Chapter Eight

Digital Manipulator

It had been very tricky for Uchimon to take Gen home. He solved the problem of weight by resting the boy's head on a shattered board from the nearby disposal bin. The board still had three wheels on it, and made it possible, at least, for Uchimon to drag someone Gen's size.

The main problem had been locating the human's house. Uchimon had tried asking a man he saw walking up to the river. The man had a picture of a snake, or maybe a Waruseadramon, crawling up his back and neck. He had a ring through his nose- maybe he was someone's pet- and his head was shaven, revealing three large stitches. He carried a large brown sack, with a pair of stained sneakers sticking out the end.

Uchimon approached him. "Excuse me… Would you recognize this human?" he asked politely.

The man froze slowly. His shoulders sagged, and his grip on the bag loosened. There was a muffled squeak from inside, as whatever was contained began to wriggle. "I... don't… know… where… he… lives…" said the man, with labored slowness. He looked at some point about four and a half feet above Uchimon's head.

"Allright," Uchimon accepted. He moved on, walking backwards to pull Gen. The sack rolled off the stunned man's shoulder. It shed the cloth that had been wrapped around it, and some thin gray cords, and shuffled speedily away without a backward glance. Uchimon took note of it- a skinny human, shorter than the man, but taller than Gen, wearing a damp white polo shirt and jeans, and night black hair in sloppy braids. As soon as Uchimon turned around the corner, the taller man shouted and ran in the direction of the escapee.

Then Uchimon remembered that a Digivice registered its wielder's essence upon first contact. Or wait, did it choose the user based on a predetermined signature? Uchimon couldn't remember; he should have paid more attention when the Gatekeeper spoke with friends. Well, it didn't matter. The point was, he'd be able to trace wherever Gen had been recently through that recording. He pried the Digivice loose from Gen's grip. Even in sleep, he seemed to have held on to it.

The screen seemed a little dull; the power was running low. Uchimon pressed a few buttons, thinking hard to recall how it was used. Eventually, a white arrow appeared on the screen, pointing left. The left mini-screen was also lit up- but so was the right one. The left screen was dark gray, and the right one was a light gray. Uchimon couldn't remember if the lighter colors meant a stronger trail, or the darker colors.

He told the Digivice to search for only the strongest trails, and the arrow disappeared altogether. Uchimon supposed that meant Gen didn't pass this way often. Frustrated, as most people quickly become with unfamiliar technology, Uchimon searched until only one path lit up. The arrow pointed right, and the right mini-screen was white. He went that way.

The arrow always pointed to the strongest signal, so as the trail thinned in time, it began to waver towards Gen himself. But finally Uchimon reached the place where all the lights turned on. A building on a street corner, made of bricks in shades of red, with dark gray- almost black- shingles. The yard was mostly dirt, mixed with some sort of green grains, but there was grass around the edges, and in patches in the middle. Tiny bushes grew beneath the windows. The windows themselves, with shadows behind, were filled with some sort of reflective power.

For someone as small as Uchimon, dragging a boy was naturally exhausting work. The puppy Digimon wanted to just curl up in the clump of tall grass that grew by the driveway and fall asleep. But if he abandoned Gen here, the deed would be only half done. So, he took several short, deep sniffs, and pulled up the walk.

The door was another problem. It was locked. Uchimon had heard about locked doors. And he knew all about locked gates. The Sunset World was essentially one big locked gate. Almost all of Uchimon's life, he had been stopped by the locks on the Sunset World, so he certainly wouldn't let himself be stopped by this lesser barrier. "Floral Blade", he muttered. He twitched his tail, and the petals on the tip grew sharp. With three quick slits, a square hole was cut in the base of the door. He continued on his way.

Gen didn't quite fit, but with a little pulling and twisting, Uchimon could squeeze him through. The human didn't wake up at all, even when his arm was twisted behind his back by canine jaws. Uchimon felt a little badly about treating someone like this, but shrugged the feeling off. It was what had to be done.

Uchimon scooted backwards stealthily through a long room with white walls and sheets of bare woodfor the floor. Near the end, by a door made of white painted wood and the same strange substance from the windows, was a square of pale artificial grass, and something that looked a little like a dead sapling tree. A warm brown wide-rimmed hat was hung on it, along with a loose cotton scarf, died blotchily. Sided by a row of poles was a staircase. Uchimon couldn't discern what was at the top; gee, this was exciting.

