Chapter 6: The Rogues' Gallery
"This is ridiculous! What are we waiting for?"
"Hiro?"
"Don't look at me! I was the one who said this was a suicide mission. Gunner?"
"Well, as I see it, they have us outnumbered."
"True dat."
"And they have us outgunned."
"We hear ya."
"So what we have here, fellows, is a rock and a hard place."
"Huh?"
"A veritable Scylla and Charybdis."
"Who's Scylla?"
"And what does Char have anything to do with this? I thought he was guarding the Moirai."
"Greek mythology, you morons! That's where Char – our Charybdis – got his name."
"You mean Char's named after a rock?"
"No, I think it's the hard place."
"Huh. Who woulda thunk?"
"Will you guys shut up and let me think!" Gunner groaned into his drink while the rest of the crew looked at him quizzically.
"Yeah, sure, Gunner. Whatever you say." Rhys glanced at Rigo who shrugged his shoulders, as confused as the other as to Gunner's exasperation.
"Okay. We've been scoping out the holding cell for the past hour and nothing's happening, right?" Gunner thought out loud.
"Yeah. And we've been drinking this swill for the better part of that hour too!" Kazuya whined, raising his glass and frowning at the liquid in distaste.
"You got a better idea, brat? You want we go back to the original plan and blast our way into the cell?" Gunner cuffed the boy on the head and the redhead winced. He was really getting tired of being everyone's punching bag.
"But you were the one suggested we do that in the first place," Kazuya reminded him acidly.
"Yeah, then I changed my mind. Anyone else got a problem with that?" The large man shook his fist menacingly and the others were wise enough to shake their heads.
"Oh, gods! It's hot. What are we gonna do now?" Rhys swiped his shaggy brown hair from his brow and inched closer to Rigo, who had the lion's share of the shade under the awning.
"Look. Here's Brek. Let's see what he found out." Raffe, who had been silent for the most part as was usually the case, jerked his chin at the approaching simian. The others swiveled around eagerly.
"Well, he's not there." The engineer announced without preamble as he shoved Rhys aside and sat down heavily next to Rigo. The displaced youth sighed dramatically as he lost the shade but deferred to the older crew member nonetheless.
"It took you twenty minutes to find that out?" Kazuya was incredulous.
"Silence, youngling, before I smack the piss right outta you!" Brek snarled.
Kazuya made an obscene gesture with his finger and stuck out his tongue. Along with Kazuhiro and Gunner, Brek was one of the original members of the Moirai and was like an uncle to the boy. For all the simian's bluff and bluster, he didn't scare Kazuya a bit.
"So what else do you know, Brek?" Kazuhiro, ever the peacemaker, interrupted what looked to be the beginnings of another impromptu scuffle.
"Nothing. Nada. None of the vendors saw a damned thing. And that old sentry? Friend of mine? He says all's been quiet in Sector 4 since he went on duty at dawn. And he's a regular gossip, that fart. If anyone knew anything, it woulda been him." Brek sniffed at Kazuya's drink before grabbing the glass from the boy's hand and gulping its contents down. The redhead smirked as the simian choked on the aftertaste.
"So if the captain ain't in the holding cells, where could he be? There aren't a lot of places in the City that he can't get out of," Rigo scratched at his shock of white hair in puzzlement.
"Anyone try their links again?" Brek asked.
"We've been doing that since you left." Kazuhiro answered quietly.
"And?"
"Not a beep. It's like Mitsu just disappeared off our scopes."
"Well, it's a damned good thing we didn't go running amok in the streets, aye, fellows?" Raffe fingered his eye patch languidly.
"Why aren't you more worried?" Kazuya looked at the man suspiciously. He'd never liked the one-eyed bastard and Raffe had made it clear often enough that he shared the boy's hostility.
"Because if I know Mitsu R'Ikeda, he's probably laughing his head off at this very minute, wondering why we've gotten ourselves all worked up over nothing. Hell, he probably staged the whole damned thing at Sartre's as a practical joke!" Raffe sneered at his nemesis.
"But what about the Morrigu?" Rigo reminded them.
"What about her?" Raffe scoffed. "The catman just said she had red hair. Suka here has red hair. Is he the Morrigu too?"
The others laughed nervously, more as an outlet for their tension than a true appreciation for the weak joke. Aside from being the wrong gender, Kazuya couldn't even come close to being the Morrigu. Rhys had regaled the crew often enough with stories about her, a fearsome Guardian whose prowess with weaponry was only exceeded by her skill in devising the most heinous of tortures for her captives. The Celt's silver tongue had been so convincing that the woman had reached mythic status amongst them. None had ever really laid eyes on the Morrigu except for Rhys but they took his word that she was someone they all wouldn't want to meet alone in a blind alley.
"So we wait, then," Kazuhiro brought them back to the task at hand.
"Yes. That seems to be the best plan," Gunner agreed. "Someone 'trode on and let Char know to stand down. I don't think we'll be needing him for right now."
Brek grunted and slid a palmscreen from his vest pocket, hooking his 'trodes on to relay the message. Rhys drew forth his ubiquitous pair of dice and cajoled Kazuya into a game while Raffe slapped a tune disk in his ear and closed his good eye to better appreciate the music. Rigo looked around for women. Rigo was always looking around for women.
"Do you think Raffe's right?" Kazuhiro asked Gunner softly after he'd made sure the others were occupied.
"About this being some kind of prank? No. I don't think so. Mitsu may be the king of practical jokes, but he wouldn't have kept us wondering this long. He knows we're due to complete that run today. He'd even swiped Jed's pin last night so he could trade up our cargo for some of that wine Benito loves so much."
"Jed? You called him?"
"Yeah, while you guys were trying your links. He doesn't know where Mitsu is either. And man, that boy is plenty pissed! He had to fork over thirty creds to cover his missing pin."
"His loss." Kazuhiro dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. None of the crew could stand the Gaian; he was a pompous prick who lorded over them because of his cushy position as flyer for one of the First Families. The only reason they tolerated him was because of Mitsu. There was a history between those two but no one knew the details. It was like that with Mitsu. Mystery on top of mystery.
"I think the Captain's in serious trouble." Gunner was unnaturally concerned and Kazuhiro felt his anxiety levels increase as well. "If Guardians are involved, and upper tier ones at that, I dunno if we'll even be able to find him, much less get his ass out from wherever he fell into."
"You're worrying me, Gunn."
"Yeah, I'm worrying me too."
"Guys? Hey, guys? I think something's going down at the chute terminal," Rigo sat up suddenly, his quest for women forgotten as his sharp eyes spotted a ruckus several meters away. A blaster appeared magically in his hand.
The shouts drew nearer as a wave of people parted to reveal three figures stumbling into view. A cadre of Guardians were hot on their trail behind them. Rigo spotted the sharp laser fire before he heard it, peered against the glare of the sun, then knocked over his chair as he stood up.
"Guys! It's the captain! It's Mitsu! And it looks like he's hurt!"
Moving with the perfect synchronicity of a crew that had fought side by side for years, the men of the Moirai surged forward to protect their leader. Gunner, with his long legs, reached the trio first. Barely flicking a glance at the other two, the man heaved his captain over his shoulder and began to run in the opposite direction.
"Hey, Gunner." Mitsu spoke to the man's back.
"Hey, yourself, Captain. What kind of mess have you gotten into this time?"
"Oh, you know. The usual. Guardians. Juiced 'trodes. Kidnapping."
"Oh. The usual." Gunner snorted.
"Hey, Gunner?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"Duck!"
The pilot did as he was told without question and barely escaped getting his head fried by a laser blast. Mitsu craned his neck up to make sure they were in the clear but his vision was a bit shaky since his chin kept thumping unceremoniously on Gunner's spine as the man ran on.
"Thank you, Captain."
"Anytime, Gunner. You know I've always got your back!"
"Mitsu! How's it hangin'?" Kazuhiro caught up with the two and kept pace, occasionally turning back to fire off his blaster.
"How do you guys do it?" The blond asked wonderingly.
"Do what?"
