MABLE STONE
Devon Corporation had eclipsed Silph Co. at the turn of the century. Once, Kanto had been the technological cornerstone of Japan; some cited the Kantonese decline began with the eruption on Cinnabar Island back in 2004, five months before mewtwo was introduced into the Third World War. It was too much, they said, invaluable research had been destroyed. As it was a branch of Silph Co., the loss of Cinnabar was the final blow that brought the company to its knees.
To the elite Stone family, that was good news.
For most of the Cold War, Devon had been struggling to keep up with Silph Co. It was only when news of an Unovian space rocket launching into space did Hoenn finally pull in front with the successful endeavours of the Hoenn Space Project, based in tropical Mossdeep city.
Now, Saffron city had crumbled. It was a hub of crime; a shadow of its former self. But Rustboro? It was once the third largest city in Hoenn, but with the fall of Slateport in the last few years of the Third War, it had risen to the top. Lilycove was now the chief port; an invaluable ally to the Devon Corporation.
When Mable Stone thought of all she had to inherit, she felt giddy. Resisting the urge to giggle to herself or do anything equally as undignified, she coolly put the holographic pad back down on the desk.
Rich sunlight poured into the office. The new trend for stainless steel furniture from Canalave hadn't taken off here, and instead the large room was tastefully decorated with rich wooden pieces. The wood seemed to absorb the sunlight, making the room gleam darkly and expensively. On the walls were old family photographs. Although Mable wanted people to know how up-to-date she was, she refused the installation of holo-photos. They seemed so tacky.
Looking up from the table top, Mable gazed out of the window, taking in the vast view of her office over Rustboro. Since overthrowing Kanto, Devon had expanded inconceivably, taking over the once-humble city and turning it into a veritable metropolis. The city sprawled over the landscape, cutting into the surrounding woodland and, politely refusing involvement in the 2008 Hoenn Conservation Act, had left the surrounding area barren. Rustboro was framed on the west and north by the sea, the eastern expanse covered in the brownstone buildings for miles. To the south lay the Petalburg woods, an unfortunately designated conservation area. Apart from that, Mable rather liked the look of it all; it made the city fierce and fortress-like.
Yawning, the young woman glanced back at the holo-pad, winced at the columns of numbers, then reached for the flat touch-screen of her computer. She tapped a few keys and waited for her secretary to pick up. In a moment, an image of her secretary filled the screen.
"Miss Stone, is there anything I can get for you?"
"Find Steven, would you?" Mable asked, not looking at the screen but instead at her cuticles. "He's probably in the fossil labs, doing God knows what. Just get him here."
"Yes, madam." The image of the secretary vanished, leaving the icon of Devon's logo glaring up from her computer desktop.
Mable inspected her nails for a few more minutes until the door to her office slid open with a quiet swooping sound. The heavy footsteps stopped in front of her desk. Steven cleared his throat.
Looking up, Mable smiled fixedly at her uncle. Steven glowered in response.
Steven Stone had once been the champion of Hoenn. He'd been one of the first trainers to fully harness the steel-type; had been quite the golden boy for a few years. But then, of course, the all-eclipsing dark miasma of the Third War had hauled itself into view, and Steven had dashed off to the League Headquarters in Kanto to join the pokémon alliance – a largely failed attempt on the League's side to get involved in military politics – now deemed by modern historians to be 'a desperate desire to give hobby-pokémon the spoils of war'. Steven had come crawling back to Devon with his tail between his legs, half his pokémon team dead, and had taken up residence as one of Devon laboratory's chief advisors.
His estrangement from the Stone clan hadn't gone over lightly; Mable's grandfather, Steven's father, had all but condemned his eldest son. It was bad enough that Steven had been involved in that 'fad' of pokémon battling, but to abandon Devon? Mable's own father had taken up the Corporation, but had fallen terribly ill a few years ago with some unknown disease. Mable was acting head of Devon until he recovered – though she privately thought it unlikely. There had been reports of a kind of disease randomly striking pockets of society since the end of the Third War. It was like the ripple in the pond, the black mass beneath the surface, waiting for a moment when it all seemed a bit too quiet before striking.
