Chapter Four

Yami shifted uneasily in his sleep. One hand crept up to pluck fitfully at the front of his borrowed pajama jacket as if seeking a familiar weight. In his dreams, a heavy golden pendant lay beneath his questing hand. The pendant throbbed with power, then shattered in a spattering of blood and darkness, taking with it pieces of his soul. His head tossed restlessly on the pillow and a tiny, strangled sound of denial escaped his throat. But the nightmare held him in its claws and would not let him go.

With death should have come oblivion. Instead, raw agony coursed over him and, suddenly, he was no longer standing in an ancient temple but floating in the surreal blackness of space. Energy, sun-bright and hot as lightning, slammed through him without warning, shattering his heart. He screamed, his senses filled with pain and the acrid stench of smoke and imminent death. Voiceless, he cried out, Anzu! and tore frantically at the metal of his armor, desperate to reach her, ripping at his own chest until he bled lubricants. Black as blood, the lubricant curled and shifted like smoke and shadows in the utter stillness surrounding him.

The shadows gathered, darker than space and laced with lighter whorls of purple and gold, blotting out the terrible scene until there was only the warm silence of sleep once more. Just on the cusp of hearing, a voice whispered, soft words that fell like a benediction on the dreamer's ear.

In the Mutou's house, the living room grew darker still as shadows gathered around the fold-out bed and the lone, restless figure curled atop it. Thin tendrils of dark purple and deepest black reached out to touch the dreamer, stroking his hair in a light, affectionate caress, then wrapping Yami in their protective embrace. Whispered words of comfort and devotion soothed him, chasing away the nightmares.

In the darkness, what might almost have been the vague silhouette of a man in stylized armor flickered briefly into being, then out again, as if the shape could not hold. But when the shadows drifted back to their silent corners, Yami gave a soft sigh and settled into peaceful slumber.

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SSDF Orbital Station 002
Mars orbit

Joey sauntered into the Officers' Club, intent on drowning his sorrows -- or, at least, his confusion. As usual, the place was filled with off-duty pilots and noise. In one corner, a genuine antique jukebox flashed with a rainbow of neon colors as it spilled forth an oldie but goodie. Near the back wall, a cluster of onlookers surrounded a table at which a friendly, but intense, duel was taking place. The holographic monsters clashed in combat, their synthetic roars adding to the overall cacophony.

Joey made his way to the bar, returning a few greetings and declining the offer of a duel on the way. He leaned against the bar, his eyes drawn almost against his will to the impromptu memorial that took up most of the wall behind it. Photos of the fallen looked back at him. He recognized many of the faces, including two of the newest additions. Rex and Weevil had been regular forces, so he hadn't known them well. Still, as with any in the tight, enclosed community of the station, he felt their loss. Sometimes, he wondered how many more they would lose before the war was over.

A voice drew him from his morbid reverie. "The usual, Joey?"

Looking around, Joey offered the bartender a lopsided smile. "Nah. I think I feel like the hard stuff tonight, Tristan."

Tristan nodded. "One can of coffee coming up."

A few seconds later, he returned with the drink. Setting the can on the bar in front of Joey, Tristan asked, "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not much to tell," Joey said, with a shrug. He popped the top on his coffee and slugged back a mouthful. He imagined he could feel the caffeine hitting his system and gave a satisfied sigh. "Ah! That hits the spot."

Tristan grimaced. "I don't know how you can drink that stuff, man. I prefer my coffee hot. And unadulterated. And actually made from coffee beans."

Joey shrugged again and swallowed another mouthful of his cold, canned coffee-like beverage. It was caffeinated, loaded with sugar, and close enough to the real thing for him.

"I hear Major Yami got kicked back Earthside," Tristan said, a rising intonation making it a question. "They're saying it was a dishonorable."

Joey's eyes hardened. "Don't believe everything you hear."

"You're saying it's not true?" Tristan's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Man, security escorted him off-station. Rumor has it he's been selling secrets on the side or something."

"Shit." Joey's voice was a growl. "I don't know what happened, but this is Yami we're talkin' about. Ain't no way he earned a dishonorable, no matter what anybody says. Had to be medical or somethin'. You know he still hasn't completely recovered from--"

Tristan held up both hands in surrender. "Hey, no argument here. I'm just wondering what the real story is. That's all."