Bear in mind that there were no people living in the Sunset World. No people meant no houses. So everything about this place was strange to Uchimon. At the top of the stairs- which Uchimon also felt bad about dragging Gen over, wincing every time his head bumped- was another long room. There were doors on each side, but only one was open. That was a relief- the Digivice had turned off completely, which meant that Uchimon was too far away from a hot spot to confidently use any of his abilities.

The room was empty, save a bed and a few boxes. It had a lonely feeling to it, as the moonlight languished on the bare, clean floor. Uchimon would never have guessed that humans lived so dully. He had heard they were strange and eccentric creatures in person.

He managed to leaver Gen's head onto the bed, then jumped uponthe mattressand pulled the feet in after. The boy began to snore softly, as Uchimon pulled the green covers over him. Fastidiously, he flattened out a few wrinkles, and nudged Gen till he rolled onto his back. He placed the Digivice, which he had been holding in the cup of his tail-flower, on the floor next to the bed. The room looked more lived-in already. Then Uchimon left. His work here was done.

Though his heart burned with desire to explore this strange world, Uchimon's body sagged with tiredness. After replacing the cutting of door, he curled up outside and tried to get himself to fall asleep.

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"Do you like Aqua?" Kim asked.

Nagainamon cocked her head. She still sat on the bed, a picture book- the story of David and Goliath- held in place by her petit talons. Kim reclined in the beanbag chair, for, some unwritten rule had been drawn up, stating that Nagainamon would always get the bed if she wanted it. Kim's bookbag had been gutted. The adrenaline surge caused by a suspected plot allowed her to relax enough to do her homework.

"That would depend on what you mean," said Nagainamon carefully. She turned her head again, and squinted.

"It's music." Kim lifted the headphones off her ears. A wavering tune could be heard across the room. "Aqua's the name of the group." She placed the headphones on Nagainamon's head. "Where're your ears, anyway?"

Nagainamon smiled smugly. "I measure sound through my aura. Any more questions?" Her expression changed. "Oh… This music reminds me of talent night at the Quezzomon and Quezzomon's."

Now Kim got her chance to be confused. Her eyes crossed slightly. "What?"

"A hotel." Nagainamon clarified. "Can you take this off me?"

"Sure." Kim reclaimed the headphones. Before she quite had them on, she heard the door close. "Dad's home. You know, he didn't wake up at all last night."

"You've said that already."

Kim left the headphones on her bed, andstrolled downstairs, relishing the feel of the carpet, sliding her hand along the smooth banister. There was a little pocket of shade in the middle of the stairwell, due to the absence of light bulbs.

A pair of voices emanated from the living room. For half a second, Kim hoped that Gen was here. She had expected him to come before her dad returned, as he had before. Now that a Digimon was an acting factor, they would have been able to really move forward with their quest to find the Digital World. She wondered- nae, expected- if something had happened with the Digivice she had given him. It had looked almost exactly like the one that had appeared to her and Nagainamon.

But the voice accompanying Allen Kirkley was female. Kim paused in the kitchen, and threw herself against the wall separating it from the living room, arms spread. With theatrical sneakiness, she inched along the wall, finally peeking into the shady room beyond.

A thin, black leather coat was hung beside Allen's Holstein print leather coat. A shapeless red cotton hat hung above it. Allen sat on the couch with a shy, yet outgoing smile, his posture slightly cupped around a young woman. He was making a show of helping her to take off her shoes, and she appeared quite flattered. Who says chivalry is dead?

The woman had orange hair in a fat long braid, much darker and glossier than Kim's or Camilla's. She had a round face and light blue eyes, with sharp rosy cheeks. Her black velvet pants were loose but form-fitting, coyly showcasing her voluptuous legs. Kim noticed a roller, for scraping dust bunnies off of velvet, sticking out of her coat pocket. A gold cross- shaped broach was pinned to her red turtleneck. The woman's mouth was currently shaped in a breathless 'O'. This was odd. Allen had brought many women home since losing Camilla, but Kim had never seen him woo any of them.

"There should be chicken soup in the kitchen. Would you like some?" Kim's father asked politely. Kim slid across the linoleum floor in her socks, and hid in the closet. She opened the door a crack and peeked out. Allen strode to the pot of soup Kim had prepared earlier from a can, humming in a self-satisfied way.

The woman tiptoed up behind him in her unshod feet. She held her hands like a cat and pounced playfully onto his back. Just a small pounce, of course, but Kim had a mental image of her dad giving the lady an unwilling piggyback ride. Allen jumped, spilling some soup. It splattered on the stove, the floor, and his dressy striped shirt.