"Run and banter at the same time."
"Skill, little sib. Pure skill!" Kazuhiro grinned and shot behind him indiscriminately. The blast was followed by a loud howl.
"Did you just shoot your brother, Hiro?" Mitsu peered at the mass of men in hot pursuit.
"Probably. The sprat doesn't know how to run and dodge at the same time."
Another yowl screeched over the noise of the crowd, a banshee war cry that pierced Mitsu's already-tender brain.
"And I assume that was Rhys?"
Gunner grunted in acknowledgment and Kazuhiro chuckled. "Did you think any of the men would want to be left out of the fun, sir?"
"If this is your idea of fun, Hiro, I'd hate to be with you when you're not having any. Where are we going, by the way?"
"The Moirai, sir. Trout and Char are there and I just 'troded to let them know the sitch," Rigo joined the three, his wire still attached to the port behind his left ear.
"Good man. Whew! All this running is making me tired. You tired yet, Gunner?" Mitsu called up at his sherpa.
"Not in the least, Captain. 'Sides, we're almost there."
Mitsu risked a look around from his precarious position and realized the man had spoken the truth. The narrow alleyways of the City had given way to the flat, open expanse that signaled their close proximity to the docking bays. Behind them, Mitsu noted the rest of his crew several meters in front of the persistent Guardians who had followed him and his rescuers down the chute. His men were providing ample cover with their blasters, keeping themselves between their pursuers and their captain. The sight just warmed the very cockles of Mitsu's heart.
Then the conman spied the bitch and the freak running in the midst of his crew. He frowned. What were they doing? They should have surrendered a long time ago. Mission accomplished, right? They'd gotten him away from Second tier. If they didn't give themselves up now, they'd be counted accomplices and would be fugitives just like him.
Before he could ponder the matter further, Gunner hauled him off his shoulders and set him against the landing gear of the Moirai.
"Sorry, Captain. Gotta fire up the old girl. You okay on your own?"
"Go, Gunner! Get us outta here. Oh, hiya, Trout! How's my gal?" As if he'd just stepped off a pleasure cruiser, Mitsu nonchalantly ruffled the girl's hair, all the while keeping a death grip on the metal he was propped against. It was all he could do to keep himself standing. He was wiped out. Trout, sensing this, kept close to him, clutching at his vest tightly.
Then the conman remembered his position as captain of the ship and he called forth the last vestiges of strength he had left, thumping each member of his crew heartily on the shoulder even as they leaped past him, blasters still blazing.
"Rigo. Hiro. Rhys. Raffe. Kazuya. And Brek. Thank you, Brek," Mitsu confiscated the simian's blaster as he rushed past and proceeded to cover for them just as they had done for him. "Trout, get in there. We're about to take off. And…whoa! Wait a minute! Who invited you?" The conman raised his blaster at the remaining two.
"Are you crazy, Ikeda? Let us in! They're shooting at us!" Morgan brushed aside the weapon and tried to push past him.
"Uh-uh! Nothin' doin', lady. Those are your men out there. Why don't you call them off like a good little commander and buy us some time for lift off. And take your freak Empath with you."
"Ikeda! Shut up and move! I don't know why, but they were shooting at me too! They must have found out I've been dismissed! And those idiots probably think I'm helping you!" Morgan yelled.
"My heart bleeds, lady," Mitsu drawled then shot over her head to expertly pick off one of the Guardians.
The man's compatriots, seeing him go down, immediately took cover behind the cargo boxes littering the docking bay and the firing ceased momentarily as they reconvened.
"Mitsuru, please!" Shinobu stood firm beside Morgan and pleaded urgently. He didn't want to use his skill if he didn't have to but the conman was proving difficult again now that he was on his home turf.
"Don't call me that! That isn't my name! Now get off my ship before I fry your knees off!" Mitsu felt the rumble of the Moirai as she began her flight prep. Behind him, he could hear the faint calls of his crew above the sudden whine of the engines.
"Going so soon, Mitsu? And not even a thank you for your old friend?" From the shadows, a figure emerged.
"Char! You're a sight for sore eyes!" Mitsu grinned at the catman. "Thanks for guarding my two favorite girls! Can you do me one last favor? Can you get these yahoos off my ship?"
"I'll do you one better, old friend."
Mitsu's grin faded as he felt a slice of fire knife at his abdomen. Looking down disbelievingly, he stared at his scorched vest then at the smoking blaster in Charybdis's paw.
"Char?" The conman's voice trembled like a child betrayed and he felt his world buckling as he slid against the landing gear and onto the deck, Brek's blaster falling from his grasp.
As Shinobu and Morgan dragged him into the Moirai, the Guardian palming the airlock doors and yelling at Gunner to take off, Mitsu's last thought brought a wry twist to his lips.
If I'd known how often I'd be passed out today, I would never have gotten out of my jammies.
Then the inevitable blackness enveloped him once again.
The Moirai whined her eagerness to lift off. Within her sleek, silver hull, the crew scampered to oblige their mistress. Gunner sat at the flight controls, punching buttons with nimble ferocity. Beside him, Brek strapped in and began slamming down levers, making the blinking yellow lights turn a comforting green as the ship came to life.
Rigo 'troded in to the ship's mainframe and set random coordinates while Raffe and Rhys bounded down the cargo hatch to secure their freight. Kazuhiro rushed to the med bay with Trout in tow; it was where they both usually stowed themselves during pre-flight so as not to get in the way. Kazuya clambered up the gunner pod and grimly prepared to kick some Guardian ass.
Everyone was too involved to realize that the Moirai had two extra members on board. Shinobu knelt down next to Mitsu, cradling the man's head in his lap. The Empath's eyes were shut tight and veins striated his temples as he strained frantically to steady the injured captain's erratic heartbeat. Next to the pair, Morgan le Freya, six-year veteran of the Corps, ex-Commander of the de Medici Guardian Elite, and unused to feeling superfluous, began to bark orders.
"Go, go, go! What are you waiting for? Lift off now!"
Outside, the Guardians had finally finished conferring with each other and proceeded with their attack. The woman ducked instinctively as the pinging of recommenced laser fire glanced loudly off the outer airlock hatch.
"I'm goosing her as fast as I can!" Gunner roared back, not looking up from the flight panel. Then he started at the unfamiliar voice. "Wait a hot-blasted second! Who the hell are you?"
"Never mind that! Get us off grav now! There's an insane catman out there and he's out for blood!"
"Char? Lady, you've got your 'trodes crossed. That catman's on our side!" Brek let out a sharp laugh and Gunner muttered assent. Neither man bothered to investigate the stranger in their midst; the strafe of lasers was a bit distracting.
Morgan did not take kindly to being discounted. Or to being laughed at, for that matter. So she took a malicious delight in announcing: "On your side, huh? Is that why he just put an interesting little hole in your captain's stomach with his blaster?"
"WHAT?!"
That got the flight crew's attention. Gunner half-rose from his seat before realizing he was harnessed in. He was yanked back abruptly and he fell against the controls, arm bouncing off random buttons. The Moirai bucked in protest.
"Gunner! Knock it off! I can't get a bead on anyone if you keep handling m'lady like a fledge in flight school!" Kazuya yelled down from his tower.
"Easy…easy…" Brek reached over and slapped at more buttons. The yellow turned green once more.
"Hiro! On deck! Pronto! The captain's down!" Gunner punched the com and hollered into it even as he brushed Brek away and resumed command of the controls.
"Gunn, I've got a lock on coordinates. She's ready when you are."
"Roger that, Rigo. I'll take it from here."
"Woo hoo! Another one bites the dust!"
"Suka, try not to enjoy yourself too much. Those aren't game droids out there; they're human beings too, even if they are Guardians!"
"Sorry, Gunn!" Kazuya called although his tone was unrepentant and he let out another whoop as he fired and picked off one more.
"Everyone strapped in?" Brek grinned as his panel finally shone a unanimous green.
"What about the captain?"
"Hiro!" Gunner yelled into the com again.
"What are you waiting for, man? Get us the frag outta here!"