"Yeah." Joey stared morosely at the half-empty drink can in his hand. Me, too. He motioned vaguely with his free hand. "Gimme another one, will ya? I think I'm gonna need it."

Tristan raised an eyebrow at that -- coffee, even the ersatz stuff, was expensive -- but simply nodded and produced another frosty can before he was called away by another customer, leaving Joey alone with his drink -- and his thoughts.

What the hell was going on, anyway? he wondered. He had meant what he said to Tristan; no way could he believe that Yami, one of the most honorable men he had ever known, had done anything that would've gotten him thrown out of the SSDF. There had to be some other explanation. Maybe Yami's father had--

"Please, tell me you didn't get that shiner from Captain Blue-Eyes."

Joey half-turned, one elbow still supporting most of his weight on the bar, as he offered up a wan smile to the newcomer. "Hey, Mai. Pull up a seat."

The blonde pilot slid gracefully onto the bar stool beside his, her gaze still firmly fixed on his face -- and his new black eye. She reached out and gripped his chin, tilting his face so she could eye him critically. "I can't say it's not decorative, Joey, but... A little gaudy, don't you think?"

He grimaced -- then suppressed a wince, as the expression pulled at skin and muscle better left undisturbed. For such a lean guy, Yami packed quite a punch. "Would you believe I walked into a door?"

"Not in a million years, hon."

"Yeah, I didn't think so." He took a long pull on his coffee, then set it down and studied her. As always, he liked what he saw. "How about I ran into a fist?"

Her head tilted as she smiled. "That I might believe. Buy me a drink and I'll let you tell me all about it."

Despite the sting, he grinned. "You're on, pretty lady."

Joey ordered a glass of Mars palm wine for Mai, then they moved from the bar to a cozily intimate booth near the great observation window that formed most of one curved wall. The table was sticky with spilled substances Joey would rather not speculate about, but at least they were far enough from the jukebox that they could hear one another without shouting. He slouched back against the scratched faux-wood paneling, toyed with his can of coffee, and admired the way Mai's slender throat worked as she swallowed a sip of her drink.

She set the glass fastidiously on her paper coaster and raised an eyebrow at him. "Well? Are you just going to sit there staring at me all night or are you going to tell me how you got that beaut'?"

Joey rubbed gingerly at his sore eye and sighed. "It all started with Captain Kaiba..."

"When doesn't it?" She rolled her eyes. "Haven't you figured out yet that our Blue-Eyes is a walking fight waiting to happen?"

"Well, yeah. I know that." He took a long pull from his coffee drink. It was warm. He drank it anyway. "But he ain't the one who gave me this." He gestured at the black eye decorating his boyish features.

"Then who did?"

"I'm gettin' there!" Another quick drink, then he told her all that had happened: the confrontation between Yami and Seto and his own part in it. Unconsciously, he brushed his fingers over his bruised cheek as he described literally running into the fist Yami had aimed at Seto.

Mai gave him a shrewd look. "So it was a Kaiba who gave you that shiner. Just not the Kaiba I was expecting."

"He ain't always got it under control," Joey said grimly. "Mai… You wouldn't happen to know why Yami's left the station, would you?" She always kept an ear to the grapevine. Maybe she would know.

But Mai was shaking her head. "Sorry, hon. You probably know as much, if not more, about that than I do. Of course, the rumor mill is grinding, but…" She made a moue of distaste. "Frankly, it's all nonsense."

"Just what exactly is this rumor that's goin' around? Tristan said something about it, before. People can't really be sayin' Yami's a traitor… Can they?"

Mai looked grim. "Afraid so, Joey." Quickly, she added, "Not that I believe it for a second, of course. I'd sooner believe Blue-Eyes had suddenly become the embodiment of sweetness and light."