"Hey, now look what you've done," he whined. Then, seeing the woman's hurt expression, his own face softened again. "I'm sorry, honey. Here, I'll clean it up." He grabbed a rag off the counter, and bent down awkwardly.

The woman, who Kim decided to call Honey, bent down also, almost knocking heads with Allen. She put her hand over Allen's, and the rag. "No, I'll do it," she said.

It was all Kim could do to not make puking noises from behind the door. She made a mental note to draw a sign to put on the door during her dad's dates, a sign that said, "Warning, Adult Content," or something.

Giggling, both adults agreed to wipe the floor at the same time. When the spill on the floor was gone, they stood up together, their heads, again, coming dangerously close. Honey's lips lightly brushed Allen's cheek. Allen pulled her close, and kissed her back. Still only on the cheek, to Kim's relief. Not wanting to reveal herself, Kim would be forced to watch if they smooched.

Somehow, Kim just couldn't see this alluring woman as her mother. She'd be the kind of stepmother you saw in chick flicks (Kim didn't watch that kind of movie, not wanting to live in that kind of world, but Allen and Camilla had.), who was attached to only the father, and ignored the existence of the rest of the family.

Interrupting Kim's uncomfortable train of thought, Allen screamed. He fell away from Honey's embrace, his eyes rolling under his half-closed lids. He landed on his back on the floor, and lay there shaking. Honey freaked out for a second, and bit her fingernail so hard it snapped, but surprised Kim by quickly regaining her composure. She took the rag, soaked it in cold water, and placed it on Allen's forehead. Then she pulled him onto her lap, and cradled his shivering body like a mother, clucking softly and whispering in a soothing voice.

Allen's expression was so pained, Kim couldn't take it anymore. She burst from the closet, and slid to her father's side. Honey's eyebrows shot up, but she kept her attention on Allen. Kim faltered for a moment, not sure what to do. Then she remembered something she had seen, and held his hand. It shook energetically. The kitchen seemed very large just then, and the three of them as big as it had been. A very human moment, Kim reflected later.

"Has he ever had a seizure before?" Honey asked.

Kim shook her head no.

"I have a son who used to have them all the time."

Allen's face swiveled towards Kim. His eyes were sightless, but nevertheless were looking at her. His jaw opened and closed several times, before, shockingly, words came out.

They were awkward, but understandable. "I… have… Gen…. Come… and… get… him… if… you… dare…." Then he laughed briefly, in a high-pitched, giddy way. Kim's own mouth flapped open and closed, in amazement. Honey stared at him, confused and frightened. But as Kim squeezed her father's hand, it stopped shaking.

Allen's eyes reopened, his body stabilized, and his mouth changed into a perplexed frown. He looked at Kim, then up to Honey, then down at himself. He let out a small gasp, more of confusion than anything else.

Kim stood up, her hands clenched into fists. A heroic fire burned in her heart. "I have to go," she announced firmly. She ran up the stairs, into her room. "No time to explain," she barked to Nagainamon, who sat up, alarmed. She grabbed her Digivice, shoved her shoes on,and ran out again, not waiting for Nagainamon to follow.

She zoomed right past the kitchen, where Allen was getting up, dusting off with Honey's help. Both their heads turned to watch the girl go. Seconds later, Nagainamon flew after at full clip. Allen slipped, and would have fallen if not for Honey's arm.

Outside, Kim slowed down for a second, as Nagainamon caught up. She didn't remark upon beating the baby dragon in speed; she was in full serious mode. She spoke her line of reasoning, "There were two addresses on my desk- mine, and the therapist's. After Gen left, there was only one- mine. That may not be where he is, but it's a good place to start looking."

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The woman in the flowered dress ruffled Gen's hair. Bound hand and foot in a cellar, lying on a very primitive sawdust floor, the boy glared at her.

She conversed with the woman with the large hat. However Gen turned his head, she wouldn't let him see her eyes. Gen was certain now that she wasn't his mother, only someone who had disguised as her, perhaps to throw Gen off. Whoever had done so, however, had probably only been guessing at her appearance. Perhaps the woman had known her as a child, and built the disguise on the memory.

Gen strained to hear the whispers. It was an odd conversation. The woman in the flowered dress spoke in English, while the impostor mother spoke in Japanese, but they seemed to understand each other perfectly. One thing, said by the flowered dress woman, struck Gen particularly.

"I sent the message to his Digidestined friend. Through her father. Hehehe… I made sure he put on a great display. She should be charging here like a bullet from a gun, the fool."