"I'm doing my best, lady, but we need to take care of the captain."
"No time, no time! She's right, Gunn! We gotta bail! They're pulling out the pulse cannon and I can't stop anything that big."
"Easy…easy…"
"Rhys! Raffe! You guys strap in down there!"
"Roger that, Gunn!"
"Gotcha!"
"Gunn, they're getting ready to pulse!"
"I hear ya, Suka! Give me one more second. Hiro!"
"Hai!"
The medic rushed onto the flight deck and took stock of the situation. His brother was right; there was no time to get Mitsu into a med pod. The Moirai listed to the side as a particularly concentrated blast of laser fire connected with her hull. Kazuhiro's mind raced. Then, shoving Morgan aside, the medic pulled Mitsu from Shinobu's grasp. The Empath immediately crumpled to the deck, spent.
Clutching his captain firmly against his chest, Kazuhiro leaned against the magnetite panels that lined the airlock walls. Brek had installed them to remedy the lack of space on board the Morai; the magnetic sheets did an excellent job of securing extra cargo. Kazuhiro didn't know if it would work for humans too but he was running out of options. Morgan, face puzzled but game for anything, put her back against the walls too. Shinobu lay unconscious on the deck.
"Goddammit, Gunn! The cannon's primed and my gages are low! I can't keep this up much longer!" Kazuya's laser fire was sounding intermittent.
"Give me one more second, Suka! Hiro…" Gunner bellowed desperately. He needed to know his captain was secure before he loosed his lady.
"I don't have a second to give, Gunn! We gotta go now!"
Kazuhiro hesitated. He looked down at Mitsu in his arms then back at the silver-haired stranger in Empath robes who had apparently helped his captain escape capture. Kazuhiro made up his mind. Leaping forward, Mitsu in tow, the medic snatched at Shinobu then fell back on the wall again, activating the magnetite panels with his left shoulder. He felt his body pull up hard against the screens, locking him and his two charges in place. To his right, Morgan grinned in relief.
"Captain's secure, Gunn. Let 'er rip!"
"It's about goddamned time!"
The Moirai surged off grav not a moment too soon. As she leaped into the sky, roaring her eagerness for flight, the Guardians let loose from the pulse cannon. The shock from the magnetic blast rocked the ship, and her controls flickered at the wave interference. But Brek had prepped her for just such an event and her shields stayed stable. The Moirai scornfully looped out of the aftershock of the blast and tore her way out of the atmosphere.
"How is he?"
"I don't know. The shot just winged him so he should've been okay as soon as I patched him up. He did lose a bit of blood, but nothing a couple of plasma bags couldn't fix. If it hadn't been for that Empath, I would've had to contend with shock as well as physical trauma." Kazuhiro jerked his head in the other pallet's direction but Gunner barely gave it a glance.
"But…?"
"But…nothing. He's not waking up, Gunn. His vitals are okay but it's like something's keeping him under. Something in his head. I'm going to need time to run more tests. Looks like you've got command of m'lady for a little bit longer."
"Hmmm." The pilot harrumphed noncommittally then let his gaze slide to his left.
Morgan twitched from her position in the med bay's doorway. The large Eurasian was looking at her again. It was disconcerting, especially since she was privy to certain information regarding Ikeda's state, information that would have gotten her jettisoned into space had any of the crew known about it.
If she were smart, she should probably have chosen to remain on deck and as inconspicuous as possible. But it simply wasn't in her to abandon downed men, and although her fellow refugees weren't exactly what she'd consider "her men", Morgan still felt a responsibility for them and had followed Kazuhiro into the med bay once they'd made certain of the success of their escape.
Trying to be unobtrusive, the woman chose to ignore the pilot by turning the other way, only to be met by another unblinking gaze. This one belonged to a young girl, about ten years old, who was idly swinging her legs to and fro as she perched on a swivel stool in the corner of the med bay. Morgan vaguely recalled Ikeda calling her by some sort of fish name.
"And the Empath?"
"Nothing physically wrong with him either. But he's out like a light too. I may be out of my league here, Gunn. We should probably head for the Kuiper Belt and see if we can rustle us up a good neurist. And we need supplies anyway. Your little dance with m'lady cost me some rare meds."
"That little dance saved us all from becoming liquefied 'ware juice," Gunner growled in defense of his flying.
"Peace, Gunn. I didn't mean anything by it. Guess my nerves are still fragged, is all." Kazuhiro ran a shaky hand through his long blond hair.
"Ditto, my friend. And you're right. Our first priority right now is figuring out what the hell happened. And if that means the Kuiper Belt to fix up the captain so he can fill us in, then that's where we'll go."
"There are other ways to get that information, you know."
Raffe had sidled into the room behind Morgan and was now leaning against a counter negligently. He winked at Trout who ignored him in favor of her continued scrutiny of the Guardian. Morgan stared back at the girl, indulging in the petty staring match.
Raffe's comment reminded Gunner of the Guardian's presence in the room. As if he could forget her for long. The woman exuded an aura of natural command that spoke to the pilot's ex-military past. Much as he loved and respected Mitsu, Gunner had to admit that his captain ruled by charm and wit rather than the force of will this woman seemed to have in spades.
Realizing she was now the center of attention, Morgan tried to bluster her way out of the awkward, expectant silence. "What? What are you all looking at?"
"I think we'll be the ones asking the questions around here." Gunner rested his fists on his hips and narrowed his eyes in anticipation.
"True dat. Now, question one: what do you know of the Guardian who snatched our captain from Sartre's last night?" Raffe straightened his careless pose and began circling the woman like a hungry piranha.
"Question two: what's a Guardian doing running away from her own kind?" Gunner continued.
"Question three: who shot at the captain? And if you're stupid enough to admit it was you, you'd better be prepared to hold your breath for a long time coz I'm gonna personally boot you out the airlock myself," Raffe stopped behind the woman and leaned close to whisper that last bit in her ear.
He received a swift jab in the ribs for his effort. "Don't threaten me, runner!" Morgan snarled softly, mindful of the two unconscious men in the room but feeling her ire seethe nonetheless.
"Why you impudent little…" Raffe raised his fists to retaliate and promptly fell on his rump as his feet were swept out from under him.
"You're not so popular with the ladies, are you?" Morgan smirked as she rose from her half-crouch and brushed her hands together in satisfaction at getting the better of the larger man.
"Alright! That's it! You and me, bitch! Let's go!" Raffe leaped up, readjusting his eye patch and reaching for his favorite knife.
"Stop it! Both of you! No fighting in my med bay!" Kazuhiro hissed. He stepped firmly between the two combatants and gestured at his patients as a reminder.
Morgan and Raffe had the grace to look sheepish. Then their eyes met and they both tensed for battle again, the woman growling low in her throat. Before it could escalate into a full-blown altercation, Gunner collared the pair with his large hands and dragged them from the room.
"Raff, stand down. We gotta work on your interrogation tactics! And you, lady. You're coming with me. We're gonna get some answers if I have to travel all the way to the Oort cloud and back to do so."
The pilot kept his bulky frame solidly between the two opponents as he led them away from the med bay, down the blue-lit corridors and back to the flight deck. A door slid open as they walked past. Kazuya and Rhys emerged, the redhead whispering something urgently. Morgan, still smarting from the manhandling she was receiving, took no notice of them until a stray word caught her ear.
"…and she looked just like you said the Morrigu would…"
The Guardian tore from Gunner's grasp and whirled around. Startled, the pilot and Raffe also turned just in time to witness a very unexpected reunion.
"Rhys!"
"Morgan?" The sandy-haired Celt staggered back against Kazuya, mouth agape at the sight of his long-lost cousin.
"Tell me about yourself."
"Why?"
"I'm curious. We've known about each other for a long time but you're still a stranger to me."
"What would you like to know?"
"Everything."
Mitsu R'Ikeda grabbed the hand offered to him and stood up, looking around. He was standing on a hill covered by tall crimson grass that rippled in waves as a fierce breeze whipped by. The sun was a molten slice of fire in the horizon, spilling trails of orange in its setting wake. The brilliant colors were not enough, however, to erase the feeling of desolation that swept through the man as he surveyed the land.
