expression was the same one of deliberate calm he usually had. The second photo was a little better—Kikuchi had apparently taken a candid picture from a bit further back, so that it captured his full height where it could be compared to the doorframe. He was reaching for the doorknob with his right hand, and raking his hair back absently with his left—something Naomasa had seen him do quite a bit, since there was one piece that seemed to keep falling forward.

You said: I'm sending the pictures now. As for measurements, he's approximately 198 cm and at least 120 kilos.

Makoto said: Okay, thanks!

There was a brief pause, as Makoto received and took a look at the pictures. Naomasa wondered if she'd question him on Olberic's outfit, which was, frankly, medieval. Simple and practical, mind you, but not exactly something you saw people wearing these days. Not even Heroes.

A quiet ding let him know Makoto had finally replied, and Naomasa looked down again.

Makoto said: …what a man!

Naomasa sputtered for a bit.

You said: ?

You said: Makoto?

You said: He's almost twice your age!

Makoto said: Hahaha!

Makoto said: Relax, Nao!

Makoto said: You're so uptight—I'm just appreciating the pictures.

Makoto said: I'll pick him up something appropriate to wear, and I won't embarrass you when you bring him home.

You said: You never embarrass me, Makoto.

Makoto said: Aw, Nao!

You said: You worry me.

Makoto said: Very funny, bro.

Makoto said: I'll see you tonight?

You said: Yeah. Probably around 10, like I said.

Makoto said: Okay, see you then!

Naomasa smiled to himself, ending the conversation. And then let out a gusty sigh, relieved that Makoto hadn't pried too hard. She'd start asking questions when she actually met Olberic, he was sure, but at least he'd delayed the inevitable for a while.

It was actually a little after ten-thirty when Naomasa finally wrapped up for the day. All of the leads they had couldn't be followed up on any further until Officer Kaniyashiki had successfully infiltrated Onomura Medical Corp. deeply enough to get a better idea of where they should look—and hopefully, access to that area.

Olberic had spent the afternoon and evening in Kikuchi's company again, further refining the translation program and getting a pre-emptive explanation of apartment complexes, motor vehicles, and other modern things that he hadn't yet been exposed to.

The Chief had finally managed to persuade Olberic by informing him that he was working on a way to get him permission to carry his sword again, and that, in the meantime, Master Kamiya had left the shinai he'd used the previous day in their care. For the express purpose of giving them an option for something Olberic could reasonably carry in public.

Naomasa wasn't exactly sanguine about the idea that Olberic might get his actual sword back any time soon, but after hearing Master Kamiya's remarks about Olberic's mental state, he'd taken the time to really watch the warrior, and asked Kikuchi's opinion too.

"Honestly, sir, I think Master Kamiya might be right," the clerk had said reluctantly. "He's been… I wouldn't say depressed, exactly, but not in a good place ever since he learned he'd have to be unarmed for an extended period. And it's been getting steadily worse. He seemed a little better last night, having spent time with Master Kamiya, but, well…"

Which matched Naomasa's observations, looking back on their interactions thus far. Olberic hadn't smiled once in the past three days. He'd spent a lot of time—possibly an unhealthy amount of time—shadow-training in the PT room. And when he had interacted with various police personnel despite the language barrier, it had always been in a subdued manner.

It was a marked contrast to the firm, unbending self-confidence and quiet good humor Naomasa had observed the first day.

Like a tall tree in a deep stream. It might take a while, but the water is steadily wearing away at his roots.

So if letting him carry a shinai would help, Naomasa didn't mind too much.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, deliberately smiling up at Olberic as he reached the door to the motor pool, where they'd agreed to meet up.

Olberic nodded. He'd fully kitted himself back up, including the leather-and-steel arm-guards. The earbud in his right ear looked almost incongruous, when paired with that medieval getup—as did the shinai thrust through the trio of leather straps attached to his belt at the left hip. The straps held the split-bamboo sword in place, and at the proper angle, much as they had his original sword. "I will follow your lead, Truthseeker."

Naomasa still felt a little humor twitch the corner of his mouth at the odd translation of his title. "This way, then," he said, pushing open the door.

The motor pool was decently lit despite the late hour, and Naomasa led Olberic over to the car he used most often, unlocking it with a key-fob that caused its lights to flash in acknowledgement. "Hold on just a second," he said, opening the left-hand door to adjust the passenger's seat. Olberic would need significantly more legroom than he or Tamakawa ever did. "There we go," he said, stepping back and waving Olberic forward. "Go ahead and sit down; I'll be getting in the other side."

Olberic nodded and did as he was told, though he sat a bit gingerly, pulling the shinai from his belt to prop it against his shoulder. Naomasa shut the door for him, and then moved around to get in the driver's seat. It took a few seconds to show Olberic how to fasten his seatbelt—he understood its purpose without being told—and then Naomasa fastened his own and started up the car.

At the first quiet rumble of the engine, Olberic tensed. It was a subtle thing, under the skin, but Naomasa waited a few seconds for him to relax a little before putting the car in reverse and starting to back up.

"The apartment Makoto and I share is about half an hour away," he said, just making idle conversation to distract Olberic from any nervousness this new form of transportation might cause him. "Probably a little less, since there's less traffic this time of night."

"I see."

Glancing over as he changed gears, Naomasa saw that Olberic had subtly tensed again. "Is the engine bothering you?" he asked, pulling out of the parking lot.

Olberic shook his head slightly, but did not relax. "I understand the principles as Kikuchi explained them to me. And this carriage is far finer than those of my world, if lower to the ground than I am used to. I have simply never been comfortable in carriages."

Interesting. "Claustrophobia?"

Olberic blinked at him. "What?"

Oh. That must not be a word that translated. "A fear of enclosed spaces."