Mable didn't like her uncle very much. He was one of the last washed-up remains of the Golden Days of pokémon battling. Just after the Cold War, there had been a move to stop pokémon battling all together – technology was where it was at: just look at mewtwo! Mable wasn't too clear on the details, but the government quickly realised that pokémon battling was now far too ingrained in society – the novelty idea of pokémon battling had filtered into the lower classes, and now every man and his lillipup had dreams of becoming the new pokémon champion. No, the League could no longer take a backseat, not to technology or the will of the people.
But Steven Stone, archangel of the Golden Days, was now no more than a Third War ex-soldier – an unfavourable remnant of the 'old pokémon League' and its messy involvement with politics. The new League was far superior. Steven had been left behind.
"I wanted to hear directly from you," Mable started, her tone falsely cheerful and doting. "Update me on the Big Three, would you?"
The Big Three were Devon's star inventions: the pokémon dream projector, the pokémon transformer, and the pokémon speaker. These three were funded exclusively by the Japanese military. Mable didn't ask questions. If it had Devon's logo on it, that was all that mattered.
Although Steven's mouth was a thin, hard line, his eyes glittered with interest. Mable didn't let him keep the job for nothing. He was obsessed with pokémon.
"The pokémon dream projector is still a little rocky," Steven admitted eventually, his prematurely-arthritic hands hidden in the pockets of his lab coat. "Unless we can get access from pokémon control for a musharna, I doubt we'll get any further."
Travelling between the States of Unova and Japan was still, after all this time, a fight uphill. The transfer of pokémon was even worse – Unova had gotten wind of the Japanese disease ten years ago and rigidly clung to its pokémon preservation laws. Quarantine was hell. Even Devon, with its direct access to the government, had trouble shipping in minor pokémon for their studies.
"The pokémon transformer has made a bit of a breakthrough. Alterations were made to allow a melting of sorts between human and pokémon DNA, which led to astonishing results – a few of our test subjects are now exhibiting…"
Mable glazed over for a bit. She didn't know why she indulged Steven so. He was the sort of guy who you'd give an inch and he'd take a mile.
"…it is incredibly dangerous still, and some subjects have yet to revert back to human form -"
"What about the speaker?" Mable interrupted, barely keeping herself in check. The pokémon speaker was what she was most interested by. Imagine, being able to communicate with pokémon like humans! There'd be no more silly miming or psychic connections. Mable shuddered. Psychic pokémon were frightening. She knew it was fiercely forbidden in Japan, but she couldn't get over the idea of brain control. Horror stories of the Nazi regime were still whispered among the people.
Steven's lips almost disappeared and he looked incredibly irritated at being interrupted. He loathed answering to his jumped-up twenty-something niece. "It might be a little early to say," he said slowly, "but we might have finished."
It took a moment for Mable to cotton on. Once she had, she stared at her uncle is astonishment. "Finished? Finished?"
Steven nodded tightly. Mable leapt to her feet, her grin wide. Almost immediately, she checked herself and adopted a politely interested expression. Steven suppressed a smirk.
"Show me," Mable ordered, dusting off her skirt and moving towards the door of her office, not looking to see if Steven was following her or not.
When they reached the end of the long corridor, Mable paused, embarrassed, before Steven moved ahead and navigated their way confidently to the elevators. She seethed.
The glass elevator arrived in a heartbeat. They piled in, Mable's eyes drawn irresistibly to the glorious view before her. Many of the laboratories had at least one wall made entirely of glass; the elevator shaft was like the spine of Devon, each floor visible from the cool, clean world of the lift. There were no stairs in Devon - Mable had made that change when she'd first taken over from her father – so the elevators were designed to move any which way. The entire building was accessed by this state-of-the-art system. Thankfully, the building wasn't powered by electric pokémon (as if they'd make a mistake like Cinnabar), but instead by grass pokémon, utilising the sun's rays on this idyllic spot on the Hoenn coast. There was very little chance of a sunflora going on a rampage, Mable had reasoned.
Silently, the elevator slid down ten floors. The hollow spine of Devon slipped by, the circular glass elevator passage gently illuminated by hidden solar-powered lights. As they reached their destination, Mable turned and caught her uncle's eye.
"Devon is perfect, isn't it?" she commented breathlessly, helplessly, entirely overwhelmed by her family's empire. Steven didn't reply.
Steven led the way out of the elevator, stepping into a wide passage with a curved roof. They walked until three sliding double doors appeared; Steven tapped out an access code and the far right one opened.