"Don't worry. I'm here."
"I know." Mitsu turned to smile at his companion.
"Talk to me."
The wind whipped at Mitsu's long, blonde hair, obscuring briefly his vision of the man standing next to him. Then he felt gentle hands brush aside the wayward strands and he got his first good look at the embodiment of the ghost that had haunted him for the past five years.
The man stood straight and true, not a spare ounce of flesh evident in his well-muscled form. The loose-fitting, long-sleeved white shirt was untucked, open at a vee and exposing a wide expanse of neck and collarbone. It hugged the contours of his sculpted torso as the wind picked up in ferocity and lashed at the fabric. He wore a pair of fawn-colored trousers that molded with skintight perfection to his strong thighs. These were tucked into well-worn black boots that were slightly scuffed at the toes, signifying that they had traveled much.
Mitsu studied his face then. Startling grey-green eyes were set above sharp cheekbones and they danced with a wild fire that sang to Mitsu's soul. The nose was a perfect delineation to the symmetry of his face, bold without being obtrusive. The jaw was proud, the forehead high. But it was his hair that caught Mitsu's imagination. The poet in him wanted to write sonnets for the fine threads that caressed the man's face. Its color defied all adjectives; the closest Mitsu could get was a silver-blue and even that nomenclature seemed inadequate to the reality.
And his voice…it reminded Mitsu of the winter fog that crept through City streets on silken paws: smoky, shadowy and mesmerizing.
"Make me a memory."
"What do you mean?"
"Watch."
The man turned away from Mitsu and held out his arm, sketching something in the air. Slowly, an outline of a horno appeared several meters away, its form coalescing even as the man continued to gesture. Soon, it was as if the pack beast had been there all along. It snuffled once into the crimson grass, then lifted up its head, scenting the two on the hillside. It lumbered away in the opposite direction on heavy, timber-like legs.
"How…?"
"Concentrate. Imagine. Anything is possible here. Now make me a memory."
The wind moaned.
Mitsu closed his eyes and did as he was bid. His subconscious brought forth a face he had not thought of in over a decade and, instinctively, his hands began to scythe the air as the other's had done. His companion watched as a form began to materialize. It was a boy, about early adolescence, short but sturdy in frame. A round face with a slightly pointed chin and merry eyes. A mouth upturned in a cheerful grin. And…pink hair? The man was amused.
Mitsu opened his eyes and stared in wonder at his creation. He looked to the other man proudly, waiting for praise, when suddenly, the image began to shudder. As Mitsu stared in helpless horror, the boy began to melt before his eyes, the skin running in rivulets off the muscle and bone. And the most dreadful part was that the boy kept smiling to the very end.
"Make it stop! Why is it doing that?"
"Be calm. All is well. You chose a memory that didn't want to be seen just yet. Try something easier, less…painful." The man urged gently.
Mitsu looked at him hesitantly then tried again. It was another boy, but this one had a shock of red, shaggy hair, roughly cut and falling haphazardly over a recalcitrant brow. The eyes were a strange shade of pink and the man theorized that Mitsu must have a thing for the color. He didn't say a word, however, but waited for Mitsu to finish.
"Who is that?"
Mitsu blinked and paused for a moment to see if this creation would dissolve as the other had done. When it remained stable, a fierce frown gracing its brow, Mitsu grinned. It was the spitting image of Suka.
"That's Kazuya Hasukawa. But we all call him Suka for short. He hates it, ne, Suka-chan?" Mitsu waved his hand in front of the boy's face.
"He's not real. Only a memory. He won't be able to respond."
"But your horno…"
"I practice a lot. I spend a lot of time in here," the man chuckled at Mitsu's envious tone. "So tell me. What is this Kazuya to you?"
"Kazuya Hasukawa is the son of the man who took me in when…" Mitsu interrupted himself, not wanting to reveal too much too soon. "He's Kazuo's youngest son."
He glanced at his companion out of the corner of his eye and waited for complaint. The man stood, impassive, no censure apparent on his sculpted face. Mitsu gave a small sigh of relief and continued.
"Suka's twenty years old and the youngest member of my crew. He's been on and off the Moirai since he was a kid, but during what Kazuo called his "formative years", Suka was made to stay on-planet with his mother. Oh, he hated it! He wanted to go adventuring just like his older sib. And he loved his father. Wanted to be just like him. I don't blame him; Kazuo was the best runner in his day. Of course, he always said it was because of the Moirai, but we all knew better."
"And how did he become a permanent member of your crew?"
"Ah, Kazuo wanted to retire, said he'd had enough of living the shadier side of the law. Didn't wanna push his luck anymore. He was gonna go straight but was gonna sell the Moirai to another runner; said m'lady was too young to be put out to pasture. I told him I'd buy her off him – in installments, of course. Back then, I didn't have the creds to buy a round of drinks for the crew, let alone an entire smuggling vessel.
Kazuo looked me straight in the eye and – in front of Suka, mind you! - told me that he'd give me the Moirai if I promised never to let Suka on board since he didn't want the boy becoming an old reprobate like his da. Said he wanted Suka to be a horno herder, nice and safe profession.
Then he winked. I knew then that Kazuo really wanted the boy to follow in his footsteps. I mean, Hiro wasn't gonna take over, what with him having his heart set on being a medic and all. But Kazuo had to keep the peace with the wife, ya know? He couldn't exactly just give Suka the ship.
So Kazuo's plan was to get Suka so pissed off that the boy would run away from home on his own and that way, the old man couldn't be held responsible for it. And when I did let the kid on board my ship, he'd be so grateful that I was actually going against the old man's orders that he wouldn't end up resenting the fact that I'd been given the ship instead of him. Of course, once I'm ready to quit the game, the Moirai goes to Suka."
"Wily old man, this Kazuo."
"It's why he was the best! And it all worked well, too. Suka's been with me for six years now and he's a hell of a gunner. Can shoot anything out of the sky with his eyes closed. And thank the gods he hasn't gotten a taste of ordering people around; I'm not ready to give up the Moirai just quite yet."
Mitsu chucked the simulacrum affectionately on the head and watched as it dissipated into the darkening sky. Then he looked at his companion and canted his head to the side.
"You know, this is really weird. I'm sharing things with you and I don't even know your name."
"Does it bother you?" The man quirked his lips slightly.
"Not really. But it's kinda awkward. I mean, how long are we staying here? And do you really want me to keep calling you "that guy" or "hey, you"?" Mitsu sounded a bit plaintive.
This time the man let loose the chuckle he'd been holding in. "True. That would get annoying, wouldn't it? And I think, if you wish, we can stay here for a while longer. So I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Shinobu Tezuka. Ha'llai." He touched the prerequisite two fingers to his temple formally.
"Mind if I call you Shin?"
"Not at all."
The crew convened on the flight deck for lack of any other common area large enough to accommodate them all. Brek remained in his usual spot at the co-pilot's terminal, swiveling the seat around to face the company. Gunner leaned on the armrest of his chair, arms folded and ankles crossed in a pose of studied casualness. Neither men worried about actually flying the Moirai since Rigo had set coordinates for dead space and they were momentarily "anchored" somewhere between Gaia and Ganymede.
Kazuya swung on the ladder to his gunner's pod with a ropy arm, every once in a while executing a pull-up to show off his bicep. Below him and dangerously close to his dangling feet was Trout, sitting legs crossed and blue eyes unblinking as always.
Rigo lounged against his control panel, making sure his rump didn't accidentally depress a button that would send them careening off into Jupiter's orbit. Next to him, Raffe tried to ignore his bruised ribs and ego, not to mention his own tender rump, by reaching for the buttons that Rigo was diligently protecting. The one-eyed man received firm swats on his hand with each attempt.
Kazuhiro was absent, opting to remain in the med bay to monitor his patients' progress, but stealthily keeping his com active so he could spy on the proceedings. Rhys and Morgan took center stage.