Joey finished his drink in one go. "Man. How quickly some people forget, huh? Yami's a freakin' hero. He's risked his life -- hell, nearly died more times than I can count --"

They both fell silent, each knowing what the other was thinking. Jupiter Station. Yami had nearly died at Jupiter Station, would have if not for the incredible will that had allowed his mortally wounded Anchor to cling to life just long enough to pull him from gestalt. They had all seen the Dark Magician -- or what had been left of the mech -- after that battle. It was nothing short of a miracle that anyone had survived it. And it was thanks to the Dark Magician that anyone had escaped the destruction of Jupiter Station with their lives. To think that people were now doubting Yami's loyalty, his dedication to duty…

"Life's a bitch," Joey said finally.

Mai nodded morosely. Neither added "…and then you die," though both thought it. Somehow, that said it all.

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Seto dreamed of blood, again. When he awoke, tangled in sweat-stained sheets and panting as if he had just run a marathon, he knew there would be no more sleep for him tonight. He checked on Mokuba, who was sleeping soundly, clutching his pillow to him like a shield. Moving quietly so as not to disturb his brother, Seto dressed quickly and headed for the door. He had almost made it out of the apartment when the vid chimed.

Cursing lightly under his breath, Seto shut the door and hurried over to answer the chime before it woke his brother. When the screen came to life, he was surprised to see the face of his inside man at Kaiba Corp. Seto slid into the chair behind the desk, leaned close to the vid screen, and said quietly, "Roland? Why are you calling at this hour?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Kaiba," Roland said, taking his cue from his employer and keeping his voice low. There was a nervous, coiled tension about the man that told Seto this was no routine call. Roland looked worried.

Seto felt his heart constrict in his chest. In a voice made harsh by worry of his own, he demanded, "What's wrong?"

"Sir… It's the research facility on Kaiba Corp Island." Roland hesitated, then forged onward. "The prototype is missing."

Seto straightened in shock. The prototype? He felt a cold knot form in the pit of his stomach as the implications sank home. "It was stolen?"

Roland looked unhappy with the news he was about to impart. "There was no sign of a break-in. I'm sorry, Mr. Kaiba, but it looks as if the prototype… left under its own power."

"That's impossible!" Seto's hands clenched on the edge of the desk, so tightly that the wood-grained plastic creaked alarmingly. The prototype's processors had been blanked, wiped clean; he had seen to that himself. Without operating software, there was no way the thing had simply gotten up and walked away on its own -- which left some very disturbing possibilities for him to consider, none of which were going to make it easier for him to sleep at night.

With some difficulty, he focused on the vid screen, again. His voice strained, he growled out, "How many people know about this?"

"The staff on the island," Roland responded quickly. "No one else. I've allowed no one to leave and there has been no unauthorized communication with the mainland."

Seto nodded his approval. "Lock it down. I don't want word of this getting to my uncle before I've had the chance to do some damage control." And to set some safeguards in place, as well. He should have ripped the processors out of that damned machine, then scuttled it to the bottom of the ocean when he had had the chance. "Keep me informed."

"Yes, sir." The screen blanked.

Switching off the vid, Seto slumped back in his chair, his mind racing. He had to know if what he feared was true. But he couldn't do what needed to be done from here. He would have to get planetside, to the Kaiba estate just outside Domino. Everything he required was there.

Lost in thought, he left the apartment, locking the door behind him, and made his way silently to the bank of elevators at the end of the corridor. From there, the lift carried him down to the mech bay.

It was far after midnight and now that the Blue-Eyes was fully repaired, Seto's first duty shift with his mech was scheduled for early morning. All that remained were the final calibrations that would ensure his usual flawless interface with his mech's AI. He was eager to get back in the harness, but that wasn't what drew him now to the mech bay. Tomorrow morning techs would be scrambling all over his mech even up to the last minute of gestalt, testing systems, refueling, running final checks --scurrying like industrious ants all over the unresisting mech. He appreciated what the tech crew did, of course, but right now he craved a little time alone with his Dragon. Time to perform his own kind of -- he hardly dared think it -- spiritual calibrations.

"I've no idea why you put up with his arrogance!"

The unexpected voice halted him in his tracks. Obviously, the bay wasn't as deserted as he had hoped it would be. Boots silent on the metal flooring as he moved with practiced stealth, he glided closer to the Blue-Eyes' gantry. His eyes widened at what he found there.