"Ah. No." Olberic looked back out the window, watching the streetlights go by. "It is more of a physical discomfort." He frowned, lifting one hand to rub at the spot between his brows with a thumb, stress-lines appearing at the corners of his eyes.

Naomasa frowned thoughtfully and reached over to turn the fan on, causing Olberic to blink and look up at the sudden influx of cool air. "Is that better?"

"A bit, perhaps," Olberic agreed, surprised, though the stress-lines hadn't disappeared entirely. "Thank you, Truthseeker."

"You're welcome." Naomasa reached over again to turn on the radio, finding a station that played classical music. The distraction might help too.

For the next several minutes they rode in companionable silence. It wasn't until Naomasa heard a faint creaking noise and glanced Olberic's way that he realized something was wrong. "Sir Olberic?" The warrior looked faintly ill, gripping the armrests so hard the faux-leather-covered plastic was dimpling. "Are you alright?"

"I… feel unwell…" he managed, lips pressed into a thin line and brows knitted in concentration.

Oh no. "Can you last another fifteen minutes?"

Hesitation, followed by a short, tight nod. "I can last. I… will last."

Naomasa frowned worriedly, but didn't pull over. Not yet. "If you're sure," he agreed doubtfully. "Let me know if it gets too bad." Of all the problems he'd anticipated with taking Olberic out of the department, motion-sickness hadn't been one of them. "Do you get sea-sick as well?"

"I am from the Highlands," Olberic said shortly, broad fingers clenched tight on the armrests. "I have never been on any vessel more turbulent than a river barge—and even that but rarely."

Naomasa nodded, but said nothing, not wanting to disrupt Olberic's concentration.

A short silence followed, which was broken when Olberic spoke up, a faint, pained kind of humor in his deep voice. "Tressa would laugh at me," he said. "The Unbending Blade, wilted by a simple carriage-ride."

"I'd think a good friend would be more sympathetic," Naomasa said, giving Olberic another concerned glance.

"Tressa is from the Coastlands," Olberic said, eyes closed in concentration, face pulled into a deep frown. "Even those who never become sailors spend some time aboard the merchant vessels that ply their waters. And she once grew angry when I questioned her fear of debts."

"Ah." Naomasa turned a corner, and heard Olberic take a deep, shaky breath. "Are you sure you don't need me to stop?"

"I will last."

Naomasa dropped the subject. Olberic had spoken in the same unyielding tone he had the first day, when he'd said he would wait for his sword to be returned to him. "We're almost there," he said after a moment's silence. "Does talking help, or make it worse?"

"It is a… useful distraction," Olberic replied at last. "Please, continue."

Naomasa nodded. "So my sister picked up some new clothes for you to wear on her way home today…"

Olberic stepped out of the confines of the Truthseeker's vehicle on unsteady feet, feeling the nausea and headache slowly begin to fade. That… was a most unpleasant experience. Worse than a carriage-ride by far, perhaps because of the very smoothness of the ride, or its speed, or perhaps because of the odd smells pervading the vehicle itself.

After a moment to collect himself, settling the split-reed sword at his hip again and taking several slow, deep breaths, he opened his eyes and looked over at the Truthseeker, who stood nearby, a look of concern on his face.

"I am well now," Olberic assured him, feeling steadier. "Thank you for your concern."

"As long as you're alright." The Truthseeker smiled, and led the way up a few flights of stairs, to a simple door with a metal number attached to it, and a plate by the door that seemed to be inscribed with words in the odd letters used in this land. Perhaps the names of those who dwelt here?

The Truthseeker pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door, opening it to a darkened entryway. "I'm home," he called softly, reaching over to flick one of those switches that caused light to shine. "Makoto must have gone to bed already."

Olberic followed him inside, and bent to remove his shoes as the Truthseeker did.

The two of them moved about the dwelling as quietly as they were able, with the Truthseeker introducing Olberic to the privy and bathing room, and the bed he would be borrowing—a clever construction which had been folded out of a wide, deeply cushioned settee.

"I'm sorry if you get woken up early in the morning," the Truthseeker said, removing his long overcoat. "Both Makoto and I tend to get up around seven—" Olberic assumed he meant the seventh hour of the morning, which seemed as though it would be after noon, until he remembered that morning did not start at dawn here, but in the hour after midnight. "—but we'll try not to disturb you too badly."

"Have no fear, Truthseeker," Olberic assured him. "I am an early riser myself." Unlike Therion, Cyrus, and Primrose, he was often up by the first pale light of servants' dawn.

"Right, well…" The Truthseeker gestured towards a set of colorful bags set at the end of the settee. "That's probably the clothes that Makoto picked out for you. If you want to change, feel free—I'll be going to bed after a quick shower."

Olberic nodded his understanding, already unfastening his brassards' laces. "I will see you in the morning, then," he said solemnly.

The Truthseeker smiled, and tugged the ear-bud from his own right ear. "Goodnight, Sir Olberic."

Olberic bade him a good night as well, setting the first of his brassards aside as the Truthseeker vanished into the bathing room. Once he had removed his other brassard, gloves, belt, and gear, he stripped off his surcoat and folded it neatly, setting it aside on the small table nearby, along with the device used to translate words and the ear-buds that went with it. Sliding beneath the blankets of the folding bed—which creaked beneath his weight, but not alarmingly so—he sighed and let the length of the day catch up with him, falling swiftly into sleep.

A/N: Keitai denwa literally translates as 'hand-held/mobile electrical talk'. And while an online translator such as Google Translate has the actual meaning of 'cellphone/smartphone' available as an option, which can be translated into Latin relatively literally for Cyrus, Kikuchi has no such options with directly translating to Orsterran for Olberic. And no, there is no Orsterran equivalent of 'programming', so they settled on 'training' instead.