"Still carrying that archaic Celtic affectation, I see." The Guardian noted her cousin's claymore with a scornful sniff.
"Aw, Morgan! Give a guy a break, will ya?" Rhys was nervously fidgeting with his sword, sliding it in and out of its scabbard. He seemed more concerned about the other men, though, than the redheaded woman who was glaring at him, shooting sparks of challenge from her green eyes.
"And why should I do that, Rhys Ap Dwyyd? After all the slanderous things you've circulated about me? Not that I care two shits about any of these bastard orgamechs' opinions!"
"I'd watch my tongue if I were you, lady. Raffe's really sensitive about his parentage and I may not be quick enough to stop him this time," Gunner warned from his perch.
Morgan brushed aside the warning with a haughty tilt to her head. It probably wasn't wise to do so, considering she was in the middle of deep space and at the mercy of this miserable band of degenerate scum. However, she was nothing if not confident of her abilities. If need be, she'd bide her time, watch her back and wait till they got to Kuiper. From there, she'd hitch a ride back to Gaia on a more reputable ship. One that wasn't so populated with orgamechs.
"So this is the infamous Morrigu, aye? Not so scary up close." Brek offered heartily, his leather vest shifting to accommodate his expanding chest as he chortled.
"Yeah, Rhys. You're so full of horno crap! I could take her down in a second." Kazuya hooted with a boldness that irritated the woman in question.
"You haven't fought her one on one, Red. She'd kick your bony behind from here to Pluto. Come on, Morgan, show 'em what you're made of." The Celt gave his cousin an encouraging half-grin even as he scooted further away from her. This brought him closer to Raffe who roughly cuffed him on the shoulder and snorted.
Rhys winced. Him and his big mouth! Why'd he have to build up his cuz so much? Now he'd lose all credibility with the crew and he'd go back to being the fledge of the group. Even Suka would have more superiority over him now. Damn and blast it! Why'd Morgan have to show up? He thought he'd seen the last of her in Abellio. Rhys wasn't given time to ponder any further as the woman walked right up to him and gave him a taste of Celtic ire.
"I am not your pet monkey that you can show off to do tricks, bratling!"
"No, you're not. And frankly, now that we've seen you, we're not interested in what you can do. What we'd like to know is what the hell happened back on Gaia and what your involvement is with our captain."
The pilot smiled at her pleasantly enough, as did the other men, but Morgan sensed an undercurrent of menace in that question. Half of her bristled at the implied inadequacy her appearance seemed to indicate but the other half had to admire the loyalty this crew had to their leader. If they hadn't been 'troded, she would actually have considered recruiting them into a cadre. She'd witnessed them in action and, for all their gruff and slipshod ways, they had proven to be quick thinkers and able fighters. She at least had to respect them for that.
"Listen, I don't owe allegiance to anyone anymore, except maybe to myself. I'll tell you all I know if I have your word that you'll let me go my own way once we hit planetside. And," Morgan lifted a finger to insert an addendum as she noted a suspicious gleam in Raffe's eye, "I also want your word that I shall arrive at Kuiper unmolested."
"Hell, lady, we're not that hard up! And it's not as if we need another person mucking about on the Moirai anyway." Gunner's comment made the crew chuckle wryly in agreement. "Sure, you'll be free to leave once we hit the Kuiper, and we won't even breathe on you till you get there. Deal?"
Morgan eyed the hand Gunner extended. Then she glanced at Raffe who appeared disgruntled at the turn of events. She'd made an enemy of the man and she knew her only chance of surviving the trip intact, without having to worry about finding a knife in her back in the meantime, was to accept the pilot's offer. She exhaled softly and clasped the hand.
"Deal."
Then, at the expectant looks from the crew, she drew a deep breath and began.
"Shin, can I ask you something?"
"Hai."
"Where are we?"
"Don't you like it here?"
Mitsu fell back on the tall grass and put his arms behind his head. Above him, the sky was a kaleidoscope of rupturing comets and spinning stars. The sun had long since sighed its goodbye and the only light came from the phosphorescence that exuded mysteriously from the alien flora.
"Well, yeah! I mean, this is one hell of a view!" The blonde flung out an arm and gestured at the swirling heavens. "The only thing missing now is a good stim. You wouldn't by any chance…?"
Shinobu shook his head regretfully.
"Ah, I didn't think so." Mitsu didn't sound too broken up about it as he stretched languorously.
"So you approve of this?"
"Oh, gods, yes!"
"Then it doesn't matter where "here" is, does it?" Shinobu smiled faintly at the other's exuberant response.
"True. But why do I have a feeling you're avoiding my question?" Mitsu peered at the vague outline of the man sitting beside him.
"Why don't you tell me more about yourself."
"Like I said, avoiding my question." Mitsu reached over to poke him in the ribs but Shinobu was ready, and the conman's finger was painfully met by a wall of solid, muscled abs.
"Ow?" Mitsu withdrew the offended digit and waited for an apology.
He waited in vain.
"Ah, hell. I'm not gonna win this, am I?"
"Not really."
"Fine. What do you want to know?"
"Well, you were doing so well with your crew. Why don't we continue with them?"
"Okay. You already know Suka. I guess I can show you the other men I inherited along with the Moirai."
Mitsu sat up and furrowed his brow in concentration. The darkness helped. And he found he didn't need to draw in the air with his hands, just simply needed to think of the subjects he wanted. Slowly, three forms emerged before the pair.
Standing at approximately 180 centimeters, the first figure was lean and sparse, clad in a pair of loose-fitting combat-green trousers that were tightly cinched at the waist. A plain, white, short-sleeved shirt tucked into the pants, a rugged hornoskin vest riddled with pockets, and sturdy brown boots completed his ensemble. Perched on a determined nose were round-lensed specs, a curiosity in a world long-used to physical enhancements. Blonde and grey-eyed, he had the same pointed chin and expressive eyebrows as the man who conjured him up.
"Your brother?" Shinobu inquired quizzically.
"He looks like it, doesn't he?" Mitsu grinned proudly. "Nah. That's actually Suka's sib, Kazuhiro Hasukawa. He's Kazuo's medic son I told you about. Great guy, the peacekeeper of the group. He was on board, tending to the crew, even before I got there. Supposedly, he's something of a genius. I wouldn't know; I don't have much reason to visit the med bay. I do know this, though: Hiro's amazingly calm and level-headed. He always pulls us together whenever there's a situation. He gets it from his dad, I guess. Don't know what I'd do without him. The only time I've ever seen him lose it was when Suka got tore up that one time in the Callisto sector."
"He loves his brother a lot, then?"
"More than he lets on." There was a wistful tone in Mitsu's voice as he gazed fondly at the medic.
"And this?"
"Ah, Brek!"
Kazuhiro faded away, to be replaced by the simian at center stage. Brek was an anomaly. No one knew if he was the product of genetic encoding or if he chose to enhance himself to be what he was. No one wanted to ask. With his over-long arms that almost dragged the ground and his protruding brow, Brek was a daunting endomorphic specimen. But although the resemblance to Neanderthals was clearly evident, there was no trace of the early humans' dim-wittedness in the simian's sharp, brown eyes.
"He's fair intimidating." Shinobu noted clinically.
"Actually, Brek's the most diplomatic of the bunch. Go figure, with that scary mug of his! Everyone loves Brek. Oh, sure, he gets testy at times and Suka's the bane of his existence, always driving him mad with his whining and all. But Brek's the go-to guy if you want information. He can sit and talk to total strangers and in seconds, he's like their best friend. And he's a whiz at tinkering with gadgets. Tell him what you want and he can make it with spit and a shoestring, given enough time. He's our engineer and all-around fix-it man."
"And he was also an original member of your ship?"
"Yeah. Knows the Moirai like the back of his hand. Made me feel completely unnecessary my first coupla months as captain. Didn't know if he approved of my taking over for Kazuo or not. Then we did that run over on Callisto, when Suka got hurt, right? And I had a helluva time getting us away from those colony sentries. But I did it and I guess I musta impressed the guy coz he's watched my back without question ever since."