"I really hope you can get over what he did to you so that nothing worse happens."

It was the technician from before; the crazy woman who had told him his Dragon didn't trust him. Apparently, she not only talked nonsense about the mecha, she talked to them, as well.

"You really are daft," he said, frowning as he slipped out of the shadows and startled the woman, who had been so completely absorbed in her 'conversation' with the mech that she hadn't noticed his approach.

"Can I help you, Captain Kaiba?" She blushed furiously, obviously embarrassed to have been caught in her eccentricity, though it was apparent from her stance and the tilt of her chin that she was trying to pretend otherwise.

Seto ran his assessing gaze over his Dragon. His Dragon. Blue-Eyes belonged to him. No one else could pilot it, no one else could be it, so it was his. The mech gleamed under the sodium lights of the repair bay. The tech had obviously just finished something; she had a faint smudge on one cheek and a weary look in her eyes, as if she had been laboring hard on behalf of the mech in front of her. A glance down showed him the chamois in her hands and the nearly empty, industrial-sized canister of polishing compound on the floor near her feet. She'd been cleaning and polishing his mech, even though the official duty shifts were long over. Maybe her supervisor was punishing her for some infraction, though if talking nonsense was now against the rules, Wheeler was in a great deal of trouble.

"Not that I believe you, but..." Seto carefully did not meet her eyes. "What exactly did you mean about my Dragon not 'trusting' me?"

He knew that the Duel Mecha possessed what could arguably be termed a rudimentary personality. Some of the pilots swore that their mecha were more than merely machines and Seto knew that the Duel Mecha AIs evolved individual quirks, in a sense 'learned' from their pilots and grew with each mission, each successful gestalt. Seto wasn't sure he would grant that evolution the term 'personality,' but he knew there was something more to his Dragon than mere circuitry and metal. He wouldn't go so far as to say that the Blue-Eyes had a soul, but he knew there was something more than machine or man, something greater than the sum of its parts, when the two of them were in gestalt.

The technician moved and he tensed, uncertain what she was up to, but she only fumbled in the pocket of her purple coveralls. She retrieved an object, something small enough to hold in the palm of her hand, and stepped toward him.

"This is a remote AI interface. We developed them for the Mark III mechs, along with the multiple Anchor discipline," she said, holding the object out to him.

He frowned, not taking it. "What does it do?"

"When active, the remote connects pilot and mech--" she began, something in her voice reminding him of a teacher going into lecture mode. He hastened to interrupt her before she could get too technical.

"I'm connected with my mech during gestalt," he reminded her. His frown deepened. "But no pilot can maintain that kind of contact outside his mech."

"No. You're right." She wiped absently at the smudge on her face. "But the remote doesn't create an actual gestalt. It's entirely one-sided, from pilot to mech. You, as the pilot, are the 'active' component of the gestalt; you can gain nothing from the AI remote. But Blue-Eyes, here, is the 'passive' component and can receive whatever you choose to send it."

Kaiba looked down at the item she finally succeeded in pressing into his palm. It was a rather good likeness of the face of his Blue-Eyes in its dragon form. Turning it over, he noticed that there was a pin on the back, rather like a piece of jewelry. He studied it, torn between accepting it and tossing it back at her.

"If there are any problems with tomorrow's integration tests, I'm recommending Class E patrols for Blue-Eyes until your AI/pilot gestalt interface values return to pre-damage levels." She dropped the bombshell without the slightest change of intonation or expression.

"Class E?" Seto exploded. "Those are nothing but milk runs for new pilots to get used to handling their mecha!"

"Exactly," she agreed evenly. "Look, Captain Kaiba, I'd be thrilled if you proved me wrong. If you achieve full gestalt tomorrow, my recommendation is satisfied. You can go back to Class A missions from the get-go and everybody is happy."

Seto fumed. "Look, lady, I don't know who you think you are--"

Her eyes widened. "I think I'm the person who can ground you if I'm not satisfied by the test results, tomorrow."