The laboratory was colossal. The first level was a small railed platform, the ground floor accessed by a brief flight of stairs. Mable had been in the laboratories herself rarely, and it never failed to surprise her that they were always so quiet. The soundtrack was the muted beeping of machines and the clicking of computer keys. Occasionally a pokémon cry could be heard in the backrooms, though they'd reduced their pokémon experiments by a huge margin since that incident a year or two back. Barely any of the fifty or so scientists glanced up as Steven and Mable went down the stairs and walked across the room. One or two acknowledged Steven's presence as one of the head scientists, but no one seemed to see Mable. She started to sulk.
Steven stopped in front of a surprisingly small machine. It rose like a column, connected to the roof of the laboratory, great wires and translucent pipes seamlessly flowing down its length like water. There was a miniature screen at eye level, which Steven activated and started to type in some codes.
After a few minutes, Mable looked around her, bored. "Hurry up, Steven," she snapped. "I have to get back to the accounts."
Without tearing his gaze from the screen, Steven entered a few more streams of numbers, then pressed a button beside a slender opening that looked like a DVD drive. "Release one of your pokémon."
Mable stared at the back of his head, no longer tapping her foot. "One of my pokémon?" she clarified, her tone puzzled yet defiant. "I don't think so. Use one of your own."
Steven turned his head to meet her gaze, looking every bit his fifty-odd years. "Mable, I promise you, nothing will happen."
Ruffled because he'd neglected to say madam or even your ladyship, Mable grumpily brought out a luxury ball and plopped it in Steven's outstretched palm. He gave her a tired look and maximized the sphere himself, pressing the button and releasing her pokémon with a muted white light.
Despite her mood, Mable leapt back a metre. Steven had a chance to shoot her an inquiring look before he was knocked off his feet.
Koda let out an ear-splitting scream. Several of the nearest scientists jumped to their feet in surprise, though soon returned to their work, resigned to dealing with unruly pokémon. Thankfully, the pokémon translator machine was surrounded by a six-metre radius free of machines. Mable dreaded to think how much damage there would be otherwise.
Her lairon screamed again, his thick reptilian tail swinging madly from side to side with enough force to break a man's leg. Koda pawed at the grated floor of the laboratory and raised its head to the roof, snuffling noisily at the air, his big nostrils flaring wetly.
Steven got to his feet unsteadily. Mable didn't help him.
"God, why Koda?" he asked wearily, watching the lairon shake himself like a herdier, the plates of armour on his back clashing together with a sound like cement in a mixer.
"Would you rather I sent out Colbert?" Mable answered tetchily, referring to her baby craniados.
Grimacing, Steven moved back over to the pokémon translator and started pressing a few more buttons. Mable watched Koda in distaste for a moment. Eventually, she sighed, and crouched down to Koda's eye-level, arranging her skirt neatly around her legs.
"Koda," she called, unable to make her voice warm or maternal. Immediately, the lairon stopped gnawing at his hind leg. His head snapped upright, eyes on her. "Here, Koda," she ordered, pointing at the ground in front of her, "come here. I need you." The last words were added as an afterthought. Mable had never thought she'd say that.
Her lairon licked his lips, the steel snout snapping noisily, then waddled over to her, tail swinging side to side for balance. Koda huffed in her face, breathing rotten meat and clay smelling breath all over her and dribbled on her dress. Mable shrieked and leapt upright, batting at her clothing. Koda whined.
"Okay, here we go." Steven, ignoring Mable's antics, held aloft a slender microchip and a metal gun. He loaded the chip into the gun and pulled something back, like it was a syringe.
"You want to grab him?" he asked Mable. No, she thought petulantly, but collared her pokémon anyway, sliding her hands beneath the plates and grabbing his big head with her hands. The scales on his neck were warm and rough. Koda shook his head, bewildered, growling and drooling in confusion. "Shut up," Mable told him.
Steven pressed the gun to the back of the lairon's neck, just beneath the bulge of the huge steel helmet that encased his skull. Steven held his breath, the other hand gripping the rim of one of the shallow holes in his steely cranium.
He pulled the trigger.
Mable flinched away, expecting her pokémon to be nothing but a bloody mess, but instead Koda screamed an otherworldly scream. He launched himself up on his hind legs, shaking his head madly and beating the air with his stubby, elephantine feet.