"You sound like you didn't have any easy transition from crew member to captain."
Mitsu blinked at his companion's perceptiveness. Then he waggled a finger knowingly. "Uh-uh. No way. You're not getting any more outta me. I've been talking your ear off for the past twenty clicks and I'll be damned if I give you any more information unless you 'fess up and tell me something about you."
Shinobu smiled grimly, the grass's faint glow limning his chiseled jaw with shadows. His grey eyes glinted with a fierce light but he was calm when he spoke: "My life isn't half as interesting as yours. Besides, don't we have one more?"
Mitsu scowled, undeterred this time. "You're changing the subject again."
"I am, aren't I? Well, how about that?"
The conman huffed and blew the bangs from his forehead. He'd only known Shinobu for less than twenty-four hours but he was learning quite a bit about the man and his traits. A gentle stubbornness was one of the traits that Mitsu was becoming well acquainted with.
"Fine. But you owe me."
"Indeed."
Mitsu drew forth the last figure he'd created, dissipating Brek's replica into the night as he did so.
"This is Gunner." He said without preamble and Shinobu studied the man closely, alerted by the deep respect in Mitsu's voice as he presented the new facsimile.
If Brek was imposing in stature, Gunner was positively menacing. It wasn't that he was any bigger or taller; yes, he had more than his fair share of muscles and was heftier by far than Mitsu and Shinobu put together, but he was nothing compared to the simian. Shinobu tried to place the caution he immediately felt upon looking at the man, and then he had it: it was the eyes. Gunner Lao had the meanest, soul-scything eyes the Empath had ever seen.
Shinobu was uncertain how much of the man's simulacrum was truth or a projection of Mitsu's perception of him. Of all the memories so far, this was the sharpest and most detailed. Aside from the exactness of his almond-shaped brown eyes, Mitsu had captured perfectly his close-cropped auburn hair, prematurely graying at the temples, and his wide cheekbones that spoke of Asian descent. The man's bulging biceps and wide shoulders signalled intense physical training, as did his washboard stomach and enormous thighs. The lethal power that emanated from him was ill-concealed by the nondescript tunic and breeches the man wore.
"Gunner's my pilot. And he acts as captain when I'm otherwise incapacitated." There was a wry twist to Mitsu's lips when he said that, indicating that his "incapacitation" was less than life-threatening. "He was Kazuo's second in command, too, when I first joined them. He scared the living hell outta me for a whole year."
"Why was that?"
"Gunner doesn't need a blaster. Gunner doesn't carry any kind of weapon. Gunner can snap a man's neck with his bare hands, toss down five liters of Hypno's strongest poison, then loop circles around Guardian cutwings with a song in his heart, all in the span of an hour. He's the meanest, coldest sonuvabitch to his enemies."
"But what about his friends?"
"He'd cut off his right arm for them."
"Does he consider you a friend?"
"Oh, gods, I hope so. Because he's the only one who can fly the hell out of my ship. I wouldn't have completed half the runs I've done without him. If Brek is the Moirai's flesh and bone, then Gunner's her brain."
Mitsu seemed pensive, absently shredding a stalk of grass as he stared at the pilot. Shinobu took a hard look at the brooding cast that shadowed his face and grasped him firmly on the shoulder.
"That may be, but you are her heart and soul."
"What a load of crap!"
"I'm going for a drink. Anyone else coming?"
"I hear ya."
In a unanimous show of disgust, the crew dispersed. Kazuya crawled up to his gunner pod and Rigo stalked off to the galley for the desired libation, Raffe not far behind. Trout glanced up at Kazuya's retreating form then down the shadowy corridor in indecision. Making up her mind as to which swain needed her attention most, she scampered out the room toward the med bay. Brek swiveled back to face his terminal, whistling a tuneless ditty.
"What? What did I say?" Morgan fumed in bewilderment.
It really was too much! Bad enough she had to explain herself to a bunch of off-planet rogues, but to have all of them display such disrespect was this side from unconscionable! She would never have tolerated such irreverence from her own cadre. By the gods, none of them had been dismissed!
"Le Freya, you may have forgotten, so I'll let it go this time. But, a reminder: we are not your men, we are not military, and we don't obediently swallow crap doled out to us like your good little soldiers. You've got to work on your story more if you want to convince us of it." Gunner frowned darkly.
"But I was telling the truth!"
Rhys, who had chosen not to join the mass exodus out of a displaced sense of loyalty to family, now shook his head in exasperation. "Aw, come on, Morgan! The captain, a First Family member? And a long-lost one at that? You've gotta be kidding!"
"It's true, you dolt! I saw all the files myself!" Morgan clenched her fists in agitation. The disbelief was grating on her nerves.
"Well, why don't you just 'trode right in and prove it?" Gunner challenged, gesturing toward Rigo's panel.
"I'm not an orgamech," the woman spat out, managing to make the word sound more like an invective than a label.
"More's the pity." Gunner took her obvious disregard in stride and turned the tables on her, making Morgan feel inferior and having her almost wish she had the electrodes to provide them with instantaneous access to the data she possessed.
Then she came to her senses and was about to berate herself for the foolish thought but Gunner was still talking.
"Besides, I really don't care about the captain's past. That's his business. If he wants to tell us about it, he will. What I want to go back to is this de Medici bastard. What were his plans for the captain once he had him?"
"I don't know."
"Now I know you're lying."
"I don't know! Aristos don't tell subordinates their master plan! What do you think this is, some sort of spy vid? He hired me, I took his creds, I did my job. End of story."
Gunner and Morgan faced off and Rhys backed away wisely. In fact, carrying that wisdom to its apex, Rhys hastily left the room. Brek exercised some caution of his own and kept his face firmly forward, gazing out the plas shield and imagining patterns in the stars. It was very calming.
"Lady, if you're keeping something from me…" the pilot growled ominously.
"I swear I've told you everything!" Morgan snarled back.
The com blinked and Kazuhiro's voice came on. He was almost incoherent in his outrage.
"Gunner, you'd better come to the med bay. And bring that woman with you. I just ran some scans on Mitsu and you're not gonna like this."
The pilot narrowed his eyes briefly then broke contact with the Guardian, turning from her abruptly and almost running off the deck. The simian looked like he'd fallen asleep – typical! – so Morgan felt safe in letting go of her bravado long enough to slump heavily against Rigo's chair and mutter under her breath.
"Uh-oh."
The stars spun slowly, mesmerizing the eye.
"How long have we been here?"
"Do you feel rested?"
"From what?"
"Never mind."
"You're doing that cryptic thing again."
"I am, aren't I?"
Mitsu sat up and draped his arms over bent knees. He refrained from looking at his companion, not really in the mood to be dissuaded from his purpose yet again. There was something about the man's inscrutably calm expression that had somehow prevented Mitsu from asking too many questions, but the conman was feeling restless now and he wanted answers.
"I'd like to know how you know me. Why you're so familiar to me yet I'm almost positive we've never met before this. Why you're so curious about my past. Is this some sort of upper tier mind fuck?"
Shinobu was silent, reproachful.
"Where exactly are we? Where's my ship? My crew? And something happened to me. I know it. It's important, but my head's all fuzzy."
Shinobu shifted uneasily.
"You know something and you're not telling me and I wanna know why. You say you're my friend, but how can I be sure? I want answers, dammit, and I want them now!"
"You're going to undo all the work I've done." Shinobu finally spoke up, albeit softly.
"What work? What're you talking about?" Mitsu stood and towered over the other man who remained seated and composed.
"Be calm."
"I will not "be calm"! Why aren't you telling me anything? Huh? What's your game?" Shinobu kept his hands in his lap, lacing them together. He stared at the half moons of his fingernails, not looking up. "I'm not playing any games."
"You know, that's funny. That's what people say right before they fuck me over." Mitsu reached and grabbed the man by the shirtfront, pulling him up roughly. Shinobu did not resist. The conman shook him once. "You are really starting to piss me off!"
