(I've had some requests for a character reference list. I'll see what I can do about it after the next update.)

Part 29: Roadkill on the Straight and Narrow

Employee Canteen

Eto Delo HQ, Hong Kong

April 27th, 2016

"Gimme another."

Phil Darwin frowned. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Please," Renaril begged, feeling tears threatening to spill down her cheeks anew. "I want to forget..."

"Let 'er 'ave it," Errol advised. "I'll take the 'eat."

"Yah can't take the 'angover," his twin muttered, but he poured from the Avtomat bottle anyway.

Renaril watched the clear liquid rising in her glass, then tossed it back and swallowed the lot as fast as she could. The vodka burned in her throat, far stronger than anything she would willingly drink for pleasure, but right now pleasure was the absolute last thing on her mind.

Even Errol looked taken aback as she slammed the empty glass down on the counter top. "Oi, steady on, mate. Yer gonna be more 'n 'arf-charged wi' that stuff."

"More."

This time Phil slid the bottle out of reach. "Why don't yah tell us wot's the matter?"

"I don't want to talk about it." The Arume buried her face in her forearms. "I don't want to remember."

"Tell us," the other Australian at her elbow insisted. "Won't solver yer problems just by gettin' stonkered."

"It's not fair," Renaril sniffed, looking at the bottle longingly. "I just wanted to hold her..."

"Ahem."

The Darwin brothers both jerked upright. Renaril looked behind herself sluggishly and saw Roland Schuhart coming in out of the darkness with a raised eyebrow. She hated that, hated the way it highlighted the missing eye below. Great, the alien thought despondently, turning away. He knows all about it... He always takes her side, and now he'll throw me out and send me back there.

Whether or not these assumptions were correct quickly became irrelevant: Phil ducked behind the canteen counter and resurfaced wearing a flat hat with a line of little corks hanging from strings affixed to the brim. He carried two more, which he tossed to Errol and Schuhart. "G'day, Bruce!"

Schuhart caught the flying hat and put it on. "Hello, Bruce."

Errol waved from the other side of Renaril. "Hi, Bruce!"

Schuhart sat down next to the miserable group commander. "Where's Bruce?"

Phil shrugged. "Not 'ere, Bruce."

The arms dealer made an exaggerated show of tugging at his collar. "Hot out tonight, Bruce."

Errol nodded. "Hot enough to roast an eel's gonads, Bruce."

"That's a strange expression, Bruce," said Phil.

"Well, Bruce, I heard the Hainan party secretary use it."

Phil nodded at that. "She's a bit stuck-up, Bruce, but crackin' useful."

Schuhart, meanwhile, was looking at Renaril. "Is this a new Bruce?"

"Yeah, a lady Bruce."

"Well, then!" The cyclops slapped a palm down on the counter. "I expect every man Bruce of you to welcome her to our Brucerhood properly!"

"Roight." Phil stood up. "New Bruce, this is Bruce, New Bruce, this is Bruce, New Bruce, this is Bruce."

"New Bruce," said Schuhart keenly, "are you moping?"

Renaril shrank back a little. "N-no..!"

"Very good... Now, Bruces, I'll just remind you of the Brucerhood rules." Schuhart pretended to read from an invisible paper. "Rule one: no moping. Rule two: any Bruce experiencing a hangfire is not allowed to pull out before thirty seconds have elapsed. Rule three: no moping. Rule four: I don't want to catch anyone not frog blasting the vent core after lights-out. Rule five: no moping. Rule six: this space intentionally left blank. Rule seven: is darker." He pretended to put away the paper. "Over to you, Bruce."

Errol jumped off his stool and picked up his rifle. "This 'ere's the Smelly, defender of our land! Yah can shoot it at a Jerry or yah can pet it wi' yer 'and! Amen!"

"Thank you, Bruce... Now I see New Bruce has already found her poison, and I could do with a little poison myself. Bruce?"

"Straight away, Bruce." Phil produced a fresh glass and poured a measure of Avtomat into it.

Schuhart took the glass and flung its contents backward over his shoulder. "Much obliged," he said as the vodka splashed on the cement floor by the doorway. "Next on the Brucerhood itinerary..."

Renaril suddenly giggled.

Capital Stadium

Tokyo-2, Japan

Nine hours earlier

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah." Schuhart nodded, oblivious to the rain pouring down on him. "If you need anything, the sky eyes know where to reach me."