Landing heavily on the hard floor, Mable gasped in pain. On the other side of Koda, Steven had braced himself against the machine. The expression on his face illustrated exactly what Mable was thinking. Why did I just inject a microchip into a one-ton adolescent steel-pokémon with very little brain and massive anger issues whilst in the middle of a billion-dollar laboratory?
Mable glared furiously at Steven, wishing fervently he'd burst into flame.
Instead of rampaging, Koda only landed back on all fours with a hollow clang. His tail swung despondently as he lowered his head to the ground, attempting to rub the side of his huge head on the cool grated floor. The lairon whined pitifully, a broken, baby-dinosaur sound.
They waited.
Eventually, Koda gave one last moan and was still. His head was still lowered. A single glob of slobber hit the ground.
Mable stood up. Steven put the gun off to one side and started rapidly tapping at the computer screen, brow furrowed.
"Koda?" Mable inched forward; placed a gentle hand on the lairon's head. "Koda?"
"Mama?"
A bolt of fear shot through her. Mable snatched her hand away as if she had been burnt, gaping incredulously down at her pokémon.
Steven had turned around at the guttural, omniscient voice. He caught Mable's eye, looking triumphant. She wanted to hit him.
"Mama!"
Mable looked back at Koda. He had raised his heavy head and was now staring at her, huffing her scent and wagging his huge tail.
"Pain… there… Mama!"
"Oh, my God." Mable gazed in horror at her pokémon. Steven couldn't help himself; he sniggered.
After Mable had hurriedly recalled Koda, she'd collared Steven and ordered him to round up the other head scientists involved with the Big Three. She'd dashed back to her office, where, with shaking hands, she'd drawn up an official letter of declaration for immediate response by the Japanese Military. The sooner the government knew about the pokémon translator, the better.
Following that, Mable had been briefed by the head scientists about the translator. Apparently, although it was reasonably bug-free, there was no way to fully comprehend a pokémon's speech; there were some words that were simply untranslatable. But overall, the pokémon translator was ready for action.
Mable had dismissed the scientists a while ago, after getting them to sign the bottom of the document and send it off via the traditional mail service. Normally, she'd just email the military office, but this was a special occasion.
Now, she stood in the middle of the underground training facilities.
Devon had several of these stadium-sized arenas in the basement of the building. In fact, Devon had an entire underground maze that stretched beneath Rustboro almost to its current outskirts.
The stadiums were usually used as observation rooms for some of the more rowdy pokémon – the reborn fossilized pokémon, for instance. But Mable had claimed a stadium all for herself at the beginning of the year, when the prospect of owning Colbert had been an irresistible opportunity to expand her hobby into professional status. Sometimes all that paper pushing got so tedious.
It didn't catch on. Mable didn't dislike pokémon, exactly, but she wasn't as good at training as she'd like to be. She had hired ex-champions to train her – even gotten that stuck-up bitch Oskana, the Rustboro gym leader – to help her out. They'd ended up in a screaming match and Mable had set Koda on the other girl. Relations were not as good as they could have been.
The stadium had been updated for the acting head of Devon, turning the great expanse into a gleaming, modern arena. The raked sand underfoot was soft, the walls a gentle off-white, the ceiling covered in numerous tiny lights, like the scales of a yanma wing. The far wall was glass, like the back of a squash court, with a small spectator area, which was now empty.
Taking a deep breath, Mable released all her pokémon.
Actually hearing Koda speak had rattled her, but she was determined to fight past her reservations. She wasn't a Stone for nothing.
Colbert was released first, the baby craniados chirping happily, setting off across the huge arena to explore the new space. Guiltily, Mable remembered that she'd never actually let Colbert into this stadium before. She'd usually spent more time training Kora or Myron.
The second pokémon to materialize shot upwards until it towered ten metres above her. Slowly, the white light disappeared, leaving the gigantic, slightly-reflective form of her steelix, Myron. The massive snake let out a low rumble, its tiny eyes peering down at Mable. She smiled. Out of all her pokémon, Myron had been with her the longest.
Mable couldn't use Myron a lot, though. Due to the restrictions on certain pokémon, she could only battle with Myron in official League circumstances. As a result, Myron was relatively small for a steelix.
As Mable looked back towards the last form of Koda, the lairon charged towards her, slobbering and panting as if completely out of breath.