In the med bay of the Moirai, Gunner huffed into the room just in time to see Mitsu's vitals shoot out of control.
"This is not very healthy." Shinobu muttered under his breath, and the way he said it gave Mitsu pause. It sounded more as if the man was berating himself than his assailant.
Then Mitsu met his eyes and was lost. There was a serenity in those half-lidded grey depths, along with a creeping sorrow and an unenviable pain. And they felt old, older than the galaxy, as if hundreds of stars had shone brightly in them once but then had exploded into supernovas of regret. Mitsu could not fight the pull of those eyes, could not deny the inexorable fathoms. He let go abruptly, almost making Shinobu stumble.
"What do you want from me?" The conman growled, scowling.
"How about another story?" Shinobu suggested mildly, hands up in reconciliation.
"Another ---? You're a piece of work, you know that?" Mitsu shook his head in disbelief but grudgingly pulled forth three memories from his mind. They erupted in the air suddenly, a testament to the conman's still simmering ire.
"What's going on, Hiro?" Gunner watched the vitals screen with growing apprehension. It was spiking in erratic vees while the medic punched at buttons urgently.
"I dunno. He was calm and his brain signatures were stable. It just started up when you came in. Ah, there we go!" Kazuhiro sighed in relief as the spikes plateaued. He didn't bother to tell Gunner that the readings had normalized without his help.
"That's not what you called me in for?"
"No. I wanted to show you this." With a flourish, Kazuhiro brought to life another screen, a picture of Mitsu's brain projecting eerily in 3-D.
Gunner peered at the holo, unsure of just what he was supposed to be looking at. He was no expert in brains. Ships he understood, but he left people and their innards to those who knew best. Still, there had to be something major enough that warranted response even from a layman like he. He studied the picture again. Then his eyes widened. He glanced at Kazuhiro who nodded solemnly.
Gunner ground his teeth, furious. Then he slapped at the com on the wall and barked:
"Brek! Send that woman in here. Now!"
"So these are the three Rs and the remainder of my crew."
"You sound weary."
"I am. You would be, too, if you had to keep making these up." Mitsu glanced at him suspiciously. "You would, wouldn't you?"
"Be weary? Of course." Shinobu soothed. It was a fib but he didn't think a show of superiority would help him much in this instance. He had just defused what could have been a disastrous situation and he didn't want to regress. "So, why "the three Rs"?"
"Their names: Rigo, Raffe and Rhys. We never noticed it until Suka pointed it out one day. Made them sound like triplets or something. But they all couldn't be more unalike."
"I see that." Shinobu studied the men. "You mean in temperament, then?"
"Yeah. Take Rigo, for instance." Mitsu sent the other two spinning into the background while keeping the first in place at the fore. A whimsical thought passed his mind as he did so.
So this is what it feels like to play God.
And so, like all the other deities before him, Mitsu appraised his creation.
Rigo was whippet-thin with a shock of white hair buzzed close to the nape but overlong in front. The bangs that covered his ice-blue eyes and brushed at his sharp cheekbones gave the man a rakish air, as did his outfit. Rigo was dressed in skin-tight black leather, a one-piece bodysuit that zipped from the waist all the way up to his neck. There, it was fastened by a large buckled ring, cinched tight. Underneath the suit was a black, long-sleeved plasticine shirt, fastened to his left arm by a series of buckles but torn at the shoulder on his right. He had on black gloves as well, the forefingers and thumbs of which were oddly cut off. Shinobu noticed these immediately.
"The gloves?" he queried curiously.
"Rigo's ambidextrous." Mitsu answered shortly.
At Shinobu's raised eyebrow, the conman sighed but elaborated: "Rigo's my navigator first but he's also our best point man when it comes to on-land combat. What Suka can do in the gunner pod on board the Moirai, Rigo can do with his blaster. And since he needs his trigger fingers unimpeded, he cut off his gloves for more freedom of movement. And don't bother asking me why he wears them at all. Men don't ask questions like that."
Shinobu's eyebrow remained arched, waiting.
"Oh, hell! Fine! I really don't know why he wears them, okay? But, personally, I think he thinks it makes him more appealing to the ladies. There! Satisfied?" Mitsu glared at his companion.
Shinobu shrugged innocently. Then, before the blonde could take offense at his lackadaisical air, he waved at the facsimile. "And his story…?"
"Rigo came on board after my first year as captain. We picked him up in New Cairo after I'd shot down the transport ship he was on. He was the only survivor."
"Why did you attack his ship?"
"Oh, he didn't own it. He was on it. And I attacked it coz I don't like skin traders."
"He was a slave?" Shinobu was startled out of his normally placid façade.
"Yeah, captured and sold by a New Cairo sultan for making eyes at one of the old coot's wives. Rigo's something of a ladies' man." Mitsu glanced at his companion almost apologetically.
"Pheromone enhanced?"
"Nah. It's all natural Salazar charm." The conman grinned. "And he gets into a lot of hot water because of it. Women just throw themselves at him, sometimes in front of their husbands, and we're constantly bailing him out. It's a small price to pay for his skills, though."
"Skills?"
"Well, aside from being a crack shot with his blaster and our navigations expert, Rigo speaks at least ten different Gaian languages, the galactica lingua and a bit of Dregan, I think. It makes for easy transactions everywhere we go."
"A true Renaissance man, then," Shinobu's lips quivered with suppressed mirth as he noted the slight envy in Mitsu's voice.
"And nothing like Raffe."
The second man to be singled out was so nondescript that Shinobu looked at his companion furtively, worrying that he was over-extending himself. But Mitsu seemed none the worse for wear and the facsimile held firm and steady. The Empath decided that this was Raffe's true appearance after all.
Aside from spiky black hair and a matching eye patch over the left eye, both of which stood out starkly against an unnaturally pale face, there was nothing to distinguish the man from the ethnically diverse masses found in any town on any colony. Even the bandolier of wicked-looking knives slung across his chest seemed to blend in with his inconspicuous clothing.
"Let me guess. Covert operations and various forms of skullduggery?"
"Who talks like you?"
"Am I correct?"
"Yeah, you're right. Raffe is kinda forgettable, isn't he?" Mitsu frowned at the simulacrum. "He joined us not long after Rigo did. We were doin' a run in the Omega Belt and were unlucky enough to get caught in the little civil war brewing on Argos. Raffe's da was leader of the opposing party. They lost, he died, and Raffe put in with our crew."
"The eye?"
"Lost it in the last battle. It…wasn't pretty." Mitsu set his jaw grimly. "And it changed him. When we first met Raff, he was the rowdiest of the bunch, always ready with a song or a tune from his harmonica. And he could drink like a fish; loved his alc, he did. He's not like that anymore. Not since…" Mitsu trailed off pensively.
"You worry about him." It was a statement.
"Yeah. I do. I'm scared he'll do something completely irreversible one of these days, like stand in the line of fire and die a glorious but stupid death. He thinks he was cheated, you know. He lost his whole family in that war and he would've died too if I hadn't hauled his sorry carcass aboard the Moirai. He was suicidal for a long time after that."
Mitsu stopped abruptly, caught up in the memories of painful pasts. Shinobu wasn't sure whether they were still talking about Raffe, but he chose not to pry. In point of fact, throughout their entire episode in the dreamscape, the Empath had not once peeked into Mitsu's psyche, allowing the conman the privacy and time to share at his own pace. Shinobu was pretty sure Mitsu did not realize he had revealed a lot about himself already by simply talking about his crew. So the Empath bided his time and looked away politely while the other collected himself.
"Raff's better now, but he sometimes gets into one of his moods. And then, only Rigo can snap him out of it."
"Can you trust him?"
"With my life. But with his? No, I don't think so."
"What the hell is that?" Gunner roughly shoved the Guardian's nose into the holo.
"A brain?" Morgan guessed saucily.
The pilot snarled and cocked his fist, prepared to pound her into a pulp. Despite her training, or because of it, the Guardian backed up warily, only to be met by a solid wall of simian muscle. Damn. She'd forgotten about Brek.