"What? You--" He squinted at her, for the first time noticing the embroidered insignia on the front of her coverall -- an entwined 'KC' over the standard Mars Station patch -- and the deep purple color of the coverall itself. This was no ordinary grease-monkey, but a high-ranking tech. If she was telling him the truth, the high-ranking tech, at least as far as the mecha's AIs were concerned.

Even Seto was familiar with Dr. Mann, the cyberneticist in charge of the "mental health" of the Duel Mecha artificial intelligences. She had transferred along with a cadre of engineers and technicians from Kaiba Corp when the enhanced mecha had gone from experimental machines to the first line of defense against the alien invaders. She was usually to be found in the mech bays, actively working on the Duel Mecha under her care -- in particular, the Dark Magician and the Blue-Eyes White Dragon, the oldest of the enhanced mecha and the two most advanced AIs. Seto was vaguely aware that she had spent the six months it took to repair Dark Magician either up to her metaphorical elbows in the AI's damaged psyche, or collapsed on a cot in the back of the mech bay when exhaustion claimed her. Seto could understand that kind of devotion; if a similar catastrophe were to befall his Dragon, he would expect the same care to be lavished on his own mech.

And she had the power to ground him, if she could somehow prove that he wasn't fit to pilot Blue-Eyes. He narrowed his eyes at this annoyingly dangerous, utterly daffy woman.

Almost as if she couldn't restrain herself any longer, Gears wandered over and stroked her hand lovingly along one of Blue-Eyes' foot support struts. Immediately she rubbed her rag across where her hand had been, erasing her fingerprints from the mech's shining silver-white skin with the polishing compound.

"If you don't achieve your pre-accident gestalt levels..." She turned and glared at him.

"You might be its pilot, Captain Kaiba, but I know every program -- every sub-routine. I don't want to see Blue-Eyes so wounded, again!"

Kaiba found himself taking a step back from the mad woman. "Mad," yes; not just angry, but given to notions that were...strange. She obviously cared more for the mech than for the mech's pilot. And what was she, who worked with the software almost exclusively, doing polishing the hardware?

Fishing for a relatively safe topic, Kaiba asked, "Why does this thing look like a piece of jewelry?"

"It is a piece of jewelry," she said calmly. "Hopefully, it's masculine enough that you wouldn't object to wearing it. But it's far more than simply decorative. If you wear it the Blue-Eyes AI will receive you."

"Receive -- what, exactly?"

"Your thoughts, your feelings. You could talk to it, if you like. Tell Blue-Eyes how much you trust it. Tell it about your Anchor. Tell it -- anything you want, really. Chat. Of course, if you achieve full gestalt tomorrow, you won't need it. Not that it will hurt you to use it, anyway."

Seto read the challenge in her eyes.

"Then keep it." He handed the device back to her, even though part of him longed to keep it, to wear it. To always have part of Blue-Eyes with him was a temptation almost too great to refuse. "I won't need it. I've never had any difficulty in achieving gestalt." Unlike certain pilots he could name -- Yami had refused to even attempt gestalt after Jupiter Station, had run from his mech like the coward he truly was rather than risk failure.

"Okay." Reluctantly, she accepted the remote pin and tucked it back into her pocket. "But, Captain Kaiba, if you change your mind for any reason, realize one thing." Her eyes were opaque, giving Seto no idea what thought was running through her mind. "I will do anything for my mecha. Even help their pilots." The corner of her mouth quirked in the slightest of grins. "So, I promise-- If you decide you want the remote after all, I won't gloat. All you have to do is ask for it and it's yours. No questions asked. Deal?"

Seto didn't respond, simply turned and stared up at the shining mech towering above them. He thought he heard her mumble something, but when he glanced around again, she was gone. With a little sigh, he hoisted himself up onto the gantry. Near the top was a small platform where a technician could sit while performing tests on the AI. When Seto reached the platform, he settled down beside the Blue-Eyes. He barely felt the cold metal of the housing against which his back rested and paid scant attention to the discomfort of the hard steel grating underneath him. All that mattered to him for that moment was the gleaming white creature beside him. The Blue-Eyes was quiescent now, but soon he would join with it once again and they would soar on wings of flame.

Comforted by the presence of his Dragon, Seto eventually fell into a dreamless sleep.