"Chill out, Koda!" Mable squawked, ducking behind Myron's massive frame. Her steelix watched the over-excited lairon with interest.
Skidding to a halt, Koda gazed at Mable, bright blue eyes big and woeful. He whined like a kicked lillipup. When Mable eventually moved out from behind Myron, Koda started panting again happily, tail wagging.
"Mama!"
Suppressing the desire to roll her eyes at Koda's infantile name for her, she forced a smile. She wasn't about to kneel down – the lairon was likely to bowl her over in excitement. Mable steadied herself. Am I really about to talk to my pokémon? she wondered desperately.
"Hi, Koda," she said, deliberately slowing her voice.
The lairon stopped moving entirely. His head perked upwards – even his steel maw snapped shut. Koda listened intently to his trainer; Mable realised that this was the first time she'd done something other than shriek.
"Koda, hi," she repeated, now uncertain. What was she supposed to do, exactly? Train him? Teach him some words? Mable's hands were sweaty against Myron's body.
"Er… Okay. Um. Koda, I'm 'mama'. I'm Mable." The girl paused; Koda was totally blank. She pointed to her chest. "May-bell. Mable. Mama. Me, mama."
Koda suddenly yapped in response, his tail wagging again. "Mama!" The lairon panted in delight and started to shuffle towards her.
Unable to help herself, Mable flinched backwards, further hiding behind Myron. Koda stopped dead, confused.
"Mama?"
Astonished, Mable stared at her pokémon. The upwards inflection on the end of her… name… definitely sounded like a question. Despite herself, Mable felt her heart flutter in excitement.
"Yes, Koda. Mama. Me, mama." Mable licked her lips nervously. She inched away from Myron, leaving one hand on the steelix's side. "Koda, come here. It's okay."
Without hesitating, Koda trundled forwards, tail swaying like a palm tree in a storm. The lairon shoved his head against her thigh, making her leg buckle. Dribbling in earnest, Koda beamed up at her. Mable managed a smile, eyes watering in pain.
"Want to do some training, Koda?" she asked slowly. "Battle Myron? Do you want to battle Myron?"
Far above her, Myron rumbled in excitement. Koda let out a stream of growls, which, after a moment, Mable could discern some words.
"Fight, mama! Yes, fight, no pain, mama, no pain. Fight yes."
Frowning, Mable placed her fingertips against the back of Koda's neck; he whined once – probably muscle memory – but wagged his tail fervently. "It doesn't hurt anymore, Koda?"
"No pain, mama. Fight, mama, yes!"
She shrugged, smiling suddenly in genuine affection. "Alright," she allowed, stroking Koda's neck gently, feeling the slight protrusion of skin covering the microchip. "We'll practice."
Mable turned around and called for Colbert. The cranidos was on the far side of the stadium, digging a hole in the sand. At her voice, Colbert keened in response, but didn't move.
"Colbert!"
The craniados yowled, rubbing his head angrily against the sand.
"Colbert, come here!" Mable resisted the urge to cross her arms, instead snapping the order through gritted teeth. She had no idea why some people actively elected to become pokémon breeders. Baby pokémon were impossible; she swore that ninety-percent of the time, they were throwing a tantrum.
"Brother… here!" Koda's tone, although to Mable's ears harsh, must have seemed gentle to Colbert, because the craniados only whined loudly a few more times before reluctantly crossing the arena, eyes downcast and tail lowered.
"Brother, mama yes." The lairon left Mable's side and bit the back of Colbert's thin neck, growling softly in admonishment. The cranidos keened pathetically, tiny arms flailing against Koda's impenetrable hide. Myron rumbled something; Koda snarled in response.
Mable watched the scene unfold before her, fascinated. She'd seen Koda deliver this alpha behaviour before – Steven had told her that even though Myron was the biggest, Koda was the more assertive – but this… Koda was acting for Mable herself, like he was some deliverer of her commands. It was a bit of a power trip, actually.
Before she let herself get too inflated, Mable told Koda to let Colbert go. The craniados skulked a few feet away from the lairon, tail curved towards Mable in submission.
Mable looked at Koda, who had resumed panting and dribbling and tail-wagging in blissful obedience.
"Good job," she said, her tone reluctantly pleased. "Thanks, Koda."
The lairon caught her eye and growled happily. Mable smiled.