Shouta wasn't sure what he was expected to need, but it seemed imprudent to say so. "Thank you."

"No problem." The arms dealer turned around and started his long march back to the truck parked at the stadium entrance. "See you 'round, Yakkun."

Shouta watched as the big man weaved through the other survivors, aid workers and scattered police. A compact helicopter buzzed overhead, distracting him momentarily. When he looked again, Schuhart was lost among the crowd.

Well, the reporter from afar thought philosophically, back to work, I guess.

Razael was somewhere around here, helping with triage. She wouldn't want to be bothered. Colonel Kang and her aides had taken off in the company of Master Commander Keldanil. Most of the other Arume from the convention center had already left as well, ditto the alien ship which provided supporting fire during their pulse-pounding escape. That left Shouta, some politicians whom he probably wouldn't be let near, and a smattering of civilian evacuees. As he looked about, squinting through his misty glasses, he saw a boy sitting alone under an awning at the foot of the stadium seats. I'll try him, Shouta decided, and walked that way.

The boy lifted his face as Shouta approached. He was effeminate looking, brown-haired and blue-eyed, and wore the white shirt and black pants of a school's summer uniform. A compact Casio camera lay on the bench beside him. "Are you – oh..." The boy spotted Shouta's name tag. "You're from the other Earth."

"Er, yes." Shouta cleared his throat. "I was in the convention center."

The boy looked down at his sodden shoes. "I – we were in the Diet Hall."

"I heard the casualties were... worse over there. Is it true?"

"The soldiers killed almost everyone. They came in with machine guns and..." The boy – Shouta really needed to get his name, even if it wasn't going to appear in print – waved his hand from side to side, suggesting a prodigious volume of fire. "We were watching from a balcony, so we got out before they caught us." He picked up his camera. "They're still fighting. I tried to take some pictures, but I don't know if they're any good."

Shouta was still wondering the same about his own attempts. "Can you tell me any more, um..?"

"Ikari Shinji." He looked past Shouta momentarily, seeking out somebody in the sea of tents and umbrellas. "I guess it's all right to talk."

Took you long enough, Mari thought, watching through the water-streaked windshield of the captured GAZ as Schuhart finally appeared outside. He was plainly in no hurry to get out of the wet... No, Mari amended, he's looking for someone.

A man in a blue short-sleeve shirt passed the parked truck, heading the other way: Mari glimpsed a straggly brown ponytail under the lip of the stranger's umbrella. Neither he nor Schuhart acknowledged one another as they passed, but the hunter saw a small bundle change hands. The stranger walked on without a second glance.

"Sorry about that," the dealer grunted as he climbed into the driver's seat. "Had some errands to run."

"Humph." Mari stole a peek at the mystery package, a flat rectangle wrapped in a gray plastic bag. "Where now?"

"Back to the airport, I think." Schuhart started the engine, let it run for a few seconds, then put the vehicle into reverse gear. "Maybe we can beg a ride with Keldanil once she's done with the colonel."

"Mm." Beg a ride, or spend six hours waiting for the company plane to come back from Siberia. If this Keldanil was as nice as Mari had heard – nice, of course, being a relative term when it came to Arume – then she'd rather not wait. She expected the man beside her had similar feelings – he wouldn't want to hang around either, in case the authorities figured out that he hadn't taken that silenced handgun off the enemy. "What was that package?" she asked as the GAZ weaved through a police checkpoint.

"Oh, yeah." Schuhart handed it to her, then cranked the wheel hard over and pulled out onto a wider street. "Present for you."

"For me?" Inside the bag was a layer of thick brown paper. Peeling it away left Mari holding a book with a cover of embossed green stock. Maiden of Orleans, read the title printed in black ink above a graphic of a rose blossom. "This is... this is – !"

Her companion downshifted. "Something important, huh?"

You can't understand. Mari turned the pages with reverence, memories of distant happiness rising as she read each one. "I thought I would never see it again," she confessed. "That man... who was he?"

"His name is Kaji." The truck's massive tires threw up sheets of filthy water as it rumbled over a broad puddle. "He works at Nerv, formerly moonlighting as an informant for the Ministry of Home Affairs." Schuhart overshot the next turn and crossed the dividing line before he brought the GAZ back on course. "He's Majestic Nine."

"What?"

Mari's employer carried on as if he hadn't heard, though his expression turned sour. "I wouldn't trust him too far if I were you."

"Oh..." Mari looked at the weathered relic, then at Schuhart, then at the script again. "Do you know anyone else in Majestic?"

