Chapter 4: The Prodigal

Mitsu R'Ikeda was enjoying his confinement. Had he known how pleasant jail could be, he would not have waited so long to have gotten arrested.

"Ah, this is the life," he sighed happily, heaving two shabby boots onto a well-lacquered table and sucking the marrow from a stripped chicken bone.

Across from him, the Guardian visibly winced, either at his uncouth manners or at the scratches on the expensive furniture he was sure to create as he tipped his chair back and put more of his weight on his heels.

Or both, Mitsu thought cheerfully, reaching forward and snatching a juicy apple from the serving platter.

"So," he crunched loudly and spoke with his mouth full, "what time are we going aboveside? Can't wait for the family reunion!"

The Guardian glared at him but didn't bother to respond. It was such a 180 degree turnaround from their first meeting when she'd been such a hot piece of ass. Mitsu had half-hoped she'd keep the holo on; at least then she would've given him something to look at since she obviously wasn't going to provide him with conversation. As it was, her ferocious scowl was keeping him from fully enjoying the best food he'd had in years.

"Maybe we can take a private chute? I've heard about those, you know. Damned waste, if you ask me. Like any of us grubbers would even be awake early enough to need a private transport."

Silence.

"You hungry? Want some of this?" Mitsu waved a hand at the plentiful feast expansively, acting as if he were more a host at a dinner party than a captured criminal.

No response.

"Who you working for anyway? I can't imagine the Ikeda clan funding your outfit. You look pretty high up in the pecking order. The triple bars mean Captain, ne?"

Nothing.

"Hey, how about some professional courtesy, huh? You're a captain; I'm a captain. What say we call a truce and take advantage of all this before it's all gone. Oh, whoops!" Mitsu devoured the last mouthful of pastry. "Too late. All gone."

Mitsu patted his stomach, sated, then almost wished he hadn't gobbled the food down so greedily. Now he had nothing to do but think, and he'd always maintained that thinking was overrated. Take, for example, his current situation. Had he been an ordinary felon, he would have nothing more serious to worry about than the confiscation of his ship and ten years of hard labor in the Kuiper mines. Not that those options were palatable, but at least they were a given and that would have been the end of that. Mitsu was no ordinary felon, however. The Guardian had pretty much let the cat out of the bag when she'd nabbed him. They weren't after him because of the smuggling; they were after him because he was an Ikeda. It was not law; it was politics.

Ten years – no, let's be honest! – five years ago, Mitsu would have gnawed and harried at the thought so much as to render himself angst-ridden and useless, but life was funny in that it allowed for even the most painful memories to dissipate over time. So now, Mitsu could truly say that he could give a tinker's damn why his estranged family would choose to seek him out after a decade; it just wasn't worth the effort. He had better things with which to concern himself, like figuring out the vintage of the contraband wine he was currently slurping inelegantly from an equally contraband crystal goblet.

"You know, you would be a much happier person if you just let loose and smiled once in a while. Try it; it's fun." Mitsu bared his teeth in a wide, slightly loopy grin, the heady wine taking its toll on his system even on a full belly.

The Guardian stared back stonily.

Still grinning, Mitsu began to belt out a bawdy space ballad, designed specifically to elicit some sort of reaction form his captor. He had just gotten to a particularly naughty verse about two pilots and a sausage when the door swished open.

"Mitsuru. Still as boorish as ever."

Mitsu blinked at the newcomer then, without missing a beat, proceeded to finish his song lustily. Then he tipped back even further in his chair, let his head drop back so he was staring at the ceiling and addressed no one in particular. "My, but it's gotten awfully cold in here all of a sudden."

A sound that could have been a snarl came from the near vicinity of the door. Moments later, Mitsu heard the door swish again and he prayed to Buddha that the right person had left the room. He surreptitiously lowered his eyes to peek and sighed. Damn his luck!

"He'la, Nagisa. I see the last decade has been unkind."