"Try again, lady." Gunner moved closer dangerously, still tensed for attack.
"Okay, okay! It's Mitsuru Ikeda's brain and it's clean."
"Clean?" Brek rumbled from behind her.
"She means the captain's not 'troded. They extracted him." Kazuhiro announced grimly. A boiling wrath threatened to crack his professional composure.
Morgan felt the simian stiffen before his large hands clamped down on her biceps. She noted the medic, the pilot and the girl, calculated the strength of the engineer, remembered the other three on board. Force was not going to get her out of this one. Then she contemplated lying. But Ikeda wasn't dead and he'd be awake and coherent soon enough. So would the Empath. And they would definitely refute any story she'd concocted. Morgan's shoulders sagged. She was a goner.
"And this is Rhys."
The man was more of a youth, really. Or perhaps it was the guilelessness evident in his clear blue eyes that perpetuated this perception. It didn't help that his weapon of choice was a claymore which, no matter how expertly wielded, was still an idealistic conceit for the 23rd century. The manling completed his romantic affectations by wearing an old-fashioned brown leather jerkin over a soft blue tunic, both belted at the waist by more leather from which the sword's scabbard hung. A long blue strip of cloth banded across his high forehead, keeping fine blonde hair from obscuring his vision. The strip fluttered jauntily behind him like a koi's lazy tailfin.
For all his boyish pretensions, however, Rhys was fit and trim and shared the rest of the crew's air of competence and efficiency. Shinobu did not find him lacking, despite his youth. But he still had to comment on it.
"He doesn't seem to fit in with the others." The Empath observed.
"What do you mean?"
"His eyes aren't sad."
Again, Mitsu was startled by the man's intuitiveness.
"Rhys has nothing to be sad about," the conman answered. "He's young, healthy and has the most unblemished past out of all of us. He even has a normal, loving family, complete with a whole clan of aunts and uncles, back on Sirena."
"So…"
"So why's he with us?" Mitsu let out a humorless laugh. "Because he's young, healthy and has an unblemished past. The boy wanted adventure and his little pleasure colony just wasn't cutting it. I mean, how dangerous can a tourist satellite get? The crew and I were taking a break on Sirena last year, and when we left, we found ourselves plus one man. Gunner wanted me to eject the guy for stowing away on board the Moirai but Rhys begged for a chance to prove himself."
"And did he?"
"He's still with me, isn't he?"
Mitsu finally succumbed to his simmering resentment. He was done with memories, done with being an open book. Recalling the past and reliving some not so pleasant experiences may have been cathartic and it had given him a new perspective on his crew. But it finally dawned on the conman that never in his life had he willingly volunteered information to a virtual stranger. And, no matter how therapeutic unburdening his soul to him had been, Shinobu was still most definitely a stranger.
"Now it's your turn." Mitsu challenged, being careful not to look into the other man's eyes for fear of surrendering to them again.
"I don't think now is the right time."
"Oh, I think differently. Fair's fair, ne? You tell me something."
"But didn't you have one last crew member to talk about?"
"Don't change the subject."
"But the girl…"
"Leave Trout out of this!" Mitsu lashed out with a venom that shocked both of them.
"Mitsuru."
"That's not my name. Don't call me that!"
"I think we'd better go now."
"Oh, no you don't! We're not leaving until I get some answers!" Mitsu lunged for the man but his reaching hands met thin air. Shinobu was fading away before his eyes.
"Hey! Dammit, come back! What the hell is going on?" The conman whirled around and a spike of apprehension shot through him. The hill they'd been standing on was disappearing as well, as were the stars and the dimly-glowing grasses.
"Shinobu!" Mitsu cried out in panic.
"I hate to do this, especially after you trusted me, but there's no other way." The disembodied voice echoed in his ears.
"What? What're you talking about?"
"I've done all I can. We have to go back."
Then the world went black. Utterly, endlessly black. The night sky had never appeared darker until the moment the grasses blinked out of existence. And the air was suddenly thick and cloying, closing in. Mitsu felt like he'd just been dropped into an inkwell and was slowly drowning in a vast sea of murk and shadow. The absence of light and the feeling of suffocation turned his equilibrium askew and the conman found himself experiencing the most nauseating combination of claustrophobia and vertigo.
"Shi---in…" Mitsu gasped an unspoken plea for help.
There was no response.
Morgan opened her mouth to confess. She was just going to blurt it out, no hemming or hawing. She was once a commander of a cadre and she'd eat her boots first before acting like a cowed civilian. So, yes. Confess. Confess to these men that she had been instrumental in their captain's 'trode extraction. Confess that she had effectively disabled the man for life, cut him off completely from instantaneous contact with ship and crew. Confess that she had ordered the operation only because of her personal prejudice and spite.
Yeah, right.
If Morgan were honest with herself, she knew she was a bit intimidated by these men. There was something about the steely glint in Gunner's eye and the way Kazuhiro was fondling a shiny scalpel that drew a shiver from the battle-hardened Guardian. She'd never witnessed such fierce devotion to one person; these men were ready to defend their captain's honor without question. That Ikeda could command such unswerving fealty from his crew, even while unconscious, was staggering.
Morgan was beginning to feel like maybe there was something else de Medici hadn't told her about Ikeda, that perhaps there was more to him than his already-substantial files had indicated. Yes, Ikeda was an unrepentant runner and probably deserved several months in a brig for his illegal activities. But Morgan had seen his men in action, had seen them shoot to disable, not kill. And the Moirai was a well-run outfit, sharp and tidy as any Guardian command vessel. This was not your ordinary smuggling operation.
Morgan's stomach twinged as the thoughts raced through her head. It was a strange feeling; she'd never been sick a day in her life. She wondered if she'd managed to contract some sort of incurable virus from one of the men. Gods knew when they'd all received their vaccinations. If Morgan had had any friends, and had she confided in them, they would have been quick to tell her that her malaise was not a physical ailment at all. It was something called a conscience and it was finally waking up.
"Spit it out, le Freya!" Gunner was losing patience in exponential increments.
Morgan slitted her green eyes. The pilot was not making this any easier with his arrogant demands. But the Guardian swallowed her pride and tried to project a feeling of complete penitence as she inhaled once then began to speak.
"Gunner!" Kazuhiro's stricken voice cut through the thick tension in the room, as did the alarming beeps that emanated from Mitsu's vitals screen.
The captain was convulsing on the pallet, his body jerking spasmodically. The medic was trying in vain to hold him down, a syringe of something nasty-looking at the ready. Gunner joined Kazuhiro and pushed the slighter man aside, grabbing Mitsu's arms and pinning him down forcefully. Brek materialized at the foot of the pallet and held the conman's ankles. Trapped between the two men, Mitsu's body continued to twitch frighteningly, his back arching in response to some undisclosed trauma.
"Hiro, goddammit! Do something!" Gunner yelled.
"I'm trying! Hold him steady. This is potent stuff!" Kazuhiro waved the syringe warningly even as Mitsu thrashed about and nearly knocked it out of his hand.
"Can I help?" Morgan approached the pallet timidly.
"NO!" All three men blasted her with a deafening chorus that left her ears ringing.
Morgan was at a loss. She didn't know if Ikeda's reaction was caused by any side effects from the extraction or not. Selfishly, she hoped not. It would just make it that much worse for her. The Guardian sidled away to a less conspicuous spot and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt yet another hand bear down on her shoulder. She really wished people would stop manhandling her.
"Don't worry. He'll be alright." A new voice whispered in her ear.
"Tezuka?!"
Her only response was the swish of robes as Shinobu swept past her and headed bravely toward Mitsu and his struggling crew members. With an enviable air of command that brooked no defiance, the Empath swatted away the three men and stopped Mitsu in mid spasm with a gentle hand on the conman's forehead. As the rest of them watched uncomprehendingly, the vitals screen ceased its raucous beeping and Mitsu's eyes fluttered open. The Empath smiled at him benevolently, his grey eyes sparkling with merriment.
"Welcome back."
Mitsu let out a long sigh, then blinked.
"Who are you?"