"A few." Schuhart checked the side mirror. "MJ-One is a man with a pipe. No other details on him... MJ-Three is a sky eyes who calls herself Misato. She hangs out with MJ-Two most of the time... No info on numbers four and five – they may not even exist. MJ-Six is a ship commander in the Arume navy: she runs their special ops squad... MJ-Seven is Majestic's agent inside Eto Delo, whoever that might be... Eight and ten are more unknowns." He made a comparatively delicate turn onto the next exit ramp. "MJ-Eleven and MJ-Twelve are with the second layer occupation authorities. They helped MJ-Two get you out of Finland."

"Yoshimura isn't one of them?"

"No."

"I see... Then, what about you?" the expatriate queried. "How do you fit into this?"

"Me?" The truck lurched as its driver steered it straight over a gaping chuckhole. "I'm just a guy they find useful." One of the windshield wipers started to make a dull squeaking noise. Schuhart switched them off, then on again. "It's forty minutes to the airport, we've got half a tank of gas, half a pack of mints, it's pissing, and I forgot my sunglasses."

Mari carefully tucked Maiden of Orleans back into its paper wrapping. The sooner she could get it back to the safety of her room, the better. "Hit it."

"How is it? Does it fit all right?"

"Yes." The fit was near enough, but Kang felt an irrational urge to wrap her arms around herself despite the warmth of the shuttle's cabin. "I'm sorry, I'm not accustomed to wearing something so... light."

"I can tell," Keldanil replied with good humor. "You have a healthy figure, Colonel. I could not see it at all under that thing you were wearing before, the – what was it called?"

"Zhongshan suit." It was true that she couldn't really keep wearing that article after it had been soaked by rain and drenched in enemy blood, but the snug-fitting jeans and white pullover drew too much attention to her hips and breasts. Just as well that she wouldn't need to appear in public before she had a chance to change back into work clothes. "Thank you for lending these," she said, trying to put a positive spin on the matter.

"Keep them," said the Arume. "It is not bad to dress casual once in a while... And it is not bad to show some sex appeal, especially when dealing with my race."

Her reluctance to flaunt herself was one aspect of the Chinese woman's far-flung reputation which needed no embellishment, at least until the problem of the paintings arose. "It... feels dishonest."

Her hesitance earned a knowing chuckle. "Renaril will definitely like it."

Keldanil was a far cry from the other command-rank officers Kang had so far met among the aliens. She was of the rarer breed: tall and slim, with faintly green eyes and hair that would probably be blond if it did not lack pigment. It was cut short all around, except for a narrow length over each temple which was fastened with a floral barrette. She was also easy to like, exuding a warm and understanding aura, speaking softly – albeit formally – and smiling easily.

"I'm sure she will," the colonel agreed.

Keldanil nodded. "If it is not impertinent, may I congratulate you on the coming child?"

The soldier tensed. Did Renaril tell her already? Or was it someone else?

The master commander raised her hands. "Please don't be alarmed. I knew by your walk."

"My walk..?"

"I know that feeling, tenderness after heat." Keldanil lowered her trim frame onto one of the seats which ran the full length of the cabin's sides, beckoning for her guest to join her. "You conceived during the fighting, am I correct?"

"Yes." The cushion and backrest pulsed as Kang sat down, molding themselves to fit her contours. "Master Commander, I would prefer that my... relationship with Renaril be kept private for now."

"As you wish." Keldanil's gaze wandered up and down the Terran female with concern. "You seem distressed... Do you feel ill? Nauseous?"

Kang couldn't tell for sure, not after the way the Arume had startled her. "I feel as if I'm not myself," she hedged.

"That is normal." Keldanil clasped her hands. "Forgive me, but it appears that you do not understand what is happening."

Too true. "Renaril only told me to expect the warmth."

"That is all?" The alien shook her head. "Perhaps she was afraid to upset you... I am not sure how to explain this delicately."

It gets worse? "Just tell me, please."

"Very well." The visitor from a distant world rose and stood with her hands behind her back, as if delivering a lecture. "When Renaril inseminated you, her nanomachines colonized your uterine walls. These became active when conception occurred, which is the source of the heat. Right now they are optimizing your body chemistry to ensure safe growth of your child."

That was better than Kang anticipated. "Are there any other side effects? I won't suddenly faint or vomit, will I?"

"Nothing like that," Keldanil assured, "and the cravings only come at night."