Nagisa Ikeda, nee Ito drew her hands into claws and launched herself at her errant stepbrother with a wordless yowl. He, in turn, hastily realized the error of his greeting and tried to get out of her way. Of course, he had forgotten how long he'd held his languid pose, and that his legs had fallen asleep without his knowing. So rather than leaping up gracefully from his chair and locking her in a stranglehold as he'd planned, Mitsu found himself flat on his arse being repeatedly if painlessly pummeled by the incensed woman.

Just outside the room, the Guardian gripped her comlink and debated whether or not she should apprise her client of the visitor. De Medici hadn't said R'Ikeda was to be kept in solitary; in fact, her orders had been more than accommodating where the prisoner was concerned.

Food, wine, comfortable quarters. He might as well be some sort of dignitary, the way they expect me to confine him, she thought in disgust.

Still, for all her reservations about the arrangements, the Guardian knew better than to question an employer, and a generous employer at that. It had not been difficult to track R'Ikeda – he was rather well-known in City circles after all. It had only taken a bit of poking around to see which bars he frequented and when he made landfall, then all she had had to do was wait it out. Easy prey; easy money.

But it did not sit well with her, this coddling of a felon. And he was a felon. A smuggler, no less. Had she been in the employ of local authorities, he would have been locked up in a holding cell and left to rot with the other scum until the next shuttle to Kuiper.

A particularly loud thump and another scream interrupted the Guardian's thoughts. She wondered idly if she ought to go in and stop the nonsense then decided she wasn't being paid that much. It sounded like the two had some business to complete and de Medici hadn't said anything about "safe", right?

Food, wine, comfortable quarters. I've done my job. Turning on her heel, the Guardian stalked off to find her men for some much-needed drills, conveniently setting her comlink to standby.

"Now this is the…kind of – oomph! – welcome I had – ouch! – expected," Mitsu tried to bat away at his assailant, grunting at each lucky punch she landed.

"You…can…go…to hell!" Nagisa punctuated each word with more ineffectual flailing.

"Oi, oi…watch the face! Can we – k'so! – call a truce? If you keep – argh! – hitting me, I might just barf."

The smuggler suddenly found himself thrashing around to nothing. When he was finally able to pull up on one elbow and peer at her, he realized his stepsister had adjusted her clothing, regained her composure, and had made her way to the window on the far side of the room. Her back was to him and Mitsu was able to study her openly.

He had spoken in haste, a knee-jerk reaction to her sudden appearance, and he had been mistaken. The years had not been unkind to his stepsister. On the contrary, the decade gone had done what no man could have ever hoped to achieve: it had honed her into a fine specimen of a woman. She had always been tall, but in their youth, she was spoken more of as being gangly and coltish. Now, time had filled out her spare form and had refined her awkwardness. He hardly recognized her. Nagisa looked positively regal, from her black bob – close-cropped in the aristo style – to her slender neck to her statuesque figure, held haughty and aloof with a cool constraint. Mitsu was almost glad for her initial ferocity; had she not attacked him so passionately as was their wont, he would have sworn she was an entirely different person altogether. As he watched her warily, she plucked a stim cartridge from her pocket and lit up.

"Hey, gimme one!"

"As if!" she threw back at him, and he grinned at her immaturity. Some things never changed.

"Come on!"

"No."

"Please? Onegai?" Mitsu got on his knees and wheedled.

"Get your own."

"They confiscated all my stuff. Even my favorite chrono." Mournfully, Mitsu remained on the floor, batting his eyelashes in his best winsome fashion.

Nagisa blew a smoke ring, unmoved. "Serves you right."

The smuggler looked affronted, and started to work himself into a good mad. "Oi, you were the one who came looking for me, alright? I mean, thanks for the grub and all and thanks for not sending me straight to the mines, but…"

"Who said we were looking for you?"

That brought Mitsu up short. "Huh?"

"For all I cared, you could've gone on your merry way forever, playing pirate and doing disgusting pirates things…"

"We prefer to be called couriers," Mitsu interrupted, offended.

"…as long as you kept the Family out of it. And good riddance, I might add. But no! The great Mitsuru Ikeda had to go and make a name for himself as a pirate, didn't he? He had to go showboating and swanning around the universe like Buddha's gift to mankind. You were always like that, Mitsuru! All for the glory. No concern about whether or not your escapades would blemish the Family or anyone else as long as you got your way. As long as you came out on top…"

"Wah, wah, wah!" Mitsu mocked, getting up from the floor and reaching for his drink.

"Oh, shut up! Just shut up! You should be grateful I'm even here! I came to see for myself – see for one last time before…"

"Before what?"

"Nothing." Nagisa walked to the serving table and crushed the stim into an empty plate.

"No, finish. Before what?" Mitsu did not care for her sudden change of mood. He set his wine glass down and folded his arms across his chest. "What are you talking about? What's really going on here, Nagisa? Is this some sort of new aristo game – let's see who has the biggest screw-up in the Family? "

The woman gave him a trenchant look then started for the door. "I have to go."

"Wait! Chotto matte! Just wait a minute!" Mitsu held out a hand to stay her. "Tell me…how's Dad? And Sho? How's he doing? I bet he's become quite the clan leader, all proper and man of the house now that he's of age." He laughed deprecatingly.

Nagisa stared at him in disbelief. "You don't know."

"What?" The sincere shock on her face made him uneasy, and Mitsu immediately dropped his devil-may-care act. "What do you mean?"

"You really don't know. Mother had said something to that effect, but I couldn't be sure." Nagisa's eyes went distant as she held on to the table for support. All the fire and ire seemed to seep out of her as she got lost in thought, speaking quietly as if more to herself than for Mitsu's benefit. "You were always so self-absorbed, and I didn't put it past you to have known but to not have cared. Still, your own blood…I thought that, at least, would have called you back, had you really known."

"Known what?"

"The last year has been fraught with trouble, you see, and Mother kept telling me all was well, but when the collectors came and they took him away after the last attack…"

"Attack?! What attack? Attacked who?"

"…and then Otousan turned to God and pledged himself to the Church, thinking that would solve everything. Foolish old man!"

"The Church?!"

"And still Mother said we would be fine. But de Medici kept pushing and pushing and we lost face and the other clans turned their backs on us, and he was so weak. He wanted to help – he tried all he could – but it wasn't enough and they took everything away!" Nagisa's voice rose higher and higher as each breathless recounting of events brought her to an anguished wail.

Mitsu was beginning to panic. It was so uncharacteristic for his stepsister to be so vulnerable and so – helpless. His mind whirled with the dozen possibilities of what could have occurred in his absence, all the while indulging in a savage bout of self-recrimination for being so self-absorbed that he had not bothered to keep tabs on his family during his imposed absence.

"Everything! Everything gone! But that wasn't enough for them. No! They said we'd be outcasted, our very name stricken from the clan records. We'd have had nowhere to go. We'd have been the lowest of the low. Oh, you probably wouldn't have cared. You and your obsession with a life of adventure! But what of us? Sho so weak and Mother so desperately clinging on to the only life she knew. How would we have survived? What could we have done?"

"Nagisa!" Mitsu all but screamed in frustration and fear. "What the hell are you talking about?"

But Nagisa was trapped in a spiral of memories past and she went on heedlessly. "I only came for his sake; certainly not for yours. He said you would have changed, that you would have learned compassion and selflessness. That maybe you would come of your own volition and help us. He believed in you. Mother warned me, said it was too late and that I'd just make things worse, but I had to see for myself, at least so I can tell him I did."

"K'so, Nagisa! Will you drop the enigmatic act already? Just spit it out!"

"Gomen ne, Mitsuru. Mother sends her love."

Mitsuru felt a sharp pain in his neck then he looked, aghast, at the syringe poking out from his jugular. Right before he blacked out, he could have sworn he saw something that looked frighteningly like pity in his stepsister's eyes.