"That's fine. I don't think I'm going to feel hungry any time soon."

"Oh – not cravings for food," the Arume corrected. "This is... complicated."

"What do you mean?"

"It is a survival trait, engineered by our creators." Keldanil's composed air began to slip a little. "You know the origins of Arume, yes?"

Kang nodded slowly. "I know the basic story."

"Then I think you can appreciate the obstacles our makers faced when they transformed a heterosexual culture into a single-sex race. Persuading women to be intimate with one another was the simpler task: the real challenge lay in ensuring that the majority would remain together and form stable families."

Her solitary audience didn't like where this was going. "They resorted to behavior alteration."

"There is a strong bonding mechanism, enforced through pheromones." Keldanil blushed faintly. "For the next three or so days, you and Renaril will feel an increased desire for... intercourse."

Kang would have preferred the nausea. "Is that all?" she prompted, feeling a creeping dryness in her mouth.

"It is."

"Then we should get back to more urgent matters." The colonel stood up, ignoring the renewed pangs deep inside. "The fighting isn't over."

Strategic Operations Wing

Eto Delo HQ, Hong Kong

Renaril didn't like to think of herself as paranoid, but she couldn't throw off the feeling that Kang was avoiding her. The Arume's pregnant paramour hadn't come back to Liaison headquarters, but instead gone to the arms dealer's lair across the river. She acted curt and aloof when they spoke over the video link, actually ordering the group commander to stay where she was. Renaril obeyed with reluctance, sticking to her post until night began to fall. By that time it seemed that a new North Korean attack was unlikely, and there was little that could still be done in the way of direct action: when Daemon packed up his things and made ready to depart, the petite alien went with him.

And now, she resolved as she followed the dark-skinned man through a maze of bleak, florescently illuminated corridors, I'll take Li back with me.

Daemon stopped at a door just like all the others, a featureless slab painted dull green, and knocked perfunctorily before entering. Renaril slipped in after him, finding herself in a plainly furnished conference room with a long table running down the middle. Kang was sitting with her back to the newcomers, intently focused on the scrawled notes and grainy printouts arrayed before herself. Schuhart sat at the far end in rumpled and bloodstained clothes, mulling over a large map together with the old Pole, Nereus, while Negadael, Eripol and Keldanil looked on. The arms dealer glanced up as Daemon joined the group, the scars on his face thrown into stark relief by the yellowy beam of light from above. "Smooth ride?"

"Smooth enough." Daemon sank into a free chair, laying his attache case on the tabletop. "Any progress?"

"Still working on fuel and right-of-way." Schuhart reached across the table and snagged the telephone which sat at Keldanil's elbow. "Lemme try Arbatskaya again." Taking up the handset, he dialed a long number with the speed of rote memorization. "Privyet, Komandir Blokhin... Da, eta Schuhart... Ya znayu, ya znayu. Gdye Nesterov?"

Renaril tuned him out. Protocol expected her to greet the visiting superior officer, but she was sure Keldanil wouldn't begrudge her for checking on Kang first. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly," Kang muttered. "Sorry, but this will take a while. Go back and get some rest."

The group commander frowned. It's you who should rest, not me.

She was thinking of a rebuttal when Schuhart hung up the phone with a loud clatter. "So much for that," he grumbled. "We may have to make overtures to the Zhejiang clique after all."

"The warlord?" Eripol asked. "What if he refuses?"

"What if he agrees and then betrays us?" Negadael chimed in.

"I'll stab him," said Schuhart with obvious relish. "In the face. With a screwdriver."

Renaril tried to pull her attention back to the problem at hand, but she was finding it hard to focus. She felt lightheaded all of a sudden, her skin hot under the thin layer of her uniform. Oh... Understanding dawned as she looked down at her slender body. Mating time.

"Let's go back together," she murmured, leaning forwards and encircling Kang's midriff with her arms. "I really missed you."

"Get off."

"Mm..?"

"Get off!" The soldier leaped to her feet with such speed that her chair spun around and banged against the edge of the table. "What's wrong with you?"

The outburst propelled Renaril backwards onto the thin, synthetic rug. She sat there, looking up in dumb confusion as the object of desire stood over her, hands clenched into trembling fists. She saw anger on the other's face, but only a blind witness could overlook the way Kang's nipples stood proud under the thin material of her jumper, as hard as Renaril's own. The mixed messages only added to the Arume's distress. "I... I just..."

"I'm not your sex toy." The strain in Kang's voice churned Renaril's gut. "Don't go putting your hands on me whenever you like."

First Renaril had been ignored, and now she was being violently rebuffed in front of her most loyal subordinates, a guest who outranked her, and a man whom she had no doubt would cruelly exploit this schism. It was too much to bear. "Fine," she sobbed, fumbling for the door handle as she backed away. "Fine. I get it."

The door opened with a creak and shut with a bang. Tears streamed down the alien's cheeks as she fled.

Strategic Self-Defense Force Regional HQ

Atsugi, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan

Shinano Haruna was also in a bitter mood that night, though for reasons which were more than strictly personal. Her tall, lanky frame cast long shadows across wet grass as she strode towards the perimeter fence of the base's low-security section. She found her goal in the darkest corner, away from the bright lights of the barracks and hangars: Lieutenant Tachibana's recent promotion hadn't dimmed his enthusiasm for stargazing, nor dulled his value as the senior officer's confidant.

Tachibana affected a brief salute. "Good evening, Colonel."

"Evening," Shinano grunted. "See anything good?"

"Trying to get a fix on Jupiter before the moon comes up." The lieutenant bent over the long tube of his Newtonian reflector. "Bah... Still getting a lot atmospheric rippling."

"I see."

"Oh well." They both knew Shinano hadn't come here for mere pleasantries. "What's the news?"

"The Ibuki zaibatsu is taking over," Colonel Shinano reported grimly. "It'll be made official tomorrow."

"The pretender will endorse them?"

"Yes... The new regime will formally be called a 'shogunate'."

"Tch." Tachibana straightened, leaving the telescope at rest. "What's their scheme?"

"Suspension of the constitution, martial law and an alliance with the Arume. Our generals have already pledged their support."

"What about the treaties with Korea? Straight into the wastebasket?"

"I expect so."

"Damn." The lieutenant rolled his head from side to side, working the muscles in his neck. "It feels like a coup."

Shinano nodded. "It does."

"What's the long-term agenda?" Tachibana lifted his beret and rubbed his scalp. "Expansion on the mainland?"

"Probably."

"Ambitions for a new empire." The junior officer didn't conceal his disgust. "That's not what we need right now."

"I suspect the Arume would disagree with you there," Shinano replied. "I think it's a safe bet that they'll be pushing hard for intervention."

"A new empire, all right... So, what should we do?"

"Minimize casualties and pray that we aren't transferred to a position without power. I don't anticipate that our new masters will take dissent kindly."

"Me neither... I guess this is the end of the phony war, eh?"

"It seems that way," Shinano agreed.

"And I was just getting used to the peace," Tachibana joked humorlessly. "Everything has changed."

"No," Shinano corrected, gazing at the innumerable stars weakly twinkling above. "Everything is about to change." She impulsively patted her subordinate's shoulder. "Enjoy the skies while you can."

"Thanks." Tachibana started to bend over his telescope once more, then ducked as something moved in the darkness on the other side of the fence. "Intruder, two o'clock..!"

The colonel dropped into a crouch, drawing her pistol from its holster. "Freeze!" she hissed.

The intruder, contrarily, rose to the full extent of his height, raising his arms over his head. He approached the fence slowly and without speaking, keeping that pose all the while.

Perhaps it was the sheer incongruity of his presence which delayed Shinano's recognition. "Itsuki!" she whispered, lowering her weapon. "How did you get in here? ...No, before that, where have you been? Did you go to Hiratsuka?"

Her mute son nodded solemnly. His clothes, as traditional as ever, were rumpled and dirty, and he stank of sweat and mud. He carried his prized sword on his back, though his mother fervently hoped he hadn't actually used it. Better not ask how long he's been lurking out there, either.

"Did you think I wouldn't worry?" she admonished. "Go around to the gate and I'll let you in."

Itsuki shook his head. Stepping back a pace, he suddenly struck a pose: a grimacing, goose-stepping caricature of a North Korean soldier.

"What's that?" Shinano asked. "Something about the enemy?"

The shaggy-headed boy nodded. After holding the pose for a few seconds more, he relaxed momentarily and then mimicked the ferocious face and unmistakable salute of a certain ultranationalist party.

"The Great Sun Society?" That organization had an encampment in the coastal ruins of Hiratsuka, ripe grounds for spying. "What about them?"

Itsuki brought his hands together, hooking the index fingers like links